Chapter One of 'For the Game'
Aug. 3rd, 2024 03:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lomonaaerenTitle: For the Game
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Blaise/Theo
Content Notes: AU, Slytherin Harry, angst, bullying, canon-typical violence and torture, canonical character deaths
Rating: R
Summary: Harry pleads with the Sorting Hat not to be put in Slytherin, but it doesn’t listen to him. With his friends in other Houses, and himself the target of bullying from other Slytherins, Harry sets out to learn how to play the game without losing his soul in the process.
Author’s Notes: I don’t expect this story to have a much higher violence metric than canon, but the bullying in the first few chapters will be fairly severe. Keep that in mind as you read. It will update every six or seven days.
For the Game
Harry blinked a little as he stared down at his wrecked trunk. It looked as though someone heavy had kicked in the sides, the way Dudley might have if he could have got to it, and his books were ripped and his robes torn and scattered all over the floor.
In Slytherin you’ll make your real friends…
Yeah, right, Harry thought, and rolled his eyes as he stood up.
“Wow, looks like you’re the careless one, Potter!”
Harry turned to face Malfoy. And yeah, he was more like Dudley than ever, down to the eager look on his face that said he was waiting for Harry to burst into tears and wail about how unfair it was.
“No, you know perfectly well that someone broke into my trunk and did this,” Harry said. “Probably you had Crabbe or Goyle do it. I assume that you’d think you were too highly-bred to do it yourself.”
Everyone stared at him.
“I’m not going to lie or pretend that I don’t know facts because it would be more comfortable for you,” Harry snapped, and bent down to pick up the clothes and books. He studied the books and decided they weren’t as bad as he’d thought. The rips were pretty clean, and he thought he had read something about the Reparo Charm before he got to Hogwarts. He could probably find an older student to do it for him.
Or just do it himself.
“You’re probably going to go and run to Professor Snape,” Malfoy said, although he sounded a little uncertain. “Whinge to him about how people are so mean, right?”
“No,” Harry said slowly. Were they just working off a stereotype of people who got bullied or something? Even Dudley had never been that dumb. He whinged to the teachers to get Harry in trouble because he thought it was fun. He knew Harry never went to them. “I think he has more important things to be bothered with than this.”
Malfoy glared at him, arms crossed.
Harry rolled his eyes at him again and dropped most of his robes in the big basket he’d seen the other boys use for dirty laundry the day before. Apparently the lid sealed shut and didn’t let anyone remove something other people had put inside, only opening so people could add their own things. Harry had thought it was just paranoia last night, but now he was grateful.
There was one robe that was less torn than the others. Harry picked it up and looked at it. Yeah, he could fold the sleeves so the rips didn’t show.
“Why aren’t you doing something?”
“I don’t know the Repairing Charm yet,” Harry said absently. He picked up the books and studied them again, then tucked the ripped corners into the books they came from and stuck them in his bag.
“No! Yelling at us!”
Harry glanced up. Malfoy was leaning a little forwards, as if he was about to punch Harry. Although here it would probably mean drawing his wand and hexing Harry instead. Behind him, everyone else was interested—well, Goyle seemed more focused on searching for a sock, but everyone else was looking at him.
“You’d just make fun of me if I did,” Harry said, and then folded his sleeves and slipped his robe on.
“Your things are torn!”
“Well, yes.”
“A stupid Mudblood like you probably likes living in filth,” Malfoy said, and his nose went up. “You have no idea how bad you look.”
Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to ignore the word, which he didn’t know anyway. It was probably bad, but, well, so were some of the things that the kids at primary school had yelled at Harry, and it had never worked when he tried to tell the teachers about them.
And from the way Professor Snape had glared at Harry last night, going to their Head of House wouldn’t do him any good here, either.
He made sure that all of his books were in his bag one more time, and then left the room without a glance back. He would just have to look up the Repairing Charm and some locking charms for his trunk.
It wasn’t great, this new world. And from the way that Ron had gone deadly white yesterday when Harry had been Sorted into Slytherin, it was probably going to get worse.
But, well, Harry had dealt with worse. Malfoy was bad, and some of the things they did to him would probably be worse, but at least they weren’t relatives who were supposed to love and take care of Harry. He had hoped Hogwarts would be an escape from the Dursleys. It seemed it wouldn’t.
He would survive, though. He always did.
*
“Why are your robes ripped, Mr. Potter?”
Harry smiled a little at Professor McGonagall, who had paused beside his desk and was staring down with a pinched expression. He supposed it was because of the ripped robes. Or because she thought that he wasn’t supposed to be in Slytherin.
Harry agreed with her, honestly. He just hadn’t paid enough attention when the Hat had said something about real friends, and he had hesitated too long.
“Carelessness, Professor. Sorry. I’ll make sure that I learn the Repairing Charm.”
