Stammering git
Harry hated Professor Quirrell. The classes were a waste of time, he stammered so, they covered almost nothing in class. And being around him made Harry's scar hurt. That was bizarre, and painful.
Harry used his cloak to sneak into the potions storeroom, following Professor Snape, and pinch a big bunch of Ergot. The book in the restricted section 'Poisoning for Dummies' said Ergot was just the thing; it drove your victim insane, but didn't kill them. Harry had nothing personally against the useless teacher, after all.
Professor Quirrell's teapot in his office got a big gob of Ergot reduction in it as soon as Harry had it boiled down. Being invisible can be so very handy.
The next morning he didn't turn up for breakfast.
The next defence class was taken by a frazzled looking Headmaster Dumbledore. He did a quick quiz to find out where the class was up to; and was clearly disappointed. Draco Malfoy spoke up "Professor Quirrell's stutter made him very slow to cover material" he said.
Harry was pleased Draco had spoken up. Maybe he wasn't the only one wanting an actual education. Though Draco Malfoy was a spoilt rich brat and would be, Harry was pretty sure, the first person Harry put against the wall when the revolution came. The Gryffindors had implied that Draco's father had got off being imprisoned as a follower of you-know-who at the end of the last war by spending a lot of money on bribes. And a lie about being mind-controlled. Harry needed to check up on that eventually, he thought.
A new Teacher, an old guy called Daedalus Diggle took over a few days later. He was better than Quirrell, but maybe worse than the Headmaster.
Harry persevered. He was going to learn magic dammit.
Harry got a letter from Granger in France. She'd started school and apart from the language thing was okay. Harry felt quite pleased. And had started taking his own cheering draught, just a vial a week.
The end of year came and Harry went back to London on the train. He'd stashed fruit and bread from the day before in the Great Hall, so he had plenty to eat. He'd made a couple of, ahem, preparations as well. Such a useful book, 'Poisoning for Dummies'.
His Uncle Vernon tossed Harry's trunk into the boot of his car, let Harry in the back, and drove off.
"And there'll be none of that stuff at home, your bloody rubbish is getting locked away till September." growled Uncle Vernon.
"I've got homework" asked Harry "I need my trunk." Harry would have been really angry, but the cheering draught kept him polite.
"No, you miss out" said Uncle Vernon, being a big… bully, thought Harry.
Uncle Vernon went a very interesting shade of blue from the extract of coffee Harry had taken home in a vial. For a healthy person, it was like a heart-attack. Uncle Vernon hadn't been that healthy. Harry tried to act upset, but didn't put much effort in.
"I need my trunk to do my homework, Aunt Petunia" said Harry, to his Aunt, dressed all in black.
"Rot in hell you little freak" she snapped. She missed Uncle Vernon, apparently.
Dudley, it turned out, had lock picks.
"Get my trunk out for me, and help me hide it in my room, and I'll give you money" said Harry.
"How much?" asked Dudley.
"Fifty pounds" said Harry, picking a likely sounding number.
An evening's work with an invisibility cloak robbing a nearby shop, the cloak was amazing, and Dudley, in one of many Aunt-less summer days, she was doing something as a job at a plumbing supply; did the work, and Harry had his trunk.
Harry got all his homework done, and read everything he could. Then took notes, and studied those. Dudley supplied plenty of unused school exercise books and pens. If Harry could have made potions, he would have made more cheering draught for himself.
Aunt Petunia had to tell Dudley he wasn't going back to Smeltings; with Uncle Vernon dead, the budget only ran to the comprehensive in Little Whinging.
"What about Harry's weird school" whinged Dudley.
"His parents organised that, and he pays with their money." said Aunt Petunia, who'd taken to reading the life insurance policy every night. Over and over again.
Harry was given a twenty pound note and told to take the train to London to do his shopping, and then make his own way to Kings Cross a day later. "The horrible Pub has rooms, my Sister told me" said Aunt Petunia.
Harry put his trunk on the fold-up, strap-on trolley and set off early for the train station.
The Leaky Cauldron did indeed have rooms. Harry left his trunk in his room, and took his money-bag and black school cloak and went shopping.
The book-list filled, the potions ingredients bought, Harry dropped them off at his trunk, and went back for more books about magic, and one about Laws, and a better modern history book. He found the one Hermione had bought in first year. And ingredients to make more cheering draught. The room at the Leaky Cauldron wasn't the best to make a potion in, but Harry needed the stuff.
And filled two money bags with Galleons. Gold seemed to be the key to a lot of things.
Like getting some clothes that fit. Harry was growing. He bought new shoes that didn't pinch.