The Sorting Hat cried out.
"Slytherin!"
Carina Malfoy walked to the Slytherin table with an expression that said it had never been in doubt. Her face carried the absolute certainty of someone who had never once questioned where she belonged. Harry watched, transfixed, as she strode forward and settled herself among the older students as though she owned the place.
Would Harry end up in Slytherin too? Carina Malfoy had said it was a house only for those of noble blood. But Harry didn't think of himself as particularly noble.
There was also the matter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named being a Slytherin. However separate a house was from the people it produced, Voldemort had murdered Harry's parents. Harry wanted nothing to do with him in any form.
"Potter, Harry!"
The moment Harry stepped forward, the atmosphere in the Great Hall shifted entirely. Whispers broke out across the room as though a sudden wind had swept through it.
"Did they say Potter?"
"Harry Potter?"
But Harry was too lost in his own thoughts to notice. The curious stares, the eyes darting to the scar on his forehead—none of it registered. He was still turning the question over in his mind even as the Sorting Hat dropped down over his eyes.
The black interior of the hat filled his vision completely. The hat murmured.
"Hmm. Difficult, very difficult. Tremendous courage, real talent, diligent too, and ambition... what's this? You want to impress a girl? Small, but remarkably human. Now, where shall I put you?"
Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought: it would be nice to be near Carina.
"You want Slytherin? For a girl?"
The hat whispered, low and conspiratorial.
"My young friend. A house is no small thing. It may well reshape the entire course of your life. First love has a way of fading—but which house you came from will follow you long after."
It doesn't matter. Harry whispered back, inside his own head. My future is mine to decide. I only want to be worthy of standing beside her.
"Hmm. Slytherin would certainly help you on your way to greatness. But that isn't really what you're after, is it? Very well, then—you ambitious, reckless thing. You'll want to fight for what you want— better be GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry heard the hat shout that last word aloud.
It seemed he hadn't yet earned the right to stand beside Malfoy. With a faint pang of something like regret, Harry Potter walked to the Gryffindor table.
Someone clicked their tongue, soft and sharp.
If there was one thing Harry Potter had learned in his time at Hogwarts, it was that Carina Malfoy was—to put it charitably—an exceptionally honest person.
"Idiotic Gryffindors. Always charging in first without a shred of self-awareness. Why do people insist on dressing up stupidity and recklessness as courage? All it does is get people killed. Or perhaps that's the point—clearing out the useless fools to tidy up the world?"
"Prattling Ravenclaws. All that almond-eating has apparently left your heads as hollow as almonds. Every time those eyes roll around in your skulls, I can hear the empty rattling. You pride yourselves on being clever and sharp—how unfortunate, then, that you've never once topped a single subject."
"Dull Hufflepuffs. I almost feel too sorry for you to bother. Even the Sorting Hat filed you under 'miscellaneous.' But if you could manage to remove yourselves from my line of sight before you irritate me further, I'd appreciate it. Surely even you have that much sense."
To put it less charitably: she had a dreadful personality. The cutting remarks were one thing, but the moment something displeased her, out came the wand.
Malfoy had the face of an angel and the temperament of something considerably less. She was imperious, arrogant, and utterly convinced of her own superiority.
The more troubling part was that she appeared to have grounds for it.
Malfoy and the other purebloods had been tutored by their families long before setting foot in Hogwarts. They knew far more about magic than Muggle-borns or half-bloods, and they leveraged that head start into outstanding marks.
They also knew a handful of spells no one had taught them in class—which meant that ordinary students didn't dare stand up to Malfoy and her circle.
*No. Even 'dreadful personality' is putting it nicely. She's got a pretty face and the manners of someone worse than Dudley.*
Honestly, Harry had never imagined anyone could be worse than Dudley. Let alone that the person in question would be one of the first wizards to ever say something kind to him.
"They're getting worse. Yesterday they went after Neville's toad!"
"Yeah... I saw."
