Harry Potter and the Wizard's Granddaughter
Disclaimers: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling and Scholastic do.
I do, however, own Olivia Gardener and Professor Trait.
Another note: THE MORE REVIEWS I GET, THE FASTER I WILL PUT UP THE NEXT PART!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Also, this part is rated PG, because there is very, very mild swearing. Some parts of this will be G, some will be PG. The reason is, I don't like using swear words, but apparently the characters do. I can't stop them. An author can only do so much.
Harry stared at Parvati like she was insane. The girl had just run down from the girl's dormitory, screaming about a dead troll.
"So, that's what that smell is," Ron commented.
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, her voice squeaking. "It's not the smell that's the matter! It's how the troll got there in the first place!"
The two started bickering as one of the other students ran to fetch a teacher.
Nobody wanted to talk about the troll found in the Gryffindor dormitory.
None of the teachers would say anything. Harry had asked most of them.
They went into the dormitory; McGonagall, Trait, and Fudge, and had come down a while later, saying that the smell should be gone within hours.
And Harry and the other students were shooed off to their classes, without another word of explanation.
Professor Trait was standing in front of the class, hands behind her back, pacing back and forth, when the doors opened to admit the Gryffindor students.
"Welcome," she said, once they were all seated. "This is your fifth year at Hogwarts, and I understand that some of your Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers have been… Shall we say, lacking in their teaching methods?" Her eyes sparkled humorously as she eyed the teens. "Well, this year will not be a very easy or enjoyable class, I'm afraid." She flicked her hair behind her ear, and continued. "I've been commanded by Minister Fudge to teach you something practical, yet non-controversial. Therefore, we will be studying the lives and downfalls of great dark wizards of the past. Please get out your books."
Starting with Serpensia, the first Dark Wizard, they worked up to about 2500 B.C. before the class was over. It was almost as bad as a History of Magic class.
Ron studied their schedules as they walked down the hall. "Damn, next class is Divination."
"Ron!" Hermione stared at him. "I know that class is bad, but you don't need to swear!"
Ron shrugged. "Maybe you're right." But behind her back, he rolled his eyes at Harry. Harry grinned back; Divination, next to Potions, was the worst class ever. The teacher, Professor Trewlaney, was the definition of "pessimist." She seemed to get along semi-normally, but always foresaw dark and dangerous things, especially for Harry.
They sighed, and headed up the stairs, as Hermione split away from them to take Arithmancy. Olivia trudged behind them, quiet as usual.
"I wonder what new stupid idea she has latched onto this time…" Harry muttered as they stood beneath the trapdoor with several other Gryffindors.
They found out as soon as they stepped in the room, because groups of chairs were gathered around several small fires, burning brightly in different areas of the room. The tower classroom, already very warm, was now sweltering hot. However, Professor Trewlaney didn't seem to notice at all.
"Good afternoon, students. Today," she said, sweeping around the room once everyone else had settled down, "we study Divination through the ancient art of fire-reading." She sat down at her desk.
Harry and Ron quickly headed to a group of beanbags, waiting for Olivia to join them. To their surprise, Olivia was frozen in the doorway, staring at the nearest fire.
"Please sit down, so we can begin the lesson," Professor Trewlaney said, smiling benevolently.
Olivia just shook her head, and looked terrified.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked her, grabbing her arm. "C'mon, you don't want to get on her bad side, trust me."
Olivia bit her lip, and followed him over to the cluster of poufs. She still looked very nervous; she was wringing her hands and sweating, and not just because of the heat.
Harry sank into a bright green pouf, and tried to maneuver so that he could sit up in it. However, the chair seemed to suck him in, so that he could barely move. It took him several moments of squirming and sweating to finally get to a sitting position. Professor Trewlaney was telling everyone to take out their books.
By the time class was over, Harry's eyes hurt from staring into the flames for the past hour, and his dark hair was sticking to the back of his neck. He glanced over at Olivia, and saw that she wasn't doing much better.
"What's up with you?" Ron asked, also noticing the tiny girl's state.
"I- I don't like fire." She said softly. "It scares me."
That night, Harry had trouble sleeping. He wasn't sure if it was after effects from the fire, or eating too many pumpkin pasties just before bed. But he couldn't get comfortable.
He rolled over for what seemed like the twentieth time, and tried to think of something boring enough to make him sleepy. But all he could think about was the Hogwarts Express nearly crashing… The dead troll in the Gryffindor Dormitory… and that somehow, someway, he felt he was missing the connection between the two incidents…
He must have falled asleep then, because the next thing he knew, he was dreaming.
A female voice, only slightly familiar, echoed in the darkness, "Master, I'm so glad you are still all right."
And then, in the dark room, wherever Harry's dream had taken him, he saw the slitted red eyes of his greatest enemy. Voldemort.
"What progress have you made at Hogwarts?" His hissing voice, cold and hard, brought back strange, evil memories.
"They trust me completely." The female voice answered. She started to snicker. "I don't think anyone suspects me. However," the voice paused. "There seems to be some sort of protection around the boy. Everything I've tried so far has been somehow prevented. I suppose Dumbledore has a hand in this, somehow. But I shall try harder, master!"
"You had better," Voldemort's voice answered. Harry suddenly got the feeling of falling, just like he was about to wake up.
And then he did.
His eyes snapped open, and bright sunlight shone in the window of the dormitory.
And yet, he could hear echoes of the familiar voices, almost as if he had really heard them plotting, planning, laughing…
Disclaimers: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling and Scholastic do.
I do, however, own Olivia Gardener and Professor Trait.
Another note: THE MORE REVIEWS I GET, THE FASTER I WILL PUT UP THE NEXT PART!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Also, this part is rated PG, because there is very, very mild swearing. Some parts of this will be G, some will be PG. The reason is, I don't like using swear words, but apparently the characters do. I can't stop them. An author can only do so much.
Harry stared at Parvati like she was insane. The girl had just run down from the girl's dormitory, screaming about a dead troll.
"So, that's what that smell is," Ron commented.
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, her voice squeaking. "It's not the smell that's the matter! It's how the troll got there in the first place!"
The two started bickering as one of the other students ran to fetch a teacher.
Nobody wanted to talk about the troll found in the Gryffindor dormitory.
None of the teachers would say anything. Harry had asked most of them.
They went into the dormitory; McGonagall, Trait, and Fudge, and had come down a while later, saying that the smell should be gone within hours.
And Harry and the other students were shooed off to their classes, without another word of explanation.
Professor Trait was standing in front of the class, hands behind her back, pacing back and forth, when the doors opened to admit the Gryffindor students.
"Welcome," she said, once they were all seated. "This is your fifth year at Hogwarts, and I understand that some of your Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers have been… Shall we say, lacking in their teaching methods?" Her eyes sparkled humorously as she eyed the teens. "Well, this year will not be a very easy or enjoyable class, I'm afraid." She flicked her hair behind her ear, and continued. "I've been commanded by Minister Fudge to teach you something practical, yet non-controversial. Therefore, we will be studying the lives and downfalls of great dark wizards of the past. Please get out your books."
Starting with Serpensia, the first Dark Wizard, they worked up to about 2500 B.C. before the class was over. It was almost as bad as a History of Magic class.
Ron studied their schedules as they walked down the hall. "Damn, next class is Divination."
"Ron!" Hermione stared at him. "I know that class is bad, but you don't need to swear!"
Ron shrugged. "Maybe you're right." But behind her back, he rolled his eyes at Harry. Harry grinned back; Divination, next to Potions, was the worst class ever. The teacher, Professor Trewlaney, was the definition of "pessimist." She seemed to get along semi-normally, but always foresaw dark and dangerous things, especially for Harry.
They sighed, and headed up the stairs, as Hermione split away from them to take Arithmancy. Olivia trudged behind them, quiet as usual.
"I wonder what new stupid idea she has latched onto this time…" Harry muttered as they stood beneath the trapdoor with several other Gryffindors.
They found out as soon as they stepped in the room, because groups of chairs were gathered around several small fires, burning brightly in different areas of the room. The tower classroom, already very warm, was now sweltering hot. However, Professor Trewlaney didn't seem to notice at all.
"Good afternoon, students. Today," she said, sweeping around the room once everyone else had settled down, "we study Divination through the ancient art of fire-reading." She sat down at her desk.
Harry and Ron quickly headed to a group of beanbags, waiting for Olivia to join them. To their surprise, Olivia was frozen in the doorway, staring at the nearest fire.
"Please sit down, so we can begin the lesson," Professor Trewlaney said, smiling benevolently.
Olivia just shook her head, and looked terrified.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked her, grabbing her arm. "C'mon, you don't want to get on her bad side, trust me."
Olivia bit her lip, and followed him over to the cluster of poufs. She still looked very nervous; she was wringing her hands and sweating, and not just because of the heat.
Harry sank into a bright green pouf, and tried to maneuver so that he could sit up in it. However, the chair seemed to suck him in, so that he could barely move. It took him several moments of squirming and sweating to finally get to a sitting position. Professor Trewlaney was telling everyone to take out their books.
By the time class was over, Harry's eyes hurt from staring into the flames for the past hour, and his dark hair was sticking to the back of his neck. He glanced over at Olivia, and saw that she wasn't doing much better.
"What's up with you?" Ron asked, also noticing the tiny girl's state.
"I- I don't like fire." She said softly. "It scares me."
That night, Harry had trouble sleeping. He wasn't sure if it was after effects from the fire, or eating too many pumpkin pasties just before bed. But he couldn't get comfortable.
He rolled over for what seemed like the twentieth time, and tried to think of something boring enough to make him sleepy. But all he could think about was the Hogwarts Express nearly crashing… The dead troll in the Gryffindor Dormitory… and that somehow, someway, he felt he was missing the connection between the two incidents…
He must have falled asleep then, because the next thing he knew, he was dreaming.
A female voice, only slightly familiar, echoed in the darkness, "Master, I'm so glad you are still all right."
And then, in the dark room, wherever Harry's dream had taken him, he saw the slitted red eyes of his greatest enemy. Voldemort.
"What progress have you made at Hogwarts?" His hissing voice, cold and hard, brought back strange, evil memories.
"They trust me completely." The female voice answered. She started to snicker. "I don't think anyone suspects me. However," the voice paused. "There seems to be some sort of protection around the boy. Everything I've tried so far has been somehow prevented. I suppose Dumbledore has a hand in this, somehow. But I shall try harder, master!"
"You had better," Voldemort's voice answered. Harry suddenly got the feeling of falling, just like he was about to wake up.
And then he did.
His eyes snapped open, and bright sunlight shone in the window of the dormitory.
And yet, he could hear echoes of the familiar voices, almost as if he had really heard them plotting, planning, laughing…