A/N: HI HUMANS I FIXED IT I REALLY DID THIS IS LIKE THE THIRD TIME BUT I DID IT.
READ AND KEEP GOING PEOPLE. READ AND BE HAPPY.
~Blaze
There were faces. So many faces. Harry couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what wasn't. Some were clear, like the woman with bright red hair and green eyes; his eyes; and the man with his glasses, his hair; almost his face. Then there were the blurred ones - chestnut hair, warm, hazel eyes; a girl with startling blue eyes, bright blonde hair; a boy who carried similar appearances, except with golden eyes and short hair that sat above a kind there was a man with black hair, charcoal eyes, the blue suit covered in medals and rank colors, a steady smirk playing on his lips.
Sometimes, he would see faceless, voiceless people, bathed in white and standing alone in a white void of nothing, the only human feature being a tentative grin on its face.
"Come for your time-out?"
Harry found himself bolting out of bed, his hands flat against the bed behind him, his covers on the floor. His body was cold, his hands trembling, his black hair plastered against his head.
"Whoa," he breathed, shaking his head. That was way more intense than any other nightmare he had been blessed with before. His heart gave a frightening leap, and he immediately grabbed his left leg, placing his forehead against his knee.
It was a normal thing for him to see faces. The last time he had seen his parents before they were murdered was when he was a small child. But those blurred ones… the ones that seemed so different from his family - they somehow didn't make sense. This was the first time he had seen them.
Well, he thought, closing his eyes, at least I'm not dead yet. He was only eleven, after all. Nightmares shouldn't bother him at this age.
Through the corners of his eyes he could make out the silhouettes and breathing patterns of his classmates, the moonlight giving the emblazoned lions on the curtains a mysteriously majestic glow.
Funny how red and gold seemed to represent him perfectly.
Even though Harry was shaking, he could still manage a small smile. With a deep breath, he fell back in his pillows, resting his legs back onto the bed. But as he closed his eyes and fell back into the muddled world of dreams, he was certain for a moment that he should've felt the cold of stinging metal brush his forehead when he had curled up against his leg.
Harry found himself waking up last the next morning, his friends already out of bed.
Friends. Harry shook his head as he yawned. It seemed a bit sad that he had never gotten this close to anyone his age until he was eleven. Then again, these kids were technically as crazy as he was to have been accepted into a magical school. He was just hanging around people like himself.
Pulling on his robes and pants, he bolted straight out the door, not even looking back.
When he made it to the Gryffindor table, his jaw fell to the ground.
Rows of completely cleaned plates piled up across the table, a blur of bright red hair flying madly as more food was shoved into his already round, freckled cheeks. Harry watched with strange amusement and disgust as more and more of the table's food disappeared, magically refilling itself just in time for Ronald Weasley to grab another bite.
Harry knew what it was like to be called a hog; when he was at the Dursely house, he would be constantly berated for taking seconds or thirds without anyone noticing until Dudley made a fuss. This, however, made him look so much better.
"Ahhhhh!" Ron finally sighed. "That hit the spot!"
Next to him, Percy the Prefect waved his wand, managing to make the remaining thirty-eight plates disappear. If anything, Harry's mouth seemed to fall larger. "This is just disgusting," the pompous prefect spat.
"Oh, get over yourself," Ron said with a goofy grin. "That was nothing."
"If anything, a little too much," Hermione Granger coughed. Ron all but ignored her.
"So, Harry," he said, leaning back on the bench. "Do you mind if we sit together during classes?"
"You're the only one I know, Ron. Even if I hated you, I'd still sit with you," Harry replied.
From that day forth, Ron and Harry made their way through the rest of the week stuck together by the hip - though, Harry realized quickly that he needed to sever that bond when Ron was around food. The second youngest Weasley also had this random habit of disappearing at the most convenient times and turning up passed out in a dank hallway about an hour later. Fred and George were convinced it had something to do with their brother's eating habits. Harry had been inclined to agree.
The professors weren't horrible, either. Flitwick was a patient man, if not half the size of every eleven year old in the school. McGonagall had managed to give Harry a rather unsettling pang of fear every time he met those beady eyes, though; he felt like she was some sort of grumpy old housewife, although he couldn't even fathom why.
Quirrell seemed kind enough. He was rather laidback, if not as stuttery as Harry had seen him when they had (not really) shaken hands. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher seemed rather insecure, however, and when they had all begun to file out of the room, he noticed his eyes had bags under them, his one hand clutching his turban head with tight fingers.
Friday came hurtling fast. By then, Harry had been fully convinced that magic existed, even if that analytical side of his brain screamed at him for being so relenting. Ron had mentioned it was somewhat ironic.
"I'm not saying science is dumb," Ron said defensively. "It's just that you're the Boy Who Lived. You have all of this magical history. You of all people should have been brought up knowing magic exists, and yet you're the only one here who doesn't believe it, you know?"
Harry just shrugged it off, shoving his face in a Potions book. "Whatever. Anyway, Hagrid wants to talk sometime this week. Wanna come?"
"Sure thing," Ron said. "What do we have today after breakfast?"
"Transfiguration, Charms again… oh. Double Potions with the Slytherins." Harry narrowed his eyes, his lips forming a scowl. "Darn. Malfoy's going to be there."
