Chapter TWO! For the TWO FISTS with which Iron Hands will DEFEAT INJUSTICE!
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"Cor," Ron breathed as he sat down beside Harry for breakfast the morning after the aborted sorting, "Why didn't you say you were Harry Potter?"
"I'd forgotten," Iron Hands said, shrugging, "Is this Potter persona important?"
Ron stared at Iron Hands.
"You don't know who Harry Potter is?" He asked with considerable disbelief.
"Me, apparently," Iron Hands said, shrugging as he loaded more pancakes onto his plate, "But I don't get why being him is such a big deal."
Ron gibbered for a few moments; Iron Hands politely did not draw attention to this, instead continuing to focus on his food. Ron decided that before he carried this conversation any farther, he would have to make sure that this was, in fact, Harry Potter, and not simply someone who had received the wrong Owl about attending Hogwarts.
"Er," Ron said, "You wouldn't happen to have a scar on your forehead, would you?"
Iron Hands obligingly pulled back the fringe of his hair, revealing a scar. It was not, however the scar Ron had expected; instead of looking like a lightning bolt, it looked rather more like two conjoined at their tips, or perhaps when taken together, the bit of a drill.
"That's odd," Ron said, "I though Harry Potter's scar was supposed to look like a lightning bolt."
"This," Iron Hands said, staring Ron in the eyes with a very serious expression, tapping his scar with his right hand, while his left poured syrup on his pancakes, "Is the Drill, that will Pierce The Heavens."
Ron really didn't know what to say to that.
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"Ah yes," Snape said, "Harry Potter, our new... celebrity."
He leveled his best 'fall into a hole and rot' glare at Iron Hands, who was paying him absolutely no attention, entirely focused upon his textbook.
"Potter!" Snape barked, rage rising within him as the boy still did not respond to him.
"Iron Hands!" Hermione burst out from beside him, immediately drawing his attention.
"Yes, Hermione?" Iron Hands said, looking up from his book.
Hermione pointed at Snape.
"Yes, Professor?" Iron Hands said respectfully, completely ignoring the Potions Master's enraged expression.
"That'll be five points from..." Snape trailed off as he realized that Iron Hand's house, which as far as Hogwarts magic was concerned consisted solely of him, as he was the only student sorted into it, even if the un-sorted first years had been grouped into it, did not have a name yet.
"Five points from your house, whatever its name is!" Snape snapped, "For ignoring a professor!"
"What?" Iron Hands asked, clearly confused, "But you didn't call on me!"
"Of course I did!" Snape snapped, "Just because you've apparently gone deaf is no excuse for ignoring your betters!"
Iron Hands stared up at the professor in disbelieving confusion for a moment, before turning to the rest of the class.
"Did anyone else here him say all, or any part of, 'Iron Hands McAwesome Genome?'" He asked.
Nobody dared speak, though a few shook their heads.
"Well, professor," Iron Hands said, turning back to face Snape, "It would appear that you were mistaken."
Snape's temper boiled.
"POTTER!" He screamed, grabbing the boy by his shoulder, and spinning around to glare him in the eye, pouring the full weight of his mind into a Legilimancy attack.
Snape had, however, made a single, critical miscalculation, he hadn't realized that Iron Hands was Invincible.
Snape's mind smashed into Harry's much in the way that an egg smashes into a bullet train accelerating to Mach 3; very messily.
Snape gurgled as his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed, bits and pieces of his mind either splattering into the mind of others, or into an intangible mess spread about the dungeon classroom. The most immediately important bit to end up in the mind of another, was an odd, malformed bit that ended up in the mind of one Hermione Granger, coming to immediate and startling effect.
"Right then class," Hermione announced, standing up sharply, and striding to the front of the classroom, stepping on Snape's comatose form as she moved, "Today's lesson will be on one of the most useful of all potions, the Teeth Cleansing potion."
"But what about-" One of the Slytherin students began, but broke off for a very simple reason.
Hermione Looked at him.
