Monday, 2 September 1991
"Good morning, sunshine," George greeted as Harry settled into a spot at the Gryffindor table dragging a seemingly still sleeping Ron behind him. George caught his slip a moment too late but let out a quiet sigh of relief when Harry didn't even seem to question it. His next ridiculous thought was that if he just kept calling him 'sunshine,' maybe he'd never notice. George wasn't planning to question that logic too hard, he was rather certain it would unravel if it ever saw the light of day.
"Good morning, George," Harry greeted back with a grin. "And good morning, Fred."
"How was your first night in the dorms?" Fred asked as he stuck out a hand to catch Ron's head before it crash-landed into the table, an instinct developed from a lifetime of breakfasts with their little brother.
"It was great!" Harry said, still grinning and apparently a total morning person which was rather funny when compared to Ron who was now actively using Fred's hand as a pillow. Fred, in turn, had simply adjusted to eating his breakfast one-handed. "I'm looking forward to getting our course schedule, though, it'll be nice to know if there are any days we can sleep in. Waking your brother up is a rather trying process."
George let out a laugh and listened to Harry ramble about what classes he was looking forward to after being prompted by Hermione. He'd obviously heard Harry speak yesterday from the short conversation they'd had on the train and from overhearing him at dinner, but he hadn't actually stopped to consider his accent; it was rather hard to place. He put an odd emphasis on some words and stuttered every once in a while like he was more comfortable referencing certain things in a different language, a speech pattern he recognized from Oliver Wood who often slipped into Scottish Gaelic when he was truly fired up on the pitch.
He was starting to think at least one of the men he'd seen on the platform the day before had spent Harry's childhood speaking to him almost exclusively in some other language, probably Gaelic or maybe even Welsh from the sound of it, when his theory was thrown for a loop by the arrival of Draco Malfoy.
"Bonjour, Lion," he greeted, ruffling Harry's hair before leaning over to rest his chin on his shoulder.
"Bounjour, Dragon," Harry responded, "as-tu déjà ton horaire de cours?"
"Non, pas encoure, et toi?"
George had conveniently forgotten that the Blacks were French; even if it was several generations ago and barely any of the family actually lived in France anymore, they were still deeply proud of that heritage. His grandmother, Cedrella, spoke French fluently and continued to use it even after she'd been blasted off the tapestry for marrying Septimus.
"Wait!" Hermione said excitedly, turning away from her breakfast to face Harry and Draco, "tu parles français?"
"Bien sûr," Harry said, a slight smirk on his face as he looked up at Draco.
"Nous sommes Blacks," Draco said with an identical smirk. "Toujours pur."
"A rather hilarious motto considering the current heir is a half blood," Harry laughed. "Grandfather has decided to interpret it as 'pure of heart' instead of the old blood purity tripe."
"Grandfather is a smart man," Draco decided. "I'll see you later, Harry. Find me so we can compare schedules."
"Will do," Harry agreed, turning back to his breakfast as his cousin headed toward the Slytherin table.
"How many languages do you speak?" Hermione asked and George found himself almost involuntarily leaning in to hear the answer.
"It's kind of a complicated answer," Harry laughed. At Hermione's raised eyebrow he let out a huff and started to count them out, "English and French, obviously. I also speak Gaelic but the sort I learned is a bit of an odd mix of Irish and Scottish Gaelic because the person I learned it from knows both and just kinda switches back and forth randomly so I have to seriously think about it if I only want to speak one of them. Then I know Latin, Greek, and Welsh. I can also read several runic languages along with Eald Englisc, Common Brittonic, Pictish, and Aramaic."
"That's not that complicated," Hermione argued, "but it's very cool that you know so many languages, I only know English and French but I've been studying Latin and Greek roots because I've read they're important for understanding spells."
"I didn't get to the complicated part. I also have All Speak."
"You what?" George asked, officially unable to stop himself from butting in to their conversation.
