The next few days passed like a blur for Harry. Once, he heard that if nothing significant happens in a timeframe, one might feel as if significantly less time passes than in reality. It seemed like it was true for the contrary too though, as he felt as if he'd just arrived at Hogwarts when he was sitting in the library on Thursday afternoon.
Harry tried to ignore the whispers that followed him everywhere he went in the past days, once he had left the safe confines of Hufflepuff territory. Apparently, he was really as famous as he'd heard, and it also shocked everyone that he wasn't sorted into Gryffindor.
At least it seemed like the classes were making people forget about him a little. Surprisingly, they were much more than simple wand-waving and things magicians usually did in Muggle movies. Instead, he found out that they barely had to use their wands at all, but they did have to take a huge amount of notes, which made him feel as if his hands were about to fall off.
Pansy complained to him that they most likely wouldn't be learning more than basic background information about the spells in their first lessons because the "stupid muggleborns, who need to catch up, because they never held a wand in their lives before" were apparently holding them all back. While Harry didn't like scribbling notes about wand movements either, he didn't say anything. He felt ashamed, because if he was honest with himself, those things about muggleborns applied to him as well. He had never held a wand in his life before either, and he did find theoreticals useful, even though some parts nearly made him fall asleep.
He didn't fall asleep though, because he had a goal in mind: he wanted to show everyone that Harry Potter wasn't just a famous boy they could all stare at, but that he was also a capable wizard who should be respected. And that's why he was sitting in the library at that very moment.
"The debate about the birthplace of the Wizarding Community is still ongoing in the present. While the majority of the historians agree that similarly to the Muggles, the wizardkind originated from Africa, some people are still doubting it. Eckbert the Enormous wrote a whole five hundred ninety-five pages long essay about Hans Schwarz, the first wizard of all time who lived in what is now Germany a long time before any of the historically known magicians were born in Africa. On the other hand, William Smith pointed out that Eckbert has a black cat and he had never ever declined fire whiskey in his life before. The German historian felt really insulted about that claim and demanded that…"
Harry angrily slammed his book shut. He already hated History of Magic, and these study sessions he forced on himself didn't make it any better. Harry had found it hard to believe that their History Professor was an actual ghost. The class was incredibly boring - while Harry found the textbook really boring as well, it seemed like one of the most exciting things he had read in his life compared to the class. Professor Binns droned on in a monotonous voice, making even the most dramatic events as dry as dust. In their first class ever, Harry had tried to pay attention. He'd managed to keep track for about ten minutes. After that, he'd slumped down on his table feeling too exhausted even for sleeping. Shockingly, that performance was one of the best in the class. Almost no one else managed to hold their attention as long as he did… well, except for Hermione Granger, who somehow paid attention for the entirety of the lesson. Moreover, she was able to even take notes; a performance which Harry found incredible.
He forced himself to concentrate on the textbook again. "Ugh, why do I have to learn this again? The other subjects are all much better." Truly enough, while the other subjects might have been exhausting, they all interested Harry.
Charms was taught by Professor Flitwick, a tiny wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. He squeaked with delight when he called out Harry's name on the roll, and toppled out of sight. The class chuckled, and the diminutive teacher chuckled as well, fixating his gaze on his desk, feeling embarrassed. The Professor seemed to know his subject, though, so Harry didn't mind that one awkward moment that much.
Tuesday morning they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for. Harry found the plants interesting, but he couldn't fully enjoy tending to them, because it reminded him too much of his time with the Dursleys, when he had to do gardening. On the other hand, it was taught by his Head of House, so he worked extremely hard, which was rewarded with five points from Sprout when he finished planting his Valerian Springs first in the class. It felt all the better because Blaise Zabini had just lost five points for Hufflepuff minutes before that. Apparently he'd gotten so mad because he couldn't dig deep enough to find a good placement for the plant that he tore it into two identical pieces. To no one's surprise, Sprout didn't appreciate the loss of a plant at all.
The Defence Against the Dark Arts class turned out to be something of a joke. Harry remembered that there was a young Professor sitting at the teachers' table, who was wearing a turban all the time, but he didn't know that it oozed the smell of garlic, not making it any easier to listen to Professor Quirrell, who was stuttering all the time as well. It seemed like the turban had some kind of powerful magic in it, because every time Harry looked at it, he felt a strong stabbing pain in his forehead. The class itself felt ridiculously easy compared to the others, so Harry didn't mind the weird Professor that much.
Tuesday afternoon came, and with it Harry's first Potions class. He hadn't expected anything special, but he'd been surprised, and not in a pleasant way. He sighed as he recalled the memory.
Harry knew that Potions classes were held in the dungeons. He marched in at the head of the Hufflepuff contingent and paused, rather distracted by the shelves of glass jars full of floating animals and random bits, causing Anthony to walk into him and both boys stumble to the ground, causing the other Hufflepuffs to laugh.
