Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

The Daily Prophet

Christmas morning brings with it the same ridiculous generosity last year's had, but at least Harry had been able to send people gifts in return this year, and he's beyond grateful for his new books, clothes, and even a few wizarding jigsaws and a chess set that could play against you itself if you didn't have a partner. Harry makes his way out of the common room wearing the new jumper Mrs Weasley had sent him, a smile on his face.

He settles next to Hermione at the single breakfast table once he enters the great hall: they'd agreed previously to exchange gifts at breakfast, and it's a nice kind of normality to share something like this with Hermione. They sit across from each other, and Harry sets his neatly wrapped package on the table, sliding it across to Hermione, and she gives him a bright, wide grin. She pulls two presents out from under the table, which are wrapped a little more messily, with the paper ripped in places, and Harry frowns.

"Why've you got two?"

"Mum and Dad wanted you to unwrap their gift too," Hermione says, the smile staying on her face, as if she knows some secret Harry's not in on.

"Oh, they didn't have to do that-"

"Shush, Harry," Hermione orders, and she hands Harry one of his gifts, which is wrapped in bright, red paper decorated with little lions: in fairness to her, he's wrapped her Christmas present in green, serpent-scaled wrapping paper, and she groans as she gets a better look at it. He waits before he opens his own, keeping his eyes on her face as she pulls open the package.

She frowns at the contents, drawing out the white towel and tilting her head a little, but then she looks at the label, and her eyes go wide. "They dry your hair-" Harry starts, but she interrupts him.

"Oh, Harry, I've been looking at these in Gladrags' catalogue!" she says delightedly. "Thank you! How did you know!?" Harry did not know at all, and just thought they'd be quicker for Hermione in the mornings, so he just taps the side of his nose and does his best to look a bit mysterious. "Open yours, open yours." Harry tears into the paper, pulling it aside, and he laughs when he sees what's inside.

"Michael Jackson's Thriller," Harry says, and he chuckles, smiling at the image of the pop singer on the record's sleeve. "Thanks, Hermione, but I don't have-" Hermione pushes the other package forwards, which is much bigger than the other, and Harry stares at it. "Oh, they didn't."

"They did," Hermione says, and Harry pulls apart the wrapping, staring in utter awe at the turntable inside. It's one of those briefcase ones that you can transport easily, and Harry strokes his fingers over its faux-leather surface. "They bought it from that shop in Diagon Alley, where you got your broom, 'cause you were saying how you'd been listening to the radio over the summer."

"Thank you, Hermione," Harry says, grinning. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too," Hermione says brightly, and they set their gifts aside for the time being to set about eating breakfast.

---

"The charm is Cruso," Harry says, showing Hermione the wand movement, and she copies him, letting a stream of shining, silver baubles come out of her wand. She reaches for one of them, feeling the odd, filmy substance of the bubble under her fingers, and then she draws it back.

"I love spells like this," she says quietly, tapping the bubble with her wand to make it pop and disappear. "It's the simplest stuff, you know?"

"Yeah," Harry agrees, "I get what you mean." To the side of the empty classroom, Harry's new record spins on the table, letting Human Nature sing through the room, and Harry had forgotten how nice it was to just have music playing in the background while doing normal things. "I've gotten better at Serpensortia, you know."

"You must be joking," Hermione says, "How could you possibly be doing better than last time?" Harry shoves her, and she snorts, sitting up on one of the old desks and watching as Harry demonstrates his new found skill.

"Serpensortia!" Harry declares, and a snake bursts forth from his wand, settling on the ground. There's a long pause, and it doesn't move. Harry reaches forwards, delicately poking the snake with the tip of his wand, and it remains utterly still.

"At least it's a real snake this time," Hermione offers, truly looking quite sympathetic.

"Yeah," Harry agrees dispassionately, "But it's still dead." He Vanishes the snake with Vipera Evanesco, which he can at least cast without messing up, and he sits across from her on another desk. "I hate Transfiguration."

