A/N: What am I doing.

Disclaimer: There lives a great author who's claim to fame / Was the moody boy with the scarred forehead / And this poor shmuck who thought to do the same / Was plagued by lawsuits until he was dead.

"Blah" – Speech

'Blah' – Thoughts

Blah – Memory

~Blah~ – Parseltongue

Year 1 – Chapter 8

42

"Good morning, Pancho Potter! How goes the revolution?"

The bright and cheerful voice of Lily Moon did nothing to assuage Harry's nagging doubts about his identity. Why this strange girl was talking to him was also completely lost on him.

"Uh . . . well?" was all he could say.

"Are you gonna steal anything today?" The girl continued, staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

"Uh . . . no?" Harry replied.

The girl tilted her head to the side briefly in thought.

"Shame," she said off-handedly before skipping off.

He wondered if that had just happened or if it was a bizarre hallucination stemming from a night of restless sleep. The questioning whispers of other students definitely did nothing good for his identity crisis. Sitting down at the Gryffindor table, he tried to have a normal morning. This was quickly ruined by the appearance of Ron, who immediately started inhaling food like it was going out of style.

"Hungry there, Ron?" Harry asked mildly.

The boy only grunted in response. A near miss with Harry's hand caused Harry to draw his limbs closer to himself for fear of losing them in the maw of the abyss. And here he thought coming to Hogwarts meant he was in less danger of losing a limb than living with the Dursleys.

"Don't mind him," Neville said, plopping down next to Harry. "He doesn't talk much when there's food in front of him. He's been like that since he was a kid."

Harry watched the marvel before him for a moment longer before turning to Neville. The boy exuded a certain confidence that made Harry feel unworthy of speaking with such an imposing figure, even if they were the same age.

"He's not even tasting that, is he?"

Neville shrugged.

"Gran always said to appreciate food because you never know when you won't have any," he said idly while helping himself to eggs.

"That's . . . interesting advice," Harry replied.

The boy shrugged again.

"Her parents lived through the Great Famine, she only had to live through the aftermath. That sort of thing changes people, you know?"

Harry chuckled slightly.

"If only the Dursleys had that kind of mentality," he sighed.

"What do you mean?" Neville asked.

-ABR-

"More food! Maybe we'll let you have the leftovers today!" Vernon grunted as he shoveled greasy British food into his mouth.

Petunia sat off to the side eating her dry toast quietly.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry said dully.

At eight years old, Harry Potter was largely accustomed to his daily hardships. He idly wondered what a normal life was like as he dumped another half pound of bacon still dripping with oil onto an already oil-smeared plate.

He watched it vanish into one of the round food disposal units sitting at the dining room table.

"Freak! Where's the bacon?!" His questionably human cousin demanded.

Hefting a sigh, he dumped another pack of bacon into the grease-filled pan, watching uncaringly as oil splashed onto the stove. While his stomach growled at the alluring smell, one look at the two rounder Dursleys demolishing what must have been a whole pig by that point was enough to quell his hunger.

"Hurry up! I'm hungry!" came the urgent cry.

Harry grumbled as he shifted the frying bacon around in the pan. He hissed as a particularly large glob of oil hit his hand. Unconsciously, he reached out and grabbed a kitchen towel to wipe away the burning grease. After hastily dealing with his burn wound, he dumped the next platter of food onto the table. As Harry reached out to reclaim the towel he realized it wasn't there. Looking around briefly, he saw it below the mound of greasy meat on the serving plate, slowly soaking up the extra cup or so of oil. Harry waited until the bacon was gone to remove the disgusting cloth.

And then, it was gone.

Harry blinked. Rubbed his eyes briefly, and blinked again.

"FOOD!" Thing One demanded.

"Hurry up!" Thing Two demanded.

Harry stared for a moment longer at the empty plate before a spoon hit the side of his head and his attention was drawn back to breakfast. However, the cogs in his head were already turning . . .

-ABR-

Seeing Neville's questioning look, Harry shook his head clear of the memory.

"It's amazing what people will eat with enough bacon grease," Harry said smiling fondly.

Neville glanced over at Ron. Several biscuits as well as the basket that held them vanished from sight.

