Just a quick note. I'm going to let the story gradually elevate to the global scale, perhaps even further if needed. Right now it's basically Britain, with a little bit of France and Bulgaria thrown in. In the books, JKR never really mentions the magic outside of Europe. I doubt the Japanese use Latin incantations; same for the Arabs, Chinese, Indians, etc. They may not even use wands; maybe staves, or rings, or just hand-signs.
The Chinese used a Dao. The Japanese Samurai used a Katana. The Spanish used a rapier. The typical Medieval weapon was a double edged sword. The list goes on.
Realistically, with the magic communities keeping to themselves, it's not unreasonable to propose that each society has different ways of doing things. I read a Korean Comic called The Breaker; essentially about a 'secret community' of martial artists in modern day Seoul, having contacts in the government and everything. Sound a little familiar?
Ddragon21: I wouldn't refer to the Unforgivables as 'common', bud.
Remzal Von Enili: Harry has learned a type of Occlumency that he's not even aware of, yet. That's all I'll say on the matter.
xp3r1a: I've thought about it a bit. I'm not really sure on what to do. I could have Harry put his head down. Or, I could have him use the Imperius Curse on her during detention; ordering her to not cause trouble, or to kill herself. There are plenty of options.
GL: Just... No.
GinnyLover14: It's actually Lightning Dragon's Breakdown Fist, an attack by Laxus Dreyar in the manga/anime Fairy Tail. I shortened it cause it's a mouthful.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
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Lightning Dragon's Roar
A Harry Potter Fanfiction
By Zero Rewind
© 2014
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"The time will come when you will have to rise,
Above the best and prove yourself,
Your spirit never dies."Imagine Dragons - Warriors
Chapter 9: Potions, Chemistry, and Plans
Daphne's POV (Great Hall)
"Someone's in a good mood, today." A familiar voice got my attention.
"Hmm?" I lazily piled some eggs, and bacon on my plate.
"You're all chipper, Daph." Tracey said, taking a seat next to me.
"So?" I raised an eyebrow at the auburn haired girl.
"So?" Tracey parroted. "It's not like you at all. You're never happy at the beginning of the year!"
I gave a sheepish look to that. I've never liked the start of any year at Hogwarts. It just meant homework, homework, and— care to guess?— more homework. Then came the fact that I had to deal with Draco and his band of idiots all year long. He was, in simple words, a narcissistic prick. Sometimes, I thought he should've been named after his mother instead of after dragons. Narcissus Malfoy was entirely more accurate.
"Oh." I answered lamely. "I guess there's something else on my mind."
"Yeah? Like a certain Mr. Potter?" Tracey waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
I somehow didn't choke on the food I was swallowing, and gave Tracey what I thought was an impassive look. She was not fooled. Damn.
"You know." She started conversationally. "He was stealing looks at you for a good while yesterday, during the feast."
"Yes, yes— so you keep reminding me." I answered back, wryly. I was honestly surprised when she had first mentioned that to me. Harry Potter, the Gryffindor golden boy, interested in a Slytherin girl? I thought that was about as likely as hell freezing over. But he had been staring at me. He had quickly looked away, and froze in place when I turned my gaze to him. It was funny, seeing him squirm, probably not wanting to look silly. Of course, he ended up failing dismally.
"So... Are you interested?" Tracey dug for information.
"Well," I hesitated, toying with the bacon with my fork. "I don't really know him. He usually avoids Slytherin students like the plague. Though, with Malfoy constantly antagonizing him, it's not really a surprise as to why he does it."
"Don't know him? He's the Boy-Who-Lived, a hero; everyone knows who he is." Tracey retorted incredulously. I rolled my eyes. How could she be so dumb, sometimes?
"That's what everyone knows about him. Not about who he is." I corrected, pointing a finger at Tracey. "It doesn't say anything about his likes, dislikes, hobbies. It doesn't tell me anything about his personality." I watched him walk up to the teacher's table and converse with the Headmaster, who was smiling back at the boy. Professor Umbridge was watching them intently, but then her face contorted in anger, and her nostrils flared.
I saw McGonagall shake her head and mutter something which made Harry beam at her, before being shooed away by Professor Dumbledore. He glanced in my direction, catching my eye for a moment, before looking away really quickly, cheeks tinted red. Cute.
'He's definitely gone through a growth spurt.' I thought to myself, remembering the thin, much shorter boy from last year. 'And he's got some pretty eyes, too.'
