Hello, it's me again, assuming people are reading this. I was reading over the outline I have for this story and I figure it will end up being 10 chapters or so. Give or take a few. This chapter should let you all understand where I'm going with this. I hope this also means people will become interested and impacted enough to comment in a review. For all I care, tell me something about my writing style. I completely encourage constructive criticism, as long as I can take it and use it to improve. Telling me I'm a horrible writer tells me…approximately nothing in the way of the method I should employ to improve.
I am looking for a beta reader, preferably someone well versed in PoA and GoF. Let me know in a review, email, IM, whatever, if you're interested.
On a more random note, is 'defence' the British version of "defense"? I see it spelled with a 'c' too often to brush it off as a typo or spelling error. Same with 'pyjamas' versus 'pajamas'. Sorry, random tangent of thought.
As always, characters involved in this story are property of J.K. Rowling and I just borrow them on occasion.
Epic Proportions: Genealogy: Error
Hermione sat in the same seat she sat the night before, brow furrowed in thought as she read the Daily Prophet. Absently, she nibbled on a piece of buttered toast as she pondered over what she read.
Harry and Ron, on the other hand, were busily comparing notes on one of the assignments Professor Snape gave them to do over summer. Comparing, meaning copying, that is. Hermione, of course, finished that particular assignment the day after she arrived home from school.
"Hermione!"
"No. I'm not going to tell you anything about the homework, Ronald Weasley. If you had started it before yesterday, I might. But you didn't, so no." Not that she would have in that case either.
"I don't suppose…"
"Not you either, Harry. Do your own work. Actually, speaking of work," Hermione said, switching to a completely irrelevant and actually unconnected thought, "do either of you remember all the schools throughout Europe ever corresponding school-wide projects in past wizarding history? Especially when it isn't a Ministry order?"
Ron raised his head up to look at Hermione and to grab another forkful of eggs. "Mumph."
She gave him one of those pricelessly Hermione looks. The one that clearly read: why do I put up with you? "Can you try that again? In English this time?"
He swallowed. "Not that I know of. The closest thing I can come up with is the Triwizard Tournament and that isn't even all that educational. At least not for the entire student body. Why?" He welcomed the distraction from the evil that was Potions.
Harry also took a break from his last minute checks of his essay to listen to what got Hermione so interested that she was now neglecting her half-eaten toast.
"Well, there's a little blurb in here that Beaxbatons and Durmstrang are also doing a school-wide genealogy project. It says none of the Headmasters will reveal anything as to why suddenly they want their students to know about their ancestry."
Ron shrugged. "I don't know anything about it. What about you, Harry? Has Professor Dumbledore told you anything about this?"
Harry bemusedly raised and eyebrow. "And if he had, don't you think I would have mentioned it to you all by now? Much less when would he have? You've been with me since we stepped onto the train. Unless you think he joined me and told me when I was taking my shower?"
"Okay, okay, stupid question. Sorry Harry."
Ron and Harry got lost in their Potions' essays again, only to be brought out of it when Hermione laughed. "I don't think I've ever come across something in the Daily Prophet that's funny. So why are you laughing?" Harry asked, intrigued.
She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stop so she could tell the guys. "Some of these suggestions are so stupid they're hilarious!" She still giggled a bit through the sentence, but the worst of the fit was over. "Like this," she said picking up the paper again. "Perhaps it's because more and more witches and wizards are being unfaithful in their marriages today and parents are trying to be sure their children are in fact that: their children." She giggled more. "Then there's my all time favorite: 'Or maybe You-Know-Who has finally gained power over the Headmasters, most notoriously Albus Dumbledore, who we all know You-Know-Who has feared for years. Some debate he is trying to gain records to prove who for sure is pureblood and who is muggleborn. And if Albus Dumbledore has finally been defeated by You-Know-Who, why hasn't The Boy Who Lived's-' " She made a weird noise then. "Maybe I should stop there."
Harry grabbed the paper from her hand, prepared for the worst. "'Why hasn't The Boy Who Lived's obituary been in the paper?' That's almost sweet for Rita Skeeter." Harry added, frowning as he read the author's name.
Ron rolled his eyes. "How can anyone believe anything she writes when she actually says trash like that?"
"One of the mysteries of human nature." Harry snorted. "And anyway, I think this essay is to. We might as well head to Potions with the Slytherins."
