Dark Reflections

What happened to the dark side after Halloween 1981?

To put it simply, they were annihilated. The dark lord bit the dust anticlimactically. Most of the Death Eaters were captured and sent to Azkaban. Some considered their lord's death a good sign for retirement, while some kept wandering, faithfully waiting for the day he came back. Lucius was definitely the latter, except that he didn't have to wait for long. It was only a year later that he got the chance to meet his master again.

On the fateful day of Halloween, after the incident with the Potters, Voldemort, despite every celebration in Britain, was not completely dead. Strictly speaking, ever since he seeked immortality by dividing his soul to pieces, the traditional concept of life and death could not be applied to him anymore. Rather, he was put in an extremely vulnerable state where he lost his physical body, but his soul didn't become a ghost. Voldemort was forced to retreat to the Forbidden Forest, spent another decade gulping down unicorn's blood to keep himself from losing his mind. Immortality was meaningless if you couldn't even remember who you were. That was the kind of "death" waiting for him at that time, after everything.

Unicorn's blood worked wonders at first. In fact, he felt even more refreshing than the time he was in his original body. He possessed a python at that time, and was able to reconstruct its body to a more humanlike shape. Unfortunately, before he could reach out to his underlings, just 24 hours since the first blood of those pristine creatures spilt on his fangs, his body decomposed. It was a painfully humiliating experience to watch your body slowly rotting and decrease in size, even more so if you happened to be the dark lord. This symptom could be reasoned that, when he possessed a living thing, he also invaded its body like a parasite and eventually killed it. Once there's no soul inside the shell, god didn't acknowledge Lord Voldemort as the new owner. The divine marked it as a death, therefore the body quickly rot away.

But since we were discussing theories, some might disagreed, especially those who belonged to the forest. There weren't many books could explain this symptom, as even in the dark ages, wizards still refused to lay hands on unicorns. Now this might be controversial, but killing a hundred babies wouldn't equal the karma killing a single unicorn could bring, simply because they were magical creatures. The magic flowed through their veins had the power to avenge for such lost of purity in the world. Their blood could rival the elixir, but came with a terrible price. For Voldemort, the fate of residing forever inside a despicable chunk of meat was the very first sign of retribution. Even if he switched to another body, he wouldn't escaped his kismet.

Not that it mattered. For the lord who once thrived to the throne of magic, it was just a small challenge. A challenge for ambition and inhumanity. He would slay every unicorn, learn and grow, till one day he shalt regain his former glory... That was his determination.

On a quiet winter night, a small figure dragged itself to the Malfoys' doorstep, leaving traces of blood behind which were soon covered by the snow. An abomination of creature, some might say. Unfortunately, even for a remarkable wizard, failure was bound to happen. Many attempts were made, which resulted in a much more horrendous appearance and some severe deformations in bone structure. He succeed, somewhat, since he was finally able to leave the forest without losing his mind. Noone would imagine that this thing used to be the legendary Dark Lord that tales once warned about. But the sensation that crawled up the Dark Mark was unmistakable. Therefore, Lucius still opened the door, and welcomed his master into the mansion. It was a sleepless night for darkness, as the lord had finally returned, unbeknownst to all.

Since then, Voldemort had lived inside the Malfoy mansion. From time to time he returned to the Forbidden Forest, sucked out some magical horse blood then go back. Other time he tried to find back some of his competent servants. He didn't succeed much in that aspect though, as most of his underlings were currently serving their sentence in Azkaban. Recruitment was also out of question. On one rare occasion, he did manage to find Bartemius, "rescue" him from his own father's curse. But that's all. It was a monotone shade of red for a routine, repeated for many years. Patience quickly became the hardest challenge, especially in an unsightly body. He navigated through anger every waking moment, and just when he was about to snap, a certain man came.

Severus Snape.

