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Author: Delylah Story: Harry Potter and the Deadly Deception Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: WIP Reviews: 4 Words: 61,877
Harry descended from the carriage first, and then turned to help down Ginny and the other two occupants, both fifth-year girls who had giggled obnoxiously during the entire ride to the castle. As the carriage rolled off, Harry realized he had failed to adhere to Professor Dumbledore's instructions: he was expected to arrive with the first years in order to participate in the Sorting Ceremony. Harry had no idea what he should do next, and began to feel very foolish for allowing the force of habit to lead him into situations he would do better to avoid. Ginny noticed his confusion. "Evan? Is something wrong?" she asked. "Erm, I'm not sure where to go next. I think, erm, maybe I should have gone with the first years?" Harry stammered. Ginny wrinkled her brow, then realized his dilemma. "Oh, the Sorting. I didn't even think about it. Come on, we'll ask someone." Ginny led him into the front entrance of the castle. Their luggage was stacked along the walls, and when she set down the cages she was carrying, she indicated that he should do the same. "See you soon, Hecuba," he whispered. The owl hooted at him as if to indicate her dislike for her new name. He fished some owl treats out of his pocket to appease his pet and knelt down to offer them to her. As he straightened, he was dismayed to hear a familiar voice. "Miss Weasley, Mr. Jameson. How good of you to join us this evening." Professor Snape nodded coolly at them both, but his voice carried disdain rather than sincerity. "Jameson, Professor McGonagall has been looking for you. You were expected to arrive with the first years." Snape was now looking down his nose at Harry in his usual manner, which was that of someone watching a bug he intended to squash at any moment. "Hello, Professor Snape. We were just about to head that way. Evan wasn't certain if..." "That will be enough, Miss Weasley," Professor Snape interrupted. "Please conduct yourself at once into the Great Hall; the Sorting Ceremony is about to begin. You do not want to be late. I will escort Mr. Jameson to his proper destination." "All right, then. See you later, Evan. Good luck with the troll!" She grinned mischievously and then turned and ran up the steps in the direction of the Great Hall. "Erm, thanks," he called after her. She waved back at him without turning around, then turned a corner and disappeared from sight. "This way," Snape commanded in a chilly voice. "And do be quick about it. You've caused enough of a delay already." Harry thought to himself that it was nice that some things never seemed to change. He could always count on Snape to make him feel lower than a worm crawling along the ground. "I'm sorry. I forgot. . . ." "I am not interested in your excuses, Jameson, only in your compliance," the professor said sharply. Harry's mouth snapped shut, and he felt his face flush in embarrassment. Snape turned on his heel and stalked off down the corridor, leaving Harry to trail along behind. After many twists and turns, they joined the group of first years, who were uncommonly quiet. Harry saw immediately that their silence was a result of Professor McGonagall's formidable presence at the top of the staircase. She was glowering at the lot of them. Harry couldn't help but smile. He remembered well how it felt to be in their shoes. Then McGonagall's eyes snapped to his face. Her exasperation was clearly evident, and Harry's good mood dwindled even further under her scrutiny. "Mr. Jameson, thank you for gracing us with your presence. Were you lost, or merely sight-seeing?" Professor McGonagall's tone was frosty. Harry sighed inwardly; he wasn't getting off to a very good start this evening. "Neither. I apologize, Professor. I was..." "Never mind," she interrupted. "Fall in line behind Mr. Yarbrough. They are waiting on us in the Great Hall." Harry swallowed nervously. He hadn't imagined that the Sorting Ceremony would be any more nerve-wracking than it had been his first year, but suddenly, it was doubly so. At least the first years were all in the same boat. He, on the other hand, stood head and shoulders over the rest of the new students and felt he could not possibly be more conspicuous. He feared that everyone in the Great Hall would see through this sham immediately, and he had no doubt that Malfoy would take great delight in exposing him, therefore making him vulnerable to Voldemort once more. Lost in his thoughts, Harry received an unpleasant jolt of surprise when they arrived at the Great Hall. Cho Chang and Eddie Carmichael stood on either side of the massive double doors and, as the group of new students approached, ceremoniously flung the doors wide open. Harry was relieved that Cho did not seem to recognize him in the least, which went a long way towards calming his racing heart, at least until he followed the