"As I said," Hermione began again, "The Teeth Cleansing potion, which is remarkably simple, requiring only one hundred and thirty-seven ingredients and two-hundred and twenty-seven distinct steps, and thirty-seven sub-steps. It has the remarkable property of rendering your teeth permanently immune to decay, damage, staining, or dirtying in any form, in part due to the arithmantic significance of three sevens being involved in its..."
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Two hours later:
The students staggered out of the potions classroom with glassy eyes and twitch fingers, jumping slightly whenever they caught sight of Hermione, who was happily humming to herself as she walked in front of the group.
All the students, that was, except for Iron Hands.
"Ahh," Neville said slowly, his brain trying to clear from a haze of numbers, ingredients, stirring instructions, heating instructions, chopping instructions, dicing instructions, shredding instructions-
Neville shook his head sharply, desperately trying to break that chain of thought.
"Ah," He said, looking to the person next to him, who happened to be Iron Hands, "That was.. uh... what did you think of that lesson Ha-, uh, Iron Hands?"
"Fascinating," Harry said brightly, "Mama Nia always emphasized the importance of proper dental hygiene."
Every single other student in the class stared at Iron Hands, flabbergasted, except for Hermione, who simply smiled as she continued onward.
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Defense Against the Dark Arts bore some remarkable similarities to Iron Hands first Potions class; Quirrell stared Iron Hands in the eyes for a few moments, before he collapsed, gurgling, to the floor. Seeing no reason not to pull a repeat performance, Hermione moved to the front of class and took over for the incapacitated Professor.
As with before, Iron Hands didn't even notice the attack on his mind.
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"UP!" Iron Hands firmly commanded the broom, which slammed into his hand, and promptly dragged him into the sky, shattering the sound barrier as its ascension accelerated.
After spending a few minutes stargazing, Iron Hands descended back down to Hogwarts to rejoin the other students.
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"Troll! In the dungeons!" Quirrel burst out, "Thought you ought to know."
As Quirrel's 'unconscious' body struck the floor of the Great Hall, Iron Hands leapt to his feat.
"AWESOME!" He shouted, "I've been waiting for this since the sorting! Best Halloween ever!"
Then he tore out of the hall, running at top speed.
It took a moment for the faculty to realize that Iron Hands had sprinted towards the Troll's purported location, and then pandemonium erupted in the Great Hall.
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"There you are!" Iron Hands said, breathing somewhat heavily as he strode purposefully towards the Troll in the girl's bathroom, "Hiding won't do you any good!"
The Troll turned to stare at Iron Hands in stupefied confusion as the skinny eleven-year-old cracked his knuckles and smiled at the creature more than twice his height, and leapt at it.
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"You are certain that he intends to wrestle with the Troll?" McGonagall warily asked Hermione as they tracked the Troll, by scent, through the castle.
"Professor McGonagall," Hermione said respectfully, "Iron Hands would probably wrestle with a Dragon if he had the opportunity. He literally believes he is invincible."
"I am quite aware of young Mister Genome's confidence," Minerva said crisply, "It is, in fact, quite reminiscent of his father. I do not, however-"
McGonagall broke off as a door a mere half-dozen paces in front of them exploded out into the hall, the object that had smashed it bouncing off of the far wall of the corridor, before leaping back to its feat.
McGonagall stared in shock.
Hermione smacked her palm into her face, and groaned in resignation.
Iron Hands leapt back to his feet, and charged back into the bathroom.
"You're good!" He shouted, "BUT I'M BETTER!"
Smack.
A bestial roar of pain.
Crash.
Shards of porcelain ricocheted out into the corridor.
Thump.
"Oh, not bad, not bad!" Iron hands said, mad excitement dominating his voice.
Wham.
A roar of outrage and disbelief.
McGonagall finally managed to regain her wits, and started towards the bathroom, readying her wand, when the walls around the door exploded outward, sending fragments of stone rattling down the wall, the object that had smashed it bouncing off the far wall of the corridor, before leaping back to its feat.
McGonagall stared in shock.
Hermione's eyes went wide.
The Troll screamed in outrage.
