Wizarding Genetics

Author Note:
I'm going to warn readers now rather than later. Harry in this story is so OC, the books and movies are merely reference. All cannon-shippers should, obviously, leave now or forever hold their peace. And I do mean the hold your peace part. All complainers have obviously not read this note. Therefore, they will be, as kindly as possible, redirected here with a review response. I would appreciate any complaints about Harry's character be as polite and meaningful as possible.

In summary: No I hate how OC Harry is, and no, *insert whine and pout combo*, He's too mean!

I do hope you enjoy this story. I ve been thinking about it for a while, and four months of summer vacation has finally allowed me the stress-free time to start writing it. ^_^

Chapter 1: Punctuate and Capitalize

Harry Potter enters his Potions class the same way he has for the past month; shoulders slumping, gaze averted. One may ask why the Savior of the Wizarding World isn t holding his head so high Professor Snape can see right up his nostrils; especially when just two months ago, Harry Potter finally, FINALLY, defeated The Dark Lord. Was his fame so short-lived it faded with the fear? The sneers certainly don t deny the thought.

"Mr. Potter."

"Yes, Professor?"

"I want you to forget about today s lesson." Did he just say that?

"Yes, sir."

"Instead, you re going to spend the two hours reading this. It s not too long, so you should have time to both read and write a 12 inch paper. I don t care what you write. Just don t give me something trite." The 'like usual' goes unsaid.

"Yes, sir."

"In the office."

Harry grabs the slender hardcover that's probably nothing more than 100 pages, and walks into Professor Snape's private office; trying to ignore the irritating snickers. There are a lot of classes Harry's forgotten . He's been kicked out of Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations They say he's been exempted, but Harry knows better. He's been edited from the roster. He doesn't even know why Professor Snape insists on him continuing Potions. It s not like he's doing any practicals. He's just reading numerous texts and writing numerous essays. Sure he's smarter, but he doesn't get the point.

Harry sits at the desk set up for him, and quietly observes the book.

"Wizarding Genetics? Why the hell am I reading this?"

The hardcover text is noticeably old, judging by the elaborately decorated cover (gold etching), and gold-leafing. For a couple minutes, Harry worries the pages will crumble beneath his fingers, but he discovers that despite the age, it's very well preserved. He takes some time to analyze the pictures and assess the chapters before he flips back to the introduction.
He's immediately engrossed in the theories of Professor Adam H. Eckleburt.

Time passed with the softest whisper. When Snape walked into his office, Harry was still annotating. When Professor Snape looked over Harry s shoulder, he was surprised to see nearly four times his requirement.

Potter.

Scratch scratch scratch.

Potter.

Scratch pause scratch.

Potter!

Long fingers swipe the book while thin lips try hard not to smile. Harry looked up like his favorite toy was just confiscated.

"So sorry to interrupt..." Not. "Are you finished?"

Harry looked down at his numerous papers to see numerous phrases, drawings, arrows, and theories. He did not, however, see a single logical twelve inch section he could use as his essay. He spent so much time taking notes, he completely forgot the assignment.

"Um...Can I...I mean, I didn't...I was so engrossed in the book, and..."

Snape rolled his eyes, and once again worked hard to prevent a smile.

"Absolutely hopeless, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Organize those sheets and hand them in."

The notes were, much to Snape's surprise, filled with numerous intelligent questions and witty comments.

"Have you read these?"

"I didn't really have the time, sir."

"Well it seems you understand the text. Explain."

"I'm disconnected from my magic. At least, that's what the text says. My magic's saying one thing, and I'm saying another. We're like a married couple, but both of us have separate ambitions and personalities that don't mesh well, so we've stopped talking to each other. My magic's not boycotting me...We just don't have anything in common anymore, so I can't reach it. Is this...Is this permanent?"

"No. It's just not easy. The way I see it, your magic's already suffered enough just so you can be what you need to be to defeat the Dark Lord. It's not going to come back so easily. The one thing magic hates, is being used inappropriately."

"That's what I don't understand. Isn't magic just magic?"

"There are different affinities. Pompfrey's is healing. Mine is attack and creativity, and McGonagall's is defense and creativity. The Dark Lord's is what we call destroyer magic. Destroyer magic is innately cruel and Dark. Do you remember how you destroyed the Dark Lord?"

"He...Exploded..."

"I can't say I know exactly what type of magic you have, but I can certainly tell you it's not nice and unassuming like you pretend to be. What I want you to do is spend two weeks thinking about yourself. Don't come to class. Find a quiet place and think of everything in your life and how you feel. Record your thoughts. At the end of the two weeks, come and see me."

"Is this why you insist on me coming to class? You knew about this?"

"I wanted to be sure."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me until you're fixed, brat. Be gone."

Harry grabbed his stuff and walked out with a tiny wave. A tiny sliver of guilt niggled Professor Snape. He lied when he said he didn't know what kind of wizard Harry is. He just wants the boy to figure it out on his own, or he'll never accept it.

Just two weeks...Two weeks until the dawn of a new era, and the wizarding world falls to its knees.