"I think I've read about that," Hermione said, eyes bright with interest. "It means you can speak to animals, right?"
"Yeah, speak to and also understand them. When I talk to them it still sounds like English, or I guess whatever language I'm choosing to speak, but the words themselves are imbued with magic that allows the animals to understand. I think it also helps me learn new languages in general, I've always picked them up rather quickly."
"Wow," Hermione said, entirely awed, and George simply had to agree. This kid was getting more and more interesting by the second.
"What's the coolest animal you've spoken to?" Fred asked as he carefully slipped his hand out from under Ron's head and shook it out, it'd likely fallen asleep and George knew there was only so long he'd put up with the pins and needles to be a nice brother.
"Hmm," Harry hummed in thought, poking Ron's side when he spotted McGonagall making her way down the table with their schedules, "I found a herd of Griffins in the forest back home and one of them is an absolute chaos junkie. I've named him Perses."
"Isn't that the Titan god of destruction?" Hermione asked, a wry smile on her face.
"Indeed," Harry confirmed as he quietly placated a grumpy Ron with a bacon sandwich when he finally blinked his eyes open.
"Good morning," McGonagall greeted, a fond look on her face as she made eye contact with Harry. George was more shocked by this than by the whole language situation. McGonagall was almost smiling, it was unheard of, it was a historical moment, honestly.
"Madainn mhath, Professor," Harry greeted seemingly on instinct if the surprised look in his eye after he'd spoken was anything to go by.
"Ah!" McGonagall exclaimed, a genuine smile on her face that had several older Gryffindors looking around to see if they were in a collective fever dream. "Madainn mhath dhutsa cuideachd, Mr. Potter. Your grandfather would be so proud of you, you know. Scots was our first language but your father never really learned it. Charlie would be quite happy to know that the tradition carried on."
"You knew my grandfather?" Harry asked.
"Of course, he was my cousin," McGonagall explained, starting to pass around schedules. "I've got some photos of him in my office if you'd like to stop by some time to see them."
"I'd love to," Harry said, a bright smile on his face as he took the offered sheet of parchment, "tapadh leat."
"You're very welcome," McGonagall replied, taking one last long look at Harry before continuing down the row.
"I'm sorry," Fred asked after about 30 seconds of silence, "did Minerva McGonagall just smile?"
"Does she not usually?" Harry asked, a look in his eye that said he very much knew the answer to that question and was only asking because he was apparently raised to be a menace.
"No." Fred deadpanned.
* * *
Friday, 6 September 1991
Harry grinned as two familiar owls soared toward him. He wasn't sure what Hedwig was doing as she'd been back last night after delivering letters to Camelot but he got his answer soon enough when he read the short note from Hagrid inviting him to tea that afternoon.
"Whose owl is that?" Ron asked, pointing to the second bird, a rather massive Long-eared Owl with almost glowing orange eyes.
"My dad's," Harry responded without thinking as he took the bundle of letters Arlo was carrying. Merlin had wanted to name him Arthur 'because he's nearly as annoying as the real thing' but Harry and Remus had talked him down to Arlo after a rather lengthy debate.
"Your dad's dead, mate," Ron said, sounding more confused than anything.
"No not that dad," Harry laughed. "The man who raised me."
Thankfully Ron just shrugged and moved on, not asking any further questions. Harry was rather glad because he wasn't sure how many questions he could answer before inadvertently revealing that he was raised by an ancient sorcerer, an escaped convict, and a werewolf. Remus and Sirius had adopted him but he still wasn't totally sure what he was meant to be saying in public. Arcturus was, at this point, the safest guardian to speak about as he'd be publicly claiming he raised Harry sometime soon and people had already started making guesses based on Harry and Draco's friendship.
Harry carefully tucked the letters from home away in his bag to read later and looked back up at Ron, "hey, would you like to go visit Hagrid with me later? He invited me down for tea."
"Sure!" Ron said, a bright smile on his face. "I'd love to, thanks for inviting me."
