This chapter has been a bit of a pain to write because I spent a few hours trying to suss out the timetable of first year, only to conclude that trying to rationally analyse what subjects are when is an exercise in futility. Instead, first day counts as an orientation day for all classes (which ignores the canon of the Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone in which the first Potions class is on a Friday morning). My apologies to any fanboys/girls who have taken it upon themselves to critique any departure from the books, please just put it down to the magic of time travel or somesuch.
As he walked through the heavy wooden door into the swirling miasma of the Potions classroom, Harry couldn't help but think about how the day so far had been as boring as he'd expected. Whilst his first first day had been overrun with whimsy and fancy at how exciting magic was, how different everything was, and a general aura of "couldn't get further from 4 Privet Drive", his second first day was proving to be incredibly dull. Apart from the "excitement" of getting pranked by the Weasley twins, Harry's day had been one long exercise in patience and restraint. Firstly, he had to be patient during the interminable lectures every teacher seemed to give about how he should never mess around with magic, to put safety first at all times and to always ensure they had proper supervision when performing magic of any kind. Necessary as it was, Harry spent his time jotting down the homework he knew or guessed would be assigned at the end of each lesson, when he wasn't doodling on his parchment. Magic, of course, was not used the first day for the first years, as instead they were introduced to the subjects. He also had to use a good deal of restraint to not start hexing a few gawkers who seemed to spend their time in between classes stalking him to get a sight of the fabled scar. After the third such incident, Ron Weasley had taken it upon himself to shoo away any well-wishers and sycophants, which suited them both just fine.
In Herbology, Harry had made certain to partner himself up with Neville, remembering the boy's frankly terrifying level of skill at the subject. Sure enough, Neville impressed Professor Sprout so much by the end of the first lesson he had scored 15 house points, after naming every plant in the First Year's greenhouse. The look on his face was actually rather heartwarming, he'd been so pleased to have achieved something other than mediocrity Harry suspected that the professor had made herself an ally for life. Harry, of course, had given him a big smile that he hoped had said "friendly and proud" and not "aspiring serial killer".
After Herbology, the abomination that was Defence against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts in 1991 had begun. After walking through the door, the smell of garlic had assailed Harry's nostrils so violently he'd been tempted to pull the turban off of Quirrell's head just so he didn't need to spend another second in the room. But, deciding that the lives of his classmates were probably worth a few hours of discomfort for the next few weeks until he could gather enough "evidence" to question Quirrell, he'd instead taken a seat next to Weasley, who seemed ecstatic to bask in the light of Harry's star. Quirrell, had, naturally, stuttered his way through his speech on the why and how of Defence, managing to convey an impressively little amount of information in the large amount of time available to him. Harry had spent the lesson poking fun at the turban that the palest man on earth insisted on wearing, ignoring the annoyed glances Hermione sent his way for daring to impugn a teacher's authority. He had, of course, missed the way her face had fell when she heard the great Harry Potter speaking ill of any teacher. Because why would she have anything in common with the famous Boy-Who-Lived?
When the class had ended, Harry had spent a few minutes wondering whether he should skip History of Magic entirely and instead go searching for the Chamber. It wasn't like Binns had anything useful to say anyway. He vacillated for a few minutes longer, but, figuring that he didn't want to attract undue attention on the first day, he trudged all the way to the classroom. When he reached the door, however, he found himself trapped in the definition of a first day conundrum. Arriving a minute or two late to class, and all the seats were full. Except for one, of course. Hermione Granger sat at the very front and right of the class. To her right was the wall and to her left…an empty desk. The only empty desk left in the class, as far as he could tell. Harry edged back away from the doorframe, then stopped. In fact, he'd had to put a hand to his mouth to stop himself from laughing at the absurdity of the situation. A (mentally) 15 year old teenager, preparing to run and hide from an 11 year old schoolgirl? The whole situation was comedically absurd. It was insane! But then, why did he still have a almost pathological desire to turn around, walk away, and never look upon the face of Granger again? His mind had flashed back to those vacant, oh so terribly empty eyes, staring up at him accusingly. "Why?" They whispered sadly. "Why didn't you stop them? This is your fault."
Harry shook his head angrily. There was no point in dwelling on the past. Then, an uncontrollable snort flew from his mouth, combining with his hand to make an wet, raspberry-like sound that could only be described as a drinking elephant getting high on bath salts. Dwelling in the past? That was precisely what he was doing. As he recovered from his moment of weakness, he'd looked up to see that the entirety of Binns' classroom, eager for any break from the droning lecture, staring at him through the doorway, with a mix of confusion, amusement, and scepticism. Great, he had thought. Now he had no choice. Trying to keep at least semblance of his dignity, he had strolled into the classroom, his back straight, and his attention split between trying not to make eye contact and keeping his cheeks from becoming a substitute for Rudolph's nose. He'd sat next to Hermione, hoping that her almost fanatical devotion to authority would stop her from talking to her. She didn't say a word, and barely even looked at him, but his stomach had sunk like a lead balloon regardless, churning unbearably in that guilty feeling that had become ever so familiar over years of sleepless nights.
