Harry Potter and the Godric's Curse
Harry Potter has a problem. Neville's screwed up, and this time Harry was dragged into it. No one knows how to fix him. Another problem: There's a monster inside Hogwarts turning students to stone. Worse? Harry's being blamed. It's going to be a long year.
I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER, ANY ORIGINAL PLOTS, OR ANY OF J.K. ROWLING'S CHARACTERS.
STORY DISCLAIMED.
Chapter One
Not Harry
CRASH! WHOOSH!
"Neville, lower your wand!"
"I – I'm sorry!"
"What did you do?"
"I didn't – I didn't mean to – I killed him!"
"Neville, put your wand away!"
Harry was having a bad day. It didn't start well and it didn't end well.
He woke up from a very strange dream in the morning, where he was bitten by a snake and had to join Slytherin house. He was locked in a Slytherin dorm and was told he had to stay there because he was one of them now, and if it had been a lion that'd bitten him he could have stayed in Gryffindor. Harry woke up from the dream when Draco Malfoy had started dueling him in the dormitory, and hit him in the face with a flash of bright green light.
The rest of the morning had gone by in a distracted blur. He was late in dressing; he put his socks on backwards and nearly strangled himself with his tie (still Gryffindor, thank goodness). He ate halfheartedly, hardly listening to the bickering quarrel between Ron and Hermione (his two best friends, also in Gryffindor) about Transfiguration homework.
Harry felt heavy and sluggish all day for some reason. Everything about him seemed to take a wrong turn. Seamus, paired with Harry in Charms class during revision of the first-year spell Incendio, nearly lit the classroom on fire with his inferno created by his mispronunciation of the incantation. Seamus apologized profusely to Flitwick as Harry sheepishly gave the teacher back his steaming hat.
"Cheer up, mate, it could be worse," Ron said helpfully. "You could be Seamus."
They both turned their heads to see Seamus being handed a detention slip by Flitwick as they slipped out of the classroom and towards History of Magic.
In History of Magic, everyone but Hermione fell asleep. It was the only peaceful class Harry had all day – and, though he didn't know it yet, it would be the only peaceful class he had for a very long time.
When they reached the Gryffindor table at lunch, Ron and Hermione were over their debate from breakfast. Hermione had won, as usual, and refused to let Ron copy her Transfiguration homework from the night before. As a result, Ron was ignoring everyone at lunch and scribbling furiously on parchment while grabbing pointless jargon from his textbook.
"You wouldn't be stressing like this if you'd done your homework," Hermione quipped, "like Harry and me." She glanced at Harry, who paused in his eating and gave her a look.
"Don't drag me into this," he said, going back to his potatoes. Hermione gave him an odd stare. Ron merely grunted and continued scribbling.
"Bloody hell!" he suddenly snapped, throwing his quill against the table. Hermione and Harry sat up straight, watching him with strange looks. "How is anyone expecting me to know this stuff? McGonagall's out of her mind! And I'm out of ink." He folded his arms huffily. "I'm not doing this work."
"You'd better," Hermione said, sounding stiff as McGonagall herself. "Professor McGonagall's not happy with you already, seeing as though you and Harry nearly got yourselves expelled by driving that flying car to school!" Ron flinched, obviously still sore over having received a Howler about it days before. "You already can't participate in practical work, with your broken wand, so she'll be furious if you don't do your written work."
"Fine, fine," Ron growled. He turned and looked across the table, where another redhead was seated. "Oy, Ginny! Give me an inkwell, will you?"
Ginny, who was scribbling furiously as well, looked up. She looked at Ron, and then her eyes turned to Harry before flitting away. She buried her now pink face in her black book. "Er…sorry, Ron," she said in a quiet voice. "I'm using it." Before anyone could object, she buried her face back into the book and turned her back on the trio.
"Is every Weasley incapable of doing their homework on time?" Hermione sighed, shaking her head.
Harry, however, wasn't so sure that Ginny was doing homework. She seemed far too embarrassed to have just been finishing up Charms work. But then, he decided, it wouldn't affect him so it wasn't any of his business.
After lunch Harry found himself in a humiliating situation in Defense Against the Dark Arts with Gilderoy Lockhart as the professor. The man was an absolute nutter. Completely vain and incompetent (and having captured the hearts of all the girls in the class), Lockhart favored Harry above the rest for his fame in being the one and only Boy Who Lived.
Needless to say, Harry sprinted out of that classroom as fast as he could possibly go.
Harry found himself in Transfiguration next. There was a pop quiz. Harry, unprepared, tried to rack his mind for useless bits of vocabulary. He was completely caught off-guard when the class was put into pairs for mandatory practical exams. Harry was paired with Neville.