"Could I come too?" Hermione asked, sounding slightly timid as she took the seat across from Harry. "I've just heard he's been at the school for quite some time and thought he might be able to answer some questions but if you two want to go al-"
"Hermione," Harry cut her off, a kind smile on his face, "of course you can come, I was going to ask you when I saw you in Potions but you're here now so, would you like to come down to Hagrid's with us?"
"Please," she replied, returning Harry's smile. "Thank you."
"Course, and if there's any questions he can't answer we'll find someone who can."
"Just don't ask Fred and George, they're more likely to make up some insane story," Ron cut in, "I still can't believe they told me we'd have to wrestle a troll to be sorted."
* * *
As Harry settled into a bench on the right side of the classroom flanked by Ron and Hermione he really started to miss the potions lab Merlin had constructed in Gaius' old house back in Camelot. That lab had windows … and light in general. The Hogwarts Potions Lab was in the depths of the dungeons where the stone walls looked like they were about to start crying, or bleeding like something out of a horror movie. It was stupidly cold and Harry found himself wishing he'd brought another jumper. The whole situation would be creepy enough but Snape had to go and up the ante by lining the walls with animals and assorted organs pickled in glass jars. Harry was starting to wonder if perhaps Severus Snape had spent too many hours as a child watching mad scientist films.
Snape, like each of their other professors, started the class by taking roll. When he paused at Harry's name he looked like he was using a considerable amount of effort to not make some sort of scathing remark but then he just moved on to Thomas, Dean like nothing strange had happened.
He then launched into possibly the most haughty, self-important introductory speech Harry had heard in his young life; when he mentioned they could learn to 'stopper death' he could swear he heard the deity himself chuckling in the shadows.
Snape concluded his little diatribe by saying he could teach them all this wonderful stuff so long as they weren't a 'big bunch of dunderheads' and Harry started to question how, exactly, this man had become a professor. He really didn't seem to like children. He certainly cared for his Slytherins and his godson if Draco's stories were anything to go by, but it seemed everyone else was like a fruit fly buzzing about; a nuisance he'd rather like to swat.
The room was silent following his speech. Harry and Ron exchanged a look, their eyebrows raised as if to say is this guy serious? and Hermione looked like she really just wanted to prove she wasn't a dunderhead, though when Harry caught her eye he saw the same silent question.
"Potter!" Snape called suddenly, "what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry was overwhelmed with the sudden urge to bang his head against the wall. He knew the answer, but only because he'd read advanced potions books under Arcturus' tutelage, not because it was a combination explained in their first year potions book. No eleven year old should know how to brew the world's most powerful sleeping potion. That would just be negligent. He also really wanted to figure out why everyone insisted on only calling him Potter but decided Snape might be the wrong person to ask.
"Draught of the Living Death, sir," he replied instead of voicing his thoughts. "A powerful sleeping draught that, if brewed correctly, can mimic death but if brewed improperly will genuinely kill you. The asphodel and wormwood have to be balanced correctly as both plants are toxic if incorrectly dosed."
Harry was rather certain Snape had expected him to be an idiot if the shock in his nearly black eyes was anything to go by.
"Good," he said, voice terse and jaw clenched, "and where, Potter, would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"Well, hopefully your potions kit as it's the antidote to most common poisons but if I were tasked with searching for and harvesting one on my own, I'd look in the stomach of a goat."
Snape's nostrils flared slightly at the thinly veiled contempt in Harry's voice. Harry was starting to realize he really, really didn't like when people talked down to him. He wasn't one to overstate his own importance, but he was intelligent and Snape seemed to want to believe the opposite.
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Harry wanted to look the man in his eye and tell him he'd been successfully brewing the Wolfsbane potion on his own since a month after his 8th birthday but decided there was no way Snape would believe it and he didn't necessarily want to get on the professor's bad side, even if he was truly pissing him off at the current moment.