first years up to the front of the Great Hall. He could hear a low whisper begin in the back of the Hall and make its way towards the front as they passed the rest of the students. He caught snippets of conversations here and there as he walked. "Who is that? . . . he's too old . . . think he's a Mudblood? . . . must've lowered their standards . . . he's really cute!" Harry struggled to ignore the whispers, but by the time he and the first years had reached the front of the Hall, his ears were burning. Professor McGonagall turned to face the student body, and with a sharp "Ahem!" commanded immediate silence. Students who had turned to murmur to one another straightened up and faced the front again. Their curiosity was almost tangible to Harry, and he prayed once more to make it through the evening alive and without giving away his true identity. His eyes scanned the Hall and then backtracked to the one familiar face that stood out because she was looking directly at him. Ginny winked at him in apparent amusement before she turned to face the front with the others. Professor McGonagall went through the familiar ritual of placing the wooden stool in front of the High Table and depositing the Sorting Hat upon the stool. There was complete silence in the Great Hall for a long moment, and then the hat began to sing. "Another year begins again, And so I sing my song, For once again it falls to me To place you where you belong. Fear not, young Hogwarts students, For the procedure pains you not. Simply slip me on your head, And I'll tell you on the spot, If Slytherin will be your new home, Or Hufflepuff so true, If Gryffindor calls you their own, Or if Ravenclaw seeks you." Harry only half-listened to the rest of the song; he already knew the qualities that each house favored above all others. He had begun to think back to his first Sorting and wondered if this one would be different. Would the Sorting Hat accept him as Evan Jameson or recognize him as an impostor and shout his true name for everyone to hear? Would it Sort him a second time, and if it did, would it offer him the same choice it had when he was a first year? Deep down, Harry knew he belonged in Gryffindor, yet over the years he had occasionally wondered how his life would have been different if the hat had sorted him into Slytherin. The hat had mentioned during his first Sorting and then again in Harry's second year that he would do well in Slytherin. Harry now began to look to the year ahead of him and, for the first time, realized that returning to Gryffindor as a stranger with secrets to hide might bring more heartache for him than happiness. The Hall around him burst into applause, and Harry realized abruptly that the hat had finished singing and the Sorting had commenced. First Appleby, Karen went to Ravenclaw. Barnfeather, Malcolm was Sorted into Hufflepuff. After Burns, Maryanne was Sorted into Gryffindor, Harry's attention again drifted from his current surroundings until Yarbrough, Cameron became the final new member of Hufflepuff, and Harry realized that his name hadn't been called. His face flushed a dull red as he wondered if Professor McGonagall had called the name Evan Jameson and he had failed to respond. He cast a furtive glance around the Hall to see if anyone was staring at him. They were, but not for the reason he thought. Professor Dumbledore stood at the center of the High Table and began speaking. "I'm certain everyone has noticed that one student remains to be Sorted. I am pleased to announce that we are fortunate to have a transfer student from Durmstrang with us this year. Mr. Evan Jameson will complete his sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts. I hope you will all do your best to make him feel welcome and to help him acclimate himself to Hogwarts quickly. Mr. Jameson, if you would be so kind?" Dumbledore motioned him to come forward. Harry's heart was thudding painfully in his chest. Dumbledore had offered him the chance to be Sorted in private, but they had both agreed that he would be made more conspicuous by circumventing the Sorting Ceremony than by participating in it. Harry now wondered if it would have made much difference; he currently felt as if he were being scrutinized by everyone in the Hall. Nonetheless, he proceeded to the front of the Hall and took his place on the stool. Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head, and the entire student body focused their eyes upon him. A small yet familiar voice murmured in his ear. "Well, Evan Jameson. You present me with another dilemma. What shall we do with you this time?" Harry's insides grew cold, and he became terrified that the hat was about to expose him. He couldn't bring himself to answer, but the hat continued to speak. "You've proven you have courage, yes, and intelligence, too. Faced the Dark Lord five times and lived to tell the tale. Takes a stout heart and a keen mind. Your loyalty to your friends is unquestionable. And let's not forget your penchant for disregarding the rules. Yes, a dilemma, once again. Where shall we put you, Jameson? You won't have an easy time of it no matter where you go." Harry looked towards the year ahead, and thought of how hard it would be to see Ron and Hermione and Ginny every day and not reveal himself to them, either deliberately or by accident in word or deed. He thought of how hurt he would be if they refused him their friendship. He thought of how he would have to live in the same dormitory with Ron and pretend to be Evan. Then he thought of how he would never be able to be close to his friends because that would mean dropping the walls he had raised so carefully in order to maintain this deception. He thought of how much danger they would all be in . . . Ron, Hermione, Ginny . . . if he slipped, even for a moment, and he found he had known all along what his decision would be. Not Gryffindor. Not Gryffindor. Please, not Gryffindor, he thought. "Not Gryffindor, eh? Well, then, better be . . . SLYTHERIN!" The hat shouted the name of the house loud enough for the entire school to hear. There was a rousing cheer from the Slytherin table. Harry mustered a weak smile as he returned the hat to Professor McGonagall and made his way over to the Slytherin table. He sat near the front of the table with his back to the wall, giving him an unobstructed view of the entire Great Hall. Without meaning to, he sought out Ginny and discovered she was once again looking in his direction. He couldn't decipher her expression; it was somewhere between confusion and dismay. He realized sadly that she would more than likely forget about making any further overtures of friendship. That thought served to demolish whatever was left of any good feelings he'd had earlier about coming home to Hogwarts. ********** "What did I tell you, Ginny? Slytherin. He was Sorted into Slytherin. Maybe next time you'll listen to your older brother about the types of people you should be friendly with," Ron whispered to Ginny, who was seated across the table from him. "Ron, I haven't listened to you for the past fifteen years. Do you honestly think I'm going to start now?" Ginny retorted quietly. "Now shush. Professor Dumbledore is speaking." Dumbledore was tapping his glass gently with a spoon. Around the Great Hall, the students once again fell silent. "I know you are all tired and hungry, but while I have your attention, I have several announcements to make before the feast commences. First, I would like to present to you our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Please welcome Professor Kingsley Shacklebolt." Professor Dumbledore's announcement was met with a smattering of polite applause, and Kingsley stood and nodded several times at the students and the other members of the faculty. Ron, Hermione and Ginny smiled, pleased to see a familiar face at the High Table. Kingsley was an Auror and, even better, a member of the Order of the Phoenix. It would be good to have a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor they could trust, for a change. "Why didn't anyone tell us?" Ron wondered aloud. "Don't worry about it. Hush!" Hermione laid her hand across Ron's arm and squeezed as if to emphasize her words. Ron flushed slightly when she did not remove her hand immediately, but he remained silent, a faint smile on his face as he returned his attention to Professor Dumbledore. After Professor Shacklebolt had taken his seat, Professor Dumbledore continued. "I must once again remind you that the Forbidden Forest is off limits to all students unless accompanied by a member of the staff. If you value your life, please heed my warning." Dumbledore paused for a moment, as if to allow the seriousness of his words to sink in. "Students are reminded that there is to be no magic performed in the corridors between classes. Also, Mr. Filch has amended the list of items that will be considered contraband and confiscated upon sight. He has asked me to inform you that any and all products from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes are expressly forbidden. Any student found with these items in their possession will be given the foulest detention imaginable." Ron snorted. "Filch is a complete git. Fred and George couldn't have asked for better marketing than that. They won't be able to keep up with the demand." At the High Table, Dumbledore's face grew solemn. "Finally, I am deeply saddened to bring you the news that Hogwarts has lost one of our own. Most of you know that several weeks ago Harry Potter's life was taken. He is the second member of our family that Hogwarts has lost to Lord Voldemort since his reappearance over a year ago. I ask you all to stand and join me now in a moment of silence in Harry's honor." The students and professors stood as Dumbledore had requested. Then the entire Hall went completely quiet. Ron slipped one hand into Hermione's and reached his other across the table to Ginny. Many of their fellow Gryffindors glanced their way with expressions of