The Daily Prophet had been saying he was lying about Voldemort's return, and that he was merely making it up in an attempt to gain attention, but my father said that the paper was going downhill. I had to agree on that one. Badmouthing a fifteen year old boy, when he couldn't even contest those claims, was despicable. I know that, if the paper was talking about me like that, my parents would've brought hell on their doorstep.
"So, what do we know about him?" Tracey said mischievously, drawing my attention.
"We know he's quiet, and keeps to himself most of the time, though he seems to be coming out of his shell from what we've seen today and yesterday." I started slowly. "He's friends with Granger, so he doesn't care about blood status. This is further corroborated by his intense dislike for Draco— something we have in common." I motioned to the blonde ponce in question, who was currently boasting about his skills in Quidditch.
"He is pretty quiet, and doesn't really talk to anyone aside from his Gryffindor friends; though that could be because people talk about him constantly. You'd have to be deaf not to hear the whispers." Tracey agreed, frowning thoughtfully. "Anything else?"
"Don't think so."
"Well, with just that, he seems like a pretty decent guy." Tracey winked. I just groaned at the not-so-subtle-hint.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE QUITTING THE TEAM?" A loud, female voice rang out. The whole of the Great Hall went silent.
"Woah, could you be any louder?" Tracey said irritably, turning to the source of the dreadful noise. I followed suit.
"That's one of the Gryffindor Chasers." I said, staring at the scene. Angelina Johnson, a tall black girl with braided hair, Chaser for Gryffindor House, was currently glaring at Harry's back with a mixture of confusion and anger. Harry stopped his eating with a sigh, and turned to face her. For a moment, he looked truly tired, but schooled his face into an impassive mask.
"Exactly that, Angelina." Harry answered her calmly. "I don't have the time for it, anymore."
"What do you mean?" She sputtered, growing angrier by the second. "Is it because of your OWLs? You know you can do those and be part of the team with no issues, right?"
The moment she said that, Harry just looked at her disbelievingly. He didn't say anything for a while, his expression darkening with suppressed anger.
"My OWLs? You know nothing." The green eyed boy snarled, before picking up his book bag and leaving. I caught a glimpse of his face; he looked a mix of incredulous and angry. A few moments of silence passed, before noise flooded the Great Hall once more, now with whispers pertaining to the Quidditch season.
"And now we know he quit the Quidditch team. See? You're practically best friends now!"
I palmed my face, wishing Tracey would just shut up already...
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Harry's POV (Corridors of Hogwarts)
They just didn't get it. Why should they? They're just a bunch of pathetic children. All they worry about is Quidditch, grades, and friendships, while I'm in constant danger. I didn't have time for any of this shit! Sure, I wish I did, but I don't. No sense in crying about it, and there's definitely no sense in cutting into my preparation time. The more time I had to prepare, the better chance I had of surviving. It was as simple as that.
If I needed to unwind, I would just bring out my broom and fly for a little bit, or relax by the lake.
"Bow to death, Harry..." Voldemort's taunt rang in my ears, reminding me of what was truly important.
Last June, I got my ass handed to me by Voldemort, who wasn't even trying hard at the time, and was probably still getting used to his new body. I escaped thanks to luck, and luck alone. There was no denying it. If that little convenient reverse spell effect hadn't occurred, I'd be dead right now. I needed to get stronger, and quickly.
Quidditch was fun, but it wasn't worth losing my life over. Performing a Wronski Feint, and knowing my Seeker drills wasn't going to save me from that well-aimed Entrails-Expelling Curse that one of the Death Eaters was more than likely going to use on me. Or, you know; the Cruciatus and the Killing Curse. Or a Bone-Breaker. Or a jet of acid...
Though beating a bludger around would most likely build my arm strength... Hah. Could probably do the same by wanking; at least I feel better afterwards.
I checked my schedule for the day, and scowled. History of Magic, Potions, Divination, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Just well and dandy; the ghost, Snape, the nut job, and the slimy toad in the same day. At least I could get a nice, quiet nap in, before dealing with Snape.
I took my time on the way to History class, not really caring if I was going to be late or not. I could always bust out the 'I felt dizzy so I walked slowly to class so as not to pass out or vomit' excuse. I doubted Binns would call bullshit, if he even noticed me in the first place.
As it turned out, I got there five minutes early. Hermione and Ron waved me over— well, just Hermione. Ron had already begun his nap. I took up my spot next to the two, before promptly dozing off, much to the disapproval of Hermione. Not that I cared much.
The nap ended all too soon, as Hermione nudged us awake and threatened to not give us her notes; Ron, in a bout of genius, began flattering the resident Gryffindor bookworm. It seemed it was working, but, unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.
