Decided to flesh out Chapter 5 a little, so I'mreuploading it. Thank you all for the favs and great I'll keep to more of a conventional posting schedule from here on out.

"Welcome, students," Greasy-Grimy Gopher Guts (or Snape, as he was respectfully referred to by students other than Harry Sanchez) stood before the gathered first years. "Here you will be learning the art of potion making. It is an exacting science, requiring mastery, lest we have any unfortunate…" he glanced over at Longbottom. "Accidents."

"Science, huh?" Harry whispered to Ron and Morty. "Looks like this class won't be complete trash."

"Potter!" The potions master barked. Harry glanced over. "What would you get if you added powdered asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"You get the Draught of Living Death," Potter replied.

"Wrong. You get the Draught of Living Death."

"That's what I said."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for talking without permission. Where would you look if I asked you to find a bezoar?"

"A goat's stomach."

"Ten points for talking without permission."

"You literally asked me a question."

"Ten more points. The answer was a goat's stomach. Looks like our resident celebrity isn't as clever as he thinks."

"Motherfucker," Harry whispered.

"I wish," Snape whispered back.

"What?"

"Last question: what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Nothing, they're the same plant."

"Wrong, they're spelt differently. Ten points from Gryffindor." He turned to the students. "Why aren't you all writing this down?"

Harry watched through thin slit eyes as the professor made his way to the front of the classroom again. "Okay, I take back what I said, this class is going to blow."

"Don't antagonize him, Harry," Morty whispered.

"I did nothing to antagonize him. Those were the right answers. I read all the textbooks up to the seventh year. He's just a dick."

"Potter! Ten points for being alive in my general presence."

"Eat my ass!"

"Ten points for… that."

"Good morning, Severus," Heads turned in unison; no one had heard the headmaster enter the room. "How goes the first-year class?"

"They're all incompetent, as usual."

"I see," Dumbledore caught sight of Harry. "Mr. Potter."

"Sanchez."

"Sanchez-Potter."

"Eh, good enough."

"What a nicely arranged necktie you are wearing this morning."

Harry glanced down at his chest. "I'm not wearing a necktie."

"One hundred points to Gryffindor for good presentation." Dumbledore smiled benevolently at Snape before twirling out the door.

Snape spent several minutes grinding his teeth loudly. The class waited respectfully. "The instructions for the first potion are on the board. You have one hour. I'll be in my office, drinking."

"What an asshat," Harry muttered as he stormed out of the Potions classroom. Morty, Ron and Hermione followed close on his heels. "You swear, it was like my dad used to beat him up or something."

"You shouldn't have been pushing him, Harry," Hermione said.

Ron scoffed. "Lay off him, Granger, no one deserves that level of hatred."

"At least we have Defense Against the Dark Arts next," Morty said, checking his schedule. "Should be fun. Fighting dragons and stuff,y'know, cool."

"G-g-g-g-g-g-good a-a-a-aftern-n-n-noon, c-c-c-c-class, and w-w-w-w-w-w-w-welcome to D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-"

"Fuck this," Harry stood up and gathered his books. "I'm not listening to this broken record for an hour and a half."

"Where are you going? You can't skip class!"

"I'm Harry-fucking-Potter-Sanchez. Watch me."

The entire class watched as Harry strolled down the rows to the front of the class, pausing in front of Quirrell. "Stop staring at me, you're giving me a headache."

The classroom door slammed shut. There was a moment's silence. Then, every student stood up and stampeded after him, leaving Quirrell alone in an empty classroom.

"F-f-f-fu-"

"Stop overdoing it!" Quirrell's turban hissed.

"Yes, my Lord."

They found Harry on the third floor. "What on Earth are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"I'm investigating," Harry said, staring at a large, thick wooden door.

"Dumbledore told us the third-floor corridor was off-limits!" Morty said, glancing around, as though the kooky headmaster were watching them.

"He did, so obviously I need to find out what's behind this door," Harry replied, knocking on it experimentally. He put his ear to the wood. A low hum could be heard through the door. "It sounds like some sort of engine."

"But technology doesn't work in Hogwarts!" Hermione said.

"Then people haven't been trying hard enough," Harry said, pulling out a small device and scanning the door with it. He glanced down at the readout. "Hm… oak, with traces of… saliva?"

"Harry, you're going to get us in trouble!" Morty said, shaking.

"Morty, in case you haven't noticed, I'm basically a God here." He tried the knob. "It's unlocked."

"Why would Dumbledore tell students not to investigate a door and not even bother to lock it?" Ronald asked.

"Because he wanted us to open it."

"This is dangerous, Harry," Ron said. "People could get hurt."

"No one's going to get hurt," Harry replied, throwing the door open wide.

The first thing he noticed was a chain. It was as thick as his arm and trailed across the corridor floor for several feet before ending with a leather collar the size of a truck tire. Said collar was around the neck of a dog, roughly the size of an elephant. The dog had been snoring up until Harry had opened the door. It opened its eyes and locked on the surprised first year. Two more pairs of eyes opened as well. A loud chorus of growls made Harry's hair stand on end.

