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, semi!mentor!Snape, and excessive use of italics.
Notes: Sorry for the, uh, forever wait. I had half the story typed up... and then lost the USB drive it was on. And then the USB drive I backed it up on while my laptop was getting wiped. So I had to start over from scratch - and then I got caught up with class, work, and something that may actually resemble a social life. This chapter is rather disjointed, but it's all going somewhere! Probably.
CHAPTER FIVE: Ask me no questions, I'll probably still lie.
There were a great many things wrong with the plan, and Harry couldn't help formulate them into somewhat of an essay form. They'd learned how to write essays in school last year, and Harry had been sure to practice mentally for the day when he would be attending a different school than Dudley and as such could blame better grades on the declining standards of non-Smeltings schools.
First, there was the fact that had it not been mentioned, Harry wouldn't have even remembered the impossibly huge man's name. How his accursed housemates were expecting him to buddy up with a guy he couldn't remember the name of, he had no idea.
Secondly, Harry barely got along with Millicent, who would most likely shrug at the Dark Lord and say, "Sup?", she was that laid back. (She wouldn't actually do that, of course; although laid back, she also had a strong survival instinct.) And yet she felt the urge to smack him pretty much every time he opened his mouth. Sure, he could try acting, but he'd never been forced to act friendly before. Harry Dursley wasn't friendly, and his short stint as the Boy-Who-Lived hadn't been either.
Finally, there was the simple fact that Harry seriously did not care. At all. He so didn't care, it almost circled back around and made him care – almost. Not quite. Someone who was sufficiently motivated could easily get over the hurdles posed by the first two problems, but Harry really wasn't. So there was a giant three-headed dog in the middle of the school that could possibly escape and go on a murderous rampage devouring small children. Honestly, sounded about par for the course that he'd seen in the magical world so far.
So it was entirely beyond him how he got to be sitting in the stone hut on the lawn, in a comically oversized chair, staring dubiously at the 'cakes' Hagrid had set out.
Millicent made the usual pleasantries - "Hi, how are you, what ferociously bloodthirsty creature are you making goo-goo eyes at this week" - and then elbowed him harshly in the side. That, he assumed, was his cue.
Harry slipped a few of the cakes into his bag, still undecided as to whether they'd be good weapons, part of a planned experiment to see what Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't eat, or if he wanted to attempt a scientific breakdown of the ingredients. Then he cleared his throat. "So what's the three headed dog on the third floor guarding?"
Millicent actually punched him for that one, but honestly. What had they been expecting?
Hagrid spluttered for a few minutes. "Now, don't ya worry 'bout that. That's between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel, that is."
Millicent's eyes gleamed with the small bit of information. "Oh, certainly Mr. Hagrid. Harry and I've got to go now, have a good night," she said hurriedly, grabbing Harry by the arm and hauling him out, conveniently ignoring Harry's muttered, "Have a good life, more like, I ain't coming back here, no sir."
The (much) larger girl continued dragging Harry all the way up to the castle, and then into the Great Hall where their yearmates had decided to convene before lunch. Unfortunately, they hadn't been the only ones with that brilliant idea, so Harry wound up being dragged past a quarter of the school and Professors Sprout and Snape.
"Thanks, Millie, that doesn't effect my ego at all," he muttered as she finally let him go after pushing him onto a bench. She ignored him, and quickly sat down next to him.
"Flamel," she hissed at the rest of the first years. "He said that whatever the dog is guarding is between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel."
She delivered this with a grand whisper, like it should mean something to them. When they all just looked at her blankly, she sighed and slumped a bit. "Damn, I was hoping one of you would know who that was."
Harry snorted at that. "That would require them using books as more than just things to throw at Gryffindors," he pointed out. When he received full glares from the rest of his – dare he refer to them as friends? The very thought made him shudder – he rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, like I'm wrong."
Parkinson, at least, had the grace to look embarrassed, before clearing her throat. "I suppose we'll just have to research this Flamel person, then," she said, in tones of someone who would be immediately passing the job onto someone else.
"I think we should figure out what three headed dog was, too, and if there's a way to get past it," Millicent quickly disagreed.
Malfoy took control of the group again, glaring at the two girls. He decided that the boys would research the monster, while the girls would take Flamel, and quickly informed the group of that fact.
"But then you've got twice as many!" Pansy complained, gesturing at the boys.
"Yes, but it's Crabbe, Goyle, and Potter. You really think that will help?"
"...you've got a point."
Harry felt like he should perhaps feel insulted... and he was, just not for the reason he should be. That is, he was insulted that they were so terribly used to him this early on in the year. They were quite right about the amount of help he, Crabbe, and Goyle would be.
