When Boy woke, he had no idea what time it was. The broom cupboard he had found the night before had no windows, so he hurried to get dressed, terrified of being late on his very first day. The robes that had been covered in ink had dried and crusted on the fabric. He was just happy that he had one clean set. Before he could do anything else, he had to fix his belongings. There was no telling which classes he had, so he had no idea what supplies he needed and what he could do without. So, for the next twenty minutes, Boy pushed his magic into each broken item (except for the ink pots) to fix them. He also turned one of his ink covered robes into a temporary knapsack. That was just one more thing that Sir had forgotten to pick up. That was fine. He should be able to find something to use later, so that he could still have his third set of robes. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd gotten four extra sets like Jamie.
Boy blinked, never having been mad at Jamie's preferential treatment before. So why now? Shaking his head, he put his ear to the door and listened for a few seconds. He didn't want anyone to know that he'd slept in the broom cupboard, or to know where his trunk was being stashed.
It was only until he could find a better place to sleep.
When he deemed the coast to be clear, he snuck out of the cupboard and shut the door with a soft snick. The common room was blessedly empty. He checked the ornate grandfather clock in the corner. It was almost six. Since breakfast began at seven, people should start coming down soon. Sitting in front of the fireplace, he settled in to wait.
At least he hadn't overslept.
It took thirty-seven minutes before the first of the Slytherins began to trickle into the common room. Within ten minutes, the rest of the house joined them.
Boy was intrigued when the Slytherins lined up according to year when they left the common room. It was militant in a way. That didn't bother Boy. It was nice to be a part of a whole, even if he was in the back by himself. They were in rows of two, and directly in front of Boy was a stocky girl and one of the guys that had laughed when they realized that Boy was left without a bed in the proper dorms. The name he'd heard was... Theo? Leo? Something like that. It made no difference as it was clear that none of his year mates wanted anything to do with him, and he didn't understand why.
What was it about him that made people instantly dislike/fear being near him? Did he really have some disease that he just didn't notice? Were Ma'am and Sir right after all?
Boy took his place in the Great Hall, which was the same exact spot he'd used the night before. He slowly worked his way through the watery porridge, waiting for the course schedules to be passed out. He had been taken off of the list for the dumb classes, and he was excited to see what he would be learning!
The schedules were handed out a little while later, starting with the seventh years who were closest to the staff table.
When the professor got about a third of the way down, he stopped, staring at the topmost page with a combination of confusion and disbelief.
There was a hint of anger too.
Boy was curious about it, but stayed silent and still.
The professor's gaze went through all of the students and finally landed on Boy. The sheer loathing was enough to reduce Boy to a shaking mass.
If those looks were anything to go off of, he thought his assessment from last night was wrong. Doing well on that test was a mistake.
Eventually, the professor made his way to the first years. He handed out the sheets of parchment without emotion, until he reached Boy.
"Take. It." Professor Snape said venomously.
Gulping, Boy reached out a trembling hand to take the page.
He had potions first. With professor Snape. Oh.
"This is the most difficult year you will face, here at Hogwarts." Professor Snape said seriously. "Up to now, you have been under the impression that the previous years were a precedent for the entirety of your educational careers. This is a falsehood that I will take pleasure in destroying. This year," he continued, strolling through the aisles. "You will be pushed harder than ever before. This year, you will be tested on five full years worth of information on every course you have taken thus far. The results of which will determine your ability to continue on, or be removed from the courses in which you see fit to waste the time of the professors and students alike. These will be the grades that employers will see. These will be the basis on which you are judged for the rest of your collective lives.
"As it is the first day of classes, you will be tested on the summer reading. For our... new student, this is standard practice for the staff to be able to decide if you are worth teaching."
That stung. Boy was used to being belittled, but he honestly thought that the staff would be different.
Boy really did bring out the absolute worst in people. He just wished he knew why.
It was at that point, that Boy actually looked around. At first he was surprised at how much shorter he was than the rest of the class, but then he noted that some of them had facial hair and some had a lot more curves than eleven year olds.
He double checked his schedule. He was in the right place. The name was correct too. Why was he both the shortest as well as the youngest one in class?