"Yeah, I can buy that," he said with a hint of disgust.

Breakfast ended soon after with a small moan of unhappiness coming from Ron, though it might have been indigestion, Harry didn't care to find out which. So instead Harry wandered off towards his first class for the day, a now-sleepy Ron and Neville trailing after him.

"First class today is . . . Charms?" Harry said as he consulted a schedule he had received during breakfast.

"Seems like it," Neville said checking his sheet as well. "It looks like these introductory classes have us grouped together by House."

"Hey where'd you get that?" Ron asked, looking slightly put-out that he didn't have a schedule.

"Uh," Harry said awkwardly. "You sorta . . . ate it when Professor McGonagall handed it to you."

Ron looked at Harry as if he were crazy.

"Don't be stupid, mate. Who eats paper?"

Harry glanced over at Neville, begging for help. The other boy merely shrugged.

"How about you go ask Professor McGonagall for another one later today, we have Transfiguration after lunch," Neville suggested.

Ron frowned.

"Nah, how about I just follow you two around for classes instead?"

"I guess . . . ?" Harry said, feeling a bit miffed at how lazy the redhead was. "Any idea where to go? I think we've been walking in circles for a while now."

Ron gave Harry an incredulous look.

"Who's following who here? What makes you think I know where it is?" He asked with the air of one teaching an obstinate child that one plus one couldn't possibly equal blue.

Harry resisted the urge to punch the redhead in the mouth. They soon arrived at the classroom without further incident, though Ron was seriously starting to get on Harry's nerves. He briefly wondered if the hungry boy thought they were friends before the small professor cleared his throat.

"Hello, children! Today we'll be covering an introduction to Charms!" The diminutive professor said in what sounded like a falsetto pitch. "Oh, we'll have so much fun!"

Nothing particularly special happened in that class but Harry hung around afterwards, with Neville and Ron wandering off to the next class.

"Uh . . . professor?" Harry ventured forward.

"Yes, Mister Potter?" Professor Flitwick squeaked back.

"I was just wondering why you talk like that?" Harry asked tentatively. "It doesn't sound too good for your voice."

The professor gave a rumbling sigh and flicked his wand causing the door to the classroom to close. What came next was a bit of a shock for Harry.

"I know it's not good, Mister Potter," the professor growled out in a surprisingly deep voice. "But I inherited this voice from my goblin father and it scares the newer children."

"Oh . . . " Harry muttered in a bit of a daze.

"Don't spread it around," the professor continued. "It'll just cause more problems than I care for."

"Uh . . . " our hero was having a bit of trouble getting his mind to work properly.

With a sigh, Flitwick pulled out a book from his desk.

"Look, I'll give you this book on basic Charms if you keep this quiet," he said nonchalantly. "It'll help supplement your studies and give you useful tips for Charms."

"O . . . kay . . . " Harry replied slowly as he took the definitely-not-a-bribe book and stuffed it into his definitely-not-a-bribe schoolbag.

"Very good, Mister Potter," the professor grunted as he shooed Harry out of the classroom.

Harry wandered aimlessly in the halls for a bit before he realized he was going to be late for his next class. As he navigated the Escher painting that was Hogwarts, he ran into several individuals he decidedly did not want to meet.

"Aww . . . is someone lost?"

With a sigh, Harry looked up to find the resident poltergeist, Peeves, floating above him. He had heard rumors about Peeves and none of them made him want to stay in the being's presence for very long. Every horrible story boiled down to one definite warning though: never ask Peeves for anything.

"I can show you the way," Peeves offered before adding in an ominous tone. "For a price . . . "

"Uh . . . I'm good, thanks," Harry stammered out as he tried to ditch the evil wish-granting spirit.

"Are you sure? You never know, you could be lost in these corridors for a long time," the spirit cajoled. "Who knows when you'll see me again? Maybe you'll be lost for ten years without my help."

"I'm sure," Harry said firmly as he walked away.

"What a shame," the poltergeist muttered as he floated away. "Your soul is worth quite a bit . . . "

Harry turned in surprise but Peeves had already vanished. He jumped as another voice rang out almost as soon as he started walking again.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing out of class!"

