For the first time in his Hogwarts career, Harry was looking forward to potions.

Their first lesson was on Friday, and Harry gleefully answered Hagrid's note inviting him to tea that afternoon as Ron complained about how apparently Snape favoured the Slytherins. Harry couldn't remember exactly what had happened the first time he experienced this, but he remembered Snape being an absolute arse and trying to embarrass him, and Neville getting injured, hence setting the tone for the next 5 years. Well, Harry wasn't 11 this time around, and the whole point of him coming back in time was to stop people getting hurt, so…

Snape started the lesson with the register, and paused when he got to Harry's name. "Ah yes." He said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity."

Harry stared into his dark eyes, knowing now what Snape thought of them, knowing how much it would affect him. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle sniggered, but Snape seemed taken aback. Harry took that as a win.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making." Snape began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word. Harry had to admit, the man had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little wand-waving involved, 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."

The speech was met with silence. Hermione sat up straighter in her seat, determined to prove to another teacher that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Ha! He had made that last year. Or, in 5 years time. Time travel was confusing. "Draught of living death, sir." He replied calmly. "It's a sleeping potion. A strong one."

"I know what it is." Snape snarled.

Harry nodded in acquiescence. "I would hope so sir, it's your job." A few people gasped or snickered, and Snape seethed. "I was simply clarifying for anyone that didn't know what it was. And answering your question."

"One point from Gryffindor for your cheek! You will not speak out of turn in my class." Snape snapped. Harry had to hide a smile. First year was so cute. A whole point? "We'll try again. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air once more as Harry had a sudden recollection of Ron choking in Slughorn's office after drinking poisoned wine. Snape seemed to take his hesitation for ignorance and his lips began curling into a sneer.

"In this room? The store cupboard. It would be with other antidotes to poison. But they're collected from the stomachs of goats."

Harry rather enjoyed seeing the usually stoic professor clench his teeth in anger. Serves him right for asking sixth-year level questions to a muggle-raised first year.

"Being famous does not give you permission to be rude to your teachers, Potter." Snape said coolly. "Tell me the difference between Monkshood and wolfsbane."

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand waving as it stretched towards the ceiling. Harry stayed silent, maintaining eye contact with the man looming in front of him. Snape looked away first.

"Clearly, fame really isn't everything." He said, smirking. He glanced at Hermione. "Sit down. During your time here we will be dealing with potentially dangerous or volatile potions. I will not have you flapping around my classroom." Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Theodore Nott sit on his hands, his feet silently tapping on the stone floor. "For your information, Potter, there is no difference between the two, you would do well to actually read through your books before coming to Hogwarts. They are the same plant and-"

"Yeah, it's also called aconite." Harry said.

"Why then, did you not say that?"

"You asked me to tell you the difference." Harry replied. "There isn't one." He let the corner of his mouth lift up into the tiniest of smirks. "I didn't want to speak out of turn." Neville was looking at him in awe.

Angrily, Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils.

He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticising the Gryffindors and commending the way the Slytherins stirred their cauldrons. Harry really wasn't bothered, he was far too used to the man's looming presence and bullying nature to be intimidated. He had managed to pair with Neville, and let the other boy do most of the steps, helping by chopping ingredients and making sure Neville read through every step of the process before doing it, gently guiding him away from melting his cauldron by adding things at the wrong time.

The first years left the dungeon an hour later injury-free, and Harry took that as yet another win.

Harry had invited Ron and Hermione to Hagrid's with him, and he let their complaints about Snape and his teaching methods wash over him as they crossed the grounds to his hut.

"…clearly favours Malfoy." Ron was saying. "It's so unfair."

"And Zabini!" Hermione said indignantly. "Did you hear him go on about the way he cut up his stewed toad? Mine was way neater than his and Snape didn't even say anything, but gave him points"

"Them." Harry said absently.

"Pardon?"

"Your toad was neater than theirs."

"Exactly! They were probably the neatest in the class, better than all the Slytherins."

"I- no, that's not what I meant." Harry hurried to continue when Hermione's face fell. "I mean, they definitely were, the neatest that is, but you said gave him points. It's them."

Ron frowned. "What are you on about?"

"Zabini."

Judging by Ron and Hermione's faces, that didn't clear anything up. "What about him?"

"They're not a him." Harry said. "I'm pretty sure. I mean it's not like I've ever actually had a conversation with them."

"With who? The Slytherins?"

"I mean, I guess."

"Are you saying Zabini is a girl?" Hermione asked, stopping where she was to stare at him in confusion.

"What? No!"

"But you said 'he's not a him'." Hermione said, frowning.

"Yeah."

"That doesn't make any sense!"

Harry stopped walking too. Ron was looking between them, bewildered. "Do you seriously not have any idea what I'm talking about?"

Hermione looked about ready to cry. "He's… I mean… she's a girl? Or a boy?"

"Neither." Harry replied. "They're non-binary. I think. Think of it as like… in between a boy and a girl; a bit of both, but ultimately neither. But I'm pretty sure they go by they."

"What do you mean 'go by they'?" Hermione asked. Clearly non-binary meant something to her, that or Harry's rather lacklustre explanation, as she looked slightly less confused and carried on walking.

"Zabini uses they/them pronouns." Harry explained. "So when you're talking about them you would say 'Snape gave them points' rather than 'Snape gave him points' which is what you would say if say Ron got given points."

"Fat chance." Ron laughed, and Harry grinned.

"You can dream." He said. "Fair warning, if Hagrid offers you rock cakes, politely decline, I think he puts actual rock in them."

Ron and Hermione didn't have a chance to reply as Harry knocked on the door and it swung open, Fang leaping out. Harry laughed and scratched behind his ears, moving to under his chin when the huge dog reached up and licked his forehead. "Gross, fang."

"Tha's you friends for life now." Hagrid chortled. "He won't leave you alone now as you've scratched his ears."

Harry grinned and followed Ron and Hermione into the familiar hut, gratefully accepting a huge mug and letting Fang settle his head in his lap as Hagrid poured out cups of tea.