Ron winced as he prepared himself to admit what the rest was trying to forget most of all. "With Snape. And with Malfoy."
The trio journeyed to the dungeons in silent contemplation of the impending doom they would inevitably receive from Snape mainly because they had the audacity to exist.
Very few people were already in the classroom since most tried to prolong the opportunity of not seeing Snape or anything connected with him. For instance, most cauldrons were hidden from view under lock and key when not needed as a subtle reminder Snape could not find them, nor terrorize them when at home or in the safety of the dormitories. Ron and Neville were famed practitioners of this. Hermione displayed hers, resulting in most who visited her in her room enduring a great deal of mental anguish.
They took their usual seats in the back corner of the classroom, somewhat close to the door to have an easy escape route, after turning in their homework, where they silently hoped Snape would overlook them. Not that he ever would, of course, but every teenager and child feels the need to dream.
Slowly the rest of the seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins progressed in, some dragged by their braver friends who just had their best interests in mind. Neville scurried in and joined Harry, Hermione, and Ron in the corner with the same hopes they had, after he placed his homework on Snape's desk. He looked sick to his stomach, a common sentiment all but the Slytherins seemed to experience in Potions class.
Approximately three minutes after Neville arrived, Snape entered the room, silencing everyone merely by his presence. After six years of knowing Snape, one would believe the original fear would dissipate. In reality it is heightened, as is the overall disgust of his appearance. Someone could only spend a limited amount of time in the company of such a dark and dismal personality before feeling quite ill.
Snape stood at the front of the room and surveyed everyone present. And grimaced, of course. "I expect the same thing out of you this year as I have the past few years. Longbottom, perhaps you could try to melt only 20 cauldrons this year." The parchment Snape kept tally of Neville's embarrassing cauldron-melting moments was in plain sight of anyone who dared getting close enough to Snape's desk to look. It wasn't any secret he always marked another tally for every caldron lost.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron all heard Draco's whispered: "In fact, if the weasel's family had what Longbottom's family spends on cauldrons a year, they wouldn't have any money worries."
Ron ignored him. During the summer, Ron decided he should probably finally take Hermione's advice and pretend Malfoy didn't ever say anything. There was no reason to be constantly angry at such an immature git, he always reasoned out theoretically when he pictured the scenes in his mind. But it was hard. Oh, was it hard.
Hermione gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his hand, the one he was constantly clenching and unclenching in a rhythmic pattern after Malfoy's juvenile attack that he, of course, wouldn't get punished for since they were in Potions.
"However, as Longbottom's incompetence in the field of potions is not important to the study for the rest of you," Snape added, drawing all the attention back to himself. "As you all are aware, Professor Dumbledore wants the professors to aid you all in embracing your bloodlines. The potion you will be making today and studying the next few class periods is the Familia Sanguis potion. Can any of you other than Ms. Granger tell me the purpose and the effect of this potion?"
This time it was Ron's turn to squeeze Hermione's hand as she sulked at being thwarted.
No one raised a hand. "Very well. Mr. Finnigan, astound me with your intelligence. This was, after all, also something you were told to study over the summer and is located within your textbooks."
Seamus felt martyred by all the pity looks he received from his fellow Gryffindors. "The potion functions to, uh, reveal the bloodline of one's family. The potion reacts with the traits you got from ancestors, and on the palm of your hand, it forms the coat-of-arms of your parents."
Snape looked frustrated. It was a perfectly acceptable answer, if a bit stilted. But he needed some reason to take off points from Gryffindor. Ah, yes. He did forget to mention a little detail that would play a large role in their potion. "And what, Mr. Finnigan, is the herb you use if you want it to reveal paternity versus the one to show maternal lineage?"
Seamus had been silently thanking Merlin and any god he could think of off the top of his head for Snape asking him something in a chapter he actually skimmed over. Until that part. He paled significantly. "I don't know, Professor."
"Five points from Gryffindor for your lack of attention in your studies over the summer. The rest of you are to work in groups to make this potion today. All the ingredients have been provided to the exact age and condition required of the potion's directions. The instructions to prepare the potion are in your textbooks on page 279. This is for your maternal side. I will be grading your summer assignment as you work on this. Any questions?" He asked in one of those tones that clearly meant you had better not have any.
