The next day classes began, but not every class was every day. Since Hogwarts was the first time in Harry's life that he'd had a formal education it was something of a struggle to adjust to scheduled periods of long silence and structured lectures, but he adapted. Adaptation was the single most important lesson from the kaiju on Monster Island, and Harry had learned it well.
Professor McGonagall's class, transfiguration, was intriguing but difficult. Her eye catching demonstrations – changing herself from a cat to a woman as class started, and then turning her desk into a pig and back again – were more than enough to make just about everyone focus, especially in combination with her formidable aura of authority.
Their first lesson was to transfigure a match into a needle. Harry struggled because his inner pyromaniac (he blamed watching Godzilla use the atomic breath – it was just so impressive!) thought that the match was inherently better, since it could light on fire. He lost some points on his first try, because while it looked like a needle, it could still catch fire; worse still, it was unsafe, since it could catch fire all over.
The theoretical homework was a pain, but with Hermione helping him (but not doing the work for him as she insisted) Harry soon got it right, giving him some much needed to time peruse his extra book, Surviving Snape.
The book painted a deeply unpleasant portrait of the professor, one Harry was having a much easier time believing after having just seen the man. It said that he was biased against all houses but Slytherin, and that there was no way to truly avoid losing points for Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, or especially Gryffindors, there were ways to avoid excessive losses.
First, it said that Snape really hated teaching, and simply put directions on a blackboard, so you ought to be certain to read the books beforehand if you lacked an intuitive understanding of ingredients, their properties, their interactions, and general safety procedures.
Second, it said to get used to name-calling and put-downs if you weren't in Slytherin house. It listed some of his standard insults, including his apparently rehearsed dunderhead speech, calling non-Slytherins who volunteered to eagerly know-it-alls, and his fondness for picking out seemingly random, arbitrary students to suggest that they would not pass his class no matter what.
Third, it gave a word of caution. Apparently, for reasons the authors had never been able to find rhyme or reason for, Snape would occasionally decide that there was a student that he simply despised. The authors emphasized that there was no way to prevent him from taking points from you in this case, but there were a handful of ways to minimize it.
First, he had a standard set of questions he asked first-years he hated, and the authors gave the questions and answers in order. Adding powdered root of ashphodel to an infusion of wormwood would create a Draught of Living Death. Bezoars were found in the stomachs of goats and nullified the effects of many poisons (here the book placed an asterisk and cautioned its readers to say "many" not "most." Snape's knowledge of poisons was evidently encyclopedic and if anyone answered "most" he would rattle off a list of poisons that bezoars could not counter). Finally, wolfsbane and monkshood were the same plant, and if a reader wanted to politely thumb their nose at Snape while answering, they could point out that the plant was also known as aconite.
The only other way for someone he hated to avoid losing points was to simply keep their head down, take rapid notes if he said anything useful (rare, but it occasionally happened), and follow each instruction to the letter.
Putting the book away, Harry set off to find the next class amid the ever changing and winding stairways and passages.
Harry enjoyed Professor Flitwick's class, charms, immensely. True, the professor had fallen out of his seat when he reached Harry's name on the roll sheet, but the class was eminently practical, something that Harry appreciated, not to mention that Flitwick's exuberance was seemingly contagious (Harry considered asking if that in itself was a charm, but decided it was best not to).
History was utterly worthless, at least as taught by Professor Binns. The ghost was quite possibly the most boring shade in existence; Harry did not know how one could make war and battle seem so boring, but the spirit had managed to do so spectacularly. Only Hermione seemed unaffected by his monotonous droning.
He'd actually been looking forward to defense against the dark arts, despite knowing about Professor Quirrell's bad stutter, but unfortunately the man lived down far past even Harry's worst expectations. The man was simply to afraid to let them do anything, and the intense and overpowering smell of garlic made Harry's head hurt.
Finally, the time came to go to potions class with Professor Snape. Harry braced himself and kept in mind the temper controlling exercises the Shobijin had taught him. Godzilla taught him that rage had a purpose and that it could be used, but it was Mothra and her priestesses that taught him that rage also had a place – one could not and should not be angry all the time.
Harry filed in and sat with Neville and the pair of them sat as close to Hermione as possible. It seemed that the professor had yet to arrive, so Harry very quietly asked Neville, "Did you get the extra book? The one that was hidden in a corner of Flourish and Blotts'?"