Divination was a strange branch of knowledge. It required a heavy amount of talent to actually grasp a hint of miracles. Even in his school years when he excelled at pretty much every subjects, Voldemort still avoid choosing it as a course. Now that he became the main target of a prophecy, he was a bit lost about what to do. He never took it lightly, or looked down on it in the first place. As soon as the words touched his ear, he hunted the Potters down. Steps by steps, he cornered them, slaughtered them. And then, just a second before his victory... He failed. While some of part of that incident might possess logic that could be referred to mere coincidences, the whole thing overall was too ridiculous to be true. The Potters were not the first family he tried to massacre, both directly and indirectly. Did those family's mothers love their children less than Lily Potter? Not really. The only possible explanation left was the prophecy that he didn't know much about. He did think about going to the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries to retrieve it. Then, before he could plan it out, Severus came knocking on his door, brought the prophecy's words with him.

The stained-glass window shattered thunderously. A cascade of sparkling shards exploded outward, streaming down broken fragments. The colors danced momentarily in the air, catching the light on them before plummeting to the ground with a tinkling sound. The colorful pieces on the ground illuminated under the crimson light outside the window, which gave people in the room a sense of getting trapped inside a kaleidoscope. Severus didn't look back to admire the sunset revealed behind him. He brought his hand up to touch the wound on his face. The cut was deep enough to draw blood. His expression was strangely empty compared to the anger he was facing.

"What did you just say?" Voldemort snarled.

"Forgive me, my lord." Severus bowed down, yet didn't look sorry at all.

"I asked, what did you just say?" The man repeated with his face torn by his own fury.

"I said that you could never win against the boy, my lord." Severus said. He knelt down, his crooked nose almost touched the floor. "But if you allow me, before you waste your precious magic on my lowly life, please let me explain."

Severus was not smarter than other followers of darkness. He was just bolder, bold enough to speak the truth, which was a bizarre thing for a coward like him but at that time Voldemort didn't think much about it. Through their exchange, the harsh situation was revealed completely. No matter what they did, their finales had been decided: an inevitable lost. Voldemort himself had experienced how much fate favored that boy. Even in his diaper, he and his mother still managed to bring the Dark Lord to his downfall. That was something that even Dumbledore couldn't do. Divination was not just the art to foresee future, but also the declaration of god. Once the outcome has been sealed, all of his effort would only slow down the process. Squirm all he wanted, because they're all meaningless struggling. Sooner or later, he would succumb to his demise. To twist such a despicable fate, he needed to do something unthinkable.

"Severus, have you always been this audacious?" The lord asked curiously after the long discussion.

"My apology, my lord." He replied shortly, his eyes spoke the void that noone could see through.

What Severus suggested was the interference of someone who matched the description of the prophecy. Someone who was on their side. They would not find it, they would have to create it. The boy of darkness, who shalt twist the fate and make way for the dark lord to once again descend on the throne.

"And that's why you were born, Harry."

Harry looked up from his book and saw Peter smiling with his yellow, chipped teeth bare. The man was kneeling beside the window sill where Harry was sitting. His appearance and frankly the rat smell usually chased people away, but little Harry didn't mind it, or think ill of him. The only one shorter than Peter in this house was Harry who were like 4-5 years old at that time. Perhaps for that reason, Peter was always fond of the boy's companionship whenever he visited the mansion. A being smaller, more vulnerable than him gave him more confidence and a strange sense of superiority. Harry was a sensitive boy, so of course he could guess the motive behind this unexpected friendliness. Older Harry might find it pathetic, but then again, the young and naive Harry at that time was also as pathetic. He was lonely, so he would welcome anyone with the potential to love him or care about him into his life. Together, they had formed a rather strange but pleasing friendship, or at least Harry thought so. Peter would tell Harry many things, even some unspeakable secret, then asked Harry not to tell anyone. This time though, was about Harry's birth.

"I don't know how he created you, but he did." Peter mumbled. "I don't think there is any woman involved, because you were told to look exactly like the Potter boy. It must be the dark arts, like the basilisk, you know?"

