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 all the ideas, guys! Keep 'em coming in. (Also, my 'm' key has been sticking, so if you see words missing their 'm', let me know.)
CHAPTER THREE: Nice guys finish last; smartasses stand on the sidelines and laugh.
The other first year Slytherins were highly impressed with the stupid little book, however. Or at least Malfoy was, and everyone was following his lead, which was a definite possibility – and a rather annoying one.
Sitting at the breakfast table, Harry scribbled out his first impressions of his peers into his ever-present notebook while everyone else whispered in awe about the rules of being Slytherin. Millicent, of course, he had already recorded, and just made a few additional notes on; then, to be orderly, he started pages on Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger, whose notes were currently 'has a toad', and 'distract with large books', respectively. Finally, he got to his housemates.
He was tempted to give Crabbe and Goyle a shared page, as they appeared to be the same person for all intents and purposes, but he just knew that would come back to bite him on the ass if he did such a thing. So they each got a page, with the same note of 'rock?' on each.
Next, Blaise Zabini. Sophisticated and in control, but content to allow Malfoy the reigns of power. A true Slytherin, Harry decided. Speaking of Malfoy, he quickly jotted down the similarities between his morbidly overweight cousin, and the blond. The chief difference appeared to be that Malfoy wasn't fond of doing the dirty work himself, and relied more on verbal insults than punching people. Which was definitely a plus in Harry's books.
And then, the final boy, Theodore Nott. Between the vibes he'd gotten off the boy the previous night, and his behavior that morning, Harry had decided it would be useful to remember his name, and actually use it if he talked with the boy – which he probably wouldn't, as it appeared that Nott was mute.
Then, the girls. Pansy Parkinson, who gave off the classic signs of being a follower simply because it was too much of a hassle to lead – she would be easy to sway to his plan of world domination, a plan he had just come up with approximately thirty minutes ago – but was also sort of a daddy's princess.
And then there was the last girl, Greengrass, who Harry had decided to call Redrose just because he was like that. She had failed to make much of any impression, which naturally made her the most suspicious of them all – they were eleven years old, even Harry'd given off the impression of being mildly psychotic! To be that self-contained was just... unnatural.
Having finished his notes, Harry returned his notebook to his bag (the squib one, which he had all of his school books crammed into so he wouldn't have to return to the dorms once they got their schedules), and started eating. And paying attention to his classmates.
He was immediately annoyed, because it seemed that Malfoy and Parkinson were the only ones who would talk, with Zabini and Redrose making the rare comment. Okay, Crabbe and Goyle probably didn't have the mental capacity to use human language, and Nott was a mute, but Millicent at least should be talking!
...so should he, for that matter.
Noticing for the first time that someone had – perhaps with magic?! – handed out schedules, he glanced at it with interest. They had two classes that day, Transfiguration and History of Magic. Using his amazing skills of deduction, Harry decided that the first class was about changing things from one thing to another, and the second was a history class. Ah, his brilliance astounded even him sometimes.
"So Millicent, Nott, are you looking forward to learning to be Jesus?" In his mind, this made total sense. Water into wine, that was a transfigur-whatsit, right?
Apparently, however, most people didn't think like he did. Which, if he was honest with himself, could only be a good thing. In any case, not only did the two he was talking to stare at him as if he'd lost his mind, so did everyone else who'd heard. He considered, for a moment, explaining his thought process... but nah, this was way more fun.
After a moment, Millicent turned away from him and cautiously told the others, "Everything I've heard about transfiguration makes it seem to be the hardest class. I wonder what we'll start off learning."
Well, at least part of his goal was accomplished, Millicent was joining in on the conversation, and even Zabini and Redrose were contributing more in the vicious debate over what they would be taught. Parkinson thought that they'd be learning how to change people into animals; Zabini was cynical and said it would al just be theory and they wouldn't do anything; Harry, of course, insisted near-fanatically that it would so be water into wine.