Our hero swallowed nervously as he turned to face Argus Filch, the criminal caretaker. Tottering at his heels was a medium sized feline with strange markings. Her name was apparently Mrs. Norris and, as Harry watched, it sneezed slightly causing the stone near its face to blacken slightly. Suddenly Harry had a vague idea what might've happened to Mr. Norris. Harry made a mental note to never get within arm's reach of the creature.

"S-Sorry," Harry apologized nervously while inching away from the kitten. "I got held up by Peeves."

Filch frowned.

"You didn't accept anything from him did you?" He asked suspiciously.

"No!" The boy denied.

The reformed criminal snorted.

"Good. Now get out of here before you get yourself in any more trouble," he growled.

Without another word, Harry ran off down the hallway to find his classmates who had so kindly abandoned him. Fortunately, the next class was History of Magic and Professor Binns was apparently so senile that you could've replaced all the students with melons and he wouldn't have noticed. All in all, it was a fairly eventful and learning first day of school for the so-called boy-who-lived.

-ABR-

After lunch, Harry found himself horrendously lost again. This unfortunate scenario was arguably worse because this time around, he had Ron trailing after him, giving useless suggestions that ended up getting them even more lost. A bell chimed in the distance and Harry let out a groan.

"We're late . . . " he lamented while shooting a sidelong glare at Ron.

The redhead in question seemed not to notice as he stared vacantly out a window at the grounds below.

"Any more suggestions?" Harry asked in resignation.

Ron took a full thirty seconds to reply. He looked around the hallway they were in and pointed at a door.

"How about that way?" He replied.

Harry fought the urge to scream once again.

"Ron . . . that door leads to a room and not the room we're looking for," he ground out.

"Well you never know if you don't try," the other boy said blithely.

With his hands making odd grasping motions at his side, Harry decided to humor his tagalong. He marched up to the door and swung it open only to find a staircase leading down two floors.

"I don't . . . whaa . . . " Harry muttered as Ron wandered past him.

"Well come on then," Ron said cheerily as he descended the stairs.

Harry could only follow dumbly. Looking to the left and right, he noticed the stairs seemed to be floating in some kind of nebulous void. There was blackness to either side, yet both in front and behind there were squares of light in the void. He wondered if this stairway was all that safe. After ten minutes of descending what was quickly appearing to be an endless staircase, they reached the end. Right across from the door they exited was the Transfiguration classroom.

"I don't believe this . . . " Harry said incredulously.

There was a click behind them and Harry turned to find the door they had exited from had vanished. Resolving not to think of it any longer, Harry gestured to Ron and they entered the classroom. Harry was feeling a bit nervous because at this point they were almost half an hour late to class. Oddly enough, many of the students were either reading or sleeping. One particular student, Hermione Granger as Harry recalled, was alternating between reading and glaring at a cat that appeared to be dozing on the teacher's desk. Since the front was the only place with seats left, Harry and Ron ended up sitting next to the irate-looking girl.

"Decided to show up, did we?" The girl muttered under her breath.

"What was that?" Harry asked, unsure if he should feel insulted or not.

"What was what?" The girl asked with a smile.

Something in that smile hinted at unimaginable pain, so Harry wisely decided not to repeat his question.

"Uh . . . nothing," he mumbled looking away quickly. "What's going on with class?"

The girl turned that same mirthless smile up towards the dozing cat.

"It seems doing one's job is too difficult for Magicals," she explained happily.

"Uh . . . " Harry wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that.

He turned to Ron to find the boy had already fallen asleep. It wasn't particularly surprising considering how much the kid had eaten at lunch, but it annoyed Harry nevertheless. He turned back to girl reluctantly.

"So . . . any tips on Transfiguration?" He tried.

"Ever tried reading?" came the snippy response.

Frowning, Harry opened his Transfiguration textbook to find printed on the very first page was the following:

"Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration is the sole law governing all Transfiguration magic. So long as you understand it and its five simple exceptions, the only limiting factor becomes your magical ability."

Harry stared at this line, reading it several times.

"That's it?" He gasped. "What's the rest of this book even about then?"

"Horrible ways people died because they couldn't read," Hermione replied cheerfully, a bit too cheerfully if Harry was to be completely honest.

