Chapter V: Harry's Toast

Harry woke at six o'clock. He didn't need to be up for another hour at the earliest, but the habit was too deeply instilled to break; chores for the Dursleys started at six thirty prompt. With nothing to do, and no-one else awake to talk to, he lay alone collecting his thoughts from the day before. Where to begin?

Hogwarts was simply amazing. He'd never seen any building that compared to its grandiose spires and vaulted halls. Gryffindor common room had more cushions than his aunt, and several nooks and crannies he'd noted as good places to settle down in. And the dorms!

He had his own poster bed, with curtains and everything, which was brilliant; he could shut out the others for a little privacy yet leave the far side curtain wide open so he didn't feel trapped. The mattress was almost new - not like the stained (albeit comfy) offering at the Leaky - and the pillow was so luxuriously thick he couldn't feel his wand under it at all.

He had a chest all to himself to store clothes that were all his, although if the other boys' carelessly strewn clothing was anything to go by he wouldn't be expected to use it much. Imagine not having to be tidy all the time! In fact, there was a spare bed in the dorm (apparently the magic that adjusted the dorms to the size of the year group couldn't count below five) that they had collectively dubbed 'the dumping ground'; a space for throwing those things you didn't want to break, but couldn't be bothered to sensibly put down.

The way the dawn light streamed freely through the tower's south-facing window made his heart sing.

Harry's mind wandered from the castle itself to the people within it. They were more of a mixed bag. Ginny's familiar presence was most welcome, and he lamented that the dorms were split by sex. Sure, she'd been unmanageably hyperactive with all the excitement, but he'd have preferred to share a room with her over any stranger. Not that the boys he was sharing with had done anything wrong - they were all reasonably friendly, especially Colin (who was perhaps a bit too friendly) - but they weren't friends. Not yet.

Speaking of friends… He found himself worrying about Luna. After the feast she'd been herded away by a Ravenclaw prefect and hadn't looked at all happy to go. Harry had learned to read body language as a way to pre-empt and avoid his uncle's wrath, and so he knew when something was off. Luna was off. Her broad smile had become vacant and she skipped slowly behind her housemates. She hadn't even been humming.

Resolving to see how she was doing at breakfast he checked the time on the room's grandfather clock: Seven minutes past six. Getting another hour's sleep was unlikely so he quietly retrieved the book 'Magical Drafts and Potions' from his chest and opened to the bookmarked page. Half an hour later he had just finished the section on bezoars and their applications when Geofric oh so kindly took it upon himself to rouse his dormmates. A chorus of groggy protests heralded the start of the day proper.

In the common room the firsties gathered round Percy Weasley, who distributed their timetables for the semester.

"Double potions! With Slytherin?" Ginny exclaimed when she read the first entry. She didn't sound happy about that.

"What's wrong with that?" Harry asked.

"It's Slytherin! They're a bunch of slimy snakes!" she squealed.

"Yeah, everyone knows Slytherins are evil." Emmeline Wood asserted.

"Girls, let's not jump to conclusions about people," Percy chided, then lowered his voice, "but Snape is a right nasty piece of work. Try not to annoy him."

The girls gasped and the boys gulped at their prefect badmouthing a teacher. This Snape must be something else, Harry decided.

"What sort of things annoy him?" he enquired. I do not want that kind of attention.

"Oh, you know, the usual," Percy answered flippantly. "Talking, breathing too loudly, being a Gryffindor. And definitely don't let your potions explode."

"Ex-explode?" Neville stuttered.

"Yeah, but that's mostly advice for later years. First year potions are pretty stable."

That slight reassurance deflated all the firsties save for Harry, who was still hung up on the 'being a Gryffindor' comment. It seemed that operation 'don't get Snape's attention' was doomed before it began. He was still pondering it when he reached the great hall.

Breakfast was already laid out, and Harry had to wonder who was responsible for such a spread. Hogwarts: A History only ever referred to 'the kitchens'. There was obviously magic involved in the serving but Harry was fairly sure you couldn't just magic up that much food. Or at the least, anyone powerful enough to do so wouldn't be working a kitchen.

There weren't many students in the hall yet; the older years had a better idea of how long it took to get to class and could afford the extra ten minutes in bed. Of the few already seated at the Gryffindor table he recognised only Hermione. She sat surrounded by pages of parchment - no, that was ordinary paper - and her special quill was scribbling furiously beside her. She looked awfully engrossed in her work, so Harry left her to it and sat with his dormmates.

"Hey Harry, who'd'ya think's going to win this year's cup?" Emmeline asked out of the blue. "My money's on Wimbourne Wisps, they got some hot talent signed last year."