Fortunately, the lecture had passed mercifully quickly, a rare departure from the majority of Binns' lessons, and Harry had scrambled from the classroom, the rest of the class following in his wake. Thus, he had finally found himself walking into the comfortingly familiar miasma of Potions, his absolute favourite class from his first time through. Looking about, he saw exactly what he had been hoping to see. Draco Malfoy, sitting without a partner, waiting for somebody (presumably Theo or Pansy) to come join him. With a smile on his face, Harry crossed over to him, ignoring the curious looks he was getting from Crabbe and Goyle.
"Malfoy! Mind if I sit here?" He said exuberantly, an encouraging smile on his face.
Malfoy stared at him, looking like a deer caught in headlights. "Potter! I..." He looked behind Harry for a moment, clearly searching for someone. "As much as I would like that, I'm afraid I…ahhh, you see, here's the thing." He said, stalling for time as more people entered the classroom. "I..well, I promised," his eyes lit up as he saw somebody behind Harry. "Theo! I promised Theo, here, that I'd be his partner for Potions. Sorry, Potter." He said with a smirk that seemed vaguely apologetic, as Theo sat down next to him, noticing the weird energy of the conversation.
Harry pulled a pained half-smile, hoping that it didn't look as fake as it felt. "Course. I understand." He stood awkwardly for moment, not knowing what else to say. "I…umm…yeah." He said lamely, before turning around, trying not to let any tears come from his eyes.
"What was the bloody golden boy doing talking to you?" He heard Theo whisper behind him as he walked robotically to other side of the classroom, where the Gryffindors seemed to be congregating. Harry just shook his head sadly. He had suspected Drake would keep away from him, not wanting to be associated with any Gryffindor, especially one so firmly tied to anti-dark side of politics. But, even prepared as he was, the rejection still hurt, even knowing the way their friendship turned out. It was hard to shake the ties that bound them, even if Draco didn't remember them. Truth be told, Harry was surprised he wasn't angrier at the boy who had betrayed and tried to murder him. But, whenever he looked at the blond haired lad, he only felt a cold sense of loss, overlaying a well of sadness. Still, he thought, standing up a little straighter. He owed it to the Malfoy-That-Was to do his best to save the Malfoy-That-Is.
Dully, he realised that he'd been standing for a little while now, and was starting to draw curious looks from his classmates. Shaking his head to clear it, he looked around for a place to sit. Finnegan and Thomas had partnered up, as had Brown and Parvarti. Ron had sat next to Hermione, presumably to leech off of her presumed ability. That left...
Oh.
Oh shit.
Neville gave him a nervous smile as Harry reluctantly sat down next to him, almost forcing himself to sit down on the seat. If there was a single person Harry wanted to sit next to less in Potions, he couldn't think of one. Neville Longbottom was famously the most historically, absurdly incompetent Potions student Hogwarts had with its walls in centuries. Barely a class went by without a calamity of some sort befalling the round faced child. Now, Harry Potter was in the firing line. Brilliant.
As Harry nervously stewed, the class's attention was pulled to the door to the classroom, as Snape made his usual flamboyant entrance, his black cloak trailing behind him. He didn't say a word as he strode up to the front of the class, where he began to read off the register without hesitation. As he reached Harry's name, he gave an ominous sneer.
"Ah, yes." He said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity."
His snide aside finished, he finished calling the roll, before clasping his hands behind his back as an air of expectancy filled the class.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making." He began with his speech, that Harry had learned he started every new first year with. "as there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe it 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 stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Subconsciously, Harry leaned forward eagerly, eager to get started on the first practical bit of class he'd had all day. Really, it was lucky that the Professor put little value on lectures on safety (as if that wasn't self evident), or his day might have been a total bust. After all, it didn't look like Charms or Astronomy after this would be much different from the rest of the boredom-inducing first day lectures.
"Potter!" Snape snapped, surprising the entire class with the tone of his voice. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Immediately, Hermione's arm shot up into the air, with no hesitation. Harry shot an angry look to the back of her head for a moment. Did she think he was so stupid he couldn't answer? Or was she so desperate to please that she'd like to steal somebody else's chance to impress? Harry tilted his head thoughtfully to the side for a moment, figuring that answering immediately would look a little suspicious.
"Would it be part of a Draught of Living Death, sir?" He answered, trying not to sound either too smug or too nervous.
Snape raised his eyebrow at the spawn of his most hated enemy and his most beloved friend. "A good guess, Potter. If I told you to find a bezoar, where would you look?" He queried silkily, the fire behind his eyes clearly visible to somebody who knew him as well as Harry. Unnoticed by the entire class, Hermione's hand raised a little higher, her hand quivering with excitement.
Harry decided to be a little faster on this one. "The stomach of a goat, sir, or any good first aid bag."
Snape's lip curled in either distaste or amusement. "A point from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter." He said delicately, before shooting off another question before anybody had a chance to object. "What is the difference between monkshood and Wolfsbane?"