Professor McGonagall blinked, and her eyebrows rose up her face. Then she said, “The house-elves will repair them, Mr. Potter.”
House-elves? But Harry didn’t want to look stupid in front of her or his classmates. There were enough people staring at him already. So he nodded. “Thank you, professor.” Maybe the house-elves were the ones who took care of the clothes people dropped in the basket.
Professor McGonagall gave him a thoughtful look and walked away, and Harry went back to trying to Transfigure his matchstick into a needle. He thought the end closer to him was a little pointier than usual.
“Why didn’t you tell her the truth, Potty?” Malfoy asked from behind him. “Too scared?”
“You’re probably the one who should have been Sorted into Gryffindor, Malfoy, not me.”
Malfoy went off into a little rant that made Professor McGonagall come over and take points from Slytherin. Harry smiled down at his needle—well, it would be a needle with a few more tries, he was sure.
Slytherin didn’t like him, didn’t want him. But Harry had more power to hurt them than he ever had to hurt the Dursleys.
*
“Why did you go to Slytherin, mate? That’s weird.”
Harry had been afraid that was how Ron would react. He sighed and leaned back in his chair in the library. “The Hat told me I would make friends there. It was lying, but I believed it just a moment too long.”
“You don’t have friends there?”
“Are you kidding? Malfoy’s there, and he’s a huge git. Crabbe and Goyle just follow him around and do whatever he tells them. Zabini and Nott aren’t much better, just silent and sneering all the time. And the other Slytherins hate me because Malfoy hates me or for being a half-blood or for being the Boy-Who-Lived.”
Ron leaned back in his chair, his lips pursing around a silent whistle. “Sorry, Harry. That’s awful.”
“Yeah.” Harry straightened his shoulders. The Hat had lied to him, but he thought it was best to ask his own questions now, and figure out whether or not he would be able to have friends outside Slytherin. “Are you going to turn away?”
Ron stared at him and then shook his head. “You were nice on the train,” he said, almost mumbling. “And I never thought I would be friends with a Slytherin, but—you’re sort of a fake Slytherin, aren’t you? You didn’t want to be there. And you’re not a prejudiced git like the lot of them.”
Harry smiled as cool relief washed over him like water. He’d hoped that Ron would still want to be his friend.
But now it was real. Now, as he shook Ron’s hand solemnly the way they hadn’t done on the train, he thought Hogwarts was better than the Dursleys’ for more reasons than just because he got a bed and regular meals.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Blaise/Theo
Content Notes: AU, Slytherin Harry, angst, bullying, canon-typical violence and torture, canonical character deaths
Rating: R
Summary: Harry pleads with the Sorting Hat not to be put in Slytherin, but it doesn’t listen to him. With his friends in other Houses, and himself the target of bullying from other Slytherins, Harry sets out to learn how to play the game without losing his soul in the process.
Author’s Notes: I don’t expect this story to have a much higher violence metric than canon, but the bullying in the first few chapters will be fairly severe. Keep that in mind as you read. It will update every six or seven days.
For the Game
Harry blinked a little as he stared down at his wrecked trunk. It looked as though someone heavy had kicked in the sides, the way Dudley might have if he could have got to it, and his books were ripped and his robes torn and scattered all over the floor.
In Slytherin you’ll make your real friends…
Yeah, right, Harry thought, and rolled his eyes as he stood up.
“Wow, looks like you’re the careless one, Potter!”
Harry turned to face Malfoy. And yeah, he was more like Dudley than ever, down to the eager look on his face that said he was waiting for Harry to burst into tears and wail about how unfair it was.
“No, you know perfectly well that someone broke into my trunk and did this,” Harry said. “Probably you had Crabbe or Goyle do it. I assume that you’d think you were too highly-bred to do it yourself.”
Everyone stared at him.
“I’m not going to lie or pretend that I don’t know facts because it would be more comfortable for you,” Harry snapped, and bent down to pick up the clothes and books. He studied the books and decided they weren’t as bad as he’d thought. The rips were pretty clean, and he thought he had read something about the Reparo Charm before he got to Hogwarts. He could probably find an older student to do it for him.
Or just do it himself.
“You’re probably going to go and run to Professor Snape,” Malfoy said, although he sounded a little uncertain. “Whinge to him about how people are so mean, right?”
“No,” Harry said slowly. Were they just working off a stereotype of people who got bullied or something? Even Dudley had never been that dumb. He whinged to the teachers to get Harry in trouble because he thought it was fun. He knew Harry never went to them. “I think he has more important things to be bothered with than this.”
Malfoy glared at him, arms crossed.
Harry rolled his eyes at him again and dropped most of his robes in the big basket he’d seen the other boys use for dirty laundry the day before. Apparently the lid sealed shut and didn’t let anyone remove something other people had put inside, only opening so people could add their own things. Harry had thought it was just paranoia last night, but now he was grateful.