"Why do you think there should be a woman involved?" Harry asked doubtfully. "Is that how normal children should be born?"

Peter was jolted awake. He realized he had been overtalking and had to correct himself quickly. He said with his squeaky voice sounding strangely more normal: "You don't have to know about that part, Harry."

"Is that so?" Harry chuckled. He already knew how normal children were born. He just liked how Peter dodged the question like any other parents out there.

That day, before their all eyes, Severus dropped one drop of Veritaserum into his own drink. As the colorless liquid swirled and mixed with the tea, he explained it all.

"Through dark arts, I will bring to you a boy who looks exactly the same as the boy-who-lived, and has the same amount magic inside him."

"He will have a scar on his head that represent the flaw of an artificial human."

"The boy will possess the power to affect the prophecy. He will be able to do what the dark lord can't."

"With him on our side, we will have a higher chance to triumph over what god has unfairly imposed on our lord."

"At least that's what I truly believe."

One year after the meeting, two year since Halloween 1981, Severus brought a small boy to the Malfoy mansion. The boy was the creation that he promised as an offering lamb to the lord. He was told to look like the boy-who-lived, but since they never saw the Potter boy, noone can confirm it. Yet, once Lord Voldemort could catch a glimpse of him...

"Yes, this is it... I can feel it... He can do it..." Voldemort ran his fingers through the boy's cheeks, whispering softly.

He could feel their connection, the darkness that rooted deep inside him. The boy was very young, may be around 1 or 2 years old. The naivety hadn't left his baby face yet. He looked at Voldemort with those big, watery eyes while clutching tightly to Severus's leg. He looked just like a normal boy, except that the lord could feel what hidden inside him. A pupa of evil buried under the imitated flesh of a blessed being. Their shared throbbing pain had proved it all. The boy was an unknown piece thrown in the middle of the god's chessboard. He became an undetermined factor that could twist the fate between the lord and the destined boy.

"His name is Harry." Severus introduced shortly. He pushed Harry forward for Voldemort to observe him further, ignored his shivering. "I create him based on you, my lord. So biologically speaking, he's your son."

"Very well." Voldemort said.

Harry closed his book, sighing. That explained the last name then. Father was in a good mood, so he made him his son. Harry put his hand on the book's cover, slowly ran the tips of his finger on the title as if considering something. Then, he turned to ask Peter: "Isn't Severus specialised in Potions?"

"He is." Peter replied.

Harry raised one of his eyebrows. "Then why a potion master know how to make a person?"

"Well, Snivellus is also a dark wizard, so it's not entirely impossible. We don't know how he made you. He didn't explain that part at the gathering. He just said if we knew that, his plan might fail to work. Even the lord didn't know." Peter shrugged. "From what I heard, Snivellus did have a pretty good grade in divination back in those days. He must know what he's doing."

Harry stayed silent. That explanation could only fool idiots like Peter and someone who was too desperated to win like father. On his part though, he couldn't remember much about that time due to childhood amnesia, and he shalt keep forgetting in the future. Perhaps he should try to reunite with Severus, to ask him some question...

Peter mistook his silence for sadness. He rubbed his raven hair, said with a smile: "He might make you from herbs and stuff. You know, boiling in a crucible."

Harry laughed. They teased each other for a moment, before Peter hugged him and said: "You're our hope, Harry."

Despite many doubts, at that moment, Harry was truly moved. For that very reason, he could endure it all. All the sadness, all the pain they inflicted on him. He could do everything just to bring the happiness to them, and eventually himself. Because he was their hope. Once he killed the boy-who-lived, everyone could be happy.

"You're our hope, Harry."

A curse in the shape of a miracle, born to destroy a miracle.

Or at least people around him said so, all the time. At some point in his life he had truly believed that, until he had the chance to meet his creator.

"How arrogant." The man said darkly.