There was an accusatory edge to Hermione's voice that made Harry feel as though he were the one being reprimanded. Not being able to defend someone you cared about was a particularly wretched feeling.
Had the Sorting Hat known this from the start? Was that why it had kept him out of Slytherin?
Harry's listless reply only seemed to wind Hermione up further.
"Do you know what Malfoy said when I changed Neville's toad back to its proper colour? She said there was nothing wrong with changing something she didn't like the look of! She intends to just—alter everything that doesn't suit her! How can anyone be so utterly self-centred?"
Change whatever she doesn't like.
The thought hit Harry like a cold splash of water.
Why hadn't he seen it that way before? He still liked Carina Malfoy—but lately, that feeling had been curdling into something he didn't want to name. At this rate, he might end up despising her more than he'd ever despised Dudley.
But he wasn't ready to despise her. When she was still, she looked like a porcelain doll. When she smiled, she looked like something out of a painting. To the people she chose to care for, she was generous and warm. She was the reason Harry had learned to hold his head up.
It was only when she laughed while tormenting someone that Dudley's face swam up in his mind. Even through the thickest rose-tinted glasses, that was simply wrong.
So then.
*If she doesn't like something—I'll be the one to change it.*
The Sorting Hat had told him as much. Fight for what you want. Perhaps this was exactly what it had meant.
It was Flying Lessons. Neville, wound so tight with nerves that he launched himself skyward before the instruction was given, promptly fell off his broom and broke his wrist. Madam Hooch threatened the class within an inch of their lives not to touch their brooms, then marched Neville off to the hospital wing.
Malfoy burst out laughing.
"Did you see his face? Crying because he can't even stay on a broom."
"Shut up, Malfoy."
Parvati Patil's voice was sharp. Malfoy tilted her chin upward.
"Am I wrong? Can't ride a broom, can't cast a spell, can't brew a potion. What exactly is he good for? Hufflepuff is wasted on Longbottom. I doubt even a Muggle school would take him."
Having delivered her verdict, Malfoy drifted across the lawn and crouched to pick something up.
"Longbottom's grandmother sent him this ridiculous thing. A glass ball that glows when you've forgotten something—rather useless for someone who's misplaced his entire mind, wouldn't you say?"
Carina Malfoy said it with a sneer that could have curdled milk, and a few sharp, unpleasant laughs came from the Slytherin side.
"Give that back, Malfoy. It's Neville's."
Harry said it quietly. Everyone stopped talking and looked at him. Malfoy's eyes snapped to Harry—the audacity of being interrupted—and then her expression shifted into something sly and mean.
"Fine. In my great generosity, I'll leave it somewhere Longbottom can easily find it. Somewhere like—the top of that tree?"
"Stop being stupid. You're going to steal someone else's property and hide it up a tree? Is that what you call dignity?"
Until now, Harry Potter had been the quiet, well-behaved sort—the kind who watched Malfoy's cruelties from a distance and said nothing. The sudden outburst silenced both Gryffindors and Slytherins alike.
"Have some dignity, Carina Malfoy. Don't make me think less of you."
"And who are you to talk to me about thinking less of anyone?"
Malfoy swung herself onto her broom and rose into the air. Her claim about flying at the manor had been no exaggeration. She ascended with easy, practiced grace until she reached the top of the tree.
"Come and get it, then!"
It was a nastier trick than anything Dudley had ever pulled—and Dudley hadn't had magic to work with.
But Harry had decided not to hate Carina Malfoy. And for that to mean anything, the cruelty had to stop.
He couldn't just stand by and let her earn everyone's contempt—including his own.
The moment he made up his mind, something in him cleared. Harry Potter lifted his chin, exactly as he'd once been shown, and smiled.
"Very impressive. Just like a crow."
A few people snickered. But the laughter died the moment Harry reached for his broom.
"Don't!"
Hermione Granger's voice rang out.