In reality, it turned out to be matchsticks into needles. Much better than a theory class, but Harry was still disappointed. He wanted some wine, damn it!
(Apparently he wasn't the only one, as he heard a Gryffindor boy chanting "turn this water into rum" over at their table when he passed by for lunch. There was then a small explosion, which was actually possibly cooler than alcohol. He'd have to take a poll.)
By the end of the day, Harry had discovered that they did indeed have naptime outside of nursery school; they just cleverly disguised it from authorities by calling it 'History of Magic'. It made him slightly sad, because he'd always enjoyed history lessons back in primary school, and was sure the magical world had very interesting history. But alas, it was not to be, because Harry was not one of the rare students that could separate the subject from the teacher.
The rest of the week was certainly interesting. In Charms, they met the incredibly short Professor Flitwick, began to learn the Lumos charm (Harry almost got it, but instead accidentally blew up Parkinson's ink well, and she refused to speak to him for the rest of the day), and afterwards debated whether or not Flitwick was related to the goblins. A discussion which ended when Harry had gone off on a tangent about a book he'd read about primordial dwarfs, which Flitwick wasn't but maybe primordial dwarfism was actually carried by a latent gene left by a magical ancestor, and had anyone attempted to do scientific research on magic before?
Malfoy had stared at him for a long moment, and then muttered something derogatory about Muggles, and being raised by Muggles. Harry didn't really care.
Then there was Herbology, which turned out to be an unmitigated disaster. Harry had managed to get into an argument with his work partner, Terry Boot, which had rapidly devolved into shouting and the throwing of handfuls of soil, and landed both of them with detention for a week. Astronomy passed in a sleepy haze, because unlike most adolescents, Harry did not enjoy staying up late, and having class at midnight was just insanity.
It only took him halfway through Defense Against the Dark Arts to decide that the class was a complete and total waste of time – at least under Professor Squirrel, or whatever his name was. At that point, he pleaded sick and got to leave for the hospital wing. It wasn't entirely a lie, since his scar kept giving off painful twinges and he was getting a pretty big headache from the reek of garlic, but Harry didn't go to the Hospital Wing. Instead, he went to the library where, he had decided, he would be spending all future Defense class periods, in the hopes that the time might actually be useful.
Finally, it came time for the class he had been looking forward to the most – Potions. Okay, the fact that he was looking forward to it entirely so that he could annoy his Head of House, probably not the best thing in the world, but it worked for him.
The class started off with pure intimidation, and Harry admiringly jotted down a few notes on how to terrify eleven year olds – although really, given that Dudley was able to do it, probably not a difficult task – as Snape dangerously hissed a short speech out at them. Then came roll call, where there was a slight, unpleasant pause over Harry's name, before continuing.
"Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Snape suddenly asked. Honestly, it was a good thing Harry was a minor bibliophile who had thought to study extra on potions after having met the Potions professor, because that was so not in the first year Potions text. Honestly.
"Well, if you brewed it right, you'd get Draught of Living Death, which makes whoever takes it fall into a sleep so deep they look like they're dead. You know, I read about this medical condition, cata-something, that some people have, and when they get too excited, they can have an attack and they fall over and appear to be dead, but then later they wake up and they're fine. There was this one lady who's woken up in the morgue four times, and-" Harry probably could have continued all day and well into the night, which was why it was good thing Snape shut him up around then.
These poor people, they had no idea how long Harry could ramble if given the chance. But still, that was no reason to use an actual silencing spell on him!
Harry spent the rest of the class silently fuming... and then silently laughing up a storm when poor Neville managed to go completely wrong with the directions and hurt himself rather severely. Oh, sure, the kid had been all right on the train, and harry felt a bit sorry for him, but it was still rather hilarious. Harry would've had the same reaction if Millicent had been the unfortunate one.
