Harry felt sweat forming on his brow from the intense amount of concentration it took to keep smiling innocently while McGonagall stared him down.
Draco had not exaggerated (for once) about the strict Transfiguration teacher who was now his head of house and who he was determined to get to like him—whether it killed him or not, and judging by the firm set of her lips it probably just might. He did not know why she was so suspicious of him since he had, as of yet, only smiled at her, but whatever the reason she'd been giving him the stink eye as she spent the first half of his first ever magical class drilling into them all the things they would not be doing in this class. Transfiguration was apparently second to only Potions in being the most dangerous magical subject to learn, and a few graphic horror stories later Harry was pretty convinced. When one could turn the air in your lungs into needles, or the blood in your veins to ink, you learned to be careful.
It'd make sense that she'd be so strict—she'd have to be to teach such a dangerous subject and be proud to say she hadn't lost a student in over twenty-two years now. Wow.
Somehow, she was totally his type. Meaning difficult. Like Draco!
Also, she was super bloody cool. Ron had come bursting into the room quite late despite breakfast having ended the same time for all of them, and she was the bloody cat on the desk who'd been evaluating them far too calmly for a normal cat somehow. Like, people could turn into animals in the magical world. Harry suddenly knew what he wanted to be when he grew up and step one was getting his transfiguration teacher to like him enough to teach him that.
So, regardless of her staring him down and seeming to point every second or third warning she reiterated in his direction quite often, he just smiled as innocently as he could back to her and mentally went over what he knew of this subject from his textbook notes so far. He was pleased he'd guessed right when halfway through class she distributed match sticks and began walking them through the process of turning it into needles—he'd already read this theory and decided he was definitely going to get her to crack a smile at him.
He was excited beyond belief to finally be casting his first bit of magic but still managed to reel it in and act oh so mature and calm in front of her hawk-like eyes. As he drew his wand, he had half a moment of doubt wondering if knowing would automatically translate in being able to do magic… before realized that was absolutely stupid.
It was magic for crying out loud. If he thought he could do it, he most certainly could, because… well, magic.
So he grinned wildly and made the wand movement, saying the incantation precisely since she'd been so adamant about pronunciation, and was beyond pleased when his match stick immediately morphed into one perfect silver needle. Because he'd read the theory too, he knew visualization was critical, so it wasn't just a needle either… he'd carved his name into the very tiny thin body. Because he was an over achiever like that.
He was so proud of himself he almost jumped at the sudden presence that seemed to materialize over him. He glanced up and smiled innocently at his professor who seemed to glare down at him warily.
"… five points to Gryffindor for being the first to change your needle, Mr. Potter." She allowed almost reluctantly.
"Thank you, Professor." He greeted her politely, still grinning. She only glared harder.
"…did you read ahead in this class, Mr. Potter?"
"Yes Professor." Still as respectful as he could but unable to help himself: "What exactly is the transfiguration behind turning into a cat?"
"Absolutely not." She immediately shut him down, one eyebrow lifting at him pointedly.
He gaped as if shocked by her implication while also knowing he was still obviously fighting back a smile. "I was just wondering about what kind of transfiguration it was is all! I know better than that—you were explicitly clear in your warnings the first half of class." He insisted.
"Hm. I'm sure." She deadpanned, not buying it for a second. "Since you finished so quickly you can write me a short essay on the theory of metal manipulation then."
"Oh, so can I mention my engraving then?" He slipped in there carefully, watching her pause as she'd clearly been about to walk away and leave him to cause trouble another day.
"What did you say?"
"My engraving, see?" He lifted his needle to her and she took it, looking closely… and needing to adjust her glasses because the wording was so tiny… before her eyebrows arched.
"…impressive, for your first attempt at Transfiguration, Mr. Potter. The essay better be good then."
He pouted. "Really? Can't I ask about the metal-to-metal thing we're theoretically going to be doing next class instead?"
She frowned. "What about it?"
"Is it any metal? Like, muggles have different categories of metals and like heavy metals which I'm not quite sure how but are totally different, and I was just wondering if magically speaking-"
He babbled on a bit, making sure his expression was clear but mainly watching her expression as she listened to his question and evaluated it. While she had a killer poker face, she was fractionally softer when he was on-topic with transfiguration… and not about advanced, potentially-dangerous transfiguration topics either. Hm, so talking shop was likely the quickest way to her good side. Not that it'd be too much of a problem, as he was nearly halfway through his Transfiguration text already and could probably stand to put in some more time on this subject if it got him some brownie points in her book. Dell had been very into Transfiguration as well, and her journals were anything but boring—he already had half an interest in this subject because of his reading there and it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to turn that mild intrigue into something of an actual interest.
