AN: Disclaimer I am not filthy rich... i.e. I do not own Harry Potter
Hope you enjoy! This is probably the last chapter before I speed things up a bit.
Harry walked into the classroom, sitting down at a desk with Terry, nervously tapping on the table. He'd been so excited at the start of the day, Cameron had pointed out Matthias to him at breakfast , and Harry knew he was going to talk to him later. Then they had gotten their timetables, the day started with a double period of history of magic, before an hour of transfiguration, and then an hour of herbology, a break for lunch and then ending the day with a double period of defence against the dark arts- taught by his Professor Quirrell.
Harry had been excited to learn more about they history of magic, eager to understand how an entire world had been hidden from him (and billions of others) his entire life, and then a ghost had come in and said he was their teacher. And then Harry was bored for two hours. They were sharing the class with Gryffindor (bold and brave the hat had called them - stupid and reckless was Cameron's view) and Harry couldn't help but let out a small laugh as he saw a bushy-haired girl scribbling furious notes. He later realised that that was Hermione Granger, the overbearing girl he'd sat with on the train. She was writing so much it was as if she was writing down what the teacher - Professors Binns - was saying word for word.
Harry looked down at his notes, he'd only written down a few notes as he'd realised quite quickly (along with Terry if his almost blank piece of parchment means anything) that Binns was simply ranting about the one of the goblin rebellions. Harry had done a small bit of reading about them during the time after he'd gotten his books and before he'd come to Hogwarts, history had always used to been his favourite subject at primary school, and what Harry had read, and what Binns was saying, were two very different accounts.
"He's just an old ghost with a grudge." Terry whispered under his breath, and with that noise Harry quickly realised that some people (mostly Gryffindors, but also Padma who seemed to be talking to her twin - if Harry remembered correctly from the sorting her name was Parvati) were talking with increasing volume.
Harry nodded, "I read a bit about these wars, this isn't even what the books said."
Terry scoffed, "This is such a joke of a class to start with." He sounded almost angry with that - a sentiment that Harry couldn't help but agree with, Hogwarts was meant to be the best school in the wizarding world, and here they were taught by a ghost who seemed to not even realise that students were in his classroom.
"Guess we're going to have to teach ourselves." Harry sighed, pulling out a textbook and putting it on his desk, opening it to the first page. Terry raised his eyebrows at him curiously. "What?" He asked bemused.
"Teach yourself?" Terry asked.
"Yeah." Harry replied, not understanding Terry's confusion. Terry just shrugged, before reaching into his bag and getting out his own textbook.
"Very well." Terry grinned at Harry.
Which was how Harry had come to end up spending around an hour and a half writing notes and teaching himself - which is pretty much what he'd been doing for the last three years anyway - instead of learning all about magic. Disappointing was probably the best word to sum up history of magic, quickly followed by boring. Which is why Harry was now nervously tapping on the desk in front of him. He was scared that Transfiguration wasn't going to be interesting, or taught well, - that Binns' class was the normal standard of Hogwarts teaching - and with that almost all of his hopes for Hogwarts would be been destroyed.
Furthermore, Harry was already worried about the sanity of their teacher, the lesson had started a minute ago and nobody was there - except a tabby cat which was perched idly on the desk.
After a few more minutes everyone stopped their conversations, only to restart them immediately now on the subject of where McGonagall was. Everyone was here, from both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff - about twenty people from each class, which Cameron had said (with an oddly sad expression) was more than his - Harry himself was beginning to get quite nervous that somehow they'd all gone to the wrong classroom, his realistic side steadily becoming overpowered by his anxiety, when suddenly the tabby cat got up from where it was leisurely stretched and jumped off the desk.
The thing is, to Harry - and everyone else's - shock, when the cat landed, it was no longer a cat, but their bespectacled transfiguration professor. "The first rule of Transfiguration-" The professor started and Harry smiled, dipping his quill into the ink as he got ready to start writing notes. This was going to be a good class.