A panicked looking Neville replied, "No, which one was that?"
"Don't worry, I'll tell you after class."
A moment later Snape swept into the room, robes billowing behind him. Since the dungeon had no wind, Harry briefly grossed himself out wondering if it was simply a sign that the professor had bad gas.
The professor went down the list of students, but apart from a very subtle narrowing of his eyes at Neville's name did not stop until he reached Harry's.
"Mr. Potter. Our new celebrity."
Harry sighed inwardly and steeled himself. Murdering a professor, even if three quarters of the school would appreciate it, was not an option.
Snape reached the end of the list and then launched into the exact speech quoted verbatim in Harry's book. Harry did his best to seem interested. Naturally, when he reached the end he implied that neither Harry nor Neville would pass. Finally, he bombarded Harry with the three questions he held in reserve for those whom he loathed, ignoring Hermione's raised hand as if she were invisible.
Harry answered with what the book had taught him, including the slight bonus at the end.
Snape's glare managed to intensify.
"Ten points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all Potter. You cannot rely on memorization here."
Rage was overtaking his amusement that the book told him precisely the opposite. Harry took a slow, deep breath. He was not sure if he was meditating or building towards a breath of fire.
Eventually the class ended, but with an excessively long parchment essay assigned for homework. After rushing out of the dungeons like he was trying to escape one of Godzilla's rampages, Neville asked him, "What did you mean extra book?"
Hermione walked up at that moment as well, adding on, "I heard you say that. What extra book are you talking about? I looked all over the store for everything."
"Let's get back to the Gryffindor common room first," Harry replied. "I don't feel comfortable discussing it so close to the dungeons."
They had scarcely passed through the Fat Lady's portrait when Hermione got in front of her friend.
"Please explain now Harry," her best impersonation of Professor McGonagall's stern look was quite impressive, all the more so because it was not deliberate.
Harry pulled his copy of Surviving Snape out of his bag. Neville and Hermione's reactions perfectly illustrated the difference between gasps of awe and horror.
Before either of them could speak, Harry explained, "I found an entire shelf of these tucked in a corner of the bookstore in Diagon Alley. The book has a note inside saying that it's charmed to look like a children's book to everyone over seventeen years old. It was a lifesaver just now."
"Harry–"
"Harry, you've got to let me borrow that for a bit. I know he went after you today, but I just know that next time it's going to be me."
"Neville… are you scared of him?"
"Harry…"
"You mean you're not?"
"Harry!"
"Yes, Hermione?"
"Can't you see how disrespectful that book is Harry? You should get rid of it, especially if its charmed so that the professors can't see it."
"Hold on one moment Neville," Harry turned to his other friend. "Hermione, I will make you a deal. If you can read the first ten pages of this book and then explain to me a way in which it does not describe the class we just had, I will throw it into the fire right now."
Neville made a sound like a wounded animal and Hermione mulled it over for moment before agreeing. Harry handed it over.
"Harry how could you do that to me?"
Harry leaned closer to Neville and whispered, "Trust me on this. You'll get that book, I promise."
The two boys watched Hermione read it quickly, her face transitioning from outraged to incredulous to sad to defeated in the span of just a few minutes.
"So," Harry couldn't help but smirk, "What's the difference?"
Hermione threw the book at him and walked away, and Harry gladly gave it to Neville.
The next day was their broom-flying class. Harry would have preferred it if there was a class to learn to fly under his own power, but when he'd asked an older student (after the shock of speaking to Harry Potter wore off) they told him that it was theoretically impossible for even the most powerful wizards to fly unassisted.
Madam Hooch seemed to be a very stern woman, much like Professor McGonagall, and told them all that the first task was to get their brooms into their hands without simply bending over and picking them up.
However, the task as easy in theory; they merely had to hold their hand over the broom and say "Up!"
Harry's responded immediately, surprising him. It had leapt into his hand like an eager puppy.
For all of Draco's early morning boasts about being a superb flyer who could outrun muggle helicopters (despite that being impossible and even if true a severe violation of the Statute of Secrecy), his broom did nothing but hover slightly and roll in midair.
Hermione, in this one case, seemed to be among the worst in class. Her broom would not respond to her.
