Chapter 10
Making friends with Ron turned out to be much easier than Harry had anticipated. Ron seemed even more eager to stick close to Harry than Harry was to him, and by the end of their first day of classes, Harry had already spent most of it in Ron’s company, along with the other boys from the Gryffindor dormitory. The first day was everything Harry had hoped for, but being with Ron made it feel even better.
Conversations with Ron came naturally, as though they had known each other for years. Harry quickly learned a lot about the wizarding world, like how to play wizard chess and about the various Quidditch teams. Ron was particularly animated when he talked about the Chudley Cannons, his favorite team, and Harry listened with genuine interest, grateful for the distraction from all the weightier things on his mind.
Later that evening, back in the Gryffindor common room, Ron eagerly showed off his pet rat, Scabbers. The moment Harry saw the rat, an overwhelming wave of anger surged through him. There, curled up innocently in Ron's hands, was Peter Pettigrew—the man who had betrayed his parents and caused their deaths. Harry's hands clenched into fists under the table, his mind racing. He wanted nothing more than to grab the rat and—well, he wasn’t sure what, but the urge to act was nearly overpowering.
But Harry fought to keep calm. He couldn’t just expose Peter now, not without causing a huge scene that could derail everything. He needed a plan, a careful way to reveal the truth. Right now, he had to play along as if Scabbers were just an ordinary pet.
“Slimy little bugger, isn’t he?” Ron said, holding the rat up for Harry to see. “Not much use, though. Fred and George are always saying I should have got an owl instead.”
Harry forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah… he seems pretty harmless.”
A moment later, Ron changed the subject, asking Harry a question that caught him slightly off guard. “So, you’ve lived with Muggles your whole life, right? What are they like?”
The question was so familiar to Harry—it was exactly what Ron had asked him in the books. But now, knowing what he did, the answer felt heavier. He responded with the same lines he remembered from the book, talking about how the Dursleys had treated him. But as Ron started talking more about his family, particularly his many brothers and sister, a thought suddenly occurred to Harry.
How did Ron know I’d lived with Muggles?
Sure, everyone knew Harry had been hidden from the wizarding world, but it wasn’t as though he had mentioned his living situation to Ron yet. And though the details of Harry’s life had been in the books, it wasn’t something he had talked about publicly in this timeline.
“Hey, Ron,” Harry said casually, trying to keep his voice as light as possible. “How did you know I lived with Muggles?”
Ron looked confused for a moment, his brow furrowing. “What d’you mean?”
“I mean, I hadn’t really mentioned it yet. How did you know I wasn’t living with, I dunno, wizards?” Harry kept his tone innocent, but he was watching Ron closely for a reaction.
“Oh, that.” Ron looked thoughtful, as though he hadn’t considered it before. “It’s common knowledge, isn’t it? Everyone knows you live with Muggles. There were loads of articles about you in the Daily Prophet after You-Know-Who disappeared.”
Harry blinked, surprised. “Articles about me?”
“Yeah, loads of them. My mum kept some, but Ginny—my younger sister—she collects them. There was one about how you were sent to live with Muggles after your parents… you know.”
Harry’s mind whirred with the revelation. He had been written about in the wizarding press more than he realized. Of course, in the books, he had never paid much attention to the Daily Prophet until his fourth year when they started writing lies about him. But now it seemed that from the moment he’d been sent to the Dursleys, the wizarding world had been keeping tabs on him.
“How often do they write about me?” Harry asked, trying to sound casual despite the nervous knot forming in his stomach.
“Dunno,” Ron replied, shrugging. “Not all the time, but whenever there’s something big. You’re famous, mate. You’re probably the most famous wizard alive.”
Harry didn’t know how to respond. He had always known he was well-known in the wizarding world, but the idea that the Daily Prophet had been publishing stories about his life made him uncomfortable. What else had they written? How much did wizards like Ron know about him before they’d even met?
He glanced down at Scabbers again, feeling the weight of the secrets he was now carrying. The truth about Pettigrew, about Sirius, about Voldemort’s Horcruxes—it all seemed so much heavier now that he was here, surrounded by people who knew so much less than they thought.
“Harry?” Ron’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You alright, mate?”
Harry shook himself from his reverie and forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… a bit weirded out by all of it, you know?”
Ron grinned. “Can’t blame you. Must be strange, hearing all that stuff about yourself. Don’t worry, though. You’ll get used to it. I mean, you’re Harry Potter.”
Harry laughed along with him, but the unease still lingered. There was something deeper gnawing at him that Ron couldn’t possibly understand.
….
By Wednesday, Harry was becoming more convinced that the books hadn’t told him everything. Sure, people were staring at him and gossiping, but it felt more than that—some students were actively following him. Whether it was sneaking glances at him in the corridors or waiting outside the bathroom, Harry could feel eyes on him constantly.
He could finally understand why the Harry in the books had cherished his Invisibility Cloak so much. Walking through the halls of Hogwarts with his fellow Gryffindor first years, Harry found himself wishing he could vanish too, just to escape the endless attention for a while.
Still, despite the constant scrutiny, Harry was thrilled to be at Hogwarts. Every moment felt magical in a way that went beyond anything he had read. Even the classes, some of which were less exciting than others, had a certain charm.
Take Professor Binns, for example. He was, without a doubt, the most boring ghost Harry had ever encountered. Of course, Harry hadn’t met many ghosts yet, but even the books had made it clear how dull Binns was. Harry found himself struggling to stay awake during his lectures on magical history. After a few minutes of futile concentration, he gave up and spent the rest of those lessons scribbling plans into his notebook, fine-tuning the steps he needed to take to stay ahead of what he knew was coming.