Harry finished his letter after dinner, considerably happier after the tedious start to the day. Transfiguration had been really interesting, and herbology seemed like it would be useful in Harry's new interest of magical healing, and then defence against the dark arts (DADA as everyone was beginning to talk about it) was interesting - though Harry was already feeling irritated with the professor- not because his stutter, which whilst annoying was a speech impediment and Harry was careful to not insult anyone for having a disability (though he did absentmindedly wonder why you'd become a teacher with a speech impediment) - but because every time the teacher turned his head to write on the blackboard (which thankfully to the practical aspect to the lesson wasn't too often) his scar began to hurt.
He'd have called it a headache, but it seemed more specific than that, it was a moderate but striking pain in his scar (the lightning-bolt shaped one) which subsided after Quirrell turned back around, but made Harry wince nonetheless.
After dinner he managed to catch Matthias in the common room, signing up to some sign up sheet.
"Hi, are you Matthias?" He asked slightly shyly - though his curiosity nearly always trumped his shyness.
"You must be Harry." The dark hair boy turned to look at him. Matthias Quintin was a tall, dark-haired boy with sharp features and dark green eyes, with a thick Scottish accent, his tone was steady and clearly he was assure that he was correct in his identification.
Harry nodded. "I was wondering what you know of the potential impact Potions could have on non-magical science, more specifically on healing in the non-magical world?" He asked, carefully reciting his pre-planned question.
"Well," Matthias said, taking a seat as Harry stood awkwardly (at least now the older boy wasn't towering over him), he paused as he considered the question before answering, "As all potions include magical properties or ingredients there's no way for the non-magical world to use them." He explained, having come to a clear conclusion, clearly happy with his answer, and an edge of superiority seeped into his tone - as if wondering what a first year was doing questioning potions, as if wondering why the first year didn't seem to think anyone else had asked this question before (not that Matthias had heard it being asked, but it did seem rather obvious once the younger fair-haired boy had pointed it out to him).
Harry sighed resigned, nodding his head in thanks before turning to walk away when another idea struck him, he turned sharply, "But what if you can find some form of a muggle ingredient that can replace the magical one?" He asked, grinning internally as Matthias turned his head away from his friends, with a perplexed yet thoughtful expression on his face.
The older boy stayed silent for a couple of minutes, clearly stumped, "Theoretically it could work." He eventually said, before quickly adding, "But this will have probably been tried before - you're not the first muggleborn with an inclination for healing magic." He said the word 'muggleborn' with a hint of distaste that Harry made sure to note for further investigation. "Furthermore," he added with an arrogant tone, clearly having come up with more evidence to back the fact that Harry was wrong, "Magical ingredients are very hard to replicate, most coming from magical creatures like a dragon or a basilisk won't be able to be replicated by muggle (the distaste in his tone was present again) ingredients."
"In theory it is possible though, and whilst you might not be able to find substitutions for all, some might work, and even if it is only one it could make a huge difference." Harry reasoned and Matthias nodded reluctantly, before turning to his friends, effectively dismissing Harry. Though Matthias didn't seem to be the nicest boy, he was clearly clever if not prejudiced against non-magicals (something which reminded Harry of the blonde boy, the heir to an apparently prominent pureblood family, Draco Malfoy). Perhaps this prejudice, and behaviour in general wasn't an individual circumstance, but effectively racism in the wizarding world, Harry mused feeling slightly disappointed as the imperfections in this world only seemed to be increasing the more time he spent in it.
Harry also noted the assumption that he himself was a muggleborn (despite having clearly had magical relations as shown through the Gringotts blood test), though he did admit that it was probably expected due to his behaviour, his clothes, his general lack of knowledge about the wizarding world (which was something he wanted to rectify, quickly). He quickly decided he didn't really care - it wasn't as though he wasn't used to being treated badly - not that he'd like about his ancestry, but he equally wasn't proud enough of his drunkard parents to go shouting from the rooftops about being the heir of two of the founders (ironic, he mused, that he was the heir to two of them and yet wasn't put in either of those houses).
After his conversation he finished his letter, making sure to note about his excitement at the healing advancements that could occur with magical influence and knowledge. He was particularly excited for Potions the next day, despite the Cameron's warnings to be prepared for Snape to test their knowledge and to - as he put it: be a bit of a dick. He then went to the owlery with Terry, who'd fortunately also needed to send a letter home, before returning to the common room and going to bed, after he read the potions textbook through once, he wanted to be prepared after all - and more than he wanted to succeed.