"Well, it can't be that bad, can it?" Ron asked with a shrug. "I mean, Malfoy is a prat, but Snape can't be as bad as he is creepy, right?"
"...I take that back."
Harry yawned, tears forming at the edges of his eyes as he failed at staying awake. Ron turned towards his friend, discreetly nudging the raven haired celebrity.
"Stop yawning, Harry. Snape is still talking. He's looking over here."
"So?" Harry leaned towards his friend, hastily whispering in his ear. "I'm not breaking any rules just by yawning, am I - "
"Potter!"
Green locked with onyx. Snape was glaring coldly at the boy in front of him, his arms crossed with a notebook tucked neatly between his fingers. Harry swallowed when he realized his teacher was ready to throw the thing at his head.
"I see that you absolutely refuse to take this class seriously, Mr. Potter." His voice was slow and slurred, his emphasis making the sentence drip with cold sarcasm.
Obviously, Harry hadn't done anything wrong, but he forced himself to spit out an apology anyway. "Sorry. I didn't - "
"Sorry, sir. Manners, Potter. Fame doesn't come with common etiquette, does it?" he sneered, turning away. He snapped the book in his hands shut, making everyone in the room jump ten feet.
"Now, you wouldn't mind if I ask you a couple of questions, would you? After all, considering your... attitude, you may have assumed you know all there is to the art of potion-making."
"Excuse me, but - "
"Excuse me, sir. Moving on… Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
There was a pause where Harry seemed to be considering whether to answer the question or stand up and punch the man straight in the face.
Trying to keep himself under radar(as possible as it was when you were the Boy Who Lived, anyway), he opted for the former.
"A sleeping potion that's so powerful it's called the Draught of Living Death." Thank goodness he had taken the time to leaf through his Potion book that morning, or else he would be a gonner.
Snape raised an eyebrow, his teeth slightly bared. "Know how to open a book, do you, Potter? Where can you find me a bezoar?"
"In a goat's stomach." Harry gave him a taunting smile, his lips pressed tightly.
"Half points, half points." Snape was starting to get ansty, his eyebrows knitting in thought. "Forgot to mention it is a common cure for most poisons. Now tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"..." Darn. Harry's smugness deflated. He didn't know this one. He looked around the room, searching for something - anything -
"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said mockingly. His eyes flashed, and Ron could have sworn that he had seen gold instead of green. "I can't answer. But Hermione seems to know. Why don't you ask her?" He shoved a hand in the girl's direction. At once, the brunette's normally stoic expression broke into a slightly embarrassed pink.
Snape seemed to be happier with that answer than any other, his onyx eyes shining even though his scowl had deepened significantly. "Sit down, Ms. Granger," he snapped, calling out Hermione who fell to her bench immediately. He then turned back to Harry.
"And one point from Gryffindor, Potter, for your undeniably irritable attitude."
Harry tried to ignore the cackling laughs from Malfoy and his friends, jutting his head to the side as his cheeks flamed with anger and embarrassment. Snape was out to get him, and he was sure of it now. The burning sensation in his scar had been a warning of that.
"Turn your books to page 121," Snape drawled. "We'll be beginning our first potion… you all have you're porcupine quills, don't you?"
If Harry's spirits had ever been lower than this in his life, it was probably those days that Uncle Vernon shut him up in the small closet for days without food. Snape had managed to take five points in total from Gryffindor, three of them vanishing because of him. Neville had managed to explode his cauldron within two minutes, and Seamus blew his up in his face. Irritable and rather exhausted, Ron and him both stumbled out, their shoulders drooping with each step.
"Haha, Potter. Wimping out in Potions class, are you?"
Oh, no, not him. Harry rolled his eyes meekly, his lips instantly tugging into a frown. "What do you you want, Malfoy?" He spat bitterly. "I don't have the time to deal with you, thanks."
"Manners, Potter. Didn't Snape tell you to keep your mouth shut? Disrespect me, and you'll get more points lost."
Ron's eyebrow twitched. "Back off, Malfoy," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Go pick on someone your own size."
"A little runt like Potter over there isn't going to scare me, Weasel-B. He's such a tiny pipsqueak, I bet he can barely see me over his books!"
Something inside Harry snapped at that very moment. Maybe it was because of Snape, or maybe the build-up of stress over the past week; he wasn't exactly sure. Suddenly, his back snapped straight, his face going completely red as he stormed over towards Malfoy with full force.
"Who are you calling so tiny you can SQUISH HIM UNDER YOUR SHOES, YOU BASTARD?!"
Harry grabbed a rather bewildered Malfoy by his collar, dragging him down to his height. He crashed his nose against the blonde's, breathing against his face with full force.
"Who do you think you're messing with, you useless piece of jerk? I'll wipe that sorry smirk of yours right off your face with my fist!" He pushed a finger against Malfoy's chest, hissing so madly spit splattered all over the taller one's face. "Don't you call me shrimp, or midget, or beansprout - if you want to keep that pretty face of yours, got it?"
He whirled on his feet, letting Draco stumble back towards Crabbe and Goyle, his fat friends pushing the the blonde back on his feet. Harry took a hold of Ron's robes and pulled him back, ignoring the strange looks and some laughs that followed him back up the Malfoy stood shocked in his spot, almost not believing the scene that had taken place. Suddenly, he turned back and strutted back to the common room, a steady smirk playing on his lips.