So, instead, he put a kind smile on his face and answered, "they're the same plant, sir, also called aconite. It thrives in moist, cool soil, often along streambanks or at the edges of wooded areas. It's a highly poisonous plant so it must be harvested and handled with great care and proper precautions."
"Well," Snape all but huffed, turning back to face the classroom, his robes billowing around him just a touch too dramatically, "why aren't you all copying that down?"
Harry rather thought he deserved points for three perfect answers, answers that had even gone into more detail than required, but he wasn't about to start an argument when one wasn't necessary.
They were quickly divided into pairs and assigned the cure for boils. Harry was shocked, to say the least, Snape had given no lesson on lab safety, hadn't so much as explained the interactions between the ingredients or the effect of heat on any of the steps, he'd simply spelled the recipe onto the board and let them loose. This was a disaster waiting to happen.
The good thing was that Harry could brew a potion this simple asleep and upside down so he was able to keep an eye on his classmates. Hermione and Fay were doing well, carefully reading each step and referencing their textbooks and notes to fill in the rather glaring blank spots Snape had left open. The Slytherins were working quietly with practiced ease, their entire group was made up of purebloods and half-bloods who'd likely grown up with private tutors.
Harry started to scan the Gryffindors once more as Ron pulled their cauldron off the fire and watched as Neville and Seamus were about to drop the porcupine quills in while their own cauldron was still set above the flame.
Without thinking, he stuck out his hand and summoned the quills to himself, the action wasn't a shock to his housemates who'd adjusted to his strange form of magic rather quickly and, like children were wont to do, had simply shrugged at his half-baked explanation and hadn't asked further questions. It did, however, draw the attention of Snape.
"What was that, Potter?" he asked, sounding like he really wanted to be yelling but was biting back the urge.
"Sorry, sir," Harry said, not at all apologetic, "I just didn't want Seamus and Neville to be injured."
It was a nonanswer if he'd ever heard one but then Vincent Crabbe somehow lit the contents of his cauldron on fire and Snape was forced to leave it at that.
"Thank you, Harry," Seamus whispered as he read the instructions provided by the book more closely, "that would've been a disaster."
"No problem," Harry said with an easy smile, handing the quills back over. "It wasn't on the board so you wouldn't have known if you didn't cross check with the book. It's like he wanted someone to fail."
"We should all study together before class each week," Hermione suggested, "we can make notes of the instructions for the potions in the syllabus so we have all the information. It'll be easier if we divide up the work."
Everyone looked slightly disgruntled at the prospect of more work but they were all quick to admit she was right. They were at a disadvantage in this class. Only Harry, Fay, Lavender, and Parvati had been given any sort of tutoring on the subject before school and Snape didn't seem prepared to actually teach them so they'd just have to do it themselves.
"Good idea, Hermione," Lavender said with a kind smile. "I rather like potions but I don't think I would if this were my first go with the subject. I'm happy to share anything I've learned."
Hermione shot Lavender a grateful smile before they all went silent as Snape turned back around.
Harry was glad he'd befriended Hermione on the train. Their first day of classes she'd been rather excitable, throwing up her hand to answer every question and interrupting incorrect answers without being called on. But, that afternoon in Study Hall, Harry had softly pointed out that she wasn't the only person excited to learn and maybe it'd be better if she used her knowledge and her research skills to help their classmates or learn about subjects they weren't covering in classes instead of trying to steamroll everyone. She'd thought it over for barely a minute before agreeing that it may be a better approach. Since then, she'd made friends with the girls in her dorm, especially Fay who loved to read nearly as much as she did, and was becoming closer with the boys as well.
They were dismissed a few minutes later, after they'd bottled their brews and cleaned their stations. The Gryffindors had made it through their first potions class without any major mishaps, unbeknownst to them, they were the first group of lions to do so since Snape had started teaching.