Which reminded him. "Hey Lobster and Gargoyle, I saved you some cake from Hagrid's," he said, hefting a chunk of rock out of his pocket and setting it between the two. "Enjoy!"
And then he wandered away from the table, because there was honestly only so much house bonding he could stand. (Besides, he felt no particular urge to see the results of most of his misdeeds; it was enough to merely know he had done them. This did not, however, keep him from smirking spectacularly when he heard a cry of pain from one of the louts, who'd decided to try and bite down immediately.)
"Mr. Potter." Ah, he'd wondered if he'd make it through the day without his name being said in the especially disdainful manner. Apparently not!
"Professor Snape, such a surprise it is to see you on this fine day!" he chirped, tilting his head back as far as possible to get a slight glimpse of an upside-down Severus Snape. "Whatever are you doing in such a place?"
Snape, Harry was gratified to see, wasn't as laid back as his housemates, as the professor's eye started twitching – just a bit, but enough to make Harry feel appreciated. "What are you and your friends conspiring about?" he asked, giving an extra sneer when he said friends.
Harry totally understood that, he did the same thing when talking about the group he'd just left behind.
"Oh, the usual," Harry instantly replied, very blasé about it. "Overthrowing society as we know it and enslaving the less worthy. Malfoy, Parkinson, and Bulstrode were arguing over who gets to lead the glorious revolution. The fools think I shall relinquish my power, but they shall learn, oh how they shall learn!" Here he stopped for an evil cackle.
Snape had stopped walking in favor of just staring at him, before he shook his head to clear it. "Right," he said sarcastically. "Detention, Potter, now."
Harry sniffed righteously, and would've argued, but it had hit that he sounded a bit Voldemort-ish in that last rant, and figured he probably deserved it.
(Well, okay, he would've deserved it even without stirring up memories of terror. Harry pretty much always deserved it.)
In any case, Harry didn't particularly mind detention. It wasn't his personal favorite thing in the world, but it wasn't the worst thing ever either. Even with Snape. There was something satisfying in actually doing something, especially when not being used as sheer slave labor. Plus, being so at ease with Snape detentions increased his aura of strangeness.
Which he didn't exactly need help with, but whatever.
"Sit," Snape demanded the second they reached the Potions classroom. Harry started to sit – directly in the doorway, mind, because he was a big fan of the letter of the law and not the spirit – except Snape had whipped his wand out and pointed it directly at his forehead... without turning around or stopping his stride. "Properly."
Muttering to himself (not actually saying anything, just random syllables), Harry perched himself upon a stool and pouted at Snape. Snape, for his part, completely ignored the first year.
And kept ignoring him.
...and ignored him some more.
A few hours later (or about three minutes, Harry wasn't too good with counting), Harry finally snapped. "So what's my detention?" he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.
Snape didn't even bother glancing up from the papers he was marking at his desk. "Staying put and doing nothing."
Harry probably just imagined the ending of that sentence, which was 'nothing more to disrupt my sanity'.
"That's not detention!" Harry said indignantly. "That's... I dunno, but it's not detention," he finished somewhat weakly. Snape, however, appeared to have gone back to ignoring him.
Harry spent a few more minutes aimlessly swinging his feet and attempting to make patterns in the air before he got bored again. "So, you're ignoring me?" After a few moments with no response, he decided that yes, his head of house was indeed ignoring him. "That's not a little teenage-girl for you? Giving me the cold shoulder and all?" Still no reaction. "I wasn't even aware we had broken up," he said, half-heartedly faking some sniffles.
And there was no silence. Dear God, but the man had actually found an effective punishment for him – while the first eleven years of his life had more or less been spent actively striving for unnoticed anonymity, his short time at Hogwarts had taught Harry a very important lesson: it was awesome to get noticed when it meant you wouldn't be starved in response.
He was well-aware that as an eleven-year-old, pouting was not precisely an age appropriate activity. But he couldn't help it, the only people he knew even remotely close to his own age were Slytherins and, well, Dudley. He was still being about ten times more mature.
The boredom was excruciating – almost as bad as being ignored. Somehow, he managed to make it through the full two hours Snape apparently required of him. (Later, he wouldn't be sure if it had seemed twice as long, or half as long, since he wasn't actually doing anything.)
"Dismissed, Potter," Snape suddenly said, still not looking up from his grading. Harry didn't bother saying anything – he wasn't sure what he'd do if Snape ignored him even after the detention was over, so he just didn't risk it and instead quietly left the room.
He stood in the dungeon hallway for a few seconds, trying to decide where was best to sulk. It didn't take too long, because he was, after all, in a school – the one place guaranteed to be deserted was the library.
