Johanna Potter and the Marauder's Map In Which We Get High, a harry potter fanfic

Chapter Ten: In Which Things Get High

Welcome back, my pretties! Our lovely authoress is to blame for the weeks of painful waiting for this chapter. Not me. I'M INNOCENT, I TELL YOU! INNOCENT! Uh...heh heh...*clears throat and continues sheepishly* She says she was on vacation, then she had camp, then she had to take a break, then more camp. Then the-what was that thing called? You know, the one that you're probably reading this on? Compactor or something of that nature. Yeah, that thing had the story on it and RandomFandom had to transfer it onto another one with a Hulk drive. *gets note from authoress* Apparently Bill dragged us to too many Muggle superhero movies when we were kids. I meant flash drive. I got confused because the Flash is a superhero. Yeah, she had to transfer the story with one of those things because her compactor is a million years old. *shakes head and mutters while leaving* Muggles make no sense...

RandomFandom: Why yes, pot, I'm looking exceptionally black for a kettle.

Johanna: Shut up.

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"Potter...Potter...POTTER!"

I woke with a jerk. The entire Transfiguration class was staring at me. I had fallen asleep about 5 minutes after I had turned my match into a needle with ease.

"I would think," said McGonagall coldly. "That, after you had finished, you might be mature enough to help your neighbors with their matches—" she gestured to Fred's, which was smoking heavily, and Angelina's, which was purple for unknown reasons. "—rather than fall asleep."

"Yeah, well, we all guess wrong sometimes, don't we?" I responded cheekily before I could stop myself. I have very little self-control when it comes to that kind of thing.

McGonagall was unsurprisingly unamused. "Detention. My office. 6:00 tonight." She swept back up the aisle.

"You better not fall asleep in Snape's class," warned Angelina. "Or break even the slightest rule. He favors the Slytherins. Except for Charli, of course."

"Bring it on," Fred, George, and I replied in unison.

Charli was Charlotte DuCrall from the Sorting. She was the only Muggleborn Slytherin in a long time. Snape and the other Slytherins didn't like her for that reason. I really don't get what's so bad about Muggleborns. I think they're really cool, actually.

We arrived in the dungeons. A couple of girls shuddered. We just rolled our eyes.

The door burst open and in strode Professor Snape. He was the most ugly person in the whole world, if you asked me. His greasy black hair did a weird swishy thing as he turned to face the class; I was surprised that the people in the front weren't sprayed with slime.

He started to take roll call. He stopped at my name. A sneer curled his lips. "Ah yes, Johanna Potter. Our new—celebrity.*"

I met his cold black gaze steadily until he looked away and continued to take roll.

"Potions is a relatively easy subject," he said to the room. "For those precious few students that know how to read instructions carefully. Many of you, however, do not have this basic common sense, and therefore will fail miserably at the simple art of Potions."

Snape smirked pointedly in our direction. I once again held his gaze until he looked away.

"Some of us pretend you have this knowledge, but do not."

He looked very obviously at Charli on the other side of the room. She opened her mouth furiously, as did we, but the girl she was seated next to, Amanda Quail, raised her eyebrows and Charli closed her mouth hurriedly. Snape smirked again.

The rest of the lesson was torturous. Snape kept shooting very badly disguised insults at us. At one point he started asking me ridiculously hard questions that I had equally ridiculous answers for ("What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" "It's obviously not a nose-reduction potion, or you would have taken it."). I think he does that in every single first-year class. I made an abysmal potion that, to Snape, meant I had "complete incompetence and an utterly short attention span." Alright, I admit the latter was actually correct, I did have the attention span of a butterfly, but he said it in this really, how do I put this, "Snape-ish" tone of voice that made me want to grab him and throttle him.

When it was finally time to leave for dinner, we all walked out of the dungeons with our blood boiling. Charli in particular was furious and miserable. Snape had taunted her just as much as he had taunted me, maybe even more. He said her potion was "typical of someone with your background." He had nearly even called her a...a you-know-what. You know, M-word.

"It's okay," Angelina reassured her as we entered the Great Hall. "Snape doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Yeah, that's right," I piped up, plopping down on the bench and pulling the bowl of mashed potatoes toward me. "He's just a big bag of vomit."

After Charli went back over to the Slytherin table, we spent the rest of dinner making up elaborate, grue-some death scenes for Snape. All of Fred's suggestions involved him being eaten alive by something. All of mine involved his butt in some way. The others could barely understand me, partly because I was talking so fast. You know how I said I didn't have a speech-impedimenty voice when I was a little kid? Well, I had an extremely bad lisp from when I was 9 to when I was 13. I pronounced my s's like th's. I also said "i" like "uh." I sounded like Tweedy Bird.

We finished dinner and headed back to Gryffindor tower. We waved to Charli as she went down to the dungeons where the Slytherin dormitories were. We arrived at the Fat Lady.

"Password?"

I grinned. "Miscreant."

"How do you remember that?" inquired Angelina as we entered the common room.

"You're kidding, right?" replied George. "How do we remember 'miscreant?' We're the biggest miscreants in the world!"

"Look!" said Angelina suddenly. "On the notice board!"

We looked.

"FLYING LESSONS!" we screeched. For there, on the notice board, beside a Magical Menagerie ad, was the creamy red and gold parchment, stating that Madam Hooch, the Quidditch referee, would be holding flying lessons on Thursday, the 12th of September from 10:00 to 11:00.

"My birthday!" I said excitedly.

"You'll be 12 on the 12th!" exclaimed Fred like he had just made the world's greatest discovery. We laughed at him. Angelina had caught on well to our whole laughing-at-each-other thing.

"And best of all," George informed us. "It'll be with the Slytherins! We'll get to see Charli!"

"I think you mean the best and worst thing," count-ered Angelina. We hated all the Slytherins other than Charli. Well, what do you expect, we were Gryffindors.

"Well," I said. "Looks like we've got our work cut out for us."

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When Thursday had finally come, we woke up early and went down to breakfast. Angelina was already at the Gryffindor table. She was sitting next to Lee Jordan, another one of our firends. They moved over to make a spot for us.

None of the five of us was able to shut up about Quidditch.

Angelina suddenly looked scared. "What if I'm no good at Quidditch because I'm Muggleborn?"

"Don't worry Angelina," consoled Alicia Spinnet, one of the two other Gryffindor first year girls. "You'll be fine, just fine."

Angelina snorted. "Easy for you to say. You've been playing Quidditch all your lives."

"BACON!" came another familiar voice, the second Gryffindor girl, Lane Tabott.

We grinned at each other. Lane would marry bacon if she could. She was even a little more tomboyish than me, and that's saying something. She flicked her long, straight white-blond hair over her shoulder and began to eat ravenously. We followed her example.

10:00 didn't come fast enough. Our first lesson of the day felt like it was hours long. The fact that it was History of Magic didn't help either. At long last, the bell started to clang and all of the students poured out of the classroom, down the hall, out the doors, and onto the sunny green grounds.

Madam Hooch marched out in front of us. "Hello," she said. "And welcome to your first flying lesson. Now, put your right hand over your broomstick and say, very loudly and clearly, 'up.'"

"Up," I said very loudly and clearly. My broomstick flew straight up into my hand, as did Fred's, George's and Angelina's. Charli's, however...

"Up," she said firmly for the tenth time. "UP. UP UP UP UP UP!" The other Slytherins were laughing cruelly at her. She was turning red. This made them laugh more.

"That's enough," said Madam Hooch sharply. They shut up, but only because the teacher was glaring at them with her creepy hawk eyes.

She turned back to the rest of us. "Now, all of you kick off about three feet above the ground, hover for a minute, then touch back down, on my whistle. Ready? One, two, three!"

The whistle sounded. We all rose from the ground, hovered, and touched back down. I was a little annoyed that we were just hovering. I wanted to actually fly. Of course, Charli wasn't of this opinion. She looked really relieved that she was back on the ground.

Overall, the flying lesson was excruciatingly, painfully normal. I hate normal lessons. They're so boring and predictable. I wished, as we wandered back to the castle, that something would happen, something cool, out of the ordinary.

Something that would make me go "wow!" or "I never knew I could do that!"

Well, it turned out that was just what was going to happen to us in a few days.

Review. Or else I will cause you pain so unimaginable to your tiny brains that you will explode and your intestines will start coming out through your-

RandomFandom: Okay, that's it! I'm doing the review thingies from now on! *turns to reader* Sorry about her. She's nuts. The war just ended, she may be suffering PTSD. *thinks about it for a second* Nah, she's just nuts. Anyway, review please! i wont updat untel i get fiv godd rovows! Sorry, had to do a Tara impression. There was literally no avoiding it. I would have died had I not done that. Anyway, review. You know you want to.

*Quote taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Chapter 8, The Potions Master