That was the last thing he remembered from that class. Of course, there were bits and blurs:
CRASH! WHOOSH!
"Neville, lower your wand!"
"I – I'm sorry!"
"What did you do?"
"I didn't – I didn't mean to – I killed him!"
"Neville, put your wand away!"
Then there was nothing. For a while, Harry felt himself floating. He could hear a few voices now and then, but for a very long time he felt underwater. Everything was distorted, unreal. He dreamed a bit.
Harry dreamed of staring at himself in the mirror. He saw his lightning-bolt scar, bright red against his pale forehead. Then the scar turned frosty white, still sticking out behind his messy black bangs. He reached out with a hand and touched the mirror, and the reflection rippled.
Dream-Harry felt woozy as the image grew distorted, until finally it cleared and Harry was left dumbstruck. It wasn't him anymore, but a lion. Harry looked down at himself: completely normal. But his reflection… There was something strange.
The dream faded into nothingness, and Harry felt himself floating again. This time, however, he felt like he was floating in the clouds instead of underwater. He could hear better, and he felt lighter. He felt healed of any ailments he'd had in the past. Being in the clouds…it was nice.
Harry didn't dream again. He felt like he was floating, and then…
His eyes snapped open. He was conscious. It was dark, he was alone, he was confused – but he was awake. He let out a sigh, surprised at how hoarse his throat felt. It hadn't been long since he'd spoken, so why did his voice sound so raw?
"Mr. Potter! You're awake!"
Harry looked up to see Madame Pomfrey, the school Healer, striding towards him. As she approached, torches lit themselves. Harry looked around in surprise. He was in the Hospital Wing! But why?
"Welcome back to the world of the living, Mr. Potter," Madame Pomfrey said tonelessly, looking him over once or twice. She hummed with dissatisfaction.
"You're quite undernourished, young man – I'd expect more from a Quidditch player like yourself! But, as it is…" She hummed once, seemingly distracted, and strode towards the bedside table.
"Gave us quite a scare, you did," she muttered busily. "It's good you woke up now. Your friends would be frantic if you still hadn't woken by morning. They'll be frantic anyway, but ah, what can we do…? Nothing, apparently – tried everything, simply everything."
Madame Pomfrey sighed ruefully. "Not much can be done, but Dumbledore, ah that wonderful man, bless him, always has a plan." She tutted twice, busying herself with pouring all sorts of liquids from separate bottles into one little vial.
"Of course, a dangerous man, little mad, but aren't we all? Yes indeed," she answered for herself quickly, as if she was trying to keep the ward filled with the sound of her own voice and didn't want Harry to cut in at any point.
"But yes, where would we be without him? I'll tell you where: we'd all be running around like chickens, and I'd have students in here all day! Keeps a firm house, clean castle, don't you know? Genius, that man – ah, yes. Finished." She picked up the vial she'd been fiddling with for the past monologue and tilted Harry's head back.
"Open!" she ordered stiffly. Harry, confused as to why she didn't simply give it to him, did as he was told. She poured half of the vial's contents into his mouth, and it chilled him as it slid down his throat.
"'s cold," Harry croaked out, before Madame Pomfrey could continue. Madame Pomfrey froze, looking almost nervous.
"Yes – yes, well, that'll happen," she said briskly, clearing her throat. "Now – erm…" She looked flustered, and turned around as if willing someone to come in and take her place.
Then she composed herself, giving her head a little shake as if to clear it, and then continued on quite vigorously. "Let's see – well, besides the obvious, there's the malnutrition, slight concussion, and bruising to the back, but nothing too severe…"
That explains the headache and aching back, Harry thought broodingly. Then, in a slightly delayed reaction, Harry frowned. Something didn't add up. "'Besides the obvious?'" he echoed curiously. "What's that mean?" Madame Pomfrey gave a little jump and looked slightly angry, as if she'd made a mistake she wished she hadn't.
"Well, Mr. Potter…" she trailed off. "There's no easy way to explain this – goodness knows I've never had to explain it before! – but there's no going around it." Madame Pomfrey snatched up the nearest mirror, took in a deep breath, and then muttered, "I sure am glad I gave you a Calming Draught in that mixture, Mr. Potter. This will be a shock."
The mirror flashed in Harry's face. And he couldn't believe who was staring back at him. It wasn't him, that was for sure. He felt like he should know the image in the mirror, but it simply was not Harry. There was no way.
Green eyes met green eyes. Both were filled with shock and brimming with worry. Messy black hair fell over the eyes – or rather, messy black fur, because Harry was no longer the Boy Who Lived. He was no longer a boy. He was a cat.