Herbology, on the other hand, was more engaging, though Harry's aunt Petunia had long since crushed any enthusiasm he might have had for plants. Still, under the supervision of Professor Sprout, he and Ron teamed up with some of the Hufflepuffs, including Susan Bones. It was in those quiet moments of working side by side that Harry began to see just how diverse and interesting his classmates were, even those who didn’t play major roles in the books.
Astronomy, which took place once a week on the highest tower, was fascinating but perplexing. Harry hadn’t found much mention of it in the seven books as being directly tied to magic, but Professor Sinistra, always draped in her usual white robes seemed competent. Harry paid attention but couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the subject than he realized.
Defense Against the Dark Arts, a subject that book Harry had clearly enjoyed, felt just as dull as History of Magic, thanks to Quirrell. But Quirrell's problem wasn’t just that he was hopelessly boring; it was his complete inability to stay on topic. He would constantly drift into outrageous stories that had little to do with the actual lesson, leaving Harry and his classmates more confused than informed.
The real excitement, though, came during Charms and Transfiguration. While his book-self had failed to transfigure a matchstick into a needle, Harry took it as a challenge. He worked diligently, and by the end of the lesson, he had produced a rather blunt, thick needle, but it was a needle nonetheless. The small triumph gave him a boost of confidence, one he sorely needed for what was coming next.
When Friday arrived, Harry received an invitation from Hagrid for tea via Hedwig, but that wasn’t the highlight of the day. No, the thing that had been looming in Harry’s mind all week was his first Potions lesson with Professor Snape.
To say that Harry was nervous was an understatement. He had read and re-read the description of that first lesson so many times in the book, preparing himself for what was coming. But something had always bothered him. In the book, Harry had come to the conclusion that Snape didn’t like him before the Potions class, at the welcoming feast itself. But why? What had given Harry that impression just from a glance?
The only interaction Book-Harry had with Snape at that point was a brief look across the Great Hall. Sure, Snape looked stern and intimidating, but nothing had actually happened to confirm that Snape actively disliked him until their first Potions lesson. Harry could understand why his book self had written Snape off as a dark, mysterious figure—he had the look for it. But why did he already think Snape hated him before the man had even said a word to him?
This question gnawed at Harry as he and Ron made their way down to the dungeons for Potions class. The stone walls grew darker, colder as they descended, and Harry’s nerves tightened with each step. Snape, of all the teachers, was the one Harry was most worried about. The book had shown just how difficult their relationship would be, but now, experiencing it in real time, it felt even more intense.
As they entered the Potions classroom, the air was thick with the smell of various concoctions bubbling away in cauldrons. Harry took a seat beside Ron, who looked equally anxious.
The door creaked open, and in swept Professor Snape, his black robes billowing behind him. He didn’t acknowledge the class at first, only silently gliding to the front of the room where he stood for a moment, letting the tension build. Finally, his cold, dark eyes settled on Harry, and Harry could feel the weight of that gaze pressing down on him like a heavy fog.
“There will be no foolish wand-waving in this class,” Snape began, his voice soft but filled with menace. “I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death—if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”
Harry swallowed hard. This was it. This was the moment when Snape would test him, and Harry knew he had to be ready.
Snape’s lip curled as he finally turned his full attention to Harry. “Potter!” he barked suddenly, causing the class to go dead silent. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Harry’s heart raced, his mind blank. He knew this question wasn’t meant to be answered. In the books, Snape had used it to embarrass him, to show the class that he was nothing more than a famous name with no real knowledge. He had expected this, but now that it was happening, the pressure was overwhelming.
Through gritted teeth, Harry muttered, “I don’t know, sir.”
Snape’s lips twisted “Fame clearly isn’t everything,”
The tension in the room was thick, and Harry could feel all eyes on him, waiting for Snape’s next move. Then came the second question, the one Harry had been dreading, as it mirrored the book exactly.
“Where, Potter, would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”
Harry’s fingers clenched the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white. He kept his head down, his eyes fixed on his hands, but something in Snape’s tone made him snap. Against his better judgment, Harry looked up and locked eyes with Snape. It was a mistake.
Something in Snape’s dark gaze caused Harry’s nerves to snap, but instead of breaking, a strange calm came over him. His lips curled into a small, almost defiant smile. “A bezoar,” he answered, his voice steady, “is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat. It protects against most poisons.”
For a brief second, Snape’s expression shifted. The slightest flicker of something passed over his face—surprise, irritation, perhaps even suspicion—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He straightened, his face becoming unreadable again, but Harry knew he had caught him off guard.
Snape didn’t ask the third question, as he had in the book. Instead, he let the silence stretch between them, his eyes boring into Harry with an intensity that made Harry’s stomach churn. It was in that silence, that long, oppressive moment, that Harry realized his mistake.
Legilimency.
Snape could read minds. Harry had known this from the books, but now, experiencing that piercing gaze firsthand, the reality of it sank in. He had looked directly into the eyes of a man who could sift through his thoughts like pages in a book. And Snape had noticed something. That much was clear.
Heart pounding, Harry quickly dropped his gaze, trying to break the connection. His thoughts raced. Had Snape seen something? Had he caught a glimpse of what Harry was hiding—his knowledge of the future? If so, this could change everything.
Snape, still silent, stared at Harry for another moment before turning abruptly on his heel and continuing the lesson, his voice cold and sharp as he began lecturing the class on the intricacies of potion-making. The rest of the students quickly scribbled notes, but Harry could barely focus.
By the time the lesson ended, Harry felt drained. That small mistake—looking directly into Snape’s eyes—had already caused ripples, subtle but unmistakable. Snape knew something was off. He hadn’t acted the way Harry remembered from the book, and that made everything feel even more precarious.
As Harry packed away his things, Ron leaned over, clearly frustrated. “What’s his problem? It’s like he’s got it in for you.”
Harry forced a smile. “Yeah… something like that.”