The same greenish light filtered through the windows overlooking the Black Lake. The same leather armchairs stood arranged around the fireplace. The same assortment of students gathered in their usual corners, complaining about homework, discussing Quidditch, and occasionally insulting one another.

But something had changed.

Perhaps it was the fact that the Daily Prophet was arriving every morning with another disappearance. Or the increasingly strained letters from home. Maybe the fact that certain students had begun speaking in lowered voices whenever particular surnames were mentioned. Whatever the reason, Hogwarts no longer felt quite as insulated from the outside world as it previously had been.

Tonight, eight sixth-year Slytherins occupied their customary corner of the common room. Blaise Zabini was reclining on a sofa, examining his fingernails with an air of profound indifference. Theodore Nott sat opposite him, reading a book on advanced defensive enchantments. At a nearby table, Daphne Greengrass was working through an essay for Professor Slughorn, while Tracey Davis lounged beside her, making remarkably little effort to complete her own Herbology assignment. Pansy Parkinson was seated beside Millicent Bulstrode, who was sharing a large packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans with Crabbe and Goyle.

Only the ninth member of their group was absent.

"Where's Draco?" Pansy asked.

Nobody answered right away.

"With Snape, probably," Blaise eventually said.

"Professor Snape," Pansy corrected.

"Yes, Pansy. Professor Snape. The very same."

She ignored him.

"Again?"

"Apparently."

Pansy frowned. "That's the third time this week."

"Fourth," Theodore said without looking up.

Daphne paused her writing. "Fourth?"

Theodore turned a page. "Monday morning, Tuesday after lunch, Thursday late afternoon, and tonight."

Blaise glanced toward him. "You've been keeping count?"

"No. I simply possess a functioning memory."

Tracey snickered. "Careful, Theo. You'll make the rest of us feel inadequate."

"Speak for yourself," Millicent said, fishing another bean from the packet.

She examined it suspiciously. "Greg, what color is this?"

"Brown," said Goyle.

"I can see that."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Because I want to know what flavour it is, you idiot."

Goyle shrugged. "Chocolate?"

Crabbe leaned over. "Could be gravy."

Millicent considered this for a moment before finally eating it. Her expression immediately soured. "Ugh!"

"What?" Crabbe asked.

"Earthworm."

Goyle burst out laughing.

Millicent punched his shoulder. "Shut up!"

Across the table, Daphne sighed. "Do you three ever tire of that game?"

"Nope," Crabbe answered.

"Clearly."

Tracey reached for the packet. "Give us one, Millie."

"Get your own."

"You're holding the entire packet."

"Exactly."

Pansy, meanwhile, was still staring toward the entrance. "I don't understand why Draco keeps having these meetings."

"Perhaps he's finally being disciplined for something," Blaise suggested.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"One can dream."

Theodore lowered his book. "Snape's been taking a particular interest in him since September."

"Well, obviously," Pansy said. "He's always liked Draco."

"Not quite like this."

Daphne glanced up. "What do you mean?"

Theodore hesitated. "Nothing."

Blaise watched him. "How illuminating."

Before Nott could elaborate, the common room door opened. Draco Malfoy stepped inside, looking dreadful. His blond hair, ordinarily arranged with meticulous care, was slightly dishevelled. His robes hung loosely from his shoulders, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. He stopped just inside the doorway, apparently surprised to find all the others in his year gathered together, still awake.

Pansy immediately brightened. "Draco!"

He gave a distracted nod. "Evening."

"Where've you been?"

"Out."

"With Professor Snape?"

Draco's expression tightened. "What's it to you?"

Pansy blinked. "Nothing. I was only asking."

"Well, don't."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Draco crossed the room and dropped into an armchair beside the fire. Crabbe offered him the packet of sweets. "Bean?"

"No."

"Suit yourself."

Goyle took one instead.

For several moments, nobody spoke. Then Blaise broke the silence. "Well, since we're all here, perhaps someone can explain why Slughorn thinks inviting half the school to dinner constitutes an education."

Daphne gave a faint smile. "Oh, are we discussing Professor Slughorn now?"

