Title: Genius Does What it Must
Characters: Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Millicent Bulstrode.
Summary: Growing up, Harry Potter became a smartass. Now he's starting Hogwarts, with trusty sidekick Millicent Bulstrode, a question for everything, and a cheerfully sarcastic demeanor that makes everyone want to smack him.
And apparently there's death lurking in the third floor corridor. That's gonna end well.
Warnings: Alternate Universe, with intelligent!Harry, Slytherin!Harry... but hopefully in a slightly different way than normal. Possibly mentor!Snape, we'll see how it goes.
Notes: Thanks for the overwhelming number of reviews, favorites, and alerts! I was not expecting this much of a reaction, so I can only conclude that more people feel the need of smartass!Harry.
CHAPTER TWO: Be yourself - it'll scare more people.
He'd gone with the ever-faithful I-am-scared-by-this-world-but-must-go-to-keep-them-from-coming-after-my-family reaction, which worked perfectly, although Petunia was getting a bit suspicious. So it came to be that he was dropped off at King's Cross on the first of September, with last minute instructions on how to act. Harry nodded and made sure that he looked like he was taking everything seriously, and as soon as his relatives left dropped the Harry Dursley act for the next, oh, nine months at least.
"Harry!" a voice hollered over the crowd of strangely-dressed people on Platform 9 ¾ (Harry had made his way through most of the books he'd bought, and a few of them mentioned the way to get on to the platform; it had made him wonder how many non-studious Muggleborns got left behind at the station every year). Millicent moved through the crowd rather like the parting of the Red Sea, and Harry had a flash of jealousy for her size. With him, he was lucky if he only got stepped on five times an hour.
"Hey Millicent," he greeted her when she ground to a halt in front of him. Despite her size, she wasn't breathing heavily in the least bit, making Harry further jealous. He was always out of breath when he ran places, despite having lots of practice at it.
They exchanged pleasantries, and then Millicent helped him haul his trunk onto the train, pushing past a vast number of redheads.
The compartment that Millicent had picked out earlier had someone else in it when they arrived, but a quick look at the blank tie (as opposed to the riot of colors he'd seen on older students) informed Harry that this was a fellow first year. Time for some networking!
Millicent appeared to have the same thought, as she flashed a rather terrifying smile at the boy. The boy gulped in response – although this might not have been a comment on Millicent's imminent terrifyingness, since it looked like he'd be scared of even Harry, despite Harry being half his size.
"I'm Millicent Bulstrode," she introduced herself after shoving Harry's trunk up next to hers.
"N-Neville Longbottom," the boy nervously responded.
My turn, Harry thought. "Harry Potter," he introduced himself, rather expecting the immediate choking noise that came from the boy.
Millicent blinked a little, and looked like she was attempting to remember something, before snapping her fingers. "Hey, you're famous!"
"I try," he responded dryly, flopping onto a seat. Neville was staring at him in complete shock, and Harry was perhaps too busy reveling in it, because he didn't notice as his toad wriggled out of his pocket. Said toad then launched himself across the compartment onto Neville. "Sir Hop-a-long, no!" Harry yelled, attempting to catch him. Toads could be rather cunning creatures, however, and it managed to escape.
Another toad jumped from Neville's general area, and then both of them took off out the door, past a surprised Millicent. Harry's cries of "Sir Hop-a-long!" mixed with Neville's "Trevor!", and both boys then shared a look of commiseration at the escape.
Millicent wasn't much help, as she just started cracking up, eventually having to clutch the compartment door to stay upright.
She did, however, join Harry and Neville for the toad-hunt, albeit with the occasional snicker escaping her lips. Harry took one direction; Neville and Millicent went the other way. When they finally met back up, however, they'd managed to pick up another girl, this one with a huge cloud of frizzy brown hair and unfortunate buck-teeth.
Harry had managed to keep his identity hidden from all the compartments he visited by virtue of wearing a hat, but this new girl (Hermione Granger, he later found out), recognized him practically instantly, and he was forced to drag her into their compartment to keep from alerting the entire train of his existence.
"You're Harry Potter! I've read about you, you're-" she started off, eyes burning with the crazed light that bookworms often get.