"Madam Hooch said to stay put! If you go up there, we'll all get in trouble—"
"Sorry, everyone."
Harry cut her off, still smiling.
"Bear with me!"
A cheer went up behind him as Harry kicked off from the ground. His body surged upward. His hair and robes streamed in the wind, and in moments he was level with Malfoy.
No one had ever taught him to fly, yet Harry handled the broom as though it were an extension of himself. There was no fear of falling. The sun was warm. The wind was cool.
If only Malfoy would be decent about things. Harry faced her, feeling almost cheerful.
"Hand it over, Malfoy."
Malfoy looked genuinely startled by how quickly he'd closed the distance. She recovered quickly, shaking her head and fixing him with a cold, hostile stare.
"Come and take it, then."
"I'd rather not grab at you. You might fall."
Harry let go of the broom with both hands and drifted toward her.
He meant it as reassurance. What he didn't know was that riding hands-free was a feat reserved for accomplished Quidditch players.
The Gryffindors on the ground erupted. The Slytherins went wide-eyed and shot anxious looks at Malfoy.
Even Malfoy had gone quiet.
Harry pressed his case.
"Stop the mischief. There's nothing noble or dignified about any of this. Come down before you embarrass yourself further."
"Don't flatter yourself—!"
Malfoy wheeled her broom around. Harry was already there, blocking her path, still hands-free.
The sight of him moving more nimbly than she could, without so much as touching the broom, made Malfoy's temper flare white-hot. He'd grown up in a Muggle household—he'd never even touched a broom before—and he was flying better than she was?
It was intolerable.
In a fit of spite, Malfoy drew the glass ball back behind her head.
"If you're so brilliant, catch it!"
And just before she threw it—
Harry Potter was suddenly right there, his hand closing around her wrist. The shock knocked the ball loose; it tumbled free, and Harry caught it with his other hand as though he'd planned the whole thing.
"Got it."
The quiet satisfaction in his voice sent colour flooding into Malfoy's face.
A complete defeat. She wasn't as fast as Harry, she couldn't ride hands-free, and the ball she'd let slip—Harry Potter had caught it with the kind of effortless balance that made it look like a performance.
Wounded pride made her shove him away.
"How dare you put your hands on me—!"
In her fury, Malfoy forgot that she couldn't ride hands-free.
"Watch out!"
The force of shoving Harry away threw her off balance. In what felt like slow motion, her body rotated half a turn—and then she was falling, plummeting toward the ground. Raw, instinctive terror filled her eyes.
Screams rose from below. Barnette Crabbe and Gray Goyle cried out.
"Malfoy!"
Harry flung the glass ball aside and seized his broom. He drove it downward, straight toward her.
He was diving headlong at the ground, but there was no fear in Harry Potter's eyes. He had room for only one thing in his vision: Carina Malfoy. He reached out.
Even Malfoy couldn't hold herself together in the face of a fall like that. She flailed, arms and legs scrambling, and—forgetting entirely that they'd been fighting moments ago—stretched her hand toward Harry Potter.
Harry laughed before he could stop himself. However sharp her tongue, however mean her tricks—she was, in the end, just a child, the same as him. He could see it now, clearly.
Carina Malfoy had changed Harry Potter. Harry Potter could change Carina Malfoy.
"Grab on!"
Harry seized her and hauled her in, wrenching the broom upward with everything he had. He pulled out of the dive with barely a foot to spare.
But the practice broom wasn't built for two. There was a sickening crack—something giving way. Harry felt it go wrong and threw both arms around Malfoy.
A sharp, startled gasp from her. Then there was no time to feel anything at all. Harry hit the ground back-first and skidded, his robes tearing away, earth and grit raking across his spine. He clenched his jaw and waited for it to stop.
"Let—let go!"
Malfoy struggled in his arms. Safe now, apparently. Harry released her, the strength draining out of him all at once.
Malfoy scrambled upright, still shaking, and rounded on him.