Then it was off to another History class, and it was a good thing that they had Charms again that afternoon, or Harry might not have ever gotten the stupid silencing charm off, since Snape appeared to have totally forgotten, and any of his classmates who noticed him being unusually quiet were just thankful for the break – Zabini had actually let out a small groan when Flitwick canceled the spell. Harry snottily informed him that he'd gotten two entire class periods and a meal, and should be thankful that it lasted that long.
Finally, after nearly two weeks, came the first flying lesson.
Harry was of course interested in flying – who wouldn't be? He was, however, rather disappointed that it had to be done on brooms, rather than without outside aid, or by growing a pair of wings. That would be so much cooler. But he supposed he could make do with this.
But if he heard one more mangling of a Muggle word like 'helicopter', he would possibly snap and go on a murderous rampage. Honestly, it wasn't like the Muggleborns were wandering around calling things 'transfirmation' and 'can-itch', or something. It was a matter of respect! And even if not respect, it was at least a matter of not revealing your own stupidity.
Thankfully, he'd already managed to put a Dursley-style ignore filter over Draco Malfoy, and he was the main Slytherin bragging about things. Harry could only imagine what he'd do if he were another house, where everyone appeared to enjoy talking, rather than just leaving it up to two or three.
But honestly, he could already guess this would end badly, because it was a class with all of the first years. Nearly forty eleven year olds, one teacher? Even if it wasn't something potentially dangerous, that would spell disaster.
Although he was always right, even Harry did not know how right he was.
It was only a few minutes into the lesson, and Neville hit the ground with a rather sickening crunching noise. Harry, who had never had the joys of being exposed to media violence due to... well, being kept away from media, quickly turned a light shade of green at the sound. He'd always been too sneaky to have broken bones, although he had collected a massive amount of bruises over the years, so this was his first exposure to the sound. And hopefully last, magical healing or no.
They were ordered to stay off their brooms on threat of death – and/or expulsion – and then the teacher took Neville to the Hospital Wing. "That was nice of her," Harry muttered to Millicent and Hermione, who were on either side of him. "This way we absolutely know someone will get on their broom."
Hermione gave him an annoyed look, but it was wiped off her face when Malfoy caught sight of something that had fallen out of Neville's pocket. "Look, Longbottom dropped his Remembrall! I think I'll leave it in a tree for him to find," Malfoy said confidently, seizing the object and rising up on his broom.
Harry watched in mild interest as the younger brother of his mortal enemies (whose names he really ought to learn) went after Malfoy. "Give it back, Malfoy!" Ah, such witty conversation, it was an honor to be in his presence, surely.
"Why don't you go and fetch it, Weasley?" Malfoy said with a smirk, before throwing it to the ground.
Weasley tried to get it, but had to pull up before he reached the ball in order to not crash. He, and the other Gryffindors, looked on helplessly as it plummeted to the ground.
Hermione, meanwhile, yanked on Harry's arm and hissed, "Do something!"
Harry gave her a weird look, and then watched in amusement as the Remembrall hit the ground... bounced twice, and then rolled to a stop. Then, he turned to the shocked Hermione. "Honestly, it didn't break when it fell out of Neville's pocket, what made you think it would break this time?" He paused, thoughtful. "For that matter, if Neville's grandmother was really dumb enough to send him something glass without making sure it was unbreakable, she really deserved to have to buy another.
"For that matter, what's the point of something that tells you you've forgotten something without telling you what?" Harry'd finally remembered what a Remembrall was.
"Mr. Weasley! Mr. Malfoy!" came a shriek from closer to the castle. The Transfiguration professor was striding out and looked rather like she'd eaten a very large batch of lemons. "Ten points from Gryffindor and Slytherin! And you both will be serving detention with Filch tonight!"
She continued to rant at them while the rest of the class looked on in amazement, so Harry shrugged and sat cross-legged on the ground, pulling out one of the books he'd gotten from a Muggle store after discovering his apparent wealth (apparently, you could owl-order money exchanges from Gringotts, who knew?). Yossarian, Harry decided, was definitely his kind of hero – that is, not one.