"Sorry, what cup?" he asked. He guessed she wasn't talking football, which was the only sport he knew a thing about at the professional level.

"Quidditch, duh."

"Oh, I don't know anything about Quidditch really. It's the one with the brooms, right?"

Several pairs of eyes bore into him with stares that ranged from incredulous to downright dumbfounded, and he wilted under the pressure. Not knowing what else to do, he took an overly large bite of toast to give him an excuse not to say anything. Not the smoothest evasion there, dumbass.

"How can you not know Quidditch!?" Geofric all but screamed.

Harry chewed his toast. There was a lot of it; he must have bitten off half a slice in one go.

"I don't know about it either." Colin piped up.

"Well yeah, but you're muggleborn. That's normal." Geofric explained, never taking his eyes off Harry.

Harry chewed some more. His mouth was really dry.

"Didn't you know, Geofric?" Ginny said smugly, "Harry was raised by muggles too."

"What?" Selina Bott gasped.

Harry chewed slower. I distinctly remember McGonagall asking Ginny not to tell people that.

"Yep, it's true and everything." Ginny was nodding her head furiously, which did disastrous things to her hair.

"But why? Both you parents were magical, weren't they?" Geofric asked piercingly.

Harry didn't want to talk about his parents. Fortunately, he didn't have to, because he still had toast to chew. Which he did.

"His mum was muggleborn, wasn't she?" Neville contributed, "Did you end up with her family after… After, you know...?"

Please don't start on that lot. Please.

Geofric slapped his forehead. "Oh right, 'cause You-Know-Who killed your parents."

Harry swallowed in shock. The toast refused to go down cleanly, citing a lack of sufficient chewing.

"Geoff, don't say things like that!" Ginny hissed. "What do- Harry? Harry, are you alright?"

"I'm choking, help," is what Harry tried to say. What came out was "Grrrk-eck," because he was very much not alright. His chest felt tight and he had a sudden, uncontrollable urge to breath rapidly, which only served to worsen his predicament. A horrid rasping pain flared in his throat, which promptly shut itself entirely.

His vision was blurring with tears. Or lack of oxygen.

His heart pounded against his constricting ribs. That's not a normal rhythm, is it?

He was dying. He knew it. At least that'll get me out of talking.

Then something struck him hard between the shoulder-blades. He lurched forward under the impact and coughed up the toast, clearing the way for the deepest drag of beautiful, blessed air in his life. Harry stayed bent over the table as he took several deep breaths. Need to calm down. In through the mouth. Do not panic in front of everyone. Out through the nose. Slow and calm. In and out.

"Alright Harry?" chirped an unfamiliar voice from behind him, on his right.

"Don't you go dying on us," came the same voice, but strangely now on his left.

"Be awfully rude to pop your clogs" - the voice swapped sides mid-sentence - "before we got the chance to meet you,"

"Just imagine the headline!"

"Boy-Who-Lived-"

"-killed by breakfast!"

"Has the makings of a prank, that does."

"Prank of the century, Fred."

"Too right, George."

"Still, not smart to pull off a prank like that-"

"-if you're not around to see the ending!"

Two boys, fourth years by the looks them, muscled in on either side of Harry to lean on the table. They were perfect mirror images of each other.

"Oh brother of mine," left twin said.

"Yes brother dearest?"

"I do believe we forgot to introduce ourselves."

"Oh, how remiss of us!" right twin exclaimed.

"Let us rectify this at once!"

Then, together, they declared: "That's Fred." / "I'm George."

"No, I'm George!" / "I'm not Fred!"

"Maybe we're both George?" right twin reasoned, most unreasonably.

They shared a look and a raised eyebrow that sent a nervous shiver up Harry's spine, then thrust a hand forward each for shaking.

"Messieurs George and George Weasley, at your service," both said in perfect unison.

Harry hesitantly offered his right hand, which was immediately seized and thoroughly shaken.

"Hi," Harry coughed "I'm Harry P-Potter."

"Oh, but we knew that already, didn't we brother?" George smirked.

"We certainly did. Dear Ginny told us all about you." George agreed.

"All about you." George whispered with a wink.

Ginny shook her head furiously in denial, a wild look in her eyes. Harry believed her, but it was easier to play along than think of something else appropriate to say.

"Oh, right. What did she say?"

Sorry Ginny.

"She thinks you're cute."

"Mmhmm," George nodded and raised a finger.

"Dashingly brave."

A second finger went up. Ginny's head fell into her hands despairingly.

"Endearingly sensitive."

George raised a third finger, but gave his brother a quizzical look as he asked "is that what she said, George?"