The next day Harry had once again woken rather early and decided to continue his reading from yesterday, eager to succeed in potions - especially considering that his teacher was Severus Snape, a man who's name was in the potions textbook as being one of youngest potions master ever and the creator of the truth serum, veritaserum. Harry and Terry had managed to find their own way to breakfast, Anthony and Michael both being late-risers had mumbled something as they lay in their beds half-asleep, so the two boys had decided to go on their own.
"What class are you looking forward to most then?" Harry asked Terry after the latter had groaned at the prospect of double potions this morning.
"Flying, duh." Terry said with a grin, "Other than that it was supposed to be DADA," Terry said bitterly, "But Quirrell isn't the greatest teacher."
"I second that." Cameron said, sitting on the bench besides Harry. "He used to be though." The older boy added cryptically.
"Used to be?" Harry questioned.
"Well, last year he was our muggle studies teacher, and he was great, but over the summer - when he'd been appointed professor of DADA - rumour has it he went to Albania and ran into some vampires there, and a hag too." Cameron said, clearly pleased at by the younger students enthralled expressions as he talked about Quirrell. "All he came back with though is that weird turban and a stutter."
"So he didn't used to have the stutter?" Harry asked, and Cameron shook his head. "What happened to the previous Defence teacher?" Harry wondered, - muggle studies to DADA seemed to be quite an extreme change.
"Well you know about the curse," Cameron started, his tone expectant that both of them would. Terry nodded fervently but Harry merely sent a confused expression towards Cameron. "You don't? Well, the story goes that back in the day He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named applied for that position, but Dumbledore refused to give it to him, dark wizard and all, but I mean, its You-Know-Who, and he obviously didn't take the rejection well, so he cursed the position." Cameron revealed dramatically, "He cursed the position so that no teacher ever lasts more than one year. They either retire, get fired or end up in hospital. So every year we get a new teacher."
"That seems crazy." Harry replied but at the same time Cameron abruptly got up,
"Hey, sorry I've got to go talk to some of my mates, I'll see you both at dinner. Bye." He said, throwing a grin over his shoulder as he approached a couple of Ravenclaws, throwing his arm over the shoulder of an older boy who jumped in shock.
Terry and Harry fell into a brief silence for a few seconds before Harry remembered something Cameron had said which confused him. "Who's He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ?" He asked curiously.
Terry's head snapped round to face Harry, a dark expression on his face. "You don't know? Right, of course, muggleborn." Harry frowned slightly at that, but couldn't be bothered to correct him right know - he was more intrigued as to who this he-who-must-not-be-named was. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who is the name of a dark wizard who started a war around 20 years ago - the war lasted eleven years until he was defeated, so many people died." Terry paused before continuing in a quieter voice. "It's why there's less people in the upper years, many people died and most people didn't want to bring children into that world. The numbers are growing again though."
"Why do you call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named - surely he has a name?" Harry asked intrigued.
"During the war he cast a curse on his name, that mean anyone who said it would be able to be found by the Death Eaters - He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers." Terry added at Harry's confused expression. "The fear still exists - his body was never found and a lot of Death Eaters still stay in custody, so no one speaks his name."
"If his body was never found..." Harry trailed off slightly, before continuing in a hushed but urgent voice, "How do you know that he's dead?"
Terry's expression flickered fearfully, before his eyes darted towards Dumbledore, who was sitting on his chair at the staff table eating a croissant. "Dumbledore." He said simply.
"Dumbledore's the one who killed him?"
"No-" Terry began to say, but then Michael and Antony who'd just came into the hall sat down. "You're a bit late." Terry said in a forced cheerful tone, sending a quick glance at Harry to ignore his abrupt change of conversation - which Harry reluctantly obliged to.
"I hate mornings." Michael groaned in response, as Anthony started to pile his plate with food.
"I second that." The blonde added.