sympathy; several of the girls had tears in their eyes. At last, Dumbledore broke the silence. "Thank you. Now, please be seated and begin your meal," the Headmaster said, and then took his seat. As the tables began to fill with the usual assortment of delectable dishes, quiet conversations began around the Hall. Ron, Hermione and Ginny overheard several whispers from their fellow students about the circumstances of Harry's death, but none of the three wished to discuss the subject with anyone. They silently filled their plates. Ron thought that he had not yet felt Harry's absence as keenly as he did now. "I thought he would say more about Harry," Hermione finally said, an expression of dismay on her face. "I thought he would say something about how much Harry had done for the school, about how many times he fought Voldemort. Something . . . more." Though Ron agreed with Hermione, he tried to make sense of Dumbledore's brief mention of Harry's death. "I'm certain he had his reasons, Hermione. Please, this day has been hard enough as it is. Let's not talk about it right now. We can ask Dumbledore about it later." Hermione nodded and turned her attention to her plate, but realized she was no longer particularly hungry. Ron had piled his own plate with his usual fare: multiple helpings of everything within reach. But when he stared down morosely at the food instead of devouring it immediately, Hermione knew that he wasn't hungry either. Ginny didn't seem to be faring any better; she picked listlessly at her mashed potatoes and ignored the roast chicken she had selected. Other Gryffindors all around them were quietly talking amongst themselves, but the three of them remained uncharacteristically silent. "Ron, have you ever known a student to transfer permanently to Hogwarts from any of the other wizarding schools?" Hermione finally ventured. "No. I would have to ask Bill or Charlie to be certain, but I don't think so. Seems like Percy may have mentioned there was an exchange student here for a term once, but not a permanent transfer." "That's what I thought. I'm certain I've never read about such a thing in Hogwarts, A History." Hermione absently took a bite of candied yams and chewed thoughtfully. Ron picked up on her train of thought. "Ginny, did Jameson mention why he was transferring?" "He said something about an uncle..." Ginny began, but Hermione interrupted. "Yes, he told me, too, when you and Ron were squabbling in the corridor." Hermione relayed the conversation she'd had with Evan to Ron. "Why not just enroll in Hogwarts first year, then?" Ron wondered. He seemed puzzled that anyone would choose Durmstrang over Hogwarts. "He said Durmstrang was the closest school to them," Hermione answered. "I guess it makes sense. It would be easier to visit during holidays." "I guess so," Ron replied, sounding unconvinced. "So does he know Vicky?" he teased. Hermione glowered at him in return. "Come on, I know you asked. Does he?" "He said he knew of him but didn't know him personally. He did say that he thinks Viktor is an amazing Quidditch player." "All the more reason to stay away from him, then. He can't be very intelligent if he said that," Ron groused. "Oh, really?" Ginny broke in. "Last time I checked, you had a framed piece of parchment signed by Viktor Krum hanging on your wall, Ronald Weasley." "I burnt it," Ron muttered darkly, and bit into a chicken leg. Hermione snorted derisively. "In any case, the next time I write to Viktor I'm going to ask if he knew Evan Jameson at Durmstrang. I'd like to find out more about him." "What do you want to do that for?" Ron asked suspiciously. "Going to ask him on a date?" Hermione ignored him and looked across the table to Ginny. "Ginny, did he say much to you?" "Not really. He seemed a little sad. I imagine he's homesick. We played cards for a while and just chatted about Hogwarts until you and Ron found me. After you left, he said he wanted to sleep, so I read for a bit while he stared out the window. We both must have dropped off at some point. I didn't wake up until just before we reached the station in Hogsmeade." "Maybe he's a Death Eater spy. He's probably over there with Malfoy plotting to overthrow Dumbledore even as we speak. You can't trust anyone from Durmstrang. Dad says that school is nothing more than a Death Eater training camp," Ron said. "Ron, you know he said no such thing. You're making that up," Ginny scolded him. "Well, maybe Dad didn't use those exact words," Ron conceded, "but he did say they teach the Dark Arts at Durmstrang. I really don't think you should be talking to that bloke anymore, Ginny. We don't know anything about him." "It's best to know your opponent. You should know that, Ron. You're a chess player," Hermione said. "What? What does that have to do with anything?" Ron asked. "It means," Ginny interrupted as Hermione was about to reply, "that in order to be able to defeat the Dark Arts, you have to learn about them, right? Just like we do in Defense Against the Dark