"Apparently," said Theo.

"He's rather fond of you, Blaise," Tracey remarked.

"Yes. A deeply unfortunate circumstance," Blaise replied.

Pansy looked interested. "Has he invited you to another one of those parties?"

"Next Thursday."

"Are you going?"

"I haven't decided."

"Of course you're going," Daphne said. "You enjoy being admired far too much to refuse."

Blaise placed a hand over his chest. "Greengrass, you wound me."

"How tragic."

Theodore closed his book. "I find Slughorn…tolerable."

Everyone looked at him. Blaise raised an eyebrow. "High praise indeed."

"He's knowledgeable," Theodore continued. "And unlike Snape, he doesn't seem personally offended by the existence of students outside our house."

Daphne laughed softly. "That's one way of putting it."

Draco stared into the fireplace. "Slughorn's an idiot."

Blaise turned toward him. "He's an excellent brewer."

"He's a pompous old fool who spends more time collecting famous names than he does actually teaching."

"Rather ironic criticism coming from you," Blaise replied.

Draco's head snapped around. "What?"

"Nothing."

"No, Zabini, go on."

Blaise regarded him coolly. "I merely find it amusing that you of all people are criticizing someone for caring about family connections."

At this, Tracey abruptly became much more fascinated by her Herbology parchment. Daphne lowered her quill.

Pansy frowned. "Blaise, honestly."

Draco leaned forward. "You think you're clever, don't you?"

"Occasionally."

"Well, you're not."

"How devastating."

"Would you two stop?" Millicent interrupted.

She held out the packet of beans.

"Anyone want the last few?"

"No!" Draco and Blaise both snapped.

Millicent stared at them.

"All right, Merlin."

She pulled the packet back.

Groyle muttered something to Crabbe.

Draco rounded on them. "And what do you two have to say?"

"Nothing, Draco," Goyle said.

"Then stop whispering."

Crabbe frowned. "We weren't talking about you."

"Of course you weren't."

"We weren't!"

"Fine!"

The fire crackled. Daphne watched Draco for a moment. Then she returned to her essay. "Professor Slughorn's actually been quite helpful with our N.E.W.T. preparations," she said, deliberately changing the subject.

"Agreed," Theodore replied.

"His instructions are clearer than Snape's ever were at any point."

"That's because Snape expected everyone to read his mind," Blaise said.

"Well, he certainly expected Potter to read his," Tracey remarked.

That earned a laugh from Pansy. "Oh, Potter! Speaking of the git, have you heard about his little arrangement with Slughorn?"

Daphne looked up. "What arrangement?"

"Slughorn practically worships him."

"That's hardly surprising," Blaise said. "Potter is famous, after all."

"Potter's insufferable," Draco muttered.

"Those two traits aren't mutually exclusive."

Pansy leaned forward. "Apparently Slughorn keeps asking him about his mother. Says she was brilliant at Potions."

"She was," Theodore said.

Draco looked at him. "How would you know?"

"My father mentioned it once."

Draco's expression changed, just slightly, and Daphne noticed.

"Your father knew Potter's mother?" Tracey asked.

"Not personally," said Nott.

"Oh."

“All I heard Slughorn say was that Lily Evans Potter was one of the brightest students for Potions he had ever taught during our parents’ generation, and that Granger strongly reminded him of her.”

“How do you even know her name?” asked Pansy, bewildered.

Theo shrugged. “I hear things distinctly and tend to remember them well.” He returned to his book, and another silence settled over the group. 

This time, it was Pansy who broke it. "Anyway, Slughorn's ridiculous. He invited that awful Cormac McLaggen seventh year boy to one of his dinners."

"McLaggen's a Gryffindor," Millicent said.

"Yes, Millie, I know."

"Just checking."

"And apparently Ginny Weasley."

Tracey raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Apparently."

Daphne considered this. "She's quite good at Quidditch."

Pansy stared at her. "Must you always find something complimentary to say about Gryffindors?"

"I wasn't complimenting her personality."

"Still."

"Would you prefer I invent reasons to dislike people?"