Hermione's hand stretched so high that Harry was worried she'd pop her shoulder out of its socket. Harry cocked his head for a moment, trying to strike a balanced medium between arrogant know-it-all and timid dunderhead. "Wouldn't they be the same thing, sir? Pretty sure some people call it aconite as well."
Harry cold have sworn Snape's lips curled even more, although he still couldn't tell (and he was pretty sure nobody except Severus himself knew) if it was in distaste, contempt, or amusement. The room was silent for a moment as Snape considered. He nodded slightly. "Ten points to Gryffindor, Potter." He said finally, before snapping at the rest of the class. "And why aren't the rest of you writing this down? Five points from Gryffindor!" He said, a hint of more than his usual angst in his tone as he began writing the ingredients for a simple cure for boils on the blackboard. When his back was turned, Harry sighed in relief. Well that's the first obstacle cleared, he thought. But now…he turned to Longbottom, who stared at the blackboard uncomprehendingly. This would be an interesting lesson.
At the end of the lesson, having avoided a few near-explosions on Neville's part, they had turned in a red-pink affair to Snape that, whilst not up to Harry's usual 'O' standards, would probably be enough to garner them an 'EE'. That, of course assumed Snape wasn't going to deliberately flunk them because of Harry's dad. As he walked out the door, he thought back to when he had first learnt about Severus's history with his father. Admittedly, Harry had been a little shocked to hear how badly James Potter had treated Professor Snape, even if the man could be a little high-handed and cold sometimes. It had sorely shaken his perceptions of his parents, even though he had heard good things about his father from Sirius and many others. But, he had surmised at the end of an Occlumency session last year (or five years in the future), everyone had considered Slytherins fair game at Hogwarts at the time. Understandable, considering there was a civil war on. Still, his frosty reception from Snape for the first few weeks had certainly made more sense after viewing that particular memory in his third lesson.
"H-Harry…could I talk to you for a moment?" Neville asked timidly as he followed Harry out of the Potions classroom, snapping Harry out of his trip down memory lane.
Harry rolled his eyes to the heavens, but acquiesced, slowing down and allowing Neville to scamper along and catch up with him. "What is it Neville?" Harry said coldly, irritation showing in his voice.
Neville cringed a little, before replying. "I..I just wanted to say sorry about before, with the porcupine quills. I know I'm hopeless at it, just like everything else here." He explained, with a sadness so familiar to Harry that his heart did go out to the boy a little, even if he was an incompetent bumbler. "I promise I'll do better next time, though, if we're partners again, if that's okay with you. Oh, and thanks for saving the potion for me. Hermione said that if you didn't intervene the potion would have exploded!" The round faced boy finished gratefully, his puppydog eyes gazing earnestly at Harry.
Harry sighed. He was still irritated, but blowing up at the kid wouldn't help anybody. Except, perhaps, his mood. – But no, he wouldn't. As tempting as a raised voice was, his better half reined the temptation in. Instead, he comforted the boy. "It's okay, Neville, really. Everybody makes mistakes. So long as you are willing and able to learn from them, I think we'll be fine. Okay?" He finished with a smile, hoping that his irritation had not bled into his voice.
It appeared not, since Neville gave a tentative smile back. "Thanks Harry! I promise I'll do better! Really!" He said earnestly, his eyes without a trace of the guile Harry had spent five years searching for in his dealings with his old house.
Harry nodded in reply. "See that you do. I know you have it in you to do better, Neville, you've just got to show everybody else that." He said, trying to sound wise and sagelike.
Neville looked at him doubtfully. "Really? Nobody else thinks that. Do you really think so?"
"I know so, Neville. If you work hard, I'm sure you can do well. Trust me."
Neville looked at him again, his brown eyes wide. "I..I dunno. Thanks, but I don't think so." He said, his tone sorrowful. Then, he brightened up a little. "But I'll try to do better. Thanks, Harry." He nodded, and then walked off to Charms, leaving Harry far behind.
Sitting in the Gryffindor dorm at the end of the day, Harry couldn't get that look Neville gave him out of his head. He hadn't paid it much heed at the time, but, strangely, he couldn't stop thinking about it. The look that Neville had given him after Harry said he believed he could do better had been part pathetic amount of gratitude, part complete adoration, and part hopeful. It was as if the boy had never been never been praised before, and the look had struck far too close to home for Harry Potter. Quietly, as he absentmindedly petted Hedwig on the windowsill, he resolved to himself that if was going to give a chance to his traitorous best friend, he might as well give a chance to a well meaning bumbler.
"Harry!" An enthusiastic Ron Weasley cried from the door, his face lit up with excitement. "C'mon, we need to get going! We can't miss dinner the very first day!"
Harry smiled, and stood up. He might as well give a chance to an insecure, desperate-to-please redhead as well.
Sorry to have an author's note at the start and end of the chapter, I just though I'd let people know that my update schedule is going from one short-ish chapter each day to a longer (3000 words-ish) chapter every second day. Hopefully I can keep up the pace! Thanks for reading, and please review or PM me if you have ideas, criticisms, comments or just want to chat!