It was actually Friday, Harry thought, not without some trepidation, and a crawling sense of anticipation.

Potions Class.

With Snape.

His head of house, who hadn't so much as looked at him (at least as far as he could tell.). It was actually kind of refreshing - everyone else had something to say about his parents, except for Prof. Sprout, who'd just looked at him like he possibly was some sort of prank.

Places Please, Harry thought with amusement, as he sat down in the front row. He'd arrived with Millicent, who liked to sit in the middling back, so he'd been quite aware that he'd be sitting up there all alone. Let the games begin. Harry thought with some amusement.

There were nine other Slytherins in his year. Someone would sit with him, it was just a matter of whom. Probably not Greg or Vincent, he thought - even without Malfoy's tender care, they seemed inseparable.

Harry had failed to account for Hermione arriving early. She sat in the seat beside him - seemingly unaware that she'd called him as her partner. Malfoy sat up front, on Harry's other side - shooting consternated looks at Hermione, as if he was both unsure why she was sitting there, and what the devil he was supposed to do about it. Harry supposed that poor widdle Draco Malfoy had never been taught the proper protocol for addressing Muggles camping in your Proper Place. There probably wasn't one, Harry smirked, as Muggles were supposed to know their place.

Knowing Lucius, he might have said the proper protocol was an Avada Kedavra. So, there were small mercies in the ill-manners of the Malfoy scion. Small mercies indeed.

Pansy sat beside Draco Malfoy, having entered with him and Tracey Davis. She was smartly unwilling to abandon him to whichever Gryffindor. Faye wound up sitting beside Daphne Greengrass, who was a bit stiff towards the Gryffindor, but didn't seem actively and overtly hostile.

Snape entered the room with his customary THOOM of the doors, as he threw them open. They somehow always flew shut again, which was a miracle probably created by some subtle magic.

Snape said his speech, which, as usual, was mesmerising. Harry, in his past life, had wanted to hear it again - and make sure that it was a speech, and not just something new that Snape said each term. He'd sat there, second year, and listened to the same speech as Snape gave it to the tired Hufflepuffs and impossibly eager Ravenclaws.

This time, Harry didn't take notes.

"Mister Harry Potter," Snape sneered.

"Here, sir." Harry said, careful to mind his manners.

"Our latest... celebrity." Snape sneered.

Harry looked down at the desk, and nodded, once. He hated being a celebrity, but if Snape hadn't cottoned onto that fact from the idea that Harry was in Slytherin, well, he might not. Ever.

Harry knew the answers this time, so he answered Snape's questions, perfectly.

"Potter, how is it that you know the answer to fifth year material? Have you been reading ahead?" Snape asked softly.

Harry stiffened, his shocked green eyes looking up into Snape's pits of neverending darkness. He hadn't studied ahead. There were entirely too many people who knew that.

"I find that to be unexpected, and I do so hate unexpected things. I would have expected Mister Malfoy to have read ahead, with his family's prodigious library..." Snape continued.

Harry tried to frantically plot - what have I done, what have I done!?

All at once it came to him.

Harry's eyes cleared, and he said firmly, "Sir, I have not read ahead in the Potions curriculum. I had enough difficulties with the first year's Potions material, that I decided it was probably for the best to attain mastery in the fundamentals."

Snape raised an eyebrow at him, "How, then, did you know the answers to the questions?"

"I've been reading ahead in History of Magic, sir." Harry said.

"Five points to Slytherin," Snape said, and gestured at the board, which suddenly had a simple potions recipe on it.

Harry and Hermione got down to work.

[a/n: And so the fun begins! Harry should learn to watch how much knowledge he reveals.

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