"Sorry, Anthony. I just got caught up looking at those jars," Harry said, pointing at the glass jars.
"It's fine, really," Anthony replied. "It's actually understandable. Look at that over there. Is that a Quintaped? Those are very rare! I have once read that-"
He suddenly stopped in the middle of his sentence, as he realised that all of the class had stopped talking, and it was deadly quiet. Harry looked up, and saw Professor Snape staring down at Anthony and him, both still laying on the ground.
"Potter, Goldstein. Are you practising walking on all fours?"
"No, Professor, we were simply-" but Snape didn't let Harry finish.
"I think you were trying to learn a new trick, Potter, to make you even more famous. Hate to disappoint you, but walking on all fours is something even a one year old baby can do. I can only reward you with a loss of five points. You too, Goldstein," he added, when Anthony wanted to protest.
Harry was fuming inwardly as he sat down in the first row of the students with Anthony. He had a distinct feeling that Snape didn't like him. By the end of the class, he knew he'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry - he hated him.
Just like Flitwick, Snape also started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.
"Ah, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity." Harry heard Bulstrode laughing behind him, but he couldn't do anything. He couldn't afford to lose more points, could he?
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," Snape began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word. Just like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect that 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… That is, if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach," he finished with a scowl, looking briefly into Harry's direction.
Some more silence followed this little speech. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Anthony glancing at him, but he didn't dare to look back. He felt like even if he would only breathe a bit louder than the others, Snape would call him out on it.
"Potter!" Snape suddenly snapped. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"Powdered root of what to an infusion of what?" Harry glanced around in the classroom, but everyone looked as stumped as he was.
"Don't expect any help, I asked you, Potter."
"I don't know, sir," Harry replied.
Snape's lips curled into a sneer.
"Tut, tut… it seems like fame clearly isn't everything."
He turned to the whole class.
"Let's try again. Goldstein, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"I have no idea, sir," Anthony replied after a moment of thinking.
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter, Goldstein?"
Harry forced himself to look straight into Snape's cold eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys', but did Snape seriously expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?
"Excuse me sir, but no one told us that we should read the textbook before the first class," Harry said, using all of his confidence.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Seamus Finnigan wink at him. Snape on the other hand simply ignored Harry, but it seemed like he saw the wink, because he targeted Seamus next.
"What is the difference, Finnigan, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"Uhhh… monkshood has a stronger effect… and they look similar, but there's a difference."
"A difference? Oh, Finnigan, could you please entertain us by revealing the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"The wolfsbane is red, and the monkshood is black."
"Indeed, Finnigan? Please tell me, are they the same size?"
"Err… the wolfsbane is a bit bigger, if I remember correctly." The blonde boy was certainly struggling now, but Harry was impressed. He had never heard of either of these plants, but apparently Finnigan knew them well.
"That's enough," Snape snapped at Seamus. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons, Goldstein. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite, which you should have known if you wouldn't have been a complete dunderhead, Finnigan. Ten points from Hufflepuff and five from Ravenclaw. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And ten more points will be taken from Hufflepuff House for your cheek, Potter."
Things didn't improve for the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long, black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticising almost everyone. The only positive for the class was that it was over. At least, that's how Harry felt when they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later.
Harry still felt miserable about that class. He felt as if he had failed in some way. He had already lost twenty points for Hufflepuff, all because of Snape. Why did the Potions Master hate him so much? They had never met before, yet he acted as if Harry was his deadly enemy. Yes, it did seem as if he hated every student (except the Slytherins, the members of his House, or so Harry had heard), but it seemed like he had an extra reason to hate Harry.
Astronomy was taught at night on Wednesdays and was a novelty of sorts. Learning the names of stars and how to identify the planets was quite interesting, though Harry could barely remember one or two after the first class. Professor Sinistra reassured them that they just needed to give it some time, and they would be able to memorise everything, though Harry remained sceptical about that statement.
"All in all, classes have been fine", Harry thought, as he jotted down the analysis of another magical theory.
While the lessons were by no means easy, and he struggled a lot, they still surpassed his expectations by a wide margin. He remembered how he used to think that classes were going to be so hard for him that he would easily be the dumbest student. Now, he thought that if nothing else, at least Crabbe and Goyle were worse students than him. "I have no idea how they ended up in Ravenclaw which was supposed to be the House of the Brightest. Then again, this sorting feels very weird, so maybe they are secretly smart in a way."
He was just about to pack his things and head back to the Hufflepuff common room when he heard some noises in the commonly quiet library. Harry looked up from his book, and listened.
"-was able to fix it, but you shouldn't-"
"They shouldn't have bullied you then!"