He recalled his earlier observation that specialized magic was more valuable and lucrative than being a jack of all trades. He'd have to see how the rest of his classes went this week, but Transfiguration had promise.
Promise for what, he still didn't know. He was eleven after all, and had no current plans for his future, but McGonagall was on his list and so as he let his mouth run with his observations and musings on what he'd read so far and watched her shoulders relax from their suspicious hunch ever so slightly, he figured this was a pretty good place to start.
000
By the time the bell for lunch rang, Harry knew two things.
First of all, he liked McGonagall quite a bit. She had taken his babbled questions and his attempts to distract her with a calm look and then spoke to him like an adult—shooting down his theories one by one with cold hard facts and even giving him resources to go look up that would support her statements. She was also not swayed by his overachieving or distraction techniques as he still had to write that extra essay but now had less class time to do it. Admitting defeat, he'd taken the assignment in addition to their actual homework and vowed to get vengeance by crafting something with references that would at least get her eyebrows arching.
She was going to be a hard nut to crack but he was certain he'd get there.
Eventually.
He might be a seventh year before he got there, but he would die trying at the very least.
Secondly, he had also learned that History of Magic was boooooring. I mean, a ghost droning on about goblin wars!? He'd thought the textbook was outdated when he'd been skimming ahead and this just proved it and so much more worse things.
He couldn't even deal with how bad that whole class situation was—why was a ghost allowed to teach, why was a ghost allowed to teach ancient history in a technically modern history class, why was a ghost allowed to teach who couldn't call attendance later than a class that was probably in magical nursing homes already, why was a ghost allowed to teach who didn't even notice their raised hands much less able to answer any of their questions, why was—!?
Jesus quaffling Christ, so many issues.
Harry couldn't deal with his internal irritation and inflamed sense of injustice over it at the moment though because lunch was promising not to be a cake walk either, despite it not actually being a class. He pushed it aside in favor of striding into the Great Hall and fixing his eyes on his next great challenge:
They Slytherin table.
A bunch of children, pre-teens, and teenagers eating lunch shouldn't be so nerve-wracking, but Harry knew this was going to be a thing. At least he had faith no one would throw a punch like if he were a Slytherin approaching the Gryffindor table, although retribution if he messed this up would probably be a lot more long-lasting.
And he likely wouldn't see it coming.
Well, no time like the present.
Spotting his target (it wasn't hard, in a sea of black a gleaming white-blond head was very noticeable even from across the hall) he walked calmly but with certain purpose down the aisle behind the table and the far wall and didn't glance to see if anyone was giving him looks for getting too close. He was moderately successful as even Draco didn't notice his approach until he was shoving his shoulder lightly to make room for himself and the blond jumped a little bit, glancing up at him with grey eyes quickly composed once more and a small smile on his lips.
Harry plopped down at the table and returned the smile. He was very much aware everyone in the near vicinity had stopped talking to stare at him now.
Draco seemed to carefully note the sudden silence and took another bite of his lunch pointedly as if this weren't anything unusual. Harry shifted so his bag was resting at his feet, getting comfortable as if nothing were wrong.
After a couple solid seconds of silence, an upper year to his left couldn't stand it.
"What is a Gryffindor doing here, Potter? Get lost." He snarled at the red head, hostility radiating off of him. He was probably a fourth year, and he looked decently pissed.
Harry stared at him.
And then continued to stare.
Draco smirked in a small enough way that only the upper years noticed as he continued his lunch, not interfering and knowing quite well his friend could handle this situation without his help. In fact he'd probably only just make it worse, so he kept his mouth shut and enjoyed his pasta—and the show.
The awkward silence dragged on. And on.
A full minute later the Slytherin fourth year shifted a bit uncomfortably at the searing emerald stare he was being pinned with. Just a small adjustment in their seat as he wasn't sure why there was no response and unsure if he should be breaking eye contact first or not.
Harry smirked, considering this a win and confusing pretty much everyone watching; they had no idea why he looked so smug and they definitely did not like being on the outs of information. Harry just tilted his chin back triumphantly, which annoyed the hell out of all of them as they scowled internally, trying to figure out what they'd missed.
And Harry… was just messing with them. No one said anything else hostile so he turned back to Draco with a wide smile, totally ignoring the fourth year's sharp comment.
"Anyway, how was Defense? That's the one I'm second most excited about; was it mostly theory since we're first years?"
Draco blinked once at the sudden change in attitude but finished swallowing his last bite and gave a put-upon sigh, accepting all the social blunders Harry was gleefully committing like they were popcorn and giving an easy one-shouldered shrug.