Harry was shocked, too shocked to even think about moving away. An imaginary noise appeared in his ears, warning him about something that could destroy him.

"You're just a tool, crafted for the dark lord to use."

"Once he's done, he will throw you away like a piece of trash."

The ringing in Harry's ears suddenly became very loud, but the man's words were still more deafening.

"Know your place."

No matter how much he hated it, the man's words made perfect sense.

No matter how much he tried to forget it, that day was forever carved on his heart.

Like a wound that never stopped bleeding.

___

"Harry, wake up." A big hand gently shook his shoulders, roused Harry from sleep. "We have arrived."

Harry almost groaned, struggled to open his eyes. The glasses was on, yet his vision was still blurry. He could vaguely figure out that he's now in a carriage. The oversized coat on his body slowly drifted down and dropped on the floor. Harry yawned, crouched down to pick it up then mindlessly proceed to fold it neatly. It was a nice leather coat, certainly not his though. It belongs to the man sitting on the opposite.

"Are you awake?" Barty asked.

"Not yet. Talk to me a little, Barty. I will gradually come around." Harry mumbled while rubbing his eyes. He never thought that overusing magic could make him this tired. He had to be more careful from now on.

Barty chuckled. "You're really a handful, aren't ya? Sorry, Harry. We don't have time. Wake up, buddy!" He picked Harry up and circled around.

Harry screamed: "Alright, alright, I'm awake! Put me down!"

Barty laughed. He placed him back on the ground. "There you are. Now gather your stuff."

There were a lot of things that a new student needed to bring on their first day. Barty helped Harry carrying the luggages down the carriage, while Harry hugged his owl's cage. Barty couldn't risk getting his face exposed, so they had to part ways here. He pointed at the guard inside the mist and said: "Go to the man over there, tell him that you missed the train, and your parents brought you here." He stopped to look at Harry who was looking back at him with those big puppy eyes. He put his hand on the boy's head, fixing his hair: "Hide your face a little bit. Smooth your hair down like... this. There. Now go." He pushed Harry's back.

Harry stumbled through inertia. He reached up to touch a strand of hair that dangling on his eyes then asked: "Why? I will study here. It's a matter of time before they realize. There's no point in hiding it."

"For dramatic effect, of course." Barty gave him a thumb-up.

"... Right." Harry sighed.

Harry waved his hands towards the carriage that slowly going far away. Once it was not in sight, he stopped, his smile nowhere to be seen. His face appeared solemnly with no expression like a statue. He turned around and walked to the gate.

Relationships were weird and tiresome. It drained his mind more than any sick games that he used to play. The delusion was irresistibly dangerous, so much that you could die right at the moment you let your guard down and be tempted. Harry learned it in a very hard, painful way that he could never trust anyone around him. But he couldn't do anything against them either. Together, they still had a play to finish, like a happy family drama. He smiled for father, sang praises for him. Father treated him much more gently than others. He laughed with Barty, trusted him with his life. Barty protected him, cared about him.

But then, underneath the iceberg, what would we have? After every lies and deceits, had we ever had anything sincere for each other?

Barty sat back on the carriage, sighed heavily. He looked at the neatly folded coat and a small stain of blood on backrest cushion at the opposite. He didn't even need to open the coat to see that it was also stained as well. This was not really troublesome, because the boy's uniform was black, and he reeked of potions. Judging by the heartwarming level of fuck Hogwarts usually gave their student, they won't notice as long as Harry didn't collapse. Barty reached out to grab the coat and throw it out of the window. The coat landed perfectly on the bin at the sidewalk. He took his wand out and clean the carriage, as if the one who used to sit there was something dirty.

The thing was, Barty didn't care about anyone but father. The lord was his king who, in his mind, should be ruling the world, and also the savior who saved him from his family. He was father's most faithful follower, hands down. So whatever his lord despised, he himself would also loathe it. There was no way Barty could care about Harry like he appeared. He just liked some practice, to play as someone that was not him, till someday he might infiltrated the enemies' base smoothly. On the other hand, as much as he hated Harry, Barty also wanted to see his desperation when he realized his "older brother" never cared about him at all.