"You're a freak-" Michael started looking at Harry who tried to hide his flinch at the word, pausing as he took a bite of a pastry, "-for getting up so early. Honestly, how do you do it? What's your secret?" The boy asked jovially - his clearly joking tone put Harry at ease again.
"Habits." Harry replied as he munched on a piece of bacon, his head still whirring over the new information about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the wizarding world.
"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 put a stopper in death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." The Slytherin head of house seemed to be pointedly looking at the Hufflepuff side of the room as he said these words, his smooth voice echoing around the classroom, and Harry had to admit - his speech was quite impressive, and if he was excited about potions before, well now... Now he was really excited. (Though the part about dunderheads did worry him a little bit - this teacher certainly seemed very no-nonsense, but in a more arrogant way than McGonagall).
I will ask you all some questions now, gage how many of you have done your reading..." He paused before adding in an almost threatening tone, "And how many of you haven't." The teacher looked down at his list of students and Harry couldn't help but tap his leg nervously. "Bones." He drawled, and a ginger girl seemed to reluctantly perk up - her head formerly looking anywhere but Professor Snape. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"A sleeping potion?" Susan Bones replied.
"Is that a question or an answer?" Snape fired back.
"An answer." Susan replied, but her voice was shaking slightly and Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for her.
"Correct." Snape admitted reluctantly. "But does anyone know the name of the sleeping potion it makes?" He asked, his tone laced with superiority - despite being the professor of a class of eleven year olds who had never studied potions before. Snape looked down at his list again. "Goldstein?" He quizzed.
"No, sir." Anthony replied, and Harry could sense his annoyance that he didn't know the answer.
"Macmillan?" Snape asked, a small smirk falling on his face as Macmillan shook his head. "Turpin? Boot? Abbott?" He started to fire off names. "Reynolds?"
Harry froze as he heard his name, forcing himself to look up at Snape and drawing in a deep breath. "The Draught of Living Death." He answered softly, and everyone's heads whipped round to face him, causing him to blush and sink into his chair.
Snape almost scowled and without admitting Harry was correct he asked him another question. "Where can you find a bezoar?"
"Me?" Harry asked, wanting to make sure the question was directed at him.
"No, the door behind you." Snape snarked.
"In the stomach of a goat, sir." Harry said, trying to keep the irritation out of his tone, Snape somewhat reminding him of Vernon as he tried to push everyone else around him down, to make himself seem better.
"What is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?" Snape asked, and Harry paused trying to remember the answer - he was sure he'd read about this yesterday. "Well, Reynolds?" Snape pressured him, clearing feeling like he'd gained back an edge as Harry faltered.
"Wolfsbane and Monkshood," Harry started, hesitating slightly.
"Are the same plant." Snape interrupted, clearly not in the mood to wait around.
"Actually sir," Harry started before he even realised what he was saying. "To be more precise they are two out of hundreds of species of the same plant, aconitum. So whilst they are the same plant they do have slightly different properties." Harry paused as the entire classroom went dead silent, Snape - who'd turned away from Harry after he'd faltered - whipped back around to face him, his eyes burning into Harry. "Right?" He asked for assurance, trying to stop himself from squirming under the teacher's glare, cursing himself for having continued talking.
"That is correct, Reynolds. There are 250 species of Aconitum, the most famous of those go by the names of Wolfsbane, Monkshood, and Aconite." Snape replied after an pause which made Harry want to die, clearly listing facts to assert his superiority over Harry. The professor's head whipped round to the rest of the class. "Well?" He asked expectantly, "Why aren't you all writing that down?" He berated the class, before in a quieter voice that Harry almost didn't hear, "Five points to Ravenclaw, Reynolds."
Harry and Terry exchanged a surprised look, and Terry smiled at Harry as though congratulating him, whispering in his ear "Way to go!".
Later that day they talked to Cameron, and Terry mentioned Harry getting points in Potions - much to Cameron's surprise, who insisted that Harry must have really impressed Snape, as the professor rarely gave points, especially to non-Slytherins, and especially to first years.
To say it was a good day was an understatement, and his earlier conversation with Terry about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was wiped from his head as he went to a bed, unable to contain his grin as he reminisced about his potions lesson.