Harry rolled his eyes – mentally, that is, because the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't supposed to be sarcastic and well-read, something he had forgotten earlier in his excitement, but was now remembering. So he listened to Hermione's babbling about what she'd read about him in various books (most of which Harry had also read, and took with a grain of salt) until they arrived (thankfully not very long, or Harry might've had to scream; playing dumb and interested for such a long period of time was hell on his nerves).
Millicent rolled her eyes throughout the entire speech, but Neville wasn't even paying attention – worried about his toad, Harry decided. Harry was a bit worried about Sir Hop-a-long, but he also knew of the cunning of toads, and was pretty sure that if they hadn't been found by now, they wouldn't be found until they wanted to be.
A few minutes from arrival and Millicent and Hermione left the compartment to give Harry room to change in private. Well, semi-private – without girls around, at least. He heaved a sigh of relief before he could stop himself, but thankfully Neville appeared to not have heard.
Harry changed, and they invited the girls back in for the last bit before arrival – and thankfully, Hermione appeared to have exhausted her supply of babble on the topic of Harry himself, instead switching to somewhat useful babble about Hogwarts.
The toads made themselves known before they boarded the boats, led by the huge freaking guy with far too much hair. Neville darted forward to collect Trevor, but Harry just gave Sir Hop-a-long a look, and the toad hopped over... to Millicent. Smart ass toad.
Toads collected, Jolly Hairy Giant led them to the small fleet of boats, and Harry rather hoped he wouldn't have to row (a sentiment echoed by a few others). But lo and behold, as soon as they were all seated, the boats moved themselves!
Harry could get used to this 'magic'.
Harry couldn't help but wonder if the teachers might enjoy some excitement to break up the monotony of introductory speeches. The stern witch who'd greeted them had almost fallen asleep while giving her speech in tones that informed them all that she had said this far too many times before.
Note to self, never become a teacher.
Of course, having heard about the Sorting and listened to all the rumors the others were muttering nervously, Harry hadn't actually realized one key thing: it was going to occur in front of the whole entire school. Oh man, he was not good with this amount of attention (which was why he had been hiding his scar for the past however many hours). He was so freaked out that he didn't have any room to be freaked out about the fact that the hat was singing – and with decent meter, even.
And, he realized as they started off with Abbott, Hannah, all of his friendly acquaintances were going to be sorted before him.
Millicent squeezed his arm before heading up to the hat. She sat for a few moments before the hat called off, "Slytherin!", and then she was off to the welcoming arms of the green and silver table. Harry hoped she wouldn't get too much crap for being a halfblood – he'd read about the different houses long ago, and had figured out pretty quickly that while there wasn't actually anything allowing only purebloods into the house, within the house there was more than a little bit of prejudice.
Hermione was up next of those he knew, and she was sorted into Gryffindor to Harry's mild surprise. Surprise, because she had come off as quite the studious bookworm; only mild, because he had seen the seeds of an activist in her.
Neville also went to Gryffindor, to mostly his own surprise – Harry had been pretty sure that the boy wasn't a Slytherin or Ravenclaw, given what the books had said, but he wasn't shocked at the Gryffindor pronouncement. Honestly, they were eleven years old. It was a sign of serious mental illness if they weren't nervous and scared out of their minds.
A few more students went by, and then... "Potter, Harry." The hall filled with whispers and everyone who had been messing around in favor of paying attention to the first years immediately snapped to attention. Damn it. Harry quickly pulled on his Boy-Who-Lived mask.
Nervous, but pleased and self-important, that was how he looked as he strode up to the Sorting Hat. Ready and waiting to be sorted into Gryffindor (and hopefully those points Snape had taken away back at Diagon Alley wouldn't count, since it wasn't during term).
Gryffindor? A voice said into his mind, and he resisted the urge to jump, throw the hat on the ground, and light it on fire. Honestly, giving wands to children, especially children like himself – something was going to get set on fire in the first week, and just hopefully it wouldn't be a housemate who had been sneaking up on him.
A dry chuckle met these thoughts. I think not.
I think not to what? Gryffindor, or setting things on fire?
Gryffindor, of course. I have no doubt that you will set things on fire.
Thanks, I... think? Harry, well, thought. But wait. He quickly threw his Boy-Who-Lived persona to the forefront of his mind.
The hat (or whatever was in the hat) chuckled. Your mind is very well organized, Mr. Potter, but it is not guarded. I can see through your masks as well as those of any child's.
Well, damn.