He flipped through the book and found that, indeed, it was filled with examples of people suffering horrendous magical backlash from either not following Gamp's Law or overestimating their own magical prowess. He closed the book and set it down.

"So . . . what exactly is the point of this class?"

"Excellent question, Mister Potter," a voice said sleepily from the front of the classroom.

Harry looked up to find Professor Minerva McGonagall yawning widely at her desk.

"Alright everybody . . . time for class . . . " she said unenthusiastically.

Hermione closed her book with a snap and watched the professor with an empty smile on her face.

"As some of you may have guessed, Transfiguration is a very simple art. However, that does not mean it's easy. You'll spend your years here practicing how to not screw up and kill yourself."

Several students whimpered lightly. They had started reading the textbook and it didn't paint a pretty picture of Transfiguration. They spent the next ten minutes of class going over Gamp's Law in excruciating detail before Minerva tasked them with a small and simple transfiguration: turning a match into a needle.

"Please refer to page twelve if you have any questions about this particular transfiguration," Minerva said before laying her head down on her desk and seemingly dozing off.

Harry peeked at the page in question and paled. Who knew it was possible to lodge flaming needles into your hands by doing the spell wrong. Needless to say, what followed was fifteen minutes of tense experimentation with many students hastily dropping their wands when they thought they were putting too much power into the spell. In the end, only Hermione completed the transfiguration and resumed her angry glaring of the sleeping professor.

-ABR-

The next few days started out pretty much the same way. Harry would wake up, say hello to Lily Moon who appeared to have integrated him into her own daily routine, and then go to class. Herbology was interesting enough, though it was essentially gardening with plants that were liable to kill you. Harry found himself wondering how little self-preservation Magicals had as Pomona Sprout casually introduced a vine-like plat that appeared to be actively trying to strangle her. His first introduction to Defense Against the Dark Arts went about as poorly as he expected, however. The delusional Quirrell seemed to be talking about him all the time.

"D-Dark c-creatures will wait . . . w-wait until your g-guard is down . . . " the professor stammered out. "T-Then . . . that's when they getcha!"

He made an odd grasping motion with his hands that frightened many of the students in the front of the class.

"C-Cowards! The lot of them . . . " he continued on. "B-Backstabbing c-cowards!"

At this, he stared directly at Harry who frowned feeling like the clearly-mentally-unwell man was accusing him of something.

"Oh!" Lily Moon chirped from somewhere in the classroom. "Like they're doing for the Revolution!"

Quirrell peered hard at the cheerful girl.

"Yes . . . yes . . . " he mumbled. "H-Here's a mind that gets it!"

He swooped in closer to the girl, causing everyone around her to inch away from the madman.

"S-Stick with me, k-kid . . . " he said conspiratorially. "W-We'll p-put an end to that t-traitor."

Once again, a venomous look was thrown at Harry.

"We'll stop their wicked deeds!" Lily Moon said happily.

"Yes . . . " Quirrell nodded rapidly, or maybe he was just twitching.

"Then everyone can be safe from them!"

"YES!" Quirrell declared.

At this point, no one was quite sure if the pair was talking about dark creatures or about whatever people were in this mysterious revolution. Harry tried to tune both of them out.

"And everyone can have candy!" The girl who matched Quirrell's grasp on reality continued.

"NO!" Quirrell screamed all of a sudden. "NO C-CANDY!"

He glared hard at the girl.

"T-They p-put stuff in the candy . . . " he hissed. "B-Bad stuff . . . not c-candy . . . "

"Aw . . . " Lily Moon pouted.

The professor then turned away and began a forty minute lecture on the pros and cons of putting curtains over windows while making repeated references to clandestine activities. Harry didn't think he liked this class much.

-ABR-

Frankly, Harry was exhausted by the end of the week. He wasn't sure if he was learning anything in many of his classes and the Sorting Hat's comments about 'abandoning the system' and forging his own path were starting to haunt his dreams. Looking at his schedule, he noticed that the only thing he had today was a double block of Potions. But considering how the rest of his week had gone, he didn't have high hopes for the last class of the week. He was distracted as Hedwig fluttered imperiously down in front of him. When she made no move to present him the letter clearly tied around her foot, he sighed and reached forward to untie it. The letter was nigh unreadable, but Harry could make out the number 3 and Hagrid's name scrawled across the bottom. He could only assume Hagrid wanted to talk after lunch.