Iron Hands shot out of the bathroom like a cannonball, charging head first into the Troll's stomach, slamming it back into the wall again, and causing it to double over.
McGonagall's jaw worked silently.
Hermione fumbled for her wand.
"HEAD SMASHER!" Iron Hands roared, seizing the Troll by its waistband and lifting it over his head, before smashing it head-first into the stone floor of the corridor, stunning it.
Iron Hands then rolled out from underneath the creature as it slumped to the floor, then jumped onto its back, grabbed its right hand, and forced it into a half-nelson.
"Say uncle!" Iron Hands shouted, "SAY IT!"
The Troll shook its head, and began to thrash, trying to throw off the boy on its back, but Iron Hands just applied more pressure, and pushed down on the Troll's shoulder, pinning it more firmly into place.
"SAY IT!" He roared.
"Grunkle!" The Troll garbled out, and Iron Hands promptly headbutted it, knocking it clear out.
"Awesome!" Iron Hands shouted happily as he jumped off of the Troll's insensate body, just in time to see Flitwick and Snape approaching, "I win!"
Snape, Flitwick, and McGonagall all stared.
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"Did you hear what happened to Snape?"
"Yeah, same thing happened to Quirrel, passed out in class with the firsties, didn't wake up until the next day, and couldn't remember anything since the beginning of class."
"I hear it happened after they looked into Potter-er, Genome's eyes."
"Same thing I heard. What do you think?"
"Dunno, wish it'd been on the same day as my Potions class though..."
"Yeah, Snape's a git."
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"Well, Poppy, how is he?" Dumbledore asked with a smile.
"Heavy bruising," Pomfrey said, shaking her head ruefully, "His shoulder was nearly dislocated, several cracked ribs, he'll probably be coughing up blood for a few days, and his skull and several ribs are suffering from hairline fractures."
"Merlin!" Dumbledore said, having gone very pale, "I had thought young Harry had suffered no serious injuries?"
"Mister Genome?" Pomfrey said, raising an eyebrow, "Not a scratch; I thought you were asking about the Troll."
Dumbledore decided he needed a drink.
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"I have heard," Snape said, glaring at the first-year class, "That I collapsed the last time I taught this class, though I do not remember it myself. I have also heard," He turned to Iron Hands, "That Potter here had something to do with it."
He glared at Iron Hands again, who met his gaze curiously.
Snape's mind went splattering all over the classroom again, and Hermione gained some more experience teaching. She was discovering she rather liked it.
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Quirrel glared at Iron Hands, but his mind became mush before most of the class was even aware of it.
The first years were beginning to appreciate Hermione's teaching style, so long as nobody questioned her about teeth.
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"So, what are you guys doing during Christmas Break?" Iron Hands asked as he joined Hermione, Neville, and Ron at the still-unnamed table for the still-unnamed house.
"Spending it with me gran," Neville said after swallowing a mouthful of bacon.
"Acquiring needed potions ingredients for the Teeth Cleansing Potion," Hermione said without looking up from her copious notes on said potion, "And working with my parents on developing a distribution network for it in the muggle world."
"Uh," Ron said hesitantly, "You know doing magic in front of muggles is illegal, right?"
Hermione Looked at him.
"The importance of dental health surpasses petty things such as the International Statute of Secrecy," Hermione said with painful precision, then turned to Iron Hands and smiled, "So Iron Hands, what will you be doing over break?"
"I'll be swimming home to see my family," Iron Hands said.
The other three got a good laugh out of that.
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"Iron Hands!" Nia said as the muscular boy as he waded up onto the sandy shore of Teppelin Beach, "I'm so glad you made it home! How was your trip?"
Iron Hands returned his adoptive mother's hug, neither caring that he was soaking her clothes with salt water.
"Invigorating," He said, "But I must say, Halibut taste much better cooked."
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Next time I post on this, no idea when I will, it should go to the end of first year, depending on how much I decide to write about Winter break, if any. Until next time, MAY THE FLAMES OF YOUTH BE WITH YOU!