On our way to Potions class, she proceeded to rant about us not taking History seriously; to which I said: "Well, I just prefer Muggle History to Wizard History. Two successive bloody world wars, Hermione. It satisfies my need to learn of other people's pain and suffering. And the mutations caused by the aftermath of the nuclear strikes on Hiroshima and Nagasaki... Uranium is great, wouldn't you agree, Hermione?"
Needless to say, Hermione's mortified expression cheered me up a little bit. I entered the Potions classroom with a spring in my step, immediately taking my table at the back. I looked around the class. It seemed as if Professor Snape wasn't here, yet. After a summer filled watching random documentaries, and reading up on whatever I stumbled upon, I was sort of looking forward to this class; out of all the subjects, Potions seemed to be the most scientific in nature.
An onslaught of students entered the class at the same time, hurriedly taking their seats before Snape tore their throats open for daring to be late. I saw a glimpse of Daphne, sitting somewhere in the middle, next to her auburn haired friend, Tracey. Even looking at the girl from behind was just a treat.
I heard Snape's dungeon door creak open. The hook-nosed, greasy haired man swept in the room, his billowing robes giving the room an aura of doom and gloom. He certainly had a flair for the dramatics, huh?
"Settle down." Severus said coldly, shutting the door behind him. There was no need, however, since everyone was already dead silent. He then went on making a speech about how it was our OWL year, and that he expected each and every one of us to at least get an 'Acceptable' on our exams. He tried to bait me a few times, but I've grown past such attempts, having dealt with the scum of the internet on a daily basis. I'm the master baiter, baby (Get it!? Masterbaiter? No?). Anyway, I gave him points for making the effort; his subtle insults were ruffling Ron's jimmies, that's for sure.
"And to make sure you are taking this a little more seriously," Snape continued in a silky tone. "I will have you brew the Draught of Peace: a potion that often comes up in the examinations. It is used to calm anxiety, and soothe— Weasley!" He barked out at the end, there. Everyone looked in our direction.
Ron was busy picking his nose, it seemed. I resisted the urge to swear profusely at the redhead. Couldn't he see that I was trying to avoid Snape's ire? Damn it.
"Five points from Gryffindor for that horrific display, Weasley." Snape sneered, before motioning for him to come. "You will change your seat today, Mr. Weasley, as it seems you're incapable of paying attention." Ron glared at the Potions Master, who glared right back. It didn't take long for the boy to begin grabbing his stuff in resignation.
"Let's see... Ah." Snape turned to Daphne. "Weasley, you will take Ms. Greengrass' place for today. Ms. Greengrass, if you will—"
"Of course, Professor." The girl said softly, before packing up her stuff and heading to me. I fought off a nervous grin, as the girl took her place between Hermione and I, giving me a small nod, which I returned with a smile. Ron was still loudly setting up shop, much to the amusement of the Slytherins surrounding him.
"Hi." I took a moment to greet the girl. Hermione looked at me oddly.
"Hello to yourself, Potter." Her whisper was low, and soft. I didn't get to say anything further, though, because Snape took control of the class again.
"As I was saying." Snape glared at Ron one more time, for good measure. "This potion can soothe agitation. The reason I've chosen this particular potion is due to its difficulty; you will need to follow the instructions on the board—" He waved his wand and a set of steps detailing the making of the potion appeared on the blackboard. "—and you will find the needed ingredients in the store cupboard. You have an hour and a half. Begin."
I went to get the needed ingredients, and walked back to my post with purpose. I wanted to ace this class. Despite Snape's warnings, I found that the potion was incredibly easy to make. The instructions were clear, and the potion was progressing the way it should, with a light silver vapor rising from it— just like Snape said.
The overgrown bat swept around the class, criticizing some student's work. He took great pleasure in vanishing Ron's potion, and giving him zero. He sneered at Neville, who somehow made an acceptable draught, before finally coming to inspect my work. He looked at it, then at me, then back at it again.
"Potter." The man said softly.
"Yes, Professor?"
"What is this?"
"Uh... What do you mean? This is the Draught of Peace." I looked at him for a moment. "Did I make a mistake, somewhere? I know I followed the directions to the letter."
"...No, Mr. Potter. The potion is..." Here, Snape looked like he swallowed something sour. "Very well made."
Was that a compliment just now?
"I am... curious, Mr. Potter." Severus quickly checked Hermione and Daphne's cauldrons, noting that— while good— their potions were not as good as mine. "How did you manage to accomplish this without Granger's help? Your previous work has never had this level of quality."