"Boring, actually. The professor has a stutter and we could barely get a word straight from him. Seems terrified of everything he was going to teach us about."
"Eh? What a horrible teacher, if you can't even understand him." Harry frowned, thinking back to History of Magic and decided he needed to start making a complaint list. He wondered if the Headmaster would care if he sent him a list of complaints or if that was too presumptuous. He also wondered if he cared if the Headmaster thought he was a presumptuous little gremlin or not since he didn't exactly have fond feelings for Mr. Dumbledore at this moment in the first place. He shook those thoughts off quickly before he could spiral: these were later thoughts. "That'll be annoying. Is the subject matter interesting at least?"
"A bit. Magical creatures and dark monsters and such, can't go totally wrong with that I suppose. The defense and attack spells sound like they're going to be more fun, but it'll be a while until we get to that."
"What the hell is going on?" Another upper year girl asked the universe at large, having been thrown by Harry's impromptu staring contest with the guy across from her and no one seeming have recovered enough to understand that the two first years discussing their classes were full on ignoring them. It seemed to be an incomprehensible thought to them all, and they had in fact not stopped staring or resumed eating since he'd sat down.
That was going to get old fast.
Luckily Draco was quick to catch on and imitate Harry's flippant attitude and gave the girl a very impressive porcelain mask.
"Ah, lunch?" The you're an idiot tone was completed with one white-blond eyebrow cocking pointedly in her direction. Harry could only dream of being that sassy really, and he supposed befriending a spoiled brat had its upsides. He smiled widely at this thought.
"Yes, but why is he eating lunch with us." The girl snapped back, referencing Harry in the same tone that one might refer to a severed toe or a stray pile of human excrement.
He didn't much like that tone and felt his too-cheerful smile slide into place on his lips like a chef's blade sliding home into a knife block.
"I'm having lunch with Draco because he's my friend and you're eavesdropping. It's a bit unsubtle for a Slytherin, in my opinion." He said in the same tone one might comment on the weather or the lovely color of their sweater that morning. The words were sharp as needles though, and the upper year on Draco's other side had just taken a bite of his lunch since this stand-off didn't seem to be dwindling anytime soon, and choked violently on it.
Even Draco shifted his grey eyes at him as if to silently ask what he was doing, but Harry just pointedly turned to Draco, his body language loudly and clearly saying he was talking to the blond—and no one else.
"Then again I'm a Gryffindor and woah boy you were right that they are not the quick on the uptake. You'd think sarcasm was another language entirely."
Draco let out a slightly startled laugh, not having seen that bout of humor coming. Surprisingly, so did Blaise—who was sitting across from them and by the time they looked at him had his hand over his mouth once more as if to hide the fact he'd laughed.
Again, the tall boy realized he'd been caught and shrugged once, seemingly graceful and unperturbed although Harry was quick enough to note that it was in fact rather forced.
"Sorry, but that's just funny." He dismissed as if that weren't a criminalizing statement to admit a Gryffindor—and Harry freakin' Potterat that—had said something amusing while encroaching on Slytherin territory. He had a very good poker face, or at least his ambivalence was earnest, which was very interesting. From what Draco had told him, first years were a little more on-guard than that even in their own house— like Theodore who had yet to even look up from his lunch to acknowledge Harry was sitting there. Draco was the exception of course, but Blaise was… a curious case.
Harry grinned at him widely.
Blaise stared back, dark eyes watching him with that poker face that gave nothing away. Unlike Draco's regal apathy, but more as if he were actively considering something and yet hiding his thoughts.
After a long few moments, he slowly returned to eating and joined Theodore in ignoring his presence. The other Slytherins seemed to realize this was the best tactic to preserve their dignity and their tight time schedule since they needed to eat before afternoon classes, and so also slipped into all pretending Harry wasn't even there.
There were glances exchanged though that told Harry this was far from over. He didn't think it'd be that easy anyway, and Slytherins, he was quickly learning, were kings and queens at the phrase choosing your battles.
Harry wasn't going to concede the war so easily though; he could choose his battles just as carefully if need be.
"So can you tell me more about Quidditch? Seems like that all my dorm mates talk about and I'm still not sure about all those details. And try outs are next week! I've never flown before, but it sounds exciting. You said you've been flying a long time, right?" He chirped conversationally to Draco as he took a bite of his lunch, and blond's quick eyes taking in the situation and seeming to come to the conclusion it couldn't hurt to play along for now—Harry had won this battle.
"Yeah, we have a field by our manor I've been flying most my life."
They continued to chat lightly about inconsequential things, and while the table in general was uncomfortable and slightly too tense to ignore, no one else said a thing about Harry's presence for the rest of the meal.
