A/N: It's short, and rough, and messy... it's a bit of a quickie, really. If there's anything wrong with it let me know.

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Harry's first morning back at school was a strange one. He woke up in bed, which was normal enough, but as he got ready for his first day of classes, he kept noticing his dorm mates glancing at him. It started to make him not only self-conscious, but a little paranoid.

When he caught Seamus looking at him for the third time that morning he finally got fed up.

"What have you all been looking at?"

They all seemed a bit uncomfortable, except Dean, who seemed more confused than anything.

"Honesty, did I do something in my sleep?" Harry looked at all of them, who seemed to be more looking at each other more than at him, it seemed as though they were trying to pick a representative.

Finally Ron spoke up, "I think they want to know about… you know," he gestured towards his forehead.

"Really?" Harry was annoyed. Why is it that children seemed to waver between really embarrassed, and utterly tactless?

"We're just curious, ya' know," Seamus said, almost defensively.

Harry pushed his fringe up, showing them all the scar, which they all tactlessly gawked at.

"Do you… well do you… you know…" Neville was blushing as he spoke.

"I don't really remember. Just a lot of green light really," Harry said, and that seemed to satisfy them somewhat.

Dean looked at them all, "Why does everyone keep going on about your scar?"

.

Harry had forgotten how very dull lessons were, especially when he had taken them all already. Herbology, History of Magic and Charms were all basic classes, in which they were going to cover… all the very basics of everything. The only class that Harry was surprised with what they were going to be learning was History of Magic, and that's simply because he hadn't paid attention the first time.

In transfigurations McGonagall started by turning her desk into a pig, and then back again. Though Harry was impressed, he couldn't help but wonder about the usefulness of that spell: how often does one really need a pig more than a desk?

Harry sat next to Neville in Transfiguration, and after turning his match into a needle, he started to help Neville with his, with better results than most of the class was having.

When McGonagall saw Harry's needle she gave something close to a smile. Harry turned to help Ron, and caught a glimpse of Hermione who was glaring at him. Maybe he would need to play dumb for a while…

Playing dumb was hard though, when answers were so simple, and people were struggling so much. Harry mused that he finally understood how Hermione felt. He spent his days acing his lessons, and his nights either helping Neville or Ron with their work, or going into the study and searching for answers to his time traveling conundrum. His research was turning up absolutely nothing, and he wanted so badly to ask Hermione for help, but she seemed to want nothing to do with him. To her it seemed as though he was competition.

He also drafted several letters which he wanted to send to several people, but he first had to figure out excuses for knowing about their existence. The one he rewrote over and over again was the one he hoped to send to Sirius. He could never quite get the point across without sounding suspicious- the letter was going to Azkaban after all, and he only assumed that someone would monitor all the mail going in and out of there, if mail could even go in or out of there.

On Friday they had potions. It was Harry's first real chance to get along with Snape right off the bat. He walked into the dungeon, and sat down next to Seamus because, if he recalled correctly, that boy needed all the help in potions he could get.

Snape did roll call at the start of class, only stopping at, "Ah yes. Harry Potter. Our new- celebrity."

The man seemed to forget the remainder of the names on the list of students because he launched into a quiet, uncomfortable speech, "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making. As there is little foolish wand waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry couldn't help but feel as though he had rehearsed that speech before. He wondered if he stood in front of a mirror and-

"Potter!"

Harry was snapped back into reality.

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

He had forgotten the pop quiz, and contrary to what they tell you when you are choosing your sixth-year classes, you hardly ever used potions as an auror.

"Umm… The drought of living death?" Harry was pretty sure that was it, or was is an aphrodisiac? He wasn't entirely sure.

Snape sneered, "Correct. How about this, Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Oh, he knew this one. He remembered having to shove one down Ron's throat in sixth year.

"In a goat's stomach?"

The look Snape gave him was unreadable, "I see you have read your books. So then tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Why couldn't Snape have chosen simpler questions? Wolfsbane? Like the potion?... he had been reading about that and how the flower used in brewing the potion was becoming harder to find. What was the flower called? Aconite?

"It that the same as Aconite?" Harry asked, hopeful that he wasn't totally off.

"Yes, Potter, like Aconite. Monkshood and wolfsbane also go by the name of Aconite," he looked at the class, "What aren't you all copying that down?"

The remainder of potions was unbearable. Harry had to stop Seamus from exploding the cauldron at least twice, and then he got scolded when Neville and Ron's cauldron melted and a bad batch of potion spilled onto the floor.

As he and Ron walked down the Hagrid's that afternoon, Harry couldn't help but wonder how he could somehow gain some sort of understanding with Snape without giving away more than what he should. He had really tried to do everything right, as to not give the man reason to hate him, but he knew that so long as he looked like James Potter, Snape would want nothing to do with him. Why was everything just as difficult this time?