"No, you don't," Hermione says, leaning back on her hands. "You just wish you found it as easy as learning jinxes or charms."

"What do you find easiest?" Harry asks, realizing he's never asked the question before, and Hermione frowns, seeming to consider the question for a little while.

She swings her legs where she sits, digesting the question for a few moments before she answers, "I don't think I'm the best at any sort of magic, really. I know you can pick up jinxes really quickly, and I know that say, Seamus Finnegan is really good at anything related to fire, but I feel I'm pretty evenly spread. Average in everything."

"You're not average," Harry says, "You're top of every class."

"Yeah, but that's because I study so hard, and because I know all the theory so well," Hermione argues, "I'm not saying it's a bad thing. I'm just saying I've not got a natural affinity for any particular sort of magic." Harry considers this: Hermione doesn't seem too upset by the prospect, but he doesn't want her to feel any kind of inadequate when she's such a brilliant witch.

"That might change, though," he offers, "Next year, when you pick up other subjects. Do you know what you're going to pick?" Hermione groans.

"No! I want to do them all!" Harry laughs, but he feels much the same. Except for Muggle Studies, all of them look interesting - Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes... "Is it true they found a secret passage in the Slytherin common room?" Harry looks up at the change of subject, but then he nods his head.

"The day before yesterday. Ms Hayworth found a switch in the back of one of the bookcases, and it slide aside to open up a tunnel. It was broken off partway through, though - you could walk about fifteen feet down the corridor, but then you just met rubble. It looks like it used to join on to some other part of the dungeons, so you had two ways out of the common room, but all the bricks from the tunnel are scattered across the lake bed, and apparently they can't figure out where it used to lead to."

"I suppose Reparo won't work?" Hermione says hopefully, and Harry shakes his head. "God, it's so interesting. There's so much history here, at Hogwarts, and the fact that they can find stuff like this after so long... You're going to help them find more stuff in January, right?" Harry nods his head. "Should be exciting."

"I hope so," Harry agrees.

---

"Shut up, shut up, all of you!" Harry says, standing on the coffee table where Frank had pushed him, and he holds his newspaper aloft.

DISASTER OF DEFENCE TEACHING AT HOGWARTS

In September of this year, many students across the wizarding
world were delighted at the thought of the great, the mighty,
Gilderoy Lockhart coming to teach at Hogwarts: a prestigious
wonder, he was thought to impart all manner of knowledge and
expertise unto his students.

If only that were the case!

There's laughter around the room, and Harry grins as he turns his copy of the Prophet around, showing the photograph Colin Creevey had managed to get of Lockhart's spots after the duelling club. The photographic professor continuously looks horrified at the camera flash and does his best to hide his face: he looks utterly ridiculous.

Students across Hogwarts have become more and more frustrated
with the teaching methods of Gilderoy Lockhart - an apparently
incompetent wizard in his own right, Prof. Lockhart's classes only
involve acting out scenes from his books, and classtime quizzes
involve such questions as, "What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite
colour?" and "How many women did Gilderoy Lockhart go out with
in the course of Voyages with Vampires?"

"He constantly interrupts classes to talk about his hair routines,"
complained fifth year Hufflepuff, Cedric Diggory. "We're all terrified
we're going to fail our Defence O.W.L.s!"

"Every lesson is a press conference," agreed seventh year Slytherin,
Afifia Lanjwani, "He's utterly useless, and a disgrace to the teaching
profession."

A cheer goes up around the room, and Harry's allowed to get down from the table, reading the rest of article to himself once more. They'd taken the article immediately, of course, and it had been permitted an entire page of the Daily Prophet's Boxing Day issue. It'll sell hundreds of extra newspapers, Harry knows, and he decides he'll keep this article to remember the wonder of the endeavour.

Printed in black, white and orange at the bottom of the page are the words WRITTEN BY GUEST CONTRIBUTORS, FRED G. AND GEORGE F. WEASLEY, and Harry knows that even if Mrs Weasley is unhappy, the twins are having a very good Christmas indeed.


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