In the end, Boy decided that if the professors didn't like him, then that was fine. He would do well anyway.
The test was not as difficult as he thought it might be, and when he was finished, he was shocked to see that he was the only one. The rest of the class seemed to be struggling, or at least most of them were. A few, he noted, were tugging at their hair or fiddling with their quills. It was incredibly distracting, and Boy was glad he hadn't noticed until now, otherwise he might not have finished. Legs shifting, fingers tapping, the constant sighing! How in the world did people get anything done with all this nonsense going on?
With nothing left to do, Boy capped his quill and inkpot, put them aside, waiting patiently and quietly. After about ten minutes of string at the wall, he took out his transfiguration textbook to read. By the time he'd finished rereading chapter three, he heard something and was surprised to see a student get up from their work table, test in hand and approach the professor's desk.
When the student in question handed his scroll over, he packed up his belongings and left the room.
Were they supposed to leave like that? The professor didn't stop him, and had even given a curt nod in response to the student's actions.
Boy decided to wait, just in case. Maybe the student had to be excused at a certain time for something? Would he be laughed at for trying to do the same?
He waited another nine minutes, and was pleased to see another student do the same. With that in mind, he put away his textbook and took his own test up to the professor. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, the closer he got. The professor was sure to hear it.
"You finished?" The professor sneered, keeping his voice low.
It didn't make a difference, and Boy could feel all of the eyes on his back. He held out the scroll.
Professor Snape snatched it out of his weak grip and opened it immediately, rather than setting it aside as he'd done with the other two tests.
Boy started to turn around, but the professor had other ideas.
"You will not leave until you have been given explicit instructions to do so, Potter." He snarled.
Rather than reply, Boy just stood there, feeling small. Why had the others been dismissed and not him? Why did he have to stay behind?
Professor Snape let the scroll roll back up and stared at him with narrowed eyes. There was something calculating in his hawk-like gaze that was a bit unsettling.
Someone else came up behind Boy and handed over his scroll.
"Miss Clearwater," he said, just as quietly. "What is your next class?"
Her pale blonde eyebrows rose in question. "Arithmancy, sir."
"As I thought." He said. "Take him with you."
"Yes, sir." She replied immediately. "Come on, kid."
Shocked, Boy followed.
"So," she said lightly, as they turned the corner. "You're the Boy Genius, huh?"
Boy didn't respond.
"I can't believe you weren't sorted into Ravenclaw! We are known for our intelligence above all else. And, you, as an eleven year old, were placed into fifth year classes! To me, that screams Ravenclaw. How did you wind up with the Slytherins?"
He shrugged.
"Well, you're obviously smart. I saw you finish your test long before anyone else, then read to pass the time. So, who are you anyway?"
"B- Harry," he said, mentally kicking himself for almost using the wrong name.
"Well, Buh-Harry, I'm Penelope Clearwater, Ravenclaw Prefect. It's nice to meet you." She smiled at him.
He nodded once in return, thinking on everything he knew about her family. They were number twenty-seven of the sacred twenty-eight. While they still maintained their titles, much of their fortune was lost by Alonza Clearwater in 1865, who had a bit of a gambling problem. Before that, they were number nineteen in the listing. They were never at the risk of becoming last, as that was reserved for the Weasley family, who lost every cent over three simultaneous broken contracts to the Malfoy family in 1907, who were listed at third. The Weasley family could only rise in ranking if they settled the dispute with the Malfoy family and grew their fortune enough to surpass the next family, the Clearwaters. That or marry into a better ranked family.
That, he understood, would be more miraculous than Merlin himself rising from the grave and marrying a half dead runespoor on a dare.
"Alright," she said, coming to a stop. "Here we are. There's about fifteen minutes left before class lets out, so I'll be back. Don't leave unless you're sure you won't get lost, okay?"
Afraid of getting lost, Boy decided to stay put.
When the room finally cleared, Boy waited a full minute before entering.
On the board was a mathematical equation that didn't look too challenging, beside a multiplication table that was anchored to the wall.
"Ah!" Came a voice. The woman, most likely the professor, was tall. She had dark hair and dark eyes with a mysterious glint. "Got the wrong room? What classroom are you looking for, boy?"