They walked as a group up to the Great Hall where they settled at the end of the table and used the time before lunch was served to pull out their planners and syllabi to put together a schedule of when they could work together on each of their subjects. By the time the serving trays materialized, they'd settled on a rough outline that they could adjust as they figured out which classes required more work. It was already pretty obvious that they'd need to spend the most time on Potions and History of Magic because one had a Professor who didn't want to teach and another had a ghost who was, for some insane reason, stuck on the Goblin Wars for all eternity.
Harry wondered whether Binns' unfinished business was an outstanding debt with Gringotts.
He also wondered whether he could do something Peverell-related and make him actually teach them something. He'd have to ask Death.
That afternoon at a little before 3:00, Harry, Ron, and Hermione ventured out onto the castle grounds toward Hagrid's. He lived in a little house at the edge of the forbidden forest. With each day that passed, Harry was conveniently forgetting the fact that the forest was, in fact, forbidden. He could feel the magic of creatures spilling out of the trees and as much as he loved being around humans and finally getting to make friends his own age, he was very close to genuinely yearning for the wild magic of nature.
As if called, a young hippogriff appeared at the very edge of the tree line, staring directly at Harry.
With a massive grin on his face, Harry made his way toward the magnificent creature and waved Ron and Hermione over, "c'mon guys, walk slowly and maintain eye contact and I'll teach you how to interact with him."
They both looked slightly wary but any nerves were overwhelmed by the wish to get close to the beautiful animal.
"Hello," Harry said softly, voice ringing with magic. "I'm Harry, what's your name?"
The hippogriff let out a caw and the name Buckbeak rang in Harry's head.
"Buckbeak," Harry repeated aloud, "nice to meet you, these are my friends Ron and Hermione," he then turned his head just enough to see the pair and said, "bow low while maintaining eye contact and when he bows back you're good. He'll probably let us pet him, he seems rather calm."
Hermione stepped forward first and stood next to Harry, bowing low and watching Buckbeak closely the entire time. He was quick to bow back. As she stood and smiled, he took a step closer and nudged her cheek lightly with his beak, trilling softly and Harry let out a bright laugh, "he likes you, says your soul is kind."
Bolstered by his friends' success, Ron took a slow step forward and bowed as well.
Buckbeak took a moment longer with him but had an almost human-like playful glint in his eye that told Harry he was just trying to be difficult.
Hagrid found them a few minutes later happily petting the young hippogriff and chatting amongst themselves with Harry translating for Buckbeak.
"Hi there, Hagrid," Harry greeted brightly. "These are my friends Ron and Hermione, sorry we got sidetracked on our way to your house."
"Good ta meet you both," Hagrid said. "Ron I've spent half my life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest. Yer brother Charlie's a great bloke though, spent a lot a time followin me about an asking questions about the animals. How's 'e doin?"
Harry bid goodbye to Buckbeak and softly promised to come visit soon before they followed Hagrid back up to his hut with as Ron chattered on about Charlie's work with dragons at a reserve in Romania.
Once they were settled at the table near Hagrid's fireplace, Harry started zoning out while Hermione asked Hagrid questions about Hogwarts through the years, what sorts of creatures lived in the forest, what he thought about different professors, and who knows what else.
He spotted a clipping from the Daily Prophet laying on the table and picked it up in interest. He quickly discovered it was the article from a couple of days after Hagrid and Harry had gone to Gringotts that mentioned someone had broken into the bank that very day searching for something in a vault that had already been emptied. The fact that Hagrid had saved this article gave credence to Arcturus' theory that the thief had been looking for whatever it was that Dumbledore had asked Hagrid to retrieve.
After a moment's thought, he decided not to point it out. It was unlikely that Hagrid would ever tell him what that package had been, he'd been rather adamant about protecting it for the Headmaster and there was no way he was going to reveal that secret to an eleven-year-old child.
Harry's immediate instinct was to dig deeper and figure out the mystery but then he heard a voice that sounded suspiciously like Remus telling him to leave it be.
He decided he'd listen to Remus.
At least for the moment.