Hermione glowered at him. How cute!
"I don't really know how to answer that, sir." I began, not wanting to talk about my summer in front of everyone. "I just understood exactly what I needed to do, that's all."
"Fair enough, Potter. Perhaps you are not as moronic as I first believed." Ah, backhanded compliments. "From this point on, I shall expect this level of brewing from you. Is that understood, Potter?"
"Sure." I said easily. If this was supposed to be one of the more difficult potions for the OWLs, then I had this class in the bag.
With that, the Potions Master left to criticize other students, giving me the opportunity to look around. Draco was looking at me with an expression of utter displeasure; it was similar to my expression when my favorite manga didn't update at the regular time. Ron was too busy with his own potion; the same went for Neville and Seamus, the former having to endure Snape's onslaught.
Hermione just gave me a self-satisfied smile, probably thinking all that harping about taking studies seriously is beginning to pay off. Daphne was curiously looking at me.
"What?" I whispered, and she looked away in embarrassment.
"Nothing, Potter." She said quickly. "I've just never seen Professor Snape give you a compliment before."
"That makes two of us, Daphne." I grinned at the girl, before frowning. "I can call you Daphne, right?"
"That's fine, but do I have to stop calling you Potter?"
"Nah, you're good."
Snape's throat cleared behind me. I turned to see him glowering at me. It was the Glower of Frustration 1.0! He must be really grasping at straws here.
"Anything to share, Mr. Potter?"
"Nothing important; I simply answered Mrs. Greengrass' question about the potion."
"I see." His lips curled, before he turned to the class in general. "For those of you who have completed their work correctly—" he sneered at Neville and Ron. "Fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, and bring it to my desk for grading." He took a breath. "As for homework; twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its use in potion making."
I took my time filling up the flagon with a sample and turning it in to the Professor. Then I went back to my post to clear my things. The bell rang, and students began to hurriedly leave the class for a well deserved lunch. I hung back, wanting to have a word with the Professor.
"You coming, Harry?" I heard Ron say from behind me, and turned to the boy.
"I'll see you there, all right? There's something I need to do."
"All right, mate." Ron said uncertainly, before shaking his head and leaving for lunch, falling in behind Hermione. Was he looking at her butt? That sly sonovabitch...
As the last of the students left the classroom, Snape turned to me, an unpleasant look upon his face.
"Something you need, Potter?" The greasy haired wonder drawled lazily.
"A couple of questions."
"Is that so... Well then, let's hear them."
"Right, uh..." I started, not really knowing how to go about this. "Do you know chemistry, by any chance?"
Snape looked stricken for a split second, before switching his face to an impassive look. What the hell was that? Did I just imagine it?
"Many years ago, I studied the subject, at the request of a..." He hesitated. "A friend of mine."
"A friend? Who?" I asked curiously. He looked at me for a very long moment.
"As it happens, it was your mother, Potter." He had an unreadable look on his face.
Wait, wait, wait.
"You- My mom—" I didn't even know how to form words right now.
"Don't look so surprised, Potter." He gave me an annoyed/amused look. "I knew Lily even before we attended Hogwarts. And that whiny sister of hers as well. Anyway, what did you want to know about chemistry?"
It seemed like my mother was a subject he didn't want to talk about. I didn't press the issue, partly because I hadn't expected it, and partly because I'm not exactly close friends with Snape. I remember it took Remus months to open up, back in my Third Year. Snape was on a whole other level of closed up, if it took him over four years to tell me he knew my mother since his childhood.
"Right, right." I shook my head of these thoughts. "Well, just what is the difference between Potions and Chemistry? Both seem to serve the same purpose, though Muggles have never gotten to the level where they could re-grow bones..."
"That is an interesting question." He went into lecture mode. "The answer that a regular Wizard would give to it is simple; Muggles can't brew potions."
And here I thought they could. Oh. Then came my next question.
"Why?" The man gave me a reluctantly pleased look, as if I passed some test of his.
"The answer to that," Snape began dramatically. "Is a bit more complex. Though I have told every single class that there was to be no wand-waving in Potions, I did not specifically state that you have not been using magic this whole time."
"Using magic? What, does the potion absorb our magic?" I asked, wondering about his statement.
"In a way, but not quite." Snape answered wryly. "It is not the potion itself that draws out the student's magic, but it is the student who infuses the potion with their magic, at the critical moments of the brewing process."
"That's why Muggles can't do it?" I said in realization.