"This one, ma'am." He said quietly.
"You're in the OWL class?" She scoffed disbelievingly. "Are you even old enough to be taking any classes here? You look like you're nine."
He bit his lip.
"Hey, Buh-Harry." Penelope said, walking into the room. "Want to sit with me? We don't have to sit separately, since it's an elective."
Boy looked at the bubbly girl and shrugged. He didn't mind. She was nice, even if she did keep calling him by that goofy name.
"Miss Clearwater?" The professor asked, confused.
"Oh!" Penelope gasped. "You weren't at the Welcoming feast! This adorable little thing is some kind of prodigy, and there was some confusion at the sorting because he was registered as a fifth year instead of first. His name is Harry."
Brow knit, the slightly scary woman went over something on her desk. "Harry, Harry, Harry... Harry Potter! Yes, there you are. Alright, go have a seat."
By then, the room was half full, and many of them were staring.
Boy shrank in on himself and followed Penelope to an unoccupied table. Before long, they were joined by a redhead, who took the only remaining seat at their table.
"Hello, Penny." The redhead said with a small smile.
She grinned, fluttering her eyelashes a bit. "Hi, Percy! Good summer?"
He harrumphed. "I'm just glad that I only have to put up with the twins in such close quarters for two more years. Those pranks are maddening. Brilliant, but maddening."
Penelope giggled. "I'm telling them you said they were brilliant."
"Please don't!" He begged, eyes wide. "I'll never hear the end of it!"
Boy watched their antics until the professor called everyone to attention.
Professor Vector, he recalled the timetable, gave a similar (but much less frightening) lecture on the importance of their OWL year. This class too, had only older students.
"As fifth years, you should know by now how we start every term." She gracefully took her seat and pointed at the blackboard. "Get to it, and bring your scrolls up when you're finished."
It took Boy longer to copy the immense amount of information, than it did for him to solve it. Six thousand, three hundred and fifty-seven. He let the parchment roll itself up and he collected his things.
Professor Vector was pouring a second cup of tea from a hovering tea tray, when Boy offered her his work. She gaped at him. "Are you sure you don't need more time?"
Boy nodded.
"Alright, then. I'll see you on Thursday. You may go."
As Boy headed out of the room, he wondered what he was supposed to do for the next hour, as the classes were ninety minutes long.
He stopped on the stairs when movement outside one of the tall, narrow windows caught his attention. There was a class outside, and they were flying. Boy had always wanted to fly. He wondered how it would feel, to soar above the treetops, where no one could reach him.
Having read about famous quidditch players, he understood the mechanics of flying, but had yet to try it out. It had sounded incredible. The way they described the weightlessness and the feeling of freedom... It was something he had wished desperately for.
Pushing that thought aside, he continued down the stairs. Coming across an empty classroom, Boy sat at a dusty table and pulled out his timetable. He wanted to memorize it while he had time. Today, he only had two more classes. Transfiguration and Charms.
He was worried. Here he was, in his first day of classes, and he still didn't have a wand. Maybe the rest of the day would be review, like Potions and Arithmancy. That would be fine, but it didn't help with tomorrow or the next day.
Closing his eyes, Boy began scratching his upper arms. What was he going to do? He was terrified of owling Sir, and he couldn't tell a teacher that Sir had forgotten. He would be punished severely for that, since they would have to contact Sir about it. Besides, only third years could go to Hogsmeade, since thirteen was considered mature enough. Boy might be in the fifth year classes, but he was only eleven.
He scratched harder.
When he felt a warm trickle down both arms, he took a deep breath. What if he could fake it? Make something look like a wand until he could get a real one? After his ministry exam, he'd looked into wandless magic a bit more. It was odd that he could use it at all, and was considered advanced, even compared to adults. He didn't believe that, but his examiners were surprised.
Calming considerably, he set out to find something he could use to make a fake wand. There was a pile of broken furniture in the corner, collecting dust. He snapped off a chair leg and focused his magic. He noticed the change almost immediately. The wood shrank in his hand, and became cylindrical. It was still rough when he opened his eyes, so he concentrated on making it look polished like Sir's. He knew that all wands were different, so he wasn't too concerned with perfection.