"It's fine, not like you could-"
The talker, a girl with bushy brown hair, stopped instantly in the middle of her sentence when she spotted Harry, as she and a boy with red hair and freckles turned the corridor. Harry knew both of them. The girl was Hermione Granger, and the boy was Ron Weasley, with whom he had shared a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. He glanced at his watch. It was quite late; only twenty minutes to go until seven in the evening, which was the curfew for the first years, so it was surprising for him to see them just arriving at the library.
As Ron spotted Harry, he quickly approached him, dragging Granger after him, who didn't seem happy about the situation. Harry inwardly sighed, and acknowledged that he was going to enter the Hufflepuff common room at least ten minutes later. It wasn't that he despised Ron or Granger (though he definitely found the girl annoying), but he didn't feel like having a casual conversation after hours of trying to memorise magical theories. Moreover, he wasn't even finished yet, so he really couldn't afford to spend much time chit-chatting in the library.
"Hey mate, how are you doing?" Ron asked as he sat down next to Harry.
"Ron!" Granger almost bumped into the table in front of them, as she rushed after him. "We shouldn't be here, we should have gone to-"
"I'm… err… I'm fine, how about you? How is Slytherin?" Harry replied to Ron, trying to cut out Granger's incoming monologue, but he instantly realised that he shouldn't have said the last sentence, as Ron's face darkened.
"It's… awful. It's worse than I thought, and I can't even-" he struggled to finish his sentence.
"Listen, Ron, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"It's okay, you couldn't have known-"
"No, it's not! Why did you feel the urge to provoke him?" Granger interjected sharply, which stunned Harry. Did she really think that he wanted to provoke Ron on purpose?
"Calm down, Hermione, it's not necessary…" Ron mumbled, looking slightly embarrassed.
"No, it's okay, Ron. Maybe we will talk again later," Harry said as he quickly packed his stuff and left the library. As he looked back, he saw Granger glaring at him, which made him quicken his steps.
He was fuming as he walked in the direction of the kitchen. Why was Granger so hostile toward him? And why did she act as if Ron shouldn't have talked to him? Harry had no idea, but he felt like Granger was trying to actively prevent him from maintaining his friendship with Ron, and the thought made him really angry. As unbelievable as it seemed, it reminded Harry of Dudley who as soon as he heard that someone might act friendly toward Harry made sure that person would either start ghosting Harry or suffer the consequences, which usually meant a few bruises at the very least.
"Usually… I'm acting as if there were many examples, but there was only one." Harry slowed down during his walk, as he thought about that memory, and emotions started swirling inside him. Previously, he swore to forget about this memory entirely and forever because it caused too much pain, but he just couldn't do it this time. Granger forced him to remember.
Michael Brown was a short, wimpy, entirely bald kid. The cause of his baldness lay with his parents, who were very poor and couldn't afford a barber, so Michael's and his three brothers' hair were shaved bald by their mother. Harry's and Michael's lifestyles were very similar; the only difference being that the Browns couldn't afford a better one, while the Dursleys were quite well-off, but didn't like Harry enough to treat him better.
Their friendship started when Michael shared a ham sandwich he had found with Harry one day in the schoolyard. Harry spotted the sandwich first, but he couldn't get to it, because he was currently "playing" Harry-hunting so he was too busy to get away from Dudley and his friends. Ten minutes later, when he at least temporarily got rid of them, he quickly got back to the sandwich in the hopes that it would still be there. He found out that he was late, and sadly wanted to admit defeat and walk away when he saw it getting picked up by someone else, but Michael called him back and shared it with Harry. From that day, they were friends. Harry really liked how altruistic, friendly and funny Michael was, but he valued his trait of being a good listener even more. Harry often told Michael about things the Dursleys and other kids would have freaked out about. Dreams about flying cars, people travelling on brooms and such. Unlike the others, Michael listened closely, and even expressed interest, which made Harry's heart fill up with joy at what an amazing friend he had.
It didn't last long though, because Dudley soon found out that there was someone in the school who was talking to the "freak". So one day after school he waited for Michael at the place where Harry and Michael were usually meeting up. Harry was slightly late though, so Michael only found Dudley there, who threatened him that if he remained friends with Harry, there would be severe consequences. Usually, the people who were friendly with Harry immediately obliged, because no one dared to anger Dudley and his other bully friends. Michael, on the other hand, committed a horrible mistake: he defended Harry.
When Harry arrived two minutes later he only saw Dudley on top of Michael who was laying on the ground. Dudley was punching his head with the full force of his fists. For a moment, Harry stood behind them in shock, and then ran away. For minutes he ran and ran, until he could barely move his legs anymore, which made him collapse on a bench in the nearby park. He felt nauseated with himself for leaving his friend behind. Michael stood up for him - he was the only one who did it - and Harry ran away. He had never been as ashamed of anything he had ever done as that one time.