"And why Squibs can." Snape continued. "Because it does not require the use of a wand, and does not need great amounts of magic, with a few exceptions, of course."
"Why don't you teach that to students?" I asked curiously. "Seems like a pretty interesting thing to know."
"That is something I teach to students who have passed their OWL examinations, Potter." He said.
"How come?"
"I shall explain through an example." He looked at me. "Mr. Potter, try not to focus on your own breathing."
I was suddenly acutely aware of the rising and falling of my chest. I tried to stop focusing on it, only to find myself deprived of air. I had to consciously will myself to breathe again. A few more tries to stop focusing met with equal failure.
"You understand, now, why I do not teach this to students below the NEWT level." He said, looking amused at my attempts at breathing normally. "If they knew about it, they would infuse the potion with magic at the wrong times, or perhaps not at all, leading to undeserved zeroes."
"So, why tell me this?" Did he want me to fail?
"It is nothing as insidious as what you are currently thinking, Potter." He looked annoyed. "Do not think that because of your association with them, I would jeopardize a student's future. No matter whose son he is." He muttered the last part to himself, though I heard it clearly.
"So—"
"You are ready for the next level, Mr. Potter." Snape simply stated. "Do not expect praise for your work during class, however. Appearances must be maintained, for obvious reasons." He said, hinting at his spy status.
"Speaking of..." I trailed off, giving him a significant look. "How deep in are you?"
"That is none of your concern, Potter." He said in slight exasperation. "Do you not have a lunch period, right now?"
"Yeah, I do." I confirmed, before making a split second decision. "But I'll skip my Divination class for that."
He raised an eyebrow, wondering if I had gone insane, telling a professor I was going to skip class.
"Come off it." I almost growled. "We both know that class is worth nothing. Reading tea leaves, and analyzing dreams is not going to help me fight the snake bastard. I somehow doubt he'll make me sit in front of him and have me kill him by reading his palm."
It was the same reasoning I used for quitting the Quidditch team. So I'll lose an OWL; who cares? I sure didn't.
"Indeed, Potter." Snape agreed, still giving me a look of disapproval. "I shall simply let your Head of House take responsibility for this situation."
"That's fine." I gave a nasty smile. "She'll have to get used to constant disappointments from me. I'll worry about it when my life is not in danger."
"Anyway," I continued. "I know you told Professor Dumbledore about Voldemort's plans, and the safety of the Prophecy."
Here, the Potions Master goggled at me.
"So, he told you..."
"Yeah. I don't know what it says, just that it's about me and the Dark Lord." I explained. "I don't really care what it says, either. I plan to obliterate the piece of trash, regardless of the Prophecy's contents."
"So what questions do you have then, Potter?" Snape asked me, skeptically. "It seems you know everything, already."
"I know everything you told the Headmaster." I corrected. "The answers to the questions the Headmaster asked."
"And?"
"I have my own questions." I said. He didn't answer, but silently prompted me to continue.
"I want to know how accessible the old bastard is." I said carefully. "Maybe I can have him killed from the inside."
I had the gold for it, I could just hire someone to sneak in, kill the bastard, and get out.
"Impossible." Snape answered. "The wards of his safe houses are ancient, and strong. None can enter without the owner's permission. Furthermore, the Dark Lord is always alert, fully aware of his surroundings in case of an attack."
So Voldemort does not even trust his own followers?
"Safe houses, huh?" I repeated, a calculating look in my eyes. "I'm assuming Death Eater houses. Any children in these houses?"
"Not until the holidays. Where are you going with this, Mr. Potter?" The Potions Master asked wearily.
"Just thinking about the practical applications of Chemistry, Professor." I said cheekily, before leaving the class for lunch, and possibly some training if time allowed.
"Like his father." Snape said to himself, as he watched me exit the classroom. "But like his mother, too..."
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Wee~
Anyway, like I said to xp3r1a, I'm not quite sure how to deal with Umbridge.
I have a list of options.
1) Put her under the Imperius and have her not harm anyone. (fifth book rehash alert)
2) Put her under the Imperius and make her commit suicide. (Won't really solve anything, since the Ministry will put someone else)
3) Declaring open war on Umbridge, by extension, the Ministry. (Attracted to this one)
4) Keep his head down. (I don't really want to rehash the book)
5) Forcing a situation in which Umbridge attacks Harry, and he kills her in 'self defense'. (Unlikely)
So far, I've thought having him keep his head down until she begins overstepping her bounds as a teacher; then have Harry declare war?
Would like to hear your thoughts on this. And about the Daphne/Harry interactions? And did you like Snape's attitude?