000
He had three classes today: Transfiguration first, then History of Magic, and after lunch Magic Theory which was apparently only a first-year class that all four houses took together. Each block seemed to be about 90 minutes with 10 minutes to get from one place to another which didn't seem like a lot since he had no idea where any of these classes were but figured it'd likely get easier once he got the layout of the castle—getting from Transfiguration to History of Magic was a bit sketchy since he didn't have Draco to tag along with, but (un)luckily Binns likely wouldn't noticed if he were late, much less if he never showed up at all. After lunch, he trailed along with the Slytherins to Magic Theory as they all seemed to know where to go. Their prefects were probably more explicit with their directions or they'd been given a map that none of them would admit to using.
Magic Theory itself was taught in a rather large classroom and it took Harry about 20 minutes to be bored. This was apparently a class you could take as an extra-curricular after first year but Harry crossed it off his list almost immediately. All they did was talk about the thoughts and intents behind magic which should've been really cool but the Professor—a one Aurora Sinistra who was also evidentially the Astronomy Professor—spoke about it like this was a therapy session, going on and on about feelings and intent.
Harry had already proven he had the 'intent' part down in Transfiguration this morning and while he took some cursory bullet-point notes automatically just because, he stopped paying true attention quickly. He noted that almost every pureblood and half-blood he knew of in the room was also either staring out the windows or writing notes back and forth to each other. He figured if you grew up knowing about magic then this was a really stupid class to have to sit through, but everyone had to take it so they were all on the 'same page'.
Nice as the intent was, Harry got a feeling if they wanted muggleborns to be 'caught up', they should spend this time talking about the magical government or basic day-to-day magic things they didn't grow up knowing. How to actually perform magic seemed like a bit too nebulous of a topic to spend a whole year talking about when this first class could be summed up in 'just go with it and believe you can do it' which would pretty much suffice for magic in general and let other classes get into the specifics of what a spell might require.
Draco sat beside him and passed him notes basically the whole class, both taking notes because that seemed to be the proper, academic thing to do and never let it be said the Slytherins weren't good students even if only in appearance. Harry caught several of them taking notes but also multitasking in writing to each other, while other houses were less subtle and half the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs weren't taking notes at all.
The girl in front of him—Hermione Granger, he recalled—who'd helped Neville on the train, was taking pages of notes though, which he thought a bit excessive but to each their own.
Halfway through class he was almost yawning from a full lunch and this boring class, and started to draft his Transfiguration homework(s) under the guise of taking notes. He had a feeling this and History of Magic was going to be great study halls to get ahead on his more interesting work.
000
"I wouldn't…"
"Hm?" Harry stopped what he was doing, lifting the watering can in his hand before he could dowse the fluffy plant in front of him with water.
His first day at a magical school had gone relatively uneventfully, aside from lunch with the Slytherins. After Magic Theory he and Draco got their first taste of the Hogwarts library to finish the homework they'd been assigned already, and thanks to his head start in Magic Theory had more than enough time to do both his Transfiguration homeworks before dinner (and he was pretty proud of some of the references he'd found to support himself, having checked them out for his own reading sometime in the next couple weeks too). He hadn't pushed his luck and had dinner at the Gryffindor table, and then spent the evening in the common room letting Seamus and Neville teach him and Dean some magical games, like exploding snap.
The Weasley twins had joined in too, and they were quickly becoming some of his favorite people. They were definitely the life of the party in any room and several second and third years had joined in not long after too, drawn in by the chaotic laughter and excitement the twins could easily whip into a frenzy, so it'd been a great night and a great start to the year. Even Neville had been laughing freely by the end of the night, which made Harry feel all warm and fuzzy.
This morning dawned the second day of the school year and another new class: Herbology. It took place in the green houses and they were paired with the Hufflepuffs, who seemed to be content to just go about their business pleasantly. Despite him still not knowing his way around the school, Neville had seemed fully aware of where he was going when they left breakfast; something Harry had noted but didn't really pay attention to.
Now though, he was starting to realize something as Neville used one finger to lift the tip of his watering can spout up to stop any water from hitting the plant he'd been about to dunk in fresh rainwater.
"They like drier dirt—if it's too wet their roots will mold and they won't grow very big. Professor Sprout already moistened the dirt we used." He explained, not a stutter in sight and with his blue eyes meeting his own steadily for the first time since Harry had met him three days ago.
Harry blinked, then grinned.
"Neville, you didn't tell me you liked Herbology!"
"W-well…" And the it was back, the tips of his ears tinting pink as he looked down awkwardly.