Later that day, at Privet Drive, when Dudley was bragging about how he beat up Michael, Harry didn't let it slip and told Dudley to be ashamed of himself. Dudley almost beat him up then, but the Dursleys were quicker, and rewarded Harry with a week of being locked in his cupboard.
During his punishment, Harry's guilt weakened a little as he planned how he was going to apologise to Michael and promise him to never let him down again. Next Monday morning, he was so happy that not even Uncle Vernon could ruin his mood when he smacked Harry on his head with his newspaper for overcooking the bacon a little bit. He was rushing to school, barely acknowledging his surroundings. Probably that was why he didn't even notice that Dudley was mockingly laughing at him, and didn't even make an attempt at an early Harry-hunting as usual.
When Harry arrived at the classroom for their first lesson, he was thinking that Michael would already be there, given that he always arrived early. But there were no signs of him, so he approached the teacher, already panicking.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Jones, where's Michael?"
"Michael? But… oh it's you, Harry! Sorry, I forgot that you were ill last week, so you wouldn't know. Michael and his whole family left to live with their relatives in Manchester last week."
Harry felt that his heart stopped working for a second, and missed a beat.
"They… aren't living here anymore?"
"No, as I've said… oh my God, Harry, you are as white as the wall, are you okay? Harry, you look sick, I think you should go home-"
"I'm fine…" Harry murmured, and the world collapsed.
When he got to his senses, he was laying in his cupboard again. He had no idea how much time had passed, but he didn't care. He lost the only friend he'd ever had in his life, and it was because of him. At that moment, he felt like it was his fault that the Browns had left London, and it wouldn't have happened if he would have stuck up for his friend against Dudley. He had no idea where Manchester was, but he knew that it was far enough that he had lost his first and only friend.
Harry suddenly stopped, as he heard voices nearby. As he looked up, his blood froze. During his reminiscing of Michael, he hadn't been paying attention as to where he was going, and now he was standing in front of a big stone gargoyle. He panicked. Harry had no idea where he was, but he was sure of two things. That place was nowhere even near to the Hufflepuff common room, and if Filch would catch him after curfew, he would be more than glad to punish him. Curfew… which was due in two minutes, he thought as he checked his watch.
"-my dear Lucius, we have been over this for a thousand times now. I'll have to discuss it with the teachers first."
"Dumbledore, it's a disgrace! Do you have any idea how-"
It was the Headmaster himself! Harry ran as fast as he could to the next corner and rounded it just in time, as he heard that the two men had also just turned around a corner. Harry's instincts told him to run away as fast as he could before he would be caught, but he felt too curious for that. He wanted to eavesdrop just a little bit.
"I will need to ask Minerva; she knows the most about the Hat. As I've said, we will investigate it, and if we find anything, we will organise a re-sorting this Sunday. Happy now, Lucius?"
"Do you have any idea how shameful it is, Dumbledore? The heir of one of the wealthiest pureblood families in Gryffindor?"
"I've said it multiple times now. We will discuss and investigate everything as soon as possible. After this little night-time conversation is over, I'd like to enjoy a few lemon sherbets in peace without hazarding my hours of sleep. Under no circumstances would I like to miss that quality time. Do I make myself clear, Lucius?"
For the first time, Harry heard a bit of anger in Dumbledore's voice; something which made him shiver. The old Headmaster seemed like a calm person, but Harry didn't want to imagine how he would act if he were truly furious. Nevertheless, the idea that the potential loss of eating a few lemon sherbets that night made Dumbledore slightly angry seemed weird to Harry.
"Don't forget about the Board of Governors, Dumbledore. Good night, and this misery better be over by the end of the week." It seemed like Lucius, whoever he was, also got a bit intimidated by the Headmaster, and now bid his farewell. To Harry, it felt weird that he didn't know who Lucius was… the voice was so familiar, but he had no idea where from.
"Good night, Lucius. Please give Narcissa my greetings."
Harry heard Lucius leaving, but he didn't hear anything from Dumbledore. "What is he doing? Should I maybe peek at the corridor?" Using all of his bravery he inched closer to the corridor, but he didn't reach it in time.
"Chocolate Frog," he heard Dumbledore say.
When Harry peeked around the corner, no one was there. "Was "chocolate frog" some kind of spell, which teleports, or makes one invisible?"
"Chocolate Frog," he muttered.
Nothing happened. He tried it again with his wand, but still nothing. Maybe it was an advanced spell, or one only Dumbledore could perform? Harry stared in front of him, feeling utterly bewildered.
As he checked his watch, he saw that it was already more than ten minutes past curfew. He turned on his heels and wanted to hurry back to his common room, but he nearly bumped into something. As he looked down, a pair of yellow eyes stared back at him.
"Oh no…"
A/N Sorry for the slightly delayed upload! A bit of a shorter chapter this time, but don't worry. There are a couple of longer chapters coming to you very soon! And, of course, Happy New Year!