Arts." "But that's not the same thing," Ron protested. "How do you know?" asked Hermione. "Well, I don't, but that doesn't mean..." Ron didn't get a chance to finish his thought as Ginny sighed in exasperation. "Ron, judging him because he came from Durmstrang is like Malfoy judging us because we're poor, or Hermione because her parents are Muggles. You should know better." Ron suddenly looked ashamed and began rearranging the food on his plate with his fork as Ginny continued. "I'm old enough to decide who I want to be friends with. If I decide I want to be friends with Evan, that's really none of your business." Ginny's glare strongly resembled their mother's, and Ron knew it was pointless to argue with her. The three of them finished their meal in relative silence, anxious for Dumbledore to dismiss them so they could proceed to their dormitories and finally see the end of what had been a wretched day. ********** Across the Hall, Harry noticed that his friends were unusually subdued. He had tried not to stare, but he hadn't been able to keep from glancing at his friends from time to time during the meal. The announcement about his "death" had nauseated him, and he couldn't muster any enthusiasm for eating. He wanted nothing more than to find his dormitory and collapse into bed. Unfortunately, he couldn't do that until Dumbledore officially brought the feast to a close. He was relieved when the Headmaster stood again at the High Table and called for everyone's attention. "One last word before we retire. For your own safety, the curfew will be strictly enforced this year. Students are not to be out of their common rooms past nine o'clock in the evening unless accompanied by a staff member. I bid you all a good night." The Great Hall exploded with noise as students rose from their seats to leave. Prefects began calling for first-year students to follow them, and Harry stood and looked around at the Slytherins to find someone to lead him to the common room. "So you're from Durmstrang?" a voice said at his elbow. Harry had to struggle not to draw his wand out of habit. The speaker was Draco Malfoy, and for once, he had addressed Harry in a manner that was merely curious rather than condescending. "That's right," Harry replied in as neutral a voice as he could manage. "Draco Malfoy. I'm one of the Slytherin prefects. Sixth year, same as you." Harry was surprised when Malfoy offered his hand for Harry to shake. "Evan Jameson." Despite an overwhelming desire to refuse, Harry shook Malfoy's hand firmly. Failure to do so would have been perceived as a slight, and, while that would have been immensely satisfying, Harry had to remember that Evan Jameson had no history with Draco Malfoy. To incite the other boy's ire on his first night at Hogwarts could serve no other purpose than to arouse unwanted suspicion. "Jameson, welcome to the best house at Hogwarts. I think you'll find most of our members are like-minded when it comes down to it: we like to win. We expect to win the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup this year. Do you play Quidditch?" Harry could hardly keep a straight face. "A little." "We have a few openings on the team this year. Tryouts are Saturday, and I'm captain this year," Malfoy said, a look of smug pride crossing his face. "What positions are open?" Harry asked. "Two Chasers and the Keeper. What do you usually play?" "Seeker," Harry replied casually. "Sorry, that's me. Feel free to challenge me for the position if you want, but as captain the final decision is mine. Come on out anyway. We'll see what you've got. You might like Chaser," Malfoy said patronizingly. "I'll think about it." Harry hated the thought of being at Hogwarts and not playing Quidditch...his fifth year had been bad enough...but at the same time, he couldn't imagine playing Quidditch for Slytherin, especially not against Gryffindor. "Draco, let's go. I need to feed Patches; she's probably starving by now." Pansy Parkinson had walked up next to Malfoy and was pouting in what she probably thought was a charming manner. Harry thought it was irritating in the extreme. Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Pansy. The house-elves will take care of it." "But Draco, she won't eat unless I feed her by hand," the girl whined. "Let's go." "Pansy, I don't care if that bloody cat starves. I'll leave when I'm ready. Now shut up; I'm talking." Pansy huffed, but stepped back to wait quietly for him. Malfoy turned back to Harry. "She gets on my nerves, but she has her uses, if you get what I mean." He smirked, and Harry was nearly overcome by revulsion. He hoped that Malfoy would take Pansy and leave, but Malfoy had other ideas. "Come on, we'll show you the way to our common room. You don't want to walk with the first years. I know a few shortcuts." Harry weighed the idea of having to run to catch up to the fifth-year prefects, who had already escorted the first years out of the Great Hall, versus having to walk with Draco Malfoy. Utter exhaustion