"Wassat?" Ron asked through a mouthful of food.

It was rather impressive he noticed the letter arrive at all.

"I think Hagrid wants to meet up after class today," he mentioned.

Then he turned to Hedwig who was still staring at him.

"Why did he give you a letter instead of just handing it to me? Or even just asking me in person?" He wondered aloud.

Hedwig stared back at him as if he were an idiot.

"You're talking to your bird?" Ron asked as breakfast disappeared. "You're kind of an idiot."

Harry dutifully ignored Ron and wrote a quick response to Hogwarts' resident squatter. After tying it to Hedwig's leg, she took off, cuffing Ron on the head with a wing as she left.

"Stupid bird," the redhead muttered.

Harry left for the dungeons where the Potions class was held with Ron trailing aimlessly behind him. The halls were noticeably cooler and there was a damp smell in the air. At one point, Harry thought he saw a desiccated, bound corpse sitting in the corner of a cell, but when he looked again, all he saw was a door to an unused classroom. He rubbed his eyes vigorously at that, wondering if he was losing his mind just by staying at Hogwarts. Perhaps that's why all the Magicals he had met were insane. It was surprisingly easy to find the Potions classroom. It was the largest one on the lowest floor of the castle. Harry found it odd that they would be essentially cooking in a basement. He wondered if it was some carryover from a time where people would make illegal things in the basements of buildings. Once everyone had gotten situated, Professor Severus Snape swept into the room.

"Quiet, you insufferable little idiots," he spat as he turned to face the still chattering students.

Immediate silence followed. He began to do a roll call, but paused when he got to Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said while looking directly at Harry. "Pancho Potter, was it?"

The students around him looked a bit confused.

"Uh . . . it's Harry, sir," probably-Harry replied.

"I'm sure it is," Severus dismissed before finishing the roll call. "All of you are here to learn Potions. Most of you will never be able to boil water without poisoning yourself. Follow the instructions and you just might pass the class. Don't, well, that's not my problem now is it?"

He surveyed the wide-eyed students for a moment.

"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry blinked at the sudden question.

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

Severus sneered at him.

"Couldn't be bothered to read the first page of your textbook, huh?" He mocked. "That's going to get you far in life. Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?"

Harry frowned. Clearly the man wanted to prove he was an idiot, so instead he decided to do it on his own terms. He reached deep within himself and imagined what it was like to be Ron.

"Forty-two, sir," Harry responded brightly with a smile on his face.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione giving him a dead look. He ignored the slight shudder that suddenly wracked his body and focused on the professor who hadn't quite processed his answer yet.

"Trying to be funny, are you?" He frowned. "Five points from Gryffindor. Does anyone in the room know the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Several students raised their hands, including Harry's. Severus regarded the boy before reluctantly calling on him.

"The billionth digit of Pi is nine!" Harry chirped.

He was immediately hit in the side of the head with a wad of parchment. The look Hermione was now giving him was positively murderous. He suspected he would pay for his shenanigans later.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Severus said in a flat voice. "Stop messing around, you idiot."

Harry gave the man the most innocent look he could muster.

"But . . . I answered your questions, didn't I? Were those not the right answers?"

Severus finally began actively ignoring him as he turned back to the class.

"Here's today's assignment. Instructions are on the board. Try not to die."

The students began to do as they were told. Harry reluctantly dropped his idiot façade and began to work as well. In the end he managed to turn in something half-way decent. It was, after all, very similar to cooking with a few magical steps thrown in. The boil curing potion they were supposed to make was surprisingly simple and the instructions were clear, yet two students still managed to screw it up. Ron managed to turn his potion into something that resembled cement, and even after it hardened, he continued to add ingredients to it as if it weren't already completely inert. Seamus on the other hand, appeared to have made some kind of pale ale and ended up drinking most of it.

Both of them got failing grades for the day.

-ABR-

After lunch, Harry headed off to see what Hagrid wanted. Ron trailed behind in a fashion Harry was quickly associating with a leech. He still hadn't quite figured out what the boy wanted, but he strongly suspected it had to do with food. They approached the large wooden cabin and Harry knocked on the front door. A loud barking came from within followed by a scrabbling on the door.