"I gardened a lot back at my relatives too—got me out of the house you know—but they were all muggle plants. Magical plants are a foreign language to me though." He chatted casually, wanting to encourage his friend, not tease him out it.
Neville just fiddled with his own plant that was much more neatly potted than Harry's own.
"…yeah. I don't know much about muggle plants either." He admitted slowly.
"How about a trade? I'll tell you about my aunt's rose bushes and you tell me about these manaculas."
He paused for a couple seconds… then smiled timidly, glancing up at him with a lot softer and less afraid expression than he normally had.
"Sure." He agreed softly.
"Also, you're absolutely going to be my partner for any big projects we have in this class." He announced with a grin, earning himself an earnest laugh from the blond.
"Fine by me. That means you're going to be my partner for any Transfiguration projects we have." He countered more easily than he normally did, but Harry was too surprised by the comment to think much on it.
"Transfiguration? Why? I mean sure, I don't mind, I just didn't think I was anything special at that class." He shrugged.
Neville turned to fully face him and give him a very baffled, slightly exasperated look.
"You got your match to a needle on your first try, remember? And you talked most of the class with McGonagall about the theory behind it."
"Oh." Well, true, but it wasn't out of desire to be great at Transfiguration—at least not at first and not even now for the sake of the subject. He had plans after all and Transfiguration was just a means to an end. "To be totally honest I was trying to get on her good side—it was like a personal challenge. I didn't think that much of Transfiguration, but it seemed simple enough."
The blond looked down again, fingers lightly touching a leaf of his plant almost tenderly.
"I never got mine to turn the whole time, and even practicing now it's only slightly pointy instead of actually a needle." He admitted in a voice soft enough to be a sigh "But you definitely made a reputation for yourself as being good at it. Ah…" he bit his lip as if trying to stop from smiling and grimacing in one. "I'm pretty sure that's why Hermione blew you off."
Harry blinked, automatically glancing across the greenhouse but the frizzy-haired girl was buried in a conversation with another Gryffindor girl—Lavender, Harry thought her name was— who didn't look thrilled to be talking to her. Either Hermione didn't notice or didn't care, though Harry thought it'd be funnier if she didn't care. She'd be his type of person to do whatever she wanted no matter public opinion, but she'd be the type of person he didn't like if she just didn't notice, and he had a wiggling feeling he knew which was the case.
"Hermione blew me off?" He repeated, baffled. "When did this happen?"
Neville was giving him another exasperated look and Harry hoped this wasn't going to become a habit.
"You invited her to play exploding snap with us last night and she essentially told you not to interfere. I'm not sure what you were interfering with, but she was doing homework I think?"
Eh? He didn't remember that at all.
"No recollection of that." He shrugged, and Neville smiled wanly, clearly amused.
"You know, for someone so observant it's really impressive how you manage to just miss when people are being mean to you."
That startled a laugh out of him, because he had to admit it was true. "Some things are not worth paying attention to. If they don't rank on my 'people I care about' list then things they say go in one ear and out there other." He explained, knowing this was mostly thanks to the Dursleys. At least, he'd gotten a lot of practice with them over the years, of letting their words wash over him and make no lasting impact. "It doesn't shock me—I barely know her. Though why me transfiguring a needle got me on her bad list, I've no idea."
"She mentioned at lunch yesterday that she was top of her old school. She told Lavender that when McGonagall came to show her the magical world she'd said she was likely the brightest witch of her generation." Neville relayed, and alarm bells went off in Harry's head.
First of all, McGonagall showed Hermione the magical world? And he'd gotten Hagrid? I mean, he loved Hagrid, but that system was messed up if that was the different in guides muggleborns were getting seemingly by chance.
Secondly, having a wallflower friend who listened to everyone and that no one really acknowledged was going to be really handy. He wanted Neville to branch out of course, but he realized while Neville kept quiet and really only talked to Harry himself, he had a great way of gathering information if he needed it, particularly within Gryffindor which would be helpful.
Thirdly, it was pretty damn funny in a sad way that jealousy was going to be Granger's go-to here. I mean, a new start in a magical school and she'd given up on being his friend because he'd one-upped her in one class. Because she thought so highly of her own intellect, which was just hilariously pathetic. Suddenly, her taking pages of notes in Magic Theory was cast into a new light and he couldn't help but roll his eyes—she was going to burn out young, and alone at that, if that was her MO then.
"That girl is too much. Okay, whatever, I'll take your word for it, but for the record I really don't care. Let's do our homework for this and Transfiguration later together and see what we can't get done." He suggested, and Neville smiled like he'd expected Harry to say that and was entertained by it.
"Sounds good."