You were very kind to me, but you wanted me dead. Could I call it betrayal, if it were just my delusion of love from the start?

Perhaps, it would be better if they could go for each other's throats openly. These sickeningly sweet mindgames and their tormenting aftertaste were getting on his nerves.

Harry handed his letter to the guard and explained his situation. The guard nodded and led him inside the school. The walk was not very long, as soon enough, he had set his foot inside the prestigious school of magic, the one that he had waited his entire life up until now to enter as a student.

The Great Hall lived up to its reputation. Up above was the enchanted ceilings that replicated the sky outside, completed with floating candles and stars. The room was adorned with long wooden tables and benches, each assigned to one of the four houses. At the front of the hall was the staff table and a dais, where the teachers sit. At the end, there were many enormous doors leading into the entrance hall. It was truly an extravagant space for gatherings and ceremonies. He could see how lavish the feast was just by looking at the amount of food on the tables.

The food though, on the other hand, made him want to puke. Harry had eating disorder, meaning he hardly ate anything but nutritional potions on a daily basis. The feast filled with sweets, baked potatoes and grilled sausages didn't look appealing to him at all. He supposed if he consumed any of them, he might vomit greasy rainbows and die. The smell made his stomach cramped, so he walked faster as if running from it.

Harry stopped at the end of the students line, waiting for his sorting. He could hear vaguely that Henry Potter was sorted into Gryffindor. It must be fate then, to be sorted into the house that opposed father's Slytherin. The guard that brought him in went to the woman who was currently holding the list of names. He explained to her quietly about the boy. She nodded and let him go. Things were going smoothly, that said, until she looked at the name on the letter, then her expression changed.

"Harry Riddle!" She called his name immediately, skipping the names before him inside the list.

The students didn't react much at first, since the main dish had already left. The teachers though, they turned abruptly to him. When he finally elevated the chair on top, his face, despite the hair, was on full display. Someone gasped, which alerted others to look also. Soon, like dominos, they were all looking at him, flabbergasted.

"Look at his face! Is that..."

"No way!"

"There are two of them!"

So this was what it like to have everyone looking at you. Before his face automatically changed into a smile under the pressure of attentions, he closed his eyes tightly. The next time he opened them up, he turned a blind eye to everything. His gaze pierced to the Gryffindor's table, to the boy whom he shared his face with.

And then their eyes met.

As he thought, he looked just like him. It felt like staring at a mirror, except you knew full well that there was no reflection. You was a replica, derived from the miracle. The noticeable difference between them, or flaw on his side, tingled softly. The scar told him the existence of someone else in this hall, all ends of the prophecy had gathered in this place.

Harry couldn't help but smirking. Father was no fun. He never expected anything from Harry from the start. He only aimed at the chaos this face could bring. How thoughtful. "Find me the philosopher's stone", huh? Bullshit. His scar already told him that father's here, to take matters into his own hands.

The hat soon was placed on his head. Several seconds had passed, and just when he wondered if they had put an actual hat on him, it spoke:

"Difficult... Very difficult.."

"Poor little child, lost in his own sea of insanity. Talented, like a blade that has been sharpened for a long time. Capable of doing the greatest things, yet lack the heart to do so."

"Difficult... Really difficult... The darkest heart I have ever seen for hundreds of years. One of the best minds on this day. Courageous... No, fearless... A young spider... Now... Where should I put you..." It grumbled, as if irritated by its own thoughts.

Harry couldn't say he was expecting anything from a hat that older than a redwood tree. Human moved forward, yet they still relied on a wrinkled hat that stuck in the past to decide their earliest steps of life. This was a waste of time. He's a Death Eater, he used poisons on people, he's the only son of the Dark Lord going on an undercover mission to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone and to build a network that someday would shake this castle to its foundation. What house else did he have to be in? Gryffindor? That thought did humor him a little. He felt the pain on his bones eased significantly.