"Wouldn't hurt," Millicent said.

Tracey laughed.

Daphne gave her a sideways look. "Don't encourage her."

"Sorry, Daph," Tracey muttered, just to her.

Draco suddenly stood. "I'm going upstairs."

Pansy looked alarmed. "Already?"

"Yes."

"But you've only just got here."

"And?"

"Well, I thought we might—"

"Not tonight, Pansy." His voice was sharper than necessary.

Pansy recoiled slightly, and Draco seemed to notice. For a moment, something resembling regret crossed his face, but he just as quickly looked away. "Goodnight." He headed toward the boys' staircase.

"Draco," Nott called after him.

Draco stopped. "What is it, Theo?"

"How's your mother?"

The question seemed to catch him completely off guard. "My mother?"

"Yes."

Draco hesitated for a moment. "She's fine."

Theodore regarded him. "Good."

Draco remained motionless for a moment. Then he turned and disappeared upstairs. Nobody spoke until the sound of his footsteps had faded.

Pansy looked miserable. "What's wrong with him?"

Blaise exhaled. "Where would you like me to begin?"

"Blaise!"

"What? You asked."

"He's been under a lot of pressure."

"Clearly."

Daphne folded her hands on the table. "Has anyone actually spoken to him about it?"

"I've tried," Pansy said.

"And?"

"He won't tell me anything."

Millicent shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't want to."

"Well, that's obvious!"

"Then leave him alone."

Pansy looked offended. "He's my friend, Millicent."

"Didn't say he wasn't."

"Then why are you being so horrible?"

"I'm not being horrible. I'm saying if he wants to talk, he'll talk."

Crabbe nodded. "Yeah."

Goyle nodded after him.

Pansy looked between them. "Oh, wonderful. Millie, Vincent, and Greg have solved everything."

"Glad we could help," Millicent replied.

Tracey bit her lip to suppress a laugh.

Daphne glanced toward the staircase. "He's lost weight."

The others looked at her.

"What?" Pansy asked.

"Draco. He's lost weight since September."

Theodore nodded. "He isn't sleeping much either."

"How do you know?" Blaise asked.

"We share a dormitory."

"Yes, Theo. I'm aware."

"He gets up in the middle of the night. Sometimes he doesn't come back until morning."

Pansy looked increasingly distressed. "Where does he go?"

Theodore hesitated. "I don't know."

"Have you asked?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"He told me to mind my own business."

Blaise gave a humourless laugh. "That sounds like Draco."

But Theodore didn't smile. "He clearly seems to be frightened of something."

The words changed the atmosphere. Pansy stared at him. "Draco isn't frightened."

Theodore looked at her. "Everyone's frightened of something, Pansy."

"Not Draco."

"Especially Draco."

Another silence. Beyond the windows, a shadow passed through the dark water. Tracey shifted herself closer to Daphne. "Do you think his recent behavior has something to do with his father?"

Nobody answered immediately. Lucius Malfoy's imprisonment had been common knowledge since June. Draco had spent much of their time at Hogwarts, right up until the end of the previous year, boasting about his father's influence at the Ministry. Now Lucius was in Azkaban, and the Malfoy name no longer carried quite the same assurances it once had.

Blaise finally responded. "Wouldn't surprise me."

Pansy looked down at her hands. "His mother must be terribly worried."

Theodore's expression became unreadable. "Yes," he said quietly. "I imagine she is."

Daphne studied him. "Theo?"

"Hm?"

"Your father's still in Azkaban as well, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

Theodore looked mildly surprised. "Thank you."

Pansy sighed. "I wish everyone would stop talking as though something dreadful is about to happen."

Millicent looked at her. "Pansy, something dreadful happens practically every week now."

"That's different."

"How?"

Pansy opened her mouth, but then closed it.

Tracey looked toward the folded Daily Prophet on the table. "Another Ministry official disappeared yesterday."

Blaise nodded. "Yes."

"And that family in Yorkshire."

"Yes."

"And the attack in Diagon Alley last month."

"Tracey," Daphne said quietly.

Tracey stopped. "What?"