"Calm down, Fang," Hagrid's voice boomed out.

The ground shook slightly as the man came to the door.

"Harry! Glad you could make it," he smiled. "An' who's this?"

"I'm Ron!" Ron said proudly.

Harry waved a hand dejectedly. Hagrid chuckled.

"Weasley, eh? Well, help yerself to some snacks," he said gesturing to the table. "I'll make some tea."

The pair sat at the massive table. On it was a plate of grayish lumps that appeared to be rocks. When Harry tried nibbling on one, he recoiled in revulsion. The taste was mossy and earthy at the same time.

"Uh . . . Hagrid?" Harry called out. "What exactly are these?"

The man beamed as he noticed they were trying the 'snacks'.

"Rock Cakes! They're me specialty!"

Correction: they were definitely just rocks. Harry put his back on the plate, not particularly concerned that he had attempted to eat it just moments before. Ron, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying his baked good. He was already partway through his first Rock Cake and reaching out for another. Harry decided not to think about that and continued looking around the room. That's when he finally got a good look at the dog named Fang.

Or, at least, it probably used to be a dog.

Its skin appeared to be rotting and he could see muscle and sinew in several places. One of its eyes was very clearly missing and there appeared to be a large gaping hole in its side.

"Uh . . . Hagrid?" Harry tried again. "What's wrong with your dog?"

Hagrid glanced over.

"Ah, Fang's jus' a bit excited at the people," he said dismissively.

If Harry looked real close, he could see that the dog did indeed appear to be happy there were visitors. It pranced around happily and, more importantly, it was definitely more agile than Harry would expect. It bounced over to Ron and began begging for food, the rotted stump of its tail wagging back and forth.

"Where did you get him?" Harry asked as he slid away from the creature.

"Got 'im from some blonde-haired bloke in London. Real strange guy, wore leather an' sunglasses . . . I reckon he was tryin' to look cool or somethin'," Hagrid replied.

"Right . . . " Harry said warily. "So, what did you want to see me for?"

"Jus' wanted to say hi, is all," Hagrid shrugged.

"We see each other almost every day," Harry said blandly.

Hagrid merely blinked back at him. With a sigh, Harry gave him a rundown of his classes.

"Don' worry so much about yer classes," Hagrid finally said dismissively. "Look at me! I turned out alright, didn't I?"

Harry felt that tiny spark of panic growing within him again. He resolved to do better in his classes.

"Anyway, did you see the news?" The big man suddenly said as he brandished the newspaper that was sitting on his table. "Looks like someone tried to steal that thing we picked up from Gringotts!"

"Uh . . . it just says the vault they tried to access had been emptied the same day," Harry said in confusion as he scanned the page.

"Right?" Hagrid said excitedly. "Lucky we were there earlier, eh?"

Harry frowned.

"But . . . people take stuff out of vaults all the time don't they?" Harry asked.

"But our package was super secret!" Hagrid said grinning. "It was definitely that one!"

The boy gaped at the happy man.

"Should you really be telling me that?" Harry finally asked.

There followed several minutes of silence as Hagrid processed this.

"Oh, right!" The man finally said. "Don't tell anyone, alright? It's super secret!"

Harry stared at the man who was holding one giant finger in front of his lips while winking one eye. Perhaps he thought it was the best way to convey the secrecy of said item. The black-haired boy turned to his 'friend'. Ron was still stuffing his face with Rock Cakes and didn't appear to even know that there were other people at the table, or that an undead dog was drooling on him while trying to get some snacks as well. Harry turned back to Hagrid in resignation.

"Don't worry, Hagrid. I think your secret will be safe with us," he sighed.

. . .

A/N: Thanks for reading.

A/N 2: This chapter did not want to be started. To be honest, the companion chapter from Book One is rather vague when introducing classes.

A/N 3: That's right! Iambic pentameter disclaimer! There's something you'll never see again after grade school.

A/N 4: Two fun offhand references in this chapter. Can you find them? No, Pancho Villa doesn't count. How silly of you to think otherwise.