Yes, indeed. Now, let us see... Definitely not Gryffindor, I think. You may admire nobility and courage in others, and even have much of it yourself, but it is not something that you act upon. And... you've never really had anyone or anything to be loyal to, have you? And while you're not lazy, you do not find any joy in completing tasks well. I think not Hufflepuff, either.
Definitely intelligent enough for Ravenclaw, and cunning enough for Slytherin. Hm...
Harry sighed, both mentally and aloud. If we're going to defy expectations, we might as well do it all the way, he told the hat.
The hat chuckled, and then the brim opened. "SLYTHERIN!"
The Boy-Who-Lived was shocked, but stumbled down to the Slytherin table before grabbing a seat next to Millicent. He held it together through the shocked silence that followed, and then the end of the sorting, but as soon as the food appeared he thumped his head down and groaned.
"What's wrong?" Millicent asked, reaching over his head to grab a few chicken legs.
"I'm the boy-who-lived," he muttered, "Everyone expected me to be a Gryffindor."
"True, but so?" asked another, unfamiliar voice.
Harry glanced up, and his eyes met a very calm looking black boy, carefully dissecting his own piece of chicken with a fork and knife. "Huh?"
"Does it matter what others expect? We are eleven years old, and this is a school. Does it really matter where people expected you to sleep for the next seven years?" His part apparently said, he began to feast – delicately.
Huh. Harry hadn't thought of that. The reason for being Harry Dursley was to make life easier on him at home; he'd had to keep it up while at school as well, because Dudley could and would report on him to his parents.
But here... no one was going to report back to the Dursleys; and there was only so much they could do to him directly, because it was a school. So why act, especially when suspicion was going to be thrown on him anyway, simply for his choice of dormitory?
This could even be... fun.
Not that he'd completely drop all pretenses, of course – fully admitting your own ignorance would only end badly. But he could show his true attitude – well, except to teachers, but everyone moderated their behavior in front of teachers.
"Goooood idea," he drawled, purposefully drawing out the vowel of the first word. He then rubbed his hands together and gave a low, evil cackle.
Millicent snorted at him; the black boy raised a cool eyebrow. Most of the other reactions he got were along the lines of, 'Holy shit, he's insane.' Oh yeah, he was already ruining his reputation.
Everyone introduced themselves, and Harry even managed to remember a few – the black boy who was too cool for school was named Blaise Zabini; the pale boy with a helmet of blond hair was Draco Malfoy; and the pretty girl with an unfortunate nose was named Pansy Parkinson. There were others, of course – a brunette, an incredibly scrawny boy, and two boys who were built like rocks and apparently might as well be rocks – but Harry didn't remember their names. Sure he knew that the quiet ones were always the most dangerous ones, but that was no reason to remember their names!
Some of the older students named and explained the professors (the stern one who had droned the introductory speech was Professor McGonagall, who taught Transfiguration and was in charge of Gryffindors – the older students stated that while she was, of course, biased against Slytherins – everyone was – she was probably the most fair of all the professors), and then pointed out other figures of interest.
"That's the Head Boy," one of the students with a shiny badge on his chest, pointing to a cheerful Hufflepuff, "And that's the Head Girl," this time, a charming Ravenclaw. This was for the benefit of everyone, it appeared, because only the prefects had seen them so far. Everyone looked quite satisfied with the choice.
"Aren't you disappointed that they're not Slytherins?" Harry couldn't help but ask.
The prefect snorted. "Slytherins are very rarely Head Boy or Girl – they probably wouldn't make us prefects if they could have students from the other houses as our prefects."
Another older student took over from there. "Something you've got to understand, Slytherins aren't very well liked and rarely trusted. Supposedly we're not made Heads because the other houses won't listen to us, but they never seem to acknowledge that we're not going to follow Gryffindor Heads. So Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are about as good as we're going to get – some of them are pretty decent, surprisingly."
The prefect took over again. "Prefects are supposed to be fair to all students, but don't count on all of them to help you out, even if you're only first years. If you need help and there's no Slytherin around, go to the Hufflepuffs. They're far more likely to panic than be spiteful. And Ravenclaws are good, as long as you only ask them about academic stuff. They get so caught up in it that they'll fail to notice your house."
The same student who'd joined in before butted in again. "Not that all Gryffindors are completely against us, but until you can tell the few who aren't, just try and avoid them all."