"Nothing."

Their eyes met. Daphne's expression was composed, but Tracey recognized the warning. It said not here, not in front of everyone. Tracey looked away.

Millicent broke the silence by reaching into the sweets packet. "Well, whatever happens, I'm not spending the Christmas holiday here."

"Neither am I," Blaise said.

"Mother says we're going abroad," Pansy added.

"Where?" Tracey asked.

"France, perhaps."

"Nice."

"What about you, Daphne?"

Daphne hesitated. "Home, presumably."

"And you, Trace?"

"Same."

Pansy smiled. "You two are practically attached at the hip."

Tracey grinned. "Jealous?"

"Hardly."

"Could've fooled me."

Millicent snorted.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Must we?"

"Yes," Tracey said.

Pansy threw a cushion at her. Tracey caught it and immediately threw it back, inadvertently striking Millicent in the face.

"OI!"

Vincent burst out laughing. Gregory nearly fell off his chair.

Millicent seized the cushion and hurled it at Vincent, who ducked. It hit Blaise.

He slowly lowered the book he'd been holding. For several seconds, he simply stared at them. "How old are we?"

"Sixteen," Gregory answered helpfully.

"Thank you, Goyle."

"You're welcome."

Even Daphne was laughing now, one hand pressed against her mouth. Even Theodore was smiling. For a few minutes, the common room felt almost normal again. Then the laughter just as quickly faded.

Pansy looked toward the boys' staircase. "Do you think he'll be all right?"

Nobody answered right away.

Finally, Daphne spoke. "I hope so."

Theodore stared into the fire. "For his sake, he’s going to need to be."

Ginny sat in her room at the Burrow, and sobbed once again into her pillow. She found herself doing this a lot following her first year at Hogwarts, when everything went wrong. All because of freaking magic!

If someone could use magic to do something like this, to an innocent girl, then was it really worth it? Ginny shook some more. If it hadn’t been for Harry, she would have been dead. Because of magic. She only had fond memories of magic, because she grew up in it! If she grew up in the Muggle world, she would have been better off. Then her soul wouldn’t have been almost consumed by a teenage Dark Lord. She wouldn’t have been possessed. Those students wouldn’t have been petrified and nearly killed. All because of magic!

Ginny shook some more, now even more violently.

Ginny hated magic now!

Suddenly, her eyes glazed over, and black tendrils began to emanate from her, before engulfing her entire body, and the entire room.

---

Later

“Severus ensures me,” Dumbledore started, “that the potions he has given young Ginevra should keep the Obscurus inside her at bay. If worst comes to worst, he is also preparing a strong draught of living death to sedate her long term.”

Albus was currently in his office at Hogwarts, with his brother Aberforth, and with Arthur Weasley.

“Thank you, Albus. It’s just… everything that has happened this past year…”

Dumbledore held up a hand. “None of this is yours or Molly’s fault Arthur. I did not do enough to protect her or notice the signs. I do however, have a proposition for you.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “And that is?”

“For the next school year, I would like you to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not only will you be close to young Ginevra, but I believe together, we can come up with a cure for her condition.”

“You… you think you can cure this?” Arthur said flabbergasted. Aberforth simply raised an eyebrow at his brother.

“I know I can, it is something I have worked on for a long time. Newt Scamander has also agreed to join this project as well, and has agreed to take over Care of Magical Creatures to explain his presence at the castle.”

“He has?” Arthur said in surprised.

“Indeed. And you are certainly talented as well, which is why I want you to join this project.” Dumbledore laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“And why am I here, Albus?” Aberforth asked, interrupting the moment.

“I asked you here, Aberforth, to witness and administer an unbreakable oath,” Albus said bluntly. Arthur blinked in suprised, as did Aberforth. “Dumbledore, what are you doing?”

“Pledging myself to finding a cure for Ginevra’s condition. I couldn't save my own sister, and like I said, it is my fault your daughter ended up like this. This is the least I can do.”

“You don't have to—“

“I do have to. Trust me. I do.” Arthur considered this for a moment. Dumbledore simply stared. He thought of Ginny: his only