A/N: Hey. I haven't written a fanfic for a long time, and this fanfic is written during/after my writers block, so if anything looks odd please bear with me. I hope you all enjoy the Prologue and continue to read. If you review you're an Angel.
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any of the characters that were mentioned in the Harry Potter books, nor the original idea (and books) that this fic is based on.
The Project
Prologue
It was wishful thinking when everyone thought that no-one had really been going to look into investigating the interesting phenomenon of the day when Harry Potter Lived. Naivety such as that was the trap that led the wizarding world to the state that it presently sinks into. Their world is nothing like it had ever been before. Wether it was for good or bad, nobody feels as if they can tell…
George Jefferies was a New York Journalist who didn't know what he was getting into the day that curiosity overcame him about the rain of shooting stars, which so far was supposed to be scientifically impossible.
Which he found positively intriguing, of course.
So, he chose to delve into things that were not his business. He created The Project, with a group of scientists, journalists and specialists on supernatural phenomenon and many other people with varied talents and traits. To this day he may or may not exist, but the only person who knows whether or not is….
*
Terry Boot hung his coat on the hook near the door and slumped into a large leather armchair. He had had long, hard day at work and he was exhausted. Waving his wand he dried himself off. It was raining outside; another miserable autumn day in England. Gee, he could hardly wait for the next day.
Life generally pissed off Terry Boot, but even though he hated to admit it he had something to look forward to. In a week it was his 20th Birthday.
Terry thought his friends were probably going to throw him a surprise party again. They had either tried, attempted or successfully given him a party every year and since 20 was a nice round number, he thought that they would probably attempt something different for once.
Running his hands through his now dry dark hair he stared into his fireplace and ignited it with another swish of his wand. He stared at his wand and sighed, wondering how muggles got through their day without one.
Terry Boot would know of course. His father had been in the ministry too, and had investigated some muggle matters. He was the guy that when people found out about the wizarding world, he would come knocking on their doors muttering "obliviate."
He had been away from home often, but the fun thing was that his father sometimes let slip accidentally about what he was working on at the moment. Some of the matters were quite large and featured in the Daily Prophet. He had loved his father very much. He had died last year. It was a devastating time, even though he never let it on to others. He had managed to cope with it rather well. Very bravely indeed, as some people would put it. He just shrugged and went on with the day.
Any more catastrophes would probably end him off, as some others would say. He didn't like them very much. It was as if they were running around him waiting for him to fall.
He switched on the wizarding wireless network and reclined his armchair, trying to relax. He sank into the music as he closed his eyes. Things were very hectic at work.
He sat there for about an hour, just listening to the music and drinking some coffee, which he conjured from thin-air. He was very good in school; he received top scores and did well in his N.E.W.T.S. He was a favourite of Professor Dumbledore's. His parents, Arthur and Mary were very proud of him. Even some of the more arrogant Slytherins walked up to him on his last day, and said he didn't do too badly for someone with tainted blood. He would always remember that moment. Even though the Slytherin did call him by his real name, which he hates. His friends way back in first year had given him a nickname; Omega. Generally, it was just making fun about how negative Terry is. Omega; the end, death and generally all things negative. Leave it to a Ravenclaw to think of that nickname.
Terry got up from his armchair with much effort. Walking towards his room, he fetched his favourite quill he likes to use at home, and his inkpot. Making his way back into the front room, he sat down at his desk and shot some flame towards the hearth on the opposite wall. Pulling his work towards him from his bag he'd dumped near his desk, he got to work.
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any of the characters that were mentioned in the Harry Potter books, nor the original idea (and books) that this fic is based on.
The Project
Prologue
It was wishful thinking when everyone thought that no-one had really been going to look into investigating the interesting phenomenon of the day when Harry Potter Lived. Naivety such as that was the trap that led the wizarding world to the state that it presently sinks into. Their world is nothing like it had ever been before. Wether it was for good or bad, nobody feels as if they can tell…
George Jefferies was a New York Journalist who didn't know what he was getting into the day that curiosity overcame him about the rain of shooting stars, which so far was supposed to be scientifically impossible.
Which he found positively intriguing, of course.
So, he chose to delve into things that were not his business. He created The Project, with a group of scientists, journalists and specialists on supernatural phenomenon and many other people with varied talents and traits. To this day he may or may not exist, but the only person who knows whether or not is….
*
Terry Boot hung his coat on the hook near the door and slumped into a large leather armchair. He had had long, hard day at work and he was exhausted. Waving his wand he dried himself off. It was raining outside; another miserable autumn day in England. Gee, he could hardly wait for the next day.
Life generally pissed off Terry Boot, but even though he hated to admit it he had something to look forward to. In a week it was his 20th Birthday.
Terry thought his friends were probably going to throw him a surprise party again. They had either tried, attempted or successfully given him a party every year and since 20 was a nice round number, he thought that they would probably attempt something different for once.
Running his hands through his now dry dark hair he stared into his fireplace and ignited it with another swish of his wand. He stared at his wand and sighed, wondering how muggles got through their day without one.
Terry Boot would know of course. His father had been in the ministry too, and had investigated some muggle matters. He was the guy that when people found out about the wizarding world, he would come knocking on their doors muttering "obliviate."
He had been away from home often, but the fun thing was that his father sometimes let slip accidentally about what he was working on at the moment. Some of the matters were quite large and featured in the Daily Prophet. He had loved his father very much. He had died last year. It was a devastating time, even though he never let it on to others. He had managed to cope with it rather well. Very bravely indeed, as some people would put it. He just shrugged and went on with the day.
Any more catastrophes would probably end him off, as some others would say. He didn't like them very much. It was as if they were running around him waiting for him to fall.
He switched on the wizarding wireless network and reclined his armchair, trying to relax. He sank into the music as he closed his eyes. Things were very hectic at work.
He sat there for about an hour, just listening to the music and drinking some coffee, which he conjured from thin-air. He was very good in school; he received top scores and did well in his N.E.W.T.S. He was a favourite of Professor Dumbledore's. His parents, Arthur and Mary were very proud of him. Even some of the more arrogant Slytherins walked up to him on his last day, and said he didn't do too badly for someone with tainted blood. He would always remember that moment. Even though the Slytherin did call him by his real name, which he hates. His friends way back in first year had given him a nickname; Omega. Generally, it was just making fun about how negative Terry is. Omega; the end, death and generally all things negative. Leave it to a Ravenclaw to think of that nickname.
Terry got up from his armchair with much effort. Walking towards his room, he fetched his favourite quill he likes to use at home, and his inkpot. Making his way back into the front room, he sat down at his desk and shot some flame towards the hearth on the opposite wall. Pulling his work towards him from his bag he'd dumped near his desk, he got to work.