"Ah, no. Her exact words were 'I just want to give him a big hug and make him feel better'; I was paraphrasing."

"Very good memory there brother."

"Why thank you brother. Of course, when she said 'big hug'-"

"-what she really meant was…"

Both twins wiggled their eyebrows suggestively.

"Now, we told her she's too young for any of that-"

"-but we don't think she was listening."

"Too busy daydreaming she was."

"Whatever might she have been dreaming about?"

"I can but guess-"

"SHUT UP!" Ginny yelled. "Shut up and go pester someone else!"

"Ooh, I think we touched a nerve there George."

"I concur. Best be off before she tries to hex us."

"Too right."

"See you around, Harry," they chorused.

And with that they were gone, leaving behind a dumbstruck Harry and a beet red Ginny.

"What just happened?" asked Neville.

"My brothers just happened."

"Did you really say that about Harry?" Selina asked bemusedly.

"No," Ginny mumbled, though her downcast eyes told a different story. "Can we just focus on breakfast now? We've got class soon."

"Good idea Ginny," Harry agreed, jumping on the chance to put the whole conversation behind them. He put actions to words and picked up his… toast. Gagging at the thought, he took a small bite rather than draw attention by putting it down. That was the last piece of toast he'd eat that semester.

The dungeons were dark and cold; the potions classroom even more so. Sitting beside Ginny (after she'd corralled him to the desk furthest from the Slytherins) Harry was tempted to see how long he could maintain the Lumos charm. He could certainly create more light from it than all the room's candle's put together - all eleven of them to be exact. The main thing keeping him from trying it was Percy's advice about the professor, who wasn't present yet but could enter any moment.

Speak of the devil...
Professor Snape swept into the room with a scowl blacker than his robes. He took up position behind his desk and loomed forwards, underlighting his face with a candle. It might have been intimidating if it weren't so blatantly rehearsed.

Then again, by the way Ginny had stiffened and very annoyingly clenched Harry's thigh in the tiny vices she called hands, maybe Harry just wasn't as easy to spook as other kids his age. Uncle Vernon had certainly been far more aggressive in his actions; amateur theatrics didn't compare to the wordless promise of a belt being removed.

"There will be no silly incantations in this class," Snape began, folding his arms disapprovingly. "I do not expect many of you will appreciate, or understand, the subtle science that is potion making."

Harry was raptly staring at the crow-like man. Rather disconcertingly, with a whole class of students to choose from, it was solely at Harry that he intensely stared back.

"However, for the select few who possess the necessary ability and ambition," - he glanced to the Slytherin side - "I can teach you to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even to stopper death."

Snape stalked from behind his desk and past the Slytherins, to the back of the room. As he passed each set of desks Harry saw the occupants slump with relief. Then the menace bore down upon the Gryffindors, candlelight flickering in his cruel eyes.

OK, that's more than a bit intimidating.

Quickly as he came he was past Harry's desk, but the sigh of relief caught in his throat as Snape halted and turned.

"Ah. It seems we have a celebrity with us today," he sneered. "Tell me, Mr Potter: What would be the result should I combine powdered root of asphodel with an infusion of wyrmwood?"

Harry wracked his brain, and nothing came to mind. He couldn't even recall reading those ingredients' names, despite scanning through the coursebook's glossary multiple times. Was this even on the curriculum?

"I don't know sir," he respectfully replied.

"Hmm," Snape grunted. "Where would I look to find a bezoar?"

In the stomach of the goat.

"Your storeroom, probably." - The look on Snape's face darkened past black - "Unless you enjoy rooting around in goat stomachs, of course. Sir."

Harry didn't know why he'd gone and antagonised the git, but it sure felt good in the moment. The feeling died a withering death as the professor let the comment hang overly long in the air.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter. But you are correct."

Ginny glared at Harry. Apparently five points was a significant amount, but he wasn't sure why he was catching flak for it; he'd given the right answer. Snape being a vindictive arse wasn't on him.

"Perhaps," Snape drawled, "you might earn back one of those points you so carelessly lost by telling me what is the difference between monkswood and wolfbane?"

"I don't know," Harry said, dropping the 'sir' on purpose.

"No? Unsurprising. Ms Weasley, are you by chance any smarter than your idiotic brothers?"

"Sir?" Ginny responded hesitantly.

"Monkswood. Wolfbane. Difference."

"Th-there isn't sir. They're the s-same thing," she stammered.

"Very good Weasley. Or a lucky guess, who's to say?"