There was one robe that was less torn than the others. Harry picked it up and looked at it. Yeah, he could fold the sleeves so the rips didn’t show.
“Why aren’t you doing something?”
“I don’t know the Repairing Charm yet,” Harry said absently. He picked up the books and studied them again, then tucked the ripped corners into the books they came from and stuck them in his bag.
“No! Yelling at us!”
Harry glanced up. Malfoy was leaning a little forwards, as if he was about to punch Harry. Although here it would probably mean drawing his wand and hexing Harry instead. Behind him, everyone else was interested—well, Goyle seemed more focused on searching for a sock, but everyone else was looking at him.
“You’d just make fun of me if I did,” Harry said, and then folded his sleeves and slipped his robe on.
“Your things are torn!”
“Well, yes.”
“A stupid Mudblood like you probably likes living in filth,” Malfoy said, and his nose went up. “You have no idea how bad you look.”
Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to ignore the word, which he didn’t know anyway. It was probably bad, but, well, so were some of the things that the kids at primary school had yelled at Harry, and it had never worked when he tried to tell the teachers about them.
And from the way Professor Snape had glared at Harry last night, going to their Head of House wouldn’t do him any good here, either.
He made sure that all of his books were in his bag one more time, and then left the room without a glance back. He would just have to look up the Repairing Charm and some locking charms for his trunk.
It wasn’t great, this new world. And from the way that Ron had gone deadly white yesterday when Harry had been Sorted into Slytherin, it was probably going to get worse.
But, well, Harry had dealt with worse. Malfoy was bad, and some of the things they did to him would probably be worse, but at least they weren’t relatives who were supposed to love and take care of Harry. He had hoped Hogwarts would be an escape from the Dursleys. It seemed it wouldn’t.
He would survive, though. He always did.
*
“Why are your robes ripped, Mr. Potter?”
Harry smiled a little at Professor McGonagall, who had paused beside his desk and was staring down with a pinched expression. He supposed it was because of the ripped robes. Or because she thought that he wasn’t supposed to be in Slytherin.
Harry agreed with her, honestly. He just hadn’t paid enough attention when the Hat had said something about real friends, and he had hesitated too long.
“Carelessness, Professor. Sorry. I’ll make sure that I learn the Repairing Charm.”
Professor McGonagall blinked, and her eyebrows rose up her face. Then she said, “The house-elves will repair them, Mr. Potter.”
House-elves? But Harry didn’t want to look stupid in front of her or his classmates. There were enough people staring at him already. So he nodded. “Thank you, professor.” Maybe the house-elves were the ones who took care of the clothes people dropped in the basket.
Professor McGonagall gave him a thoughtful look and walked away, and Harry went back to trying to Transfigure his matchstick into a needle. He thought the end closer to him was a little pointier than usual.
“Why didn’t you tell her the truth, Potty?” Malfoy asked from behind him. “Too scared?”
“You’re probably the one who should have been Sorted into Gryffindor, Malfoy, not me.”
Malfoy went off into a little rant that made Professor McGonagall come over and take points from Slytherin. Harry smiled down at his needle—well, it would be a needle with a few more tries, he was sure.
Slytherin didn’t like him, didn’t want him. But Harry had more power to hurt them than he ever had to hurt the Dursleys.
*
“Why did you go to Slytherin, mate? That’s weird.”
Harry had been afraid that was how Ron would react. He sighed and leaned back in his chair in the library. “The Hat told me I would make friends there. It was lying, but I believed it just a moment too long.”
“You don’t have friends there?”
“Are you kidding? Malfoy’s there, and he’s a huge git. Crabbe and Goyle just follow him around and do whatever he tells them. Zabini and Nott aren’t much better, just silent and sneering all the time. And the other Slytherins hate me because Malfoy hates me or for being a half-blood or for being the Boy-Who-Lived.”
Ron leaned back in his chair, his lips pursing around a silent whistle. “Sorry, Harry. That’s awful.”
“Yeah.” Harry straightened his shoulders. The Hat had lied to him, but he thought it was best to ask his own questions now, and figure out whether or not he would be able to have friends outside Slytherin. “Are you going to turn away?”
Ron stared at him and then shook his head. “You were nice on the train,” he said, almost mumbling. “And I never thought I would be friends with a Slytherin, but—you’re sort of a fake Slytherin, aren’t you? You didn’t want to be there. And you’re not a prejudiced git like the lot of them.”
Harry smiled as cool relief washed over him like water. He’d hoped that Ron would still want to be his friend.
But now it was real. Now, as he shook Ron’s hand solemnly the way they hadn’t done on the train, he thought Hogwarts was better than the Dursleys’ for more reasons than just because he got a bed and regular meals.