In the end, Boy wound up with a black wand. It was just under ten inches long and it had a slight curve at the handle. Completely innocuous. Perfect.
For the rest of his short time, Boy practiced making it look like his magic was being funneled through the fake wand.
By the time he was reasonably well satisfied, it was time to go.
As luck would have it, transfiguration was also a review exam. This class was paired with Gryffindor. Percy was in this class, and made no mention of the spectacle in arithmancy, for which Boy was grateful.
Boy ended up finishing his exam first again. She didn't say to bring their tests up when they were done, so he simply took out his Charms text and began to read.
Boy jerked when someone tapped his shoulder. It was Professor McGonagall.
She was a scary one. Did they only hire terrifying professors on purpose?
"What are you doing?" She asked, lips pursed in a fine line.
He showed her the cover of his book.
"Why aren't you following instructions? This may be a review, but I assure you that it is quite important."
He nodded, handing her his finished parchment.
"Again?" One student called out. He was wearing a green and silver tie, like Boy's own.
"Quiet, Mr. Flint." She snapped, looking over Boy's test. As she skimmed, her eyebrows rose further and further into her hairline. "Very well, Mr. Potter, you're dismissed. Lunch will not be served until the end of class, so you may spend your free time as you wish."
Boy nodded and packed up his book and writing tools.
Was this how it was going to be for every class? Him not learning anything and constantly being dismissed early? That didn't seem like the most effective way to teach.
He sighed and wished for a map of the school so he wouldn't get lost.
Penelope had pointed out the transfiguration classroom earlier, which was the only reason he was able to make it on time. Why weren't there maps? He would check the library... if he knew where it was.
So he waited for the chime to get going, wanting to follow the crowd to the Great Hall.
It was a long wait, but eventually, he heard the chime.
Getting up, he stowed away his Charms text and brushed off his robes.
"Hey kid!" Someone called out.
The flood of students was headed toward the stairs, so Boy followed them mechanically.
When they reached the bottom, somebody grabbed his arm and pulled him aside.
Boy gasped, clawing at the hand.
"Knock it off!" The guy demanded, relinquishing his arm. "What the fuck is your deal, kid? You just waltz in and outdo everyone like some kind of fucking freak."
Boy stared at the ground, while cautiously stepping back.
"Stop it!" The guy spat. "I asked you a fucking question and I expect an answer!"
He shrugged, his eyes never leaving the flagstone.
"Hey!" He snarled, pulling Boy's hair upward. "I'm talking to you!"
"Ten points from Slytherin for manhandling a student, Flint!" Penelope called out angrily. "Get moving!"
Boy stayed still, in hopes of staying out of Flint's sightline (and reach).
"You okay, Buh-Harry?" She asked, nudging him with her elbow.
He nodded. "Are you going to keep calling me that?"
She pretended to think about it. "You know, I think I will. I like you Buh-Harry. Let's go get some lunch."
Keeping pace with someone so much taller was tricky. He had to jog a bit when he started falling behind.
"So, what class were you in?" She asked casually, slowing down a little.
"Transfiguration," he replied.
"Ugh, Ol' McGonagall can be a tough nut, can't she? How hard was the review?"
Before he could answer, she continued. "Why am I asking you, huh? You probably breezed right through it, didn't you?" She giggled.
"Are-are you teasing me?" He asked shyly.
"Of course I am!" She said, lightly pinching his cheek. "You're just so cute! I can't help myself! Will you ever forgive me?" She clutched at her heart in mocking.
In spite of himself, Boy smiled a tiny smile.
She gasped dramatically. "Buh-Harry, you really are human! I just saw you showing emotion!"
"Nope," he teased. "Not me."
Her eyes lit up. "And he has a sense of humor! If you were a few years older, you'd have to beat them off with a stick!"
Boy shook his head vehemently. He would never hurt someone like that!
"You're just too precious for words!" She made a silly face at him. "Okay, Buh-Harry, go get some lunch. I'll see you around."
To his surprise, he realized that he actually told his first joke and had a friendly chat! Wow.