"You—you! You grabbed my wrist, and then you—you dropped me? That was dangerous, you could have—"
But even Malfoy had to stop.
Harry Potter was lying on the ground, scraped and battered from head to toe, looking as though he'd gone several rounds with a troll.
The imperious manner vanished. Malfoy's face creased with something that looked very much like worry.
"Potter. Are you... are you all right?"
"Harry!"
Ron and Hermione came sprinting over. They hauled him upright; Harry let out a low, pained sound and forced himself to his feet.
"You're badly hurt! We need to get you to the hospital wing!"
"In a moment."
Harry straightened his shoulders with an effort. His back felt like it was on fire, but he swallowed the groan and walked toward Malfoy, one step at a time.
Malfoy startled, glancing left and right as though looking for an escape—then, as Harry came to a stop directly in front of her, she pressed her lips together and looked up at him.
"Don't you have something to say?"
"I—what do you mean?"
"I think there's something you ought to say right now."
The longer the shock wore off, the more Harry's body remembered what it had been through. His scraped back burned. Every bone in him ached.
But he didn't let it show. Wincing in front of her wasn't an option.
He smiled instead. His mouth twitched with the effort, but it was a smile.
Malfoy, looking slightly cornered, looked him up and down—then slowly opened her mouth.
"...Th—thank—"
"Thank?"
Harry pressed her, and Malfoy balled both hands into fists and snapped.
"Like I'd thank you?! If you hadn't stuck your nose in where it didn't belong, I never would have fallen in the first place!"
The answer was so far from anything Harry had expected that for a moment he simply stared.
The other students looked at Malfoy as though she'd grown a second head. No thanks, no apology—just blame, neatly redirected. The Gryffindors winced. Even a few Slytherins muttered that she'd gone too far.
But Harry Potter—the one it had actually happened to—burst out laughing.
"Ha—hahaha!"
She wouldn't say thank you. But Harry had heard it anyway, in everything she wasn't saying.
The way her eyes kept darting to his injuries even as she spoke. The arms folded across her chest, the fingers that wouldn't stay still. The way her lips kept parting and closing, as though words were trying to get out and being forced back. The way she flinched at the sight of the scrapes, as though they frightened her.
She hadn't even noticed that her own hair was dishevelled, her own robes rumpled. She was still staring at him, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
Harry revised everything he'd thought about her.
She wasn't too honest. She was the opposite—she couldn't be honest at all.
"What are you laughing at?!"
"I think I had you completely wrong."
Harry raised his arm. He must have hurt his side badly too—even that small movement made his face contort. Malfoy flinched in unison.
She couldn't say what she meant. But her body said everything.
Harry, fighting down laughter through the pain, pointed at a spot on the ground.
"No—you owe Neville an apology. You broke his Remembrall."
Malfoy turned to look. The glass ball Harry had thrown aside earlier lay shattered on the grass in several pieces.
Malfoy stared at it, then turned back with an expression of pure disbelief.
"That's what matters right now?!"
"If not that, then what? My injuries? Wait—are you actually worried about me?"
"Don't be absurd! I simply can't stand looking at you in that state! Go away somewhere, quickly!"
"Where should I go? Back to the dormitory, maybe."
"Are you an idiot?! You're hurt—you need the hospital wing!"
"I don't actually know where the hospital wing is."
"Unbelievable—it's in the west tower! I'll—"
Before Malfoy could stop herself and drag Harry there personally, Professor McGonagall came striding across the lawn at a clip. Malfoy pressed her lips shut and stepped back, looking rather chastened.
Professor McGonagall took Harry directly to the hospital wing.
The following morning, three Remembralls arrived at Neville's place at the table. They were considerably finer and more expensive than the one that had been broken. There was no name attached to say who had sent them, but Neville was delighted—his grandmother wouldn't have to find out.
Harry looked across at Malfoy and grinned. Malfoy turned her head sharply away.