"People might get hurt," Harry muttered.

They didn't stop running until they reached the Gryffindor common room. "Password?" The Fat Lady asked.

"Open the fucking door, you goddamn Rubens knockoff!" Harry screamed.

"Can't let you in without a password."

"Bitch, I have a pocket knife, and I know how to use it!"

A second later, the portrait swung open. Four Gryffindors tumbled through the secret opening, the girl in the rear slamming the painting shut.

"What the fuck was that thing?" Harry asked, pushing himself out from the bottom of the dogpile and dusting himself off.

"It was a Cerberus," Hermione replied. "A young one."

"You mean they get bigger?" Morty was shaking. Harry slapped him hard across the face.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, shocked by the display of violence.

"He's had worse," Harry replied. He grabbed Morty by the shoulders. "You good?" Morty nodded. "You want some OJ?" Morty nodded again. "Ok, let's get you some OJ."

"Why would Dumbledore put a Cerberus in a children's school?" Ron asked, swirling his straw around his empty glass.

"Either he's fucking crazy or he's fucking metal as fuck," Morty replied. "Or both."

"Didn't you two see it?" Harry and Hermione said in unison. They glanced at one another surprised.

"Sorry, you go," Harry said.

"No, you can go first."

"No, I insist."

"Well, thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"Stop being nice and tell us what we missed!" Morty shouted.

"You saw the three-headed dog, but you didn't see what he was sitting on," Hermione said.

"What, a dog bed?"

"His balls?"

"A trap door."

"Why are we going to see the giant?" Harry asked.

"Because Dumbledore said Hagrid was a good guy," Morty replied.

"Dumbledore keeps a Cerberus behind an unlocked door and has a complete bastard teaching Potions. I think I have reason to doubt his judgment," Harry replied.

Morty hushed him, then knocked on the door of the Groundskeeper's Hut.

A few minutes later, Harry was seated in an oversized armchair, staring down at a plate of what could only be described as baked rocks, and holding an over-sweetened tea in a gallon-sized mug. "Gee, thanks, Hagrid."

"No problem, Harry," Hagrid replied, sitting down across from the two first years. "I knew yer parents, y'know. They were first years the year I got this job."

"What were Harry's parents like?" Morty asked.

"Here we go," Harry muttered.

"Well, yer mum was quite the smart witch. Quite the cracker, if I may say so myself."

"Gross."

"And yer dad, he was Cap'n of the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

"Quidditch?" Harry asked.

"Er, the most popular wizard sport. I take it you've never played."

"I don't do sports," Harry said, crossing his arms.

"I bet you'd be a good Seeker. Small and quick."

"Not interested. Sports is about showing off. Last I checked, I get enough attention when I break wind."

"Err, well, give it a thought."

"Whatever."

"Today I will be teaching you the basics of flying a broomstick," Madam Hooch said to the assembled first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins. "This… is my BROOM-stick!" She shouted, startling the students.

"I got that reference!" Harry shouted from the back of the crowd.

"Ten points to Gryffindor for good taste in Muggle entertainment," Hooch said. "Now, I'd like you all to try and mount your broomsticks. Simply hold your hand over the broomstick and say 'Up'."

The students did as asked. Except for Harry, who merely picked up the broomstick. "Potter, you didn't do as I said," Hooch replied.

"Why waste my magical imagery on a neat trick?" Harry asked.

"...Because it looks cool?"

"Does it, or does it look as though wizards are so lazy and accustomed to using magic to get whatever they want that they can't do anything as simple as picking up a fucking stick without a spell?"

Hooch would have argued, but fortunately for her and Harry, she was distracted by Longbottom taking off prematurely and breaking his wrist. "Someone take him to the Hospital Wing," she said.

"Why don't you hold your hand over his wrist and say 'Heal'?"

"Not now, Potter."

"Sanchez."

"ARRRRGH!"

As she left, Malfoy picked an object up from the ground. "Look, it's Longbottom's Remembrall! I've got dibs!"

Harry stepped forwards. "Give it here, Malfoy."

Draco scoffed. "As if. Brave Potter, defending the worthless."

"I'm not defending Longbottom," Harry said. "I overheard the password Longbottom uses to access it. If you give it here, I can find out where he keeps his chocolate stash. We can split it, fifty-fifty."

"Harry!" Hermione hissed.

"What? Ok, fine, I'll cut you in, too."

At that moment McGonagall stuck her head out of her office window. "Potter! What are you doing on that broom?" Harry pretended not to hear her. "Fine, Sanchez! What are you doing on that broom?"

"Nothing, professor," Harry called back.

"Well, you look like quite the natural on it."

"But I haven't even flown yet."

"Meet me by the Quidditch pitch tonight after dinner. You're Gryffindor's newest Seeker."

"Do I have a choice?" Harry asked, sighing.

"If you don't, you'll have to spend the evening serving detention with Snape."

"But I didn't do anything to Snape!"

"According to him, you continually disrupted today's class by existing."

"FUUUUCK!"

"See you at eight, then."