It didn't even burst his bubble when the first year Slytherins started needling him. At least, not at first.
They were being dismissed when it happened.
Boy put his napkin on the table when an entire serving dish of thickened broth was flung at him.
He cried out as the hot liquid seeped into his clothes, burning his skin from the chest down to his lap.
As most of the students had already left, it was easy enough for a professor to get to him.
Some of the younger Slytherins were trying not to laugh as they were ushered out by the upper years, who walked past him with disgust.
Boy wouldn't cry. Not in front of people. He gritted his teeth against the pain.
"Do you require assistance to the infirmary, Potter?" Professor Snape asked in a level tone.
Boy shook his head, breathing slowly. "No, sir. Just a change of clothes."
"You will need burn salve to keep from blistering. The infirmary is on the-"
"It's okay, sir." Boy said quickly, letting out a strained breath.
Professor Snape rolled his eyes. "You are in obvious discomfort. I will escort you there myself, to ensure that you actually follow instructions."
Boy shuffled along in silence, still hunched over. He could have brewed a burn salve, at least in theory, but it would have taken much too long, and it was painful.
"Did you see who tipped the stew?"
Boy shook his head.
"I expect enough respect from my students to give verbal responses." He said sternly.
"Sorry, sir!" He squeaked out. "I didn't see anything."
Professor Snape paused, eyeing Boy with suspicion. "Be that as it may, I trust that you will now become more aware of your surroundings, in efforts to prevent this sort of nonsense from recurring?"
"Yes, sir," Boy said, flushing. How could he not have noticed something like that? The broth-er, the stew dish was not exactly small. It was humiliating.
Eventually, they reached their destination, and for once, Boy was happy that there were such long staircases at Ma'am and Sir's house.
As they approached, the colossal wooden doors opened themselves.
"On the first day, Severus?" A short and slightly plump woman asked sympathetically. "Homesickness?"
Boy shook his head rapidly. "No, ma'am. May I have some burn salve, please?"
"Of course you can!" She proclaimed with a kind expression. "As my first customer of the year, I might have a sweet or two for you. Now, you just have a seat, and I'll bring that out right away."
Boy moved gingerly, becoming more and more aware of how rough the fabric felt on his raw skin.
"I will send word to Professor Flitwick regarding this mess. As a Slytherin, I expect you to see him in your spare time to get the makeup work. Do not wait until the next time you have his class. I will not tolerate laziness amongst my ranks." That said, Professor Snape left, his robes billowing out dramatically.
Boy was surprised to note that he used fluctus albas on his robes. He stifled a smirk.
"Alright, dear." The nice older woman began cheerfully, carrying a small ceramic pot. "Where's the affected area?"
Er... "I'll take care of it." He couldn't let her see!
"Oh, the young ones are always so shy!" She said good-naturedly. "Go on and step behind the curtain. Remember to apply it liberally. You'll stay here until that has a chance to do its job. About an hour or so, alright?"
He looked at her miserably. That would make him miss class almost entirely! "Does it have to stay on that long?" He asked softly, not wanting to invoke her wrath.
"Sorry, my dear." She shrugged. "Get that on those burns quickly, and you can hop under the sheet."
"Yes, ma'am," he said dejectedly. Pulling back the curtain, he shucked off his robe. His clothes were sticking to the red skin. Whimpering, he started unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom and working his way up. He hissed as the last button was undone. When he was fully nude, he took out a large glob of the bright orange paste.
The paste was gone by the time he reached his bellybutton. "Um," he cleared his throat. "Ma'am?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Do you have any more salve?" He asked, biting his lip.
"What?!" She half-shrieked. "How badly were you burned?! I'm coming in there-"
"No, it's okay!" He interrupted. "It's not that bad, just... it covers a fair amount of skin." Maybe he could just thin out the layer he had on to cover all of it. Then it might not work as well. The burns along his arms weren't that bad, since he had the extra layer of protection from his robes, so he could sacrifice some from there.
Just as he reached up to scrape some of it off, another jar of salve was pushed through a small gap in the curtain.
"Thank you, ma'am."
When he was thoroughly coated in the obnoxiously colored paste, he slipped into the bed.
