It was the First Day of Class, and Harry Potter was lost.
It was the Second Day of Class, and Harry Potter was lost.
It was the Third Day of Class, and Harry Potter was scribbling diagrams to help with his direction sense.
It was the Fourth Day of Class, when Harry Potter realized that the entire castle moved - not just the stairs. Harry had to visibly restrain himself to prevent himself from screaming at the top of his lungs. This was impossible, he thought, despite the ample evidence that the Seventh Years had absolutely no trouble finding anything at all. If only I had brought some of my money, he thought, I might be able to hire a student to lead me around like a lost ewe.
It was the Fifth Day of Class, and Harry Potter sat himself, for the first time, at the Gryffindor table without having to plead to someone (even a portrait) for directions. With a trace of a frown, he opened the Potions book again, reading quickly and trying to ignore the Potion Master's eyes resting heavily on him. Harry Potter still hadn't a whit of knowledge as to why the Potions Master seemed to eye him so keenly - it certainly didn't reek of the adulation that even some of the older students were apt to project onto him. In that regard, the Weasley Twins had proved to be quite helpful - as long as he was willing to accept some compensation for testing their joke-toys, they'd continue to provide him with methods of looking completely ridiculous. Best of all, apparently their normal guinea pig was Ron Weasley, so nobody thought anything of it.
And it was, after all, rather hard to think of him as the Gryffindor Savior, the Boy That Lived, when he was flying around as an oversize canary. Hell, he even thought he saw Granger muffling a smile.
Time for Potions, Harry thought, stuffing the last of his food into his mouth as Ron (who was sitting beside) often did. They followed the prefect down the halls (Harry tried to memorize them, jotting quick notes on the palm of his hand). Harry Potter sat near the front (unsurprised to see Hermione Granger sitting beside him, she liked the front whenever and wherever possible), filling the surface of his mind with giant pink elephants and big lipped alligators. They contorted themselves into some sort of aerial dance as Harry pulled out quill and parchment (neither of which he had the hang of yet, but oh well).
The Gryffindors and Slytherins sat on opposite sides, Harry was entirely unsurprised to note.
Harry heard the double doors behind them open with a loud click - and momentarily heard the doors slam against the walls, as Professor Snape strode to the front of the classroom, moving like a swiftly stalking crane - all elbows and lanky grace, with an undercurrent of understated power. He pivoted behind his desk, his eyes raking the classroom, as he started to take roll, first with the Slytherins, and then the Gryffindors. When he got to Harry's name, he paused.
"Ah, yes, Harry Potter, our newest celebrity." Harry Potter looked at him resolutely, as if it was commonplace to be referred to as that. He imagined anatomically improbable sequences of pink Elephants and purple Alligators. Snape's mouth tightened, and his eyes made as if to slit before he recollected himself. Behind them both, Malfoy and his "bodyguards" tittered quietly. Harry Potter, deep within his mind, wished they were as small as titmice, and as fragile. He'd like to wring their necks.*
As Snape finished his roll, he launched into a speech, "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making." Harry had to wonder at the word choice - few arts were ever exacting, and science... what type of science did the Wizarding World have, anyway? "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will believe this is scarcely 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." Harry wondered at that - that level of detail seemed unusual for the wizarding world. "Bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses." Snape stalked the front of the classroom like a mountain lion - in deadly silence. "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, or even put a stopper in death - if you aren't as big a crop of dunderheads as the usual I must teach."
"Potter!" Snape said suddenly, as Harry tried not to jerk. "What would I get if I added powdered asphodel root to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry searched his brain, quickly understanding that he didn't know the answer - and that he'd managed to get through about a third of both the 2nd and 3rd year potions books. Why was he being asked questions he was sure to not know the answer to? Did Snape want to show his ignorance? Humiliate him? Well, Harry knew one thing - it was generally unwise to not play ball when a person in power wanted something. "I don't know." Harry said quietly.
"Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?" Harry blinked at the new question - he remembered this one from the 3rd year book, but didn't feel particularly like mentioning it. Better to stay quiet, and see where Snape was leading with this.
"I do not know." Harry said unapologetically.
"What's the difference between wolfsbane and aconite?" Snape snapped, and Harry Potter was very, very tempted to answer. Hadn't Snape been watching him over breakfast? Wasn't it exactly what was on the first page of the book?
"I think Hermione knows the answer to the question." Harry said at last, "Why don't you ask her?"
"Being a celebrity isn't all that it's cracked up to be, now is it Potter?" Snape said snidely, and Harry Potter fought to think about pink elephants rather than strangling the man in a fit of pique.
[a/n: even a Slytherin Harry Potter has quite the temper. He's just better at holding it in. Leave a note if you like it!]
*no, harry isn't a murderer. fantasy is reasonably healthy behavior.