finally decided him. He stood and said, "Lead the way." Malfoy strode towards the doors of the Great Hall. Harry followed behind. Pansy, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle joined them. Malfoy made introductions and then indicated that Harry should walk beside him, leaving the other three to follow. "Why did you leave Durmstrang?" Malfoy asked. Harry repeated the same story he had told both Hermione and Ginny earlier. The other boy seemed to accept the explanation. "My father thought about sending me there," Malfoy commented. "You'll have to tell me all about it sometime. Did you play Quidditch for your house team there?" "I played, but we didn't have houses like you do, just teams. I was on a different team three years in a row." "Odd," Malfoy said. They had arrived at the entrance to the Slytherin common room, which on first glance appeared to be a blank stone wall. "Bog Banshee," Malfoy muttered, and a door that was concealed within the wall slid open. Malfoy's shortcuts had been effective. The group had arrived at the common room ahead of most of the other house members, in spite of the fact that they had left the Hall after the first years. The room was unoccupied save for the presence of several other students Harry didn't know. They peered at him curiously from their seats in front of the fireplace, where they had gathered to talk. Harry nodded politely as he passed; they simply continued to stare. "The sixth-year dormitory is this way," Malfoy said and pointed down one of two dim corridors that led away from the common room. Harry followed Malfoy to the next to the last door, which was marked "Sixth-Year Boys' Dormitory." The room was not unlike the dormitory in which he had spent the past five years, except for the lack of windows and an oppressive sense of dampness. The room contained six four-poster beds hung in dark green drapery trimmed with silver. On either side of each bed were a nightstand and a narrow wardrobe. Malfoy pointed around the room to indicate which bed belonged to himself, then which belonged to Crabbe, Goyle, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. Harry noticed his belongings had been placed neatly at the foot of the sixth bed. "I'm going back down to the common room," Malfoy said. "Come down after you get settled, if you want." "Thanks, but I think I'll go straight to bed. I'm exhausted," Harry said. He breathed a sigh of relief when Malfoy nodded and left the room. He could not believe he would be living in the same room as Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle for the next year. What were you thinking? said a little voice inside his head. That I would have had to live in the same room as Ron for the next year, that's what, he answered the little voice. And no matter how bad this situation was, rooming with Ron and not being able to tell him the truth would have been worse. Harry groaned and collapsed onto his bed. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and wake up three weeks ago, before any of this had ever happened. There had to have been a better solution. He could have run away; he could have stood up to Voldemort. . . . You could have gotten yourself killed for real, said the little voice again. Harry was saved from having to answer himself by a screech from Hedwig, who was anxious to be freed from her cage. He rolled to the end of the bed and reached over to unlatch the cage door, then flopped over onto his back once more as the owl took several turns about the room to stretch her wings. Harry closed his eyes and listened to the soft sounds of Hedwig's feathers. He had nearly drifted off to sleep when she fluttered over to him and nipped his ear harder than she normally did. "Ouch! What is it, Hecuba?" he asked. The owl screeched indignantly at him. "I'm sorry. It was the closest thing I could think of. Besides, I named you after a queen, didn't I?" he asked, as if that should appease her. Hedwig appeared to consider his words and hooted at him as if to say she forgave him. Then she began pecking at his robes. "What is it now?" he asked, puzzled by her behavior. Hedwig screeched at him again and then began pecking once more in what Harry finally realized was the vicinity of his wand. He withdrew it from his robes and quickly cast a silencing charm around his bed. "Right. Almost forgot. Thanks." Harry waved the wand around himself in an intricate pattern and muttered several incantations. It wouldn't do to go to sleep looking like Evan Jameson and to awaken looking like Harry Potter. He then repeated similar incantations over Hedwig. He stroked the owl a few times before she nipped him one last time to say goodnight and fluttered to her perch, which had been placed next to his bed. Harry drew the bed hangings closed. Exhausted from the mental strain of pretending to be someone he wasn't, he then sprawled across the mattress, still fully clothed, and drifted into a restless sleep.
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