Oh, wow. It was so comfortable! Were all beds like this? The bed in his attic was thin and lumpy, but this was as soft as a cloud! And there was even a pillow! Oh, wow. He couldn't recall ever being so comfy in his whole life!
Softly spoken words woke Boy gently.
"Poor thing fell asleep," the woman was whispering.
"So, why didn't you wake him?" That was Professor Snape's unmistakable voice. He, too, was keeping his voice down. "There was no medical reason to let him sleep the day away."
"Oh, fooey! He had already missed his last class of the day, so there was no harm in letting the boy have a lie-in."
"No, of course not," came the sarcastic drawl.
"Before I let myself forget again, I didn't catch his name. I need it for my records."
"Harry Potter." The surname was spat with distaste.
"Potter?" Her tone was incredulous. "I thought Jamie was an only child?"
"I'm assuming he is a cousin."
Ouch.
"No, sir." Boy said, finally plucking up some courage. It wasn't that hard, considering the curtain between them. "We're twins."
"Since when did the Potter's have twins?" She asked, sounding shocked.
"Presumably," the professor scoffed. "For the past eleven years."
"Oh, Severus!" She said, exasperated. "Don't be difficult. I was simply surprised."
"Sorry to interrupt," Boy said a little louder. "But how am I supposed to leave? My clothes are dirty."
There was a scoff. That was probably the professor.
A moment later, Boy's clothes were pushed through the curtain gap.
"Cleaning charms."
"Thank you, sir." Boy said, taking the bundle. He was getting better with this whole talking-to-people thing.
It was slow going, but he would get used to it.
Casting a cleaning charm on himself, Boy made his way to the Charms classroom. The woman in the infirmary gave him directions and introduced herself as Madam Pomfrey.
He knocked on the partially open door. "Hello?"
"Come in!" Came a cheerful call.
Boy poked his head in before walking inside. "Hello, are you Professor Flitwick?"
A man, close to Boy in height, was sitting at a low desk, grading papers. "I am indeed! I already know who you are. You've caused quite the stir among the staff."
"I'm sorry." Why was the staff upset? "I've only come about the classwork I've missed, then I'll be on my way."
"Why in Merlin's name would you be sorry?" The short man asked, bewildered. "Having such a gifted student in these old Halls is rather exciting."
"Oh," was all Boy could think of. "Er, well, could I possibly take the review exam? I... I know it's a bit late, but I sort of... well, I fell asleep in the infirmary."
Professor Flitwick chuckled. "Have a seat. There's only an hour or so before curfew. From what I've heard, you'll likely finish early, but if you would rather take it with the full ninety minutes, I'm sure we can come up with a good time."
"I'll take it now, sir." Boy said quickly. He had to do well, and falling behind on the first day was not the way to go about it. If he couldn't finish by curfew, he'd beg for another chance.
The professor happily gave Boy the test as well as a quill and ink. "Go on, then. Good luck!"
Thirty-eight minutes later, he let the parchment roll back up on itself.
"I see what they mean," he muttered to himself. Professor Flitwick blinked, snapping himself out of it. "I must say, Mr. Potter, I am curious to see the results, as I imagine you are. If you'd like to wait, I can have this marked before curfew."
Boy sat up straighter. "Thank you, sir."
He waited patiently, folding his hands in his lap.
Eventually, the professor cleared his throat. "Mr. Potter?"
Boy looked up.
"I've finished grading your review. If you would like to earn a few bonus points, you could cast two or three of those charms that were mentioned on the test." He said, watching Boy with glee.
"Yes, sir. Did... did I do that badly?" It had to be bad if he was offering Boy a way to boost his score.
"Not at all!" The professor hastened to assure him. "I happen to offer quite a bit of extra credit throughout the year. For some, it helps with that last little boost to get the grades they want. For others, it can be used as a reference on future employment applications. It is also used to further one's chances of obtaining an apprenticeship for a Mastery."
"Oh!" Boy was shocked. "I'd be happy to, sir."
Within minutes, Boy went on his merry way, with a perfect score and bonus points on top of it.
That night, alone in his broom cupboard, Boy smiled brightly for the first time.