As Snape span and strutted away to his desk, Harry fumed. Ginny had very briefly perked up when she knew the answer, but the dismissive comment plunged her into sullenness. There was something wrong about a subdued Ginny; it just wasn't her. He didn't like seeing it, but it wasn't as if he could stop Snape being mean.

Directing that meanness though…

"Professor," Harry called after him, "I believe there was a point on offer for a correct answer?"

Harry recognised the look Snape hit him with. He'd seen the same thing on the few occasions he backchatted his uncle. Now, unlike then, Harry didn't cower.

Teachers can't beat students. Hopefully.

"One point to Gryffindor," Snape grated, grinding his teeth as if the words pained him, "for Ms Weasley's answer." Then he smiled. "And two points taken away, Mr Potter, for expecting others to compensate for your own failings."

The temperature of the room dropped - literally - as the two stared each other down, the other students completely forgotten.

Perfect.

Two hours, one decent potion - rated unacceptable - and nine lost points later, Harry and the Gryffindors left the dungeons huddled in a big cluster. The group broke up as Geofric and Neville pulled Harry to a stop to have words.

"What the hell, Harry?" Geofric demanded, "Are you trying to lose us the cup or what?"

"Provoking Snape doesn't seem very smart," Neville said.

"Nine points! How are we meant to make up for that? We're lucky enough Snape didn't take points from anyone else," Geofric ranted.

Harry smirked knowingly. "You're welcome."

"What!?"

"I said you're welcome."

"What in Merlin's name are you on?"

"Yeah, what's going on?" Neville asked, looking as puzzled as Geofric was annoyed: Very.

"How many times did Snape have a go at either of you?"

"None," Geofric proudly stated.

"Only once; when I nearly m-melted our cauldron."

"And why," Harry led them with a growing grin, "is that?"

"He was too busy having a go at… you…" Geofric trailed off in wonder.

"Harry," Neville ventured, "did you just piss off Snape so he would leave the rest of us alone?"

Harry had thought, based on Neville's attempt at following simple potion instructions, that the boy was a touch slow. It was pleasantly surprising to see him catch on so quickly.

"Like I said: You're welcome."

"Bleedin' heck, Potter, you're crazy. I mean, thanks and all, but… Why?" Geofric asked.

"Why what?" Harry asked.

"Why stick your neck out like that?"

Because I can handle Snape, and you lot probably can't. Ginny definitely can't.

"It's what mates do, ain't it?" Harry shrugged.

"Mate, I wouldn't cross Snape for my best friend," Geofric admitted, "let alone some kid I met yesterday."

Some Gryffindor you are.

"Hey, the others were whispering about it in class - don't think they're happy with you. I'll go let them know you're alright," Geofric offered before running after the group without waiting on a response.

Neville stayed with Harry, eyeballing him like he was a wolf, and Neville a hare.

"Weren't you scared?" he asked.

"Sure," Harry shrugged, "obviously. Snape's nasty."

"But you stood up to him anyway."

"Yeah."

"Even though you were scared of him?" Neville insisted, leaving Harry wondering where this was going.

"Uh, yeah."

"How?"

"What do you mean?"

"When I'm scared I just sort of freeze up."

Harry could sympathise with that. The number of times he could have run from Dudley - not like the pig could ever catch up - but his legs wouldn't move… He hadn't frozen like that in a few years, and hoped he never would again.

He realised he should have answered when Neville continued with, "Guess I'm not much of a Gryffindor."

Harry wanted to console the boy, who looked to be on the edge of tears, but what to say? He didn't know him well enough to refute it; actually, everything he'd seen of Neville suggested he was right. Stupid hat. Still, he had to say something.

"Come on Neville, let's get to the next class. I'll bet Flitwick's loads better than Snape."

If he isn't, what kind of school is this place? And if I have to draw the ire of any more teachers, I'm toast.

Author's Notes Time!

First, thanks for another review Steavatron! Your feedback is inspiring me to continue as much as it is terrifying me of failing to keep up with the quality. Such is the life of the aspiring author.
As to the cause of Hermione's injury, it'll be interesting to see if you have guessed it right already, unlikely as that seems. Ultimately it's not about how it happened, but rather how she overcomes it, so it shouldn't affect too much if it disappoints. It also may not be explained for another 150k words... My dear readers won't hear the full story until Harry does, and for that to happen there first needs to be some serious trust built.

Second, my upload schedule may be moving to a chapter every three days, because my muse is on fire. Writing a whole chapter in one sitting is a new and exhilarating experience for me.

Third, although this is stated on my profile I realise I barely alluded to it here: All students are one year older than would be expected given their school year. (They start aged 12, not 11) This is to allow characters to act a little more maturely, namely getting to the romance stuff sooner.