Harry had forgotten about a certain girl named Hermione J. Granger. Well, more accurately he had forgotten about Hermione Granger – he had no idea what her middle name was, so how could he have forgotten about Hermione J. Granger?
"What's wrong? Are the other Slytherins being mean to you? I knew you'd never fit in with them, you're much too nice, and-"
She probably would've kept talking, except Harry decided to try out one of his theories. "Look! A book! Oooh," he said temptingly, waving a random book around in front of her face.
The bushy haired girl glowered at him. Damn, he guessed that meant it hadn't worked. "That," she said in tones that made him envision what Antarctica possibly looked like (assuming it wasn't, like, a hidden continent of witches and wizards or some other such bizarre shit), "Is Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches."
"I knew that!" Harry said defensively, before turning the book around in disbelief. "Why the hell is this in a school library?"
"It isn't," a new voice spoke up. "You just took it off my table."
Harry slowly turned around, to be faced with... a very large, burly guy, in disheveled Gryffindor robes. Staring down at him. Eep.
...he totally did not say 'eep' out loud. Except that he had. Damn it.
"So, Slytherin, gonna stop bothering the girl, or do I have to make you?" the guy continued, crossing his impressively large arms (the better to strangle with, Harry's mind hysterically muttered). So unfair that he was going to be violently murdered because that spaz of a bookworm wouldn't stop harassing him.
"Honestly," Hermione huffed. "He's not really a Slytherin, he's Harry Potter."
The guy didn't seem terribly impressed by this; Harry was far less impressed. "What?!" he squawked indignantly. "Am so a Slytherin! Sorting Hat said so!"
The burly Gryffindor gave him a serious stare, one that made Harry wish to turn to Hermione and say, "Tell my mother I love her," before charging into battle.
But, of course, in his case, that would really only work if he then threw Hermione at the older boy. Which, uh, would end badly. Damn Dark Lords, killing people and ruining perfectly dramatic statements.
(...Harry had a sudden vision of him, facing down Voldemort – which could actually happen, he'd heard rumors that Voldemort hadn't actually been defeated, and that was such a wizarding move, not to check and see if magical Hitler was dead or not. He'd be standing over the Dark Lord – who appeared in his mind as a skeleton with a Hitler mustache in a hooded black robe, holding a scythe, because the wizarding world apparently had a phobia of photographs – and he would yell out, "This!" Blast from the wand. "Is for my father! This!" Another blast. "Is for my mother! This!" Blast. "Is for my forehead! And THIS!" Massive blast. "Is for ruining the opportunity to use perfectly good dramatic lines at inappropriate times!"
Sometimes, he wondered about himself.)
A thought seemed to occur to the male Gryffindor – Harry just barely managed to keep himself for asking if it hurt. Survival skills, where do you hide when I need you? he wondered idly. "How'd you like to earn some sickles?"
"Like Death?" And yes, he did say that out loud. Damn it, mouth, look at the fine mess you've gotten us into this time! "I mean, uh, how so?"
Hermione shot him a highly suspicious look, but the guy didn't seem to notice anything. "You know when the Slytherin Quidditch team practices?" He awaited Harry's nod, so Harry nodded. He didn't, actually, but it couldn't be that hard to figure out. "Right, then, if you could maybe watch them and just let me know where they seem weak..."
There was a horrified gasp. "You want him to spy for you?!" Hermione demanded. "That's-that's-"
"Admirably Slytherin of you, but Harry's gonna have to say no." This was yet another new voice, a Slytherin who easily out-bulked the Gryffindor boy and dear god the teeth the teeth whyyyy.
"Dentist!" Harry squawked out, pointing in horror at the teeth. "Dentistry may be a false science, but anything is better than that!"
"Dentistry is not a false science!" Hermione yelled back at him, hands suddenly on hips.
"God save me from fuzzy-headed activists, but it is!" Harry argued back. "The one year I brushed after every meal, flossed, used mouthwash, the whole deal, I got two cavities! The only two cavities in my life! My cousin didn't brush the whole year, brushed right before we went, and he got praised for taking such good care of his teeth! LIES!"
It was honestly a toss-up as to whether it was Harry's rant or the escalating violence behind the two first years, but whatever the reason, the four of them wound up kicked out of the library rather quickly. Having been seen near each other by an authority figure, the older boys reluctantly went their separate ways rather than killing each other. Hermione was too busy wailing over having been kicked out of a library, the horror! to continue their argument, so Harry just threw his arms in the air. "I just wanted to sulk! Is that too much to ask?" he demanded of the heavens.
The heavens creaked ominously, and Harry decided it was time to get the heck outta dodge. Sure, the castle had been standing for a thousand years, but didn't that make it more likely that it would fall down now?