He, Harry noted, got quite a few glowers from other students for daring not to hate all members of their rival house.
Of course, Harry was having some doubts as to either the truth of their statements, or the intelligence of the general school if they were proved true – on the one hand, teenagers were notorious for their persecution complexes, and it was rather unbelievable that a quarter of the school would be universally despised; on the other hand, Harry had been surprised by stupidity before. He supposed he'd have to wait and see.
(Up at the head table, the professors were taking news of Harry Potter's sorting in a variety of ways. Professor Snape, for instance, was muttering darkly under his breath and glowering at the boy; Professor McGonagall kept muttering, "Slytherin?" in tones of disbelief that Snape would have taken offense to, if he hadn't agreed; Hagrid appeared to be completely dumbfounded; and Professors Sprout and Flitwick were making light conversation off to one side, after Flitwick expressed disappointment that the boy hadn't gone to Ravenclaw.)
The Headmaster stood up a while later, after Harry had long-since filled up, and was currently taking a little nap on the table (not really, he was well aware of everything going on around him, but it certainly appeared he was asleep to others). Millicent nudged him in the side to "wake him up", which was kind of pointless, because it wasn't like he was saying anything interesting, other than the news that there were two areas of death on campus. Which, really, it's always a good idea two have extremely deadly areas around (and in) a building full of preteens and teenagers. That could only end well, Harry thought snidely.
Then he announced the school song, and Harry sat in absolute horror as most of the large hall burst into... well, he supposed it could be called music, in the same way that cat vomit could be considered art.
Two identical redheads were the last ones singing, in a funeral dirge. Which, yes, was somewhat amusing, but also meant they were keeping him from sleeping. "I shall despise them until the end of time," he muttered. Apparently a bit too loud, as the scrawny boy gave him a very shrewd look and Parkinson edged away from his general area. Oh well, he was trying to be himself, wasn't he?
Harry giggled to himself. Oh, Zabini would surely regret the day he'd suggested that, oh indeed he would!
Finally being released by the crazy old man who'd never heard of a barber, some of the older students led the new first years down... and down... and down. Apparently, they would be shackled to the walls to sleep, good to know.
Mind occupied with disturbing, morbid thoughts involving the various tortures he'd read about (what was that one, it was either Vikings or American Indians, the something eagle? Oh yeah, that was way vicious), Harry was rather surprised when they ground to a halt... in front of a stone wall. Aha! Obviously this whole thing was an elaborate ruse to use them as sacrifices to Satan!
...or not, as they were sternly informed of the password, and the consequences of forgetting the password or giving it out to non-Slytherins, at which an entrance appeared. Perhaps there was a torture chamber laying in wait, hidden so the authorities wouldn't stumble upon it!
Sometimes Harry wondered at his mind.
"Welcome to Slytherin. The boys rooms are to the left, girls to the right. On each of your beds you will find a pamphlet, which you are expected to have read by breakfast tomorrow, so either read it immediately, or make time in the morning, as we will not let you embarrass the Slytherin name. Now goodnight."
Further note to self, Harry thought, don't become a Prefect either. They seemed to have just as many fun and interesting (sarcasm) speeches as teachers did!
Actually, for all his previous exhaustion and wish to collapse, Harry found himself surprisingly energetic when it came to reading this mysterious 'pamphlet' they were all so worked up about. He just knew he wouldn't be able to sleep before he read it.
He was sorely disappointed. The pamphlet was apparently a guide on how to be a Slytherin, and filled with numerous cliches and rather appalling grammar and spelling mistakes. It seemed he had gotten into the House of People Who Think They're Cool For Using Tired Plays on Common Sayings. He always had the best luck.
A/N: If anyone particularly cares, the torture Harry's thinking of is called the blood eagle, and was possibly practiced by the ancient Norse. If you look it up, be warned that it really is rather gruesome.
Also! Tell me some things you like, and some things you dislike that are typically used in Slytherin!Harry and/or intelligent!Harry and/or mentor!Snape fics.
I won't promise to avoid all the things you dislike, or include all the things you like, but getting a general idea would be great. Things like Harry becoming BFFs with Draco just because he's in Slytherin, or still being BFFs with Hermione and Ron despite being Slytherin, various aspects of Slytherin characterization and society... anything you think of!