"Perhaps the best thing for you is the gather of lions..."

"Fuck no." Harry was so in disbelief that he blurted out subconsciously. His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach, and the aching bones inside him almost exploded.

"Language, mister Riddle." McGonagall scolded.

"I'm sorry, professor." Harry said. He had no doubts on his mind that he would be in Slytherin. Like Barty said, the only thing he should worry about was the hat shouting "Azkaban!". Yet, here was he, arguing for his own future about obvious things.

Thinking logically from this school's point of view, yes, he should be in Gryffindor, as it would prevent him from building his social circle with his... kind of people. Also, a shady brat like him would stand out so much in the brave, glorious Gryffindor, which made it easier for them to spot him being suspicious. Yet, why all of sudden? This piece of cloth had a long history of stuffing future criminals and anti-muggles into Slytherin. It never even considered that placing them in different houses might help anti-muggles be less... anti-muggle. In fact, even if it didn't work, as the parental education had rooted too deep, spreading them out would decrease the connections between possible future criminals, which in return lessened the damage they may cause. But no, the hat had let the dangerous kids apes together strong in one place since the beginning day of Hogwarts. Salazar Slytherin bit the dirt long ago yet they still preserved his ideologies by not dividing his house to shreds. Why now, that it suddenly considered Harry, a fucking Death Eater, should be in Gryffindor because this would help him... in something that Harry couldn't care less about?

"You may not be the greatest Gryffindor, yes. But there is a hole in your heart. The best thing to fill it would be the burning fire of the lions' mane. Not the chilling venom on the serpent's fangs." The hat explained patiently.

There was also a hole in his butt, so Harry had no fuck to give to those crappy metaphors. Yet he had to remain a good boy, because one wrong step then this rag would ruin everything by putting him in a red circus.

"Calm down." He thought to himself. "There is no need to lose your temper. It didn't scream out the house yet, so you can still talk this out. Just... calm down..."

"My... Quite skillful at handling emotions, at that age? You impressed me."

Harry ignored it. He kept talking: "Sir... hat, thank you for your concern in regards to my future. Unfortunately, I beg to differ."

"Go on." The hat said sweetly, as if it could see through Harry's deceitful politeness.

"I have nothing against the Gryffindor, they're fine in their own ways." Harry talked slowly and wholeheartedly, as if he was not the one who just called them 'a red circus' in his mind. "But I knew I belongs to Slytherin, and I want to be there. Sure they may not be completely suitable for me, but I could not picture me being anywhere other than my favourite house."

"No, I stand by my point."

"No, please!" Harry almost stood up. He forced himself to sit back and talk in a smaller voice, because the whole school were looking at him. He hated it when he exposed any weakness. He begged: "Please. Not Gryffindor, nor Ravenclaw, nor Hufflepuff. I only wanted to be in Slytherin." Despite his plea, he had already given up and tried to come up with other plans to adapt to this sudden unfortunate. To be honest, things never went well for him, especially in crucial situation. He swore in his mind that one day he would burn this rag and flush its ash down the toilet.

A moment of silence passed, then the hat sighed: "Mister Riddle, despite your sharpness and intellect, you're being so slow to catch up with situation. I'm on your head. What I know, only I know. If you want to convince me, why don't you be more sincere?"

Harry swallowed back all of insults and sarcasm he had. Sincerity was fine, he could do it. "I didn't lie when I said I wanted to be in Slytherin. I may have different opinions in regard to houses, but that doesn't matter now, does it?"

The hat didn't answer. It asked another question instead: "What if I say, you will have what you need the most in Gryffindor?"

Harry questioned: "Do I want it then?"

"Want and need are two different things. You may or may not want it, but you definitely need it."