Neville got the worst of the brooms though. His at first did not respond, then flew up and hit him in the face. It either knocked him out or badly dazed him, because he then fell onto it and started rising.
Harry acted on instinct and hopped onto his own broom and tried to keep his friend down so the potential fall wouldn't hurt him anymore. Madam Hooch eventually got onto a functioning broom and guided him down.
"Ten points from Gryffindor for flying without my permission… and twenty points to Gryffindor for helping a fellow student in need."
The teacher sent the dizzy but conscious Neville to the hospital wing and the rest of the lesson passed without incident because the Remembrall he received that morning stayed in his pocket.
September and October flew by, and Harry was really coming to enjoy Hogwarts. The staring had mostly dropped to a minimum, and he could always ignore it by striking a conversation with Neville, Hermione, or both. Most of the classes (history, defense, and especially potions excluded) were interesting, and for the most part Harry could see why his birth parents would have chosen to come here.
Then Halloween came.
Harry had already been feeling somber, wondering what might have been if his parents had lived, and then Ron Weasley made Hermione cry just for correcting him during charms. Harry discretely cast a curse at him that sent him off the hospital wing puking slugs, and then he set out to look for her, occasionally asking a portrait if they had seen her. He wasn't sure what he would say, but he could at least offer a shoulder to cry on if nothing else.
Harry mused that maybe he shouldn't have told Neville to go and enjoy the feast; a second set of eyes and ears would really help.
Finally, one portrait said that Hermione had been in one of the girl's bathrooms all day, so Harry set off.
That was when he heard the scream. He ran towards the sound and found himself at the destroyed entrance of the girls' loo. Hermione was backed into a corner with a troll advancing on her. Though the troll's stench brought tears to his eyes, he refused to let that stop him.
Recalling all that Godzilla and Jet Jaguar had taught him, he roared at the troll, which turned and looked at him, deeply confused. Harry roared again, a sound no human was meant to make, but enhanced by magic into something terrifying.
Fortunately the troll stopped advancing on Hermione. Unfortunately, that was because it was now advancing on him. Harry tried to breathe fire, but all that came out of his mouth was a blue ring of sparks and smoke that irritated the troll's eyes and made it angrier.
Harry had long ago learned the importance of dodging and now his reflexes were put to the ultimate test as he avoided each swing of the troll's club, at one point leaping over a wide swing as if playing the world's deadliest game of jump-rope.
He punched it in the knee.
It didn't work, and now his hand stank of troll.
He kicked it in the other knee, and that still got no reaction.
He cast every curse, hex, jinx, and offensive spell he'd been able to learn from Vindictus Viridian's book, all to no avail. What would it take to bring this thing down?
Then he had an idea that would prove to be either disastrous or brilliant. The next time the troll slammed its club onto the ground, Harry jumped onto the club and then ran up both the weapon and the arm holding it onto its shoulder. The troll looked at him in confusion until he jammed his wand right up its nose and concentrated. A troll's brain was about the size of a teacup, so it ought to work.
True enough, a moment later the beast collapsed like a building when kaiju were on the warpath, and a deeply distressed mouse crawled out of the troll's nose.
The professor's arrived to see Hermione clutching Harry like a life preserver in an ocean storm as he tried to sooth her with one hand and wash off the other. Harry and Hermione told most of the truth of what had happened; Hermione had run off crying after being insulted, and Harry had gone looking for her instead of joining the feast. When he saw the troll going after her, he tried to distract it. If Hermione noticed that Harry deliberately left out his ability to breathe fire, she did not correct him.
In the end Professor McGonagall removed twenty points for attacking a troll, but added forty for a combination of courage and creative use of transfiguration.
Harry wrote his first letter home that evening, being able to honestly tell both the Shobijin and Jet Jaguar that he had not gone looking for trouble, but also able to tell Godzilla that he had vanquished his first foe. After a moment of thought, he also summed up what the rest of his time at Hogwarts was like. Even if no one else wanted to hear it, it would entertain Minilla.
Author's Note: Was that too rushed? I skimmed the first Harry Potter book for important plot points before writing this, but I feel like I may have cut out a lot of the filler that really fleshed out the world, partly because Harry's impulsive loyalty prevented all the Quidditch related things from happening in my story. Let me know what you think in your reviews.