As it turned out, Hogwarts was much bigger than it really needed to be. Despite holding the majority of the children of wizarding Britain, it only needed one teacher and a few classrooms for each subject, leaving many other rooms perennially unused. Its massive size did making getting around the place a task in itself, compounded by the castle itself being designed to mess with the students in several ways. Whether it was trick staircases, maze like hallways that folded in on themselves, or the antics of the resident poltergeist, it made each trip around the castle memorable, for the wrong reasons.
It left Harry rather wanting for a map of the school, but the only existing ones were in the library and both centuries old and incredibly innacurate. Apparently, getting to know your way around the place was some kind of rite of passage. He could even imagine that old fellow giving a speech about how it builds character! What nonsense.
As for the classes, themselves, they turned out to be taught by a collection of professors that were definitely... interesting, to say the least.
The man who taught potions was a certain Professor Snape, recognizable by his oddly shaped nose and pompous black cloak. For some reason, he seemed to have sort of grudge against Harry, as he made evident in the first day of class.
After reading through the list of the students he was teaching (making an offhand remark about Harry as being their 'new celebrity'), he gave a long, flowery speech about the arts of potion making, before deciding to give Harry a random pop quiz.
"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, Potter?" he snapped.
Harry took a moment to recall the answer from his potions textbook, although he hadn't recalled it being under the typical first year material, due to how dangerous the potion could be.
"The Draught of Living Death, sir?" Harry said.
Snape did not change his expression.
"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfbane?"
The answer to that question proved quite easier, as the herbology textbook had been quite insistent on informing new students about that particular misconception.
"I don't believe there is one, sir."
Snape frowned.
"And where, Potter, would I find a bezoar?"
That had Harry stumped. While he had seen bezoars mentioned under the list of antidotes, the potions book hadn't been very clear on what they were or where they could be found.
"I don't know, sir."
Snape made a great deal out of showing his displeasure to the class.
"Thought you might be studying ahead, Potter? Well, it clearly wasn't enough. Now, today we will be covering a basic antidote..."
Snape split the class into pairs, which Harry found annoying, as it seemed that something as delicate as potion making should have been better suited as an individual task (and also because it forced him to interact with other students). Fortunately, the Ravenclaw student he was paired with was content with deferring to his judgement, as he hadn't been as busy reading over the summer. Under Harry's guidance, they managed to produce a boil curing potion that was, to Snape's visible disappointment, rather well made.
Well, if the man wanted to hate Harry, he could do so. Harry wasn't going to let that stop him from learning.
Charms also proved to be a bit of a strange experience. That was due partly from it being taught by a ridiculously small man named Flitwick, and also due to one of the students feeling the need to formally introduce himself to Harry before the class started.
"Hello," a pale blond boy flanked by two overgrown pugs. "My name is Draco Malfoy. I think it would be good for you, Potter, to be acquainted with some of the better families around here."
"Sure," Harry said absentmindedly, and returned to staring at his desk.
Malfoy did not seem to enjoy being ignored. "Well, you should know my father has a lot of influence in the ministry, Potter. You should keep that in mind."
"Whatever."
Malfoy scowled and went back to his seat.
When Professor Flitwick arrived, he seemed quite excited to be teaching Harry Potter (which, again, led to a bunch of stares). He also went into the basics of charms, taking particular care to inform them that their pronunciation of the incantation was critical. Going over one of the basic movement charms Flitwick taught them, Harry discovered that he was saying it wrong, as how it was supposed to be said differed quite a bit from how it was written. That would certainly make the subject quite a bit more difficult...
History of Magic turned out to be quite disappointing. The professor turned out to be a ghost, of all things, and made the fascinating subject incredibly dull through his constantly pallid droning. After the first few classes, Harry gave up on listening to him and instead continued reading his history book through class.
Defense Against the Dark Arts also turned out to be a bit of a sham. Professor Quirrell, a man who could not stop stuttering, was much more interested in babbling about his own experiences with vampires than he was in actually teaching his students anything. That was another class where Harry stuck to his book, although he doubted he would be using any of the spells he learned there very much.
Transfiguration and Herbology both turned out to be difficult classes, each for different reasons. Working in the greenhouses meant that Harry had to constantly overcome his squeamishness over interacting with plants in the dirt, and things that also lived in the dirt, including a large variety of magical worms. For once he was glad to work in a group, as most of the other students were quite happy to get their hands dirty, even if it meant they ended up doing most of the work.
Transfiguration, by contrast, was a subject that was simply hard for everyone. The basic task of transforming a wooden stick into a pin asked for very sharp, precise wand work, and an acute understanding of how the magic worked on the wood. By the end of the first class, Harry had only managed to give his matchstick a slight silver tint. Undoubtedly he would need to practice quite a bit more to get the magic to work.
Astronomy was so uninteresting that there was nothing to say about it.
What held the interest of most of the other students was a flying lesson, which was mandatory for all of the first years. Wizards, it seemed, were not content to fly merely on their own magical power, but had to enchant something as uncomfortable to sit on as a broom to ride on instead. This was part of their favorite sport, which involved brooms, hoops, and several weighted balls. Harry did not care at all about sports, and was content to sit out whenever the latest 'Quidditch' match happened, to the chagrin of many of his classmates. Nor was he especially interested in flying, as he had a healthy fear of heights, as he was reminded of whenever he climbed some of the more open staircases in the tall castle.
So, it was with much trepidation that he joined the other first years on the pitch, where many brooms had been laid out for them. From there, they were instructed to summon their brooms from the group (which seemed pointless, since there was nothing stopping them from just picking them up). Harry's broom, as if it could sense his fear, took a great deal of coaxing before it reluctantly hopped into his hand.
After the students had their brooms, they would have moved on to actually flying, if one kid hadn't managed to end up riding his broom straight into the air before falling off of it and breaking something that sounded important. Though he would later end up making a full recovery, that put a severe dent into Harry's already thin trust of the brooms.
In the meantime, the Malfoy kid and some red headed boy were arguing about something. It got so heated that they ended up trading spells at each other until the teacher returned from bringing the injured kid to the hospital wing. After making sure to loudly chew the both of them out, they were both given detentions, and the actual flying part of the class could begin.
Given instructions to mount the broom and kick off from the ground, Harry managed to rise into the air, only to notice that the broom's acceleration seemed to be tied to how he held it. Unfortunately, he noticed this too late to slow himself down enough to avoid crashing into a tree.
After that, he refused to try and fly the broom again, and sat comfortably on the ground until the class was over. There would later be rumors that certain prominent members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team were disappointed to hear that the famous Boy Who Lived was no good on a broomstick, but Harry didn't care.