Harry closed his eyes, sighing: "I'm sorry but, I have already given up on many things that I both need and long for. I don't think I will bother with what only satisfy one of the two conditions."

Harry was to tired to argue further. He said eventually: "For now, I only want to be in Slytherin. So sir, please put me in there. We have taken quite some time, and there are others students that need sorting after me as well."

"A pity... SLYTHERIN!"

Harry let out a sigh of relief. Thankfully he could come back to his original plan now. He then jumped out of the seat, but it seemed like he had slipped, because the next moment the floor suddenly looked every close. Fortunately, professor McGonagall was standing nearby and caught him in time.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you, professor. I'm just a little dizzy." Harry replied. To be fair he has already drunk Albalium, the pain relief potion, so he couldn't tell if he was just dizzy, or he had broken his ankle. Not that it mattered. "I must have sit for too long."

Professor McGonagall didn't reply immediately, nor let him go. She observed him a little, then she picked him up and placed him back in the chair.

Harry: "..." It took him some moment to realize that he was back in the sorting seat. His brain had been so dysfunctional lately. Just when he was about to say something, to explain or to stop her, she had already took off one of his shoes, revealed the huge swelling underneath the sock.

He didn't know what gave him away. Was it because she could feel how skinny he was by being able to touch his ribs despite the layers of clothes, skin and meat? Was it because of how light he was when she picked him up? Or because she noticed how he slipped was like his leg gave up on him then? May be all of them, he couldn't tell. But what came after this were more important. How could he talk himself out of this situation? He fell down the stair somewhere, perhaps? The least thing he needed right now was them trying to "protect" him from whatever they thought that harming him. Fun fact, they couldn't.

"Did you not feel anything?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Now that you mention it, I did feel a little uncomfortable after walking barefoot through my family's garden. I must be allergic to something there." Harry lied blatantly. "I have my meds in my suitcase, so I'm gonna be alright. Thank you, professor."

She looked both relieved and confused for one second, then she said: "Just to be sure, we will bring you to the hospital's wing. Can you stand?"

"I'm fine, no need to make a big deal out of it. I have already taken enough time with my sorting." He shook his head while holding both of his hand up in a surrendering pose. "It's not a big deal."

"Sorting... is important." She interrupted him. "But your well-being is even more important. Not just you, but each and everyone here. As you're now an official Hogwarts student, we teachers have responsibilities to help and guide you. You are not a burden to us, and there's no shame in this."

Touching speech indeed, but Harry didn't want her help at all. Not just her, but anyone here. "Thank you, but I'm really fine."

"No 'but'." She stood up and jokingly said. "Do you like piggyback or princess carry?"

"I'm fine!" Harry tried to protest. All of this interactions had made him dizzy. His throbbing head found humor in this for some reason. In the morning, he had a meeting with father and broke some of his fingers. In the afternoon, he stole an owl, attacked the school train, then fought with aurors. In the evening, he begged a hat to follow its tradition and begged a severe savior complex woman to leave him alone. He really needed a rest right now. But he couldn't let her carry him to the hospital's wing. What would they say?

'Oh my god, you're abused at a very young age! You have severe malnutrition and several critical injuries! Let's get you help and push those scums to hell!' then came his reply: 'sorry but I honestly don't care and you freaking out only makes those scums kill me sooner so could please you pretend you didn't see anything?'

Haha.

Luckily, someone came to his rescue.

"This sorting ceremony had been prolonged enough, professor McGonagall." The man emerged out of nowhere, like a ghost that popped up only to scare them. Neither McGonagall nor Harry saw him approaching. It had been a long time since the last time the boy saw him, but he remained the same as how Harry remembered. A gloomy, sallow face with a hooked nose, dressed in a flowing black robes. His gaze pointed sharply to Harry, then he spoke to his coworker. "There are also some names after mister Riddle, so why don't you wrap it up quickly? The children are tired as well."

McGonagall nodded: "Yes, I apologize. I'll make it quick."

"I didn't mean to criticise you, professor McGonagall, it's just a reminder." Severus explained, then turned to Harry. "Now, as this boy was sorted into Slytherin, I believe this is my responsibility."

"Of course, thank you, professor Snape." McGonagall said. She stepped back to make way for both of them to move. Severus looked like he wanted to drag Harry by the collar, but he resisted that urge successfully. Harry left the chair and followed him out of the hall, out of people's eyes. He didn't forget to thank McGonagall though. As they stepped inside the dungeon, Severus shove him to the wall.

"What was you thinking?" He snarled.

"Easy now, Severus." Harry panted with a laugh. "I'm in my rebellious phase. I'm bound to become unpredictable, even to myself."

Severus's anger was reasonable though. Harry could avoid all of troubles by following what normal people do: heal himself nicely, buy his stuff, then go inside the train to Hogwarts. But he refused to do any of that. He let himself bleeding in and out. He stole an owl by wasting a valuable potion. He attacked the school train, adding more wounds to his already battered body. And to put a cherry on top of this chaos, he almost exposed himself to McGonagall. Had Severus not come to help him, he would have had a very interesting time explaining everything to the school.

"I don't care." Severus pulled his hair abruptly, forced him to look at him in the eyes. "Now that you're in my house, you will go by my rules. A single time of disobedience then you will wish that you never lived. Am I understood?"

Harry didn't reply immediately. He waited until the pull on his hair became painful that he opened his mouth: "Yes sir."

"Get out of my sight." Severus threw him on the ground then turned away, leaving behind a warning. "Tomorrow morning, if you don't heal that ragged body of your, I will do that for you by cutting your limbs off and grow you a new pairs."

"Yes sir." Harry said while lying on the floor, his breath unsteady and eyes dilated. But the smile never left, like a sort of rebellion.

Severus came back to the hall while Harry was left alone in the darkness. He turned his head to look at the feast through the gap of the door, once again understood about his difference. So this was the world out there, outside the mansion. It was noisy and unbearable. He stood up, turned his shoes to walk to another direction, leaving the banquet of light behind him.

That night, Harry skipped the welcome dinner. He dragged himself to Owlery to meet his familiar whom he had missed so much despite just parting this afternoon. With Hedwig by his side, he slowly drank and pour healing potion on his wounds. For the bones, he had to use his dagger to open his flesh up, then pour the liquid directly into the cracks. It took him around an hour to fully heal them. Now that he's done with himself, he looked at the sky outside the window where the moon was up so high above. He could hear the vague sound of cheering in the hall down there every time he closed his eyes. Things all went well as planned, but he still felt strangely empty... Perhaps it was because he had no wound on his skin then? Pain was nasty, he hated it, but under Albalium it became a tingling on the skin. That sensation somehow made him feel more alive. As if he was an actual human, not just someone's creation, or anyone's stepping stone.

The truth was, the hat indulged every child's wishes. It could have its own evaluations, advices even, but at the end of the day, every students would be in the house that they wanted. And if their heart hadn't made a decision, then the hat would put them in the house that was the best for them.

Like Hermione, the girl with a good mind, yet self-deprecated. Because no matter how much she learnt, she was always a muggleborn, treated like an outsider of this world. So she wished for a place where people could acknowledge her for what she was.

Like Neville, the timid boy with a shaking heart. He was courageous enough to argue stammeringly with a hat, and he asked to be in Hufflepuff. There was a contradiction. Again, he was sorted into Gryffindor, not because of what he asked for, but because of what he truly wished for that he couldn't bring himself to say it. Deep down, he wanted to be in his parents' house. He wanted to change, to be courageous.

And there was Harry. The boy with no trait of Gryffindor, and had no wish to be in Gryffindor. Then why did the hat not put him where he wanted to join in the first place?

No particular reason.

It just that the hat had taken some pity on the boy. Because his future would have been less miserable, if he had chosen to wear red and yellow.