All the groups finished quickly, mainly because after six years, most of the students that lacked a talent for potions now knew who the ideal people to join in a group with was by this time. Needless to say, Neville was with Hermione, Ron, and Harry, and Crabbe and Goyle were sure to never leave Draco's side. When they finished, Snape was on his third bottle of red ink and he had hardly started grading a sixth assignment.
He toured the room, checking each group's potion. When he got to Harry's group, he paused and waited a moment.
Eventually Ron gathered his courage. "Professor Snape, sir, what are you waiting for?"
Snape turned to face Ron. "Mr. Weasley, it has not escaped my notice that Longbottom is in this group. I'm waiting for the whole thing to explode."
Neville flushed scarlet, as did the rest of the group, all out of sympathy for Neville. The Slytherins laughed like they always did in situations like these.
"Hermione was very careful to check everything I did before I did it," Neville explained in a small voice. "We hope the potion is up to your standards."
Snape bent down and used his hands to wave the fumes towards him. He breathed in as little as possible, having decided on the second day of class ever he would never trust anything Longbottom made, or helped to make. He sneered as he stood. "I suppose it's tolerable." That basically translated to a 'perfect work, except for the minor detail of the red and gold emblem on the attire of the students doing the work.'
Shockingly, all of the potions met with his approval. "As soon as I have finished with you in the back room, you have my permission to leave the class. Remember you are required to research the history of the side of your family we revealed today utilizing whatever means you feel necessary, excluding spells and potions that effect time."
The room was as quiet as a tomb, everyone anxious to get it over with and leave the dungeons.
"Mr. Malfoy, you are first. Please fill a glass with the potion and follow me." Snape headed to the back corner of his classroom, Draco following nearly on his heels, closing the door behind him.
They all thought they were in the clear when the door opened once more and Snape stuck his head through the doorway. "And I will be watching you in the room. I expect you all to be on your best behavior or I will take fifty points from each house per disturbance." He closed the door behind him loudly as if he was trying to create a fear amongst the remaining students. And if he wasn't intending on it, he still did a great job.
Draco came out three minutes later, as smug as usual with his common smirk on his face. "Parkinson, you're next."
Needless to say, Pansy flew to the room in order to not keep Snape waiting.
It almost looked like they would make the end of Potions go by without insults from Malfoy when he stopped right before stepping out of the classroom. "My mother's side is just as pure-blooded as my father's, not that that was in question or anything. She's distantly related to Grindelwald. What I want to know, is what happens when a mudblood takes the potion." He left at that point, laughing at what he for some reason considered funny.
"So that's what happened," Hermione stated, a little twinkle in her eye. "Genetics doomed him to a life of stupidity."
It didn't take a long time for Snape to get through all the Slytherins and soon it came time for the Gryffindors. He started with Neville first, muttering something about needing to get the walking catastrophe out of his classroom as soon as possible.
He said the same thing about Ron and Harry when he called those two up to him as well. All three of those tests passed without problems, but when it was Hermione's turn, something went wrong.
She sat in a little chair, across from Professor Snape, fully assured the potion would work. After all, the other three's in her group had been just fine.
It took about thirty seconds for the potion to take effect, and then the coat-of-arms would stay upon the palm for another minute, giving the one tested plenty of time to memorize it or copy it down with their free hand.
Hermione expected something from her mother's side of the family. What she got was a coat-of-arms very familiar to her, but definitely not what she anticipated at all. She swallowed. "Obviously there was some kind of mistake. I suppose some dust or something must have gotten into the potion and contaminated it after the others in my group went. When should I come in and make it up?"
Professor Snape still stared at her palm, incredulous. As it finally began fading, he cleared his throat. "Ah, yes. Obviously an error somewhere. I suppose if you came back in three days you would have sufficient time to complete your research?"
"That's fine with me, Professor." She stood up. "I'll tell…"
"Finnigan."
"Right, I'll tell Seamus you want him now." Hermione didn't think she could run out of there fast enough.
Meanwhile, only one thing ran through Snape's head: Hermione does not make mistakes.
Harry and Ron were waiting for her outside the classroom. "So? How was it?"
Hermione gave a long-suffering sigh. "Apparently there was some kind of mistake in the potion."
Ron looked confused. "It was fine for the rest of us!"
Hermione just shrugged. "It didn't work out right when I was tested."
"Ah," Harry muttered, in thought about his own family and how he wished he had met them.
There had to be a mistake, Hermione reasoned. After all, she knew for a fact her mother was in no way related to a Slytherin, much less one herself.