The Class Assignment – Could a potion, really change your life forever? Would it really tell you who you were supposed to be with for the rest of your life? That is simply just not possible, it is just a stupid class assignment right? Nothing could really come of it I'm sure. Disclaimer!: I don't own Harry Potter, only this story, the plot line, and any OC's I may introduce.
2nd Disclaimer! I don't own Harry Potter, only this story, the plot line, and any OC's I may introduce. In this chapter I'll be introducing two OC's. Other than that, I am also trying to keep this first chapter as close to the original book as possible. So anything pulled from those references does not belong to me, nor do I claim them too. As to what I have referenced to in this story to help it along, one may look in J.K. Rowling's third book of the series "Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban." Most, if not all; references should be found in chapter one. Okay, now that we have that out of the way, let's continue!
A/N: Hey Everyone! I know it's been a long time since I've done anything with this story, and I'm sorry about that. However, because it has been so long since I've posted anything for this story. I feel that with having my writing skills improved, it is about time that I give this story another editing. I am still in the market for a beta on this story, so if I do not catch every issue I apologize. Should you be interested in being the beta for this story please PM me! Without further ado; ON WITH THE STORY!
Chapter one: A project
Rhythmic drumming of fingers atop a hard oak desk was the only sound to be heard echoing down the large long empty corridors of the dungeons in Hogwarts. A figure cloaked in black sat perched on the edge of his chair trying to formulate ideas for the up and coming school year curriculum.
Certain that he needed something new for these incoming third-years something that would be challenging, and interesting; both to him, and the children that would be executing it this term. As he tired of the repetitive well-known curriculum that he and the students had been subjected to for far too many years. Those plans, ones that even he had been forced to labor over during his days as a student at Hogwarts, were as old and worn as the pages of a Librarian's favorite book. Long skinny fingers dragged themselves through greasy black hair as frustration began to set in.
Nothing. He had absolutely nothing. Not a single idea had slithered through his mind. Nor were there any frayed strings left for him to pluck at, to plunder, or revise. He, Professor Severus Snape, was lost.
Letting out a frustrated groan, as he dragged a hand down his long angular face, he began peeling himself off of his sticky uncomfortable chair; deciding that perhaps, like all other times, a long leisurely stroll through the castle might help.
Wandering around the corridors of Hogwarts was a wonderful mental blockage remover, the magical castle was never low on inspiration even in the dead of summer. Though this time around, the clacking of his shoes off the immense stone floors down one of the various hallways that Hogwarts had to offer did little to alleviate Snape's mental hindrance. It wasn't until he was passing by the transfiguration classroom on the ground floor of Hogwarts. Just past the courtyard, where his co-worker Minerva McGonagall was, he came to a stop.
Minerva was a windy old woman, whose hair was almost permanently pulled into a knot atop her head. She was presently perched over a bare bit of parchment, a quill in one hand and a perfectly manicured claw tapping at her cheek.
'Oh! Manerva, that old cat.' Snape thought quickly. 'Perhaps she could offer me some ideas or insight on my predicament'. The sharp rap of his knuckles on the propped wooden door caused the elderly woman to jump slightly from surprise, pulling a soft chuckle from his chest.
"Severus! You gave me quite the fright." Manerva sighed as she held a hand over her heart, in an effort to keep her still clamoring organ inside it's rightful chest cavity. When Snape said nothing to her comment but instead kept still at the entrance to her classroom she continued "Is there anything in particular I can help you with? " Came the still shocked, yet surprisingly young tones of the ancient professor's vocal cords.
"If you could. I need some help deciding on a new and interesting core curriculum for my third-year potions class. While I was sitting down in my office trying to come up with anything that was aberrant to last year's classes; I found that I, and my precocious mind, had drawn a blank. Perhaps you would have a few ideas for me to pillage?" He inquired reluctantly, never the one to enjoy asking for help.
Snape watched as she tapped her bony old fingers on her chin with her eyes raised toward the roof of the room, a continuous shifting of her vision. It was clear to him that she was scouring through decades of information; having both worked beside and learned under many of the past Potions Professors that roamed these halls, she offered a firsthand account of their chosen curriculums. All stored in the depths of her practically primeval mind.
The fog cleared from her eyes just before she physically brightened with what could only be compared to the wattage of a 100 watt muggle light bulb being turned on. She smiled at him like a giddy schoolgirl, as she declared that she had just the thing. "This could solve both our curriculum troubles."
With the ticking of a clock, one twelve year old boy with messy black hair and glasses lay clutching a flashlight in one hand and reading a large leather-bound book titled "A History of Magic" by Bathilda Bagshot, that was currently propped against his pillow. Harry scanned the pages for a specific quote, one that he required to continue writing his essay assigned by one of his least favorite teachers, Professor Binns. An assignment that was to be done over the summer holidays.
Slowly his eyes skimmed the pages again, having missed what he was looking for the first time around in his haste; it wasn't long before his eyes danced with glee and his mouth twitched upward with triumph. Plucking a quill from his bed he dipped the tip into a well of black ink and continued to write. Being careful not to make much of a ruckus, as to avoid waking any of the Dursley family.
For the Dursleys of number four Privet Drive were the very reason that Harry so loathed the summer holidays.
Whenever Hogwarts wasn't in session, he was forced to stay with his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their only son Dudley, being that they were his sole remaining living relatives.
Unfortunately, they were muggles; muggles that had an ever so particularly medieval attitude about magic and the likes of anything that wasn't perfectly normal. So much so, that the very mention of anything "freaky" or of something that was connected to the possibility of anything supernatural would land Harry; an ever so luxurious stay locked away in the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of summer break.
This summer in particular Harry was exceedingly keen to stay out of trouble with his relatives; as they were already in an especially bad mood with him because he had received a telephone call from one of his wizard friends only weeks into the holidays. Where most unluckily it had been Uncle Vernon that had answered the phone, immediately he had then been subjected to a bellowing pure-blooded wizard boy, who had never once in his life used a phone before.
Ron having been raised in a completely magical society since birth, had never had any need for anything mundanely muggle such as that. When one wizard could easily just apparate, floo, owl, or charm their way into a connection with the wizard they were seeking. Needless to say, the conversation didn't go over too well, when Uncle Vernon was subjected to the decidedly mountainous calls of one confused Ronald Weasley.
The fight that had immediately ensued then after was one of the worst ever. Though Ronald who was thankfully smart enough to realize he had gotten Harry into trouble, didn't call again. He, however, clearly wasn't smart enough to realize not to warn Hermione against contacting Harry in a similar way. As Harry's other dear friend from school Hermione Granger, being the cleverest witch of their age, and of who was much more likely to remember that Harry's family wasn't a fan of anything "freaky"; along with being born in a muggle family. Would've known then how to properly use a phone, and to have enough sense to not say that she went to Hogwarts.
Due to this series of unfortunate events, poor Harry had heard little to no word from any of his wizarding friends for weeks. 'This summer was turning out to be almost as bad as the last one.' Harry thought.
He had almost believed all of Hogwarts to be a dream, thanks to Dobby's interference last year. Harry had been left with only his feathery companion Hedwig to reassure him that in fact, it had been real. This summer he had only a minor improvement of being allowed to release Hedwig from her cage and let her out flying, enabling Harry to maintain at least minimal contact with his dearly missed friends. So that as Uncle Vernon kindly put it, Hedwig would "Cease that vial screeching."
As Harry finished writing about Wendelin the weird, he paused, straining his ears to hear if there was any noise coming from the halls in the form of one of the Dursley family. Yet the silence of the house was only to be broken by the demonic snores of his larger than life uncle Vernon, that rattled the cupboard in his bedroom.
Satisfied that he was the only waking creature left alive in number four Privet Drive, stretching a bit he came to the conclusion that it must be very late. Capping the bottle of ink and wiping down his quill, Harry rolled up his parchment paper and snatched up his book. Pulling out an old pillowcase from under his bed, and slipped his school supplies snuggly into it. He lifted a loose board from the flooring under his bed, where he hid away his school things leaving them to be revised at another time.
As he stood to stretch out his cramping muscles more properly this time, he glanced at the alarm clock that sat precariously perched on his bedside table. Where its brightly shining digits delegated the late hour of one in the morning. Harry's stomach dropped as he came to the realization that it was his birthday.
He had just turned thirteen and hadn't even noticed it. Though he never particularly enjoyed his birthdays, as unusual as that sounds, it was with very good reason. Harry had never received so much as a birthday card from anyone; and Uncle Vernon was always particularly testy on this day over the fact that they would be subjected to housing a freak beneath their roof for yet another year. However, since he had begun attending school at Hogwarts, the Dursleys had taken to completely ignoring his birthday all together for the past two years; and there was no reason to believe that this year would be any different.
With this thought, he walked over to the open window, right next to Hedwig's large unlatched cage, to let the cool breeze brush against his heated cheeks. After so long under the blankets, it was a much-appreciated reprieve.
With a soft sigh, he silently wished that Hedwig had come back home from her two day long absence. Her being the only living creature in number four Privet Drive that didn't flinch in disgust at the sight of him, and the only person he was allowed to celebrate his birthday with.
Though still rather small and skinny for his age, Harry had grown at least a few inches over the last year. His jet-black hair was just as it had always been, stubbornly unkempt, no matter what he might try to do in taming it. With his bright green eyes behind circular glasses, and there on his forehead only slightly covered by his bangs was a strangely shaped scar that looked remarkably like a bolt of lightning.
Bright green clashed with the starry night sky as he searched for any sign of his beloved owl coming back to him. It was within a few moments of lazily gazing at the rooftops that Harry noticed a black shape that was currently moving towards him. He squinted at the dark moving shadow that was slightly lopsided before leaning back in worry, not recognizing said shape from anywhere and not being able to discern as to whether or not this form would be either friend or foe. Harry silently wondered if he should close the window, uncertain of just what that lopsided creature was, before simply deciding against it and stepping back out of the way. As a familiar squawk had reached his ears just before three owls came soaring into his room.
Landing with a dull soft thud on his bed, the middle owl immediately keeled over and fell unconscious. Harry recognized his owl right away and welcomed Hedwig with an adoring scratch behind her ears, of which she received him with an affectionate nip to his fingers. The other owl that was also carrying a package, which was now in a slumped pile on his bed, he recognized to be Errol, the Weasley's owl. Reaching down, Harry unleashed him from his luggage and carried him over to Hedwig's cage so that he could hydrate and rest. Errol opened one bleary eye, gave a feeble hoot of gratitude, and began to gulp up some water.
As Harry walked back over to the other two owls still in the room. Taking the letter from Hedwig as she too was carrying a parcel before she ruffled her feathers looking rather proud of herself, and then went flying over to join Errol within her cage. Harry set it aside with the oversized package from the Weasleys before taking the letter and package from the last owl that was clearly from Hogwarts, based on the bright red Hogwarts crest that dawned the envelope. Said owl then puffed its chest in an importantly looking way, and took off through the window.
With shaky hands, he sat down peering at the pile of things that he had just acquired. Nervously picking at his shirt seams he debated over which thing to open first. Making up his mind, he grabbed Errol's package, ripped it open, and discovered a present wrapped in gold, and his first ever birthday card. In shock, Harry opened the envelope carefully, though as he was opening the card itself two pieces of paper fell out, a letter and a newspaper clipping.
The clipping had clearly come from the daily prophet because the people in the black-and-white picture were moving. Plucking the article up from his lap he smoothed out the wrinkles and read:
MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE
SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE
Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw.
A Delighted Mr. Weasley told the Daily Prophet,
"We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our oldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank."
The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.
After reading the passage, Harry glanced up at the picture on the page and couldn't keep the smile from his face as he saw all eleven of the Weasleys waving furiously at him standing in front of a large pyramid.
From left to right in the picture there was Arthur, Molly, two Weasleys Harry had never met but was assumed to be Bill and Charlie. Then there was Aaron and his twin Samual, of which Harry had only had the pleasure of meeting once, as they were in their seventh year of Hogwarts during his first. Both being only a year older than Percy who was followed immediately by Fred and George, then there was his best mate Ron, and his little sister Ginny.
Even if Harry tried he couldn't think of a family that was more deserving of a break, and the winnings of a large pile of gold than the Weasleys. Who were always so warm and welcoming to him, taking him in when needed and doing their best to shelter all nine of their children on one working parent's salary. Still beaming happily, Harry plucked Ron's letter from his bed and opened it up to read it.
In typical Ron fashion, the letter was as informal as it gets. With incomplete sentences, improper punctuation, and a few run-ons here and there. All wishing Harry a happy birthday, then rambling on about their trip and how exciting it all was. If it was at all possible, Harry's smile widened as he thought over how Hermione would've cringed at this small letter. Ever the perfectionist, you would never see these kinds of problems with a letter from her.
Continuing on, there was another small wrapped package inside. Upon opening that, Harry began to wonder just how much stuff the Weasleys had sent him. Entirely unused to being pampered like this, he made a mental note to give Ron a good thump on the head.
Opening what looked like a miniature glass spinning top, apparently what Ron called a Pocket Sneakoscope. Stating that it is supposed to light up and spin if there is someone untrustworthy around. Setting it down on his bedside table, it stood still and clear on its tip. Perhaps it didn't work? Was all that Harry could think, for he knew the Dursleys were
untrustworthy people. Picking up Ron's letter once again he read. "Though the bloody thing might already be broken, kept going off every time scabbers and I went to bed."
Harry chuckled as he pictured a tired flustered Ron screaming at the Sneakoscope to stop every night. No wonder he had gifted it to Harry. Surely it was because Ron couldn't stand the constant interruption to his "beauty sleep" as if there was anything beautiful about the way Ron would sprawl himself across the dormitory beds, limbs twitching and the occasional snore that could give Uncle Vernon a run for his money. Which was impressive considering that sound came from a tremendously smaller body than that of his Uncle's.
Brushing it off with a shake of his head and moving on to package that Hedwig had brought, Harry instantly recognized Hermione's intricate handwriting on the box. His stomach flipped, and his hands trembled for reasons he couldn't quite understand as he anxiously tore into it. Surely it was just because he was excited to be hearing from both his friends on his birthday.
'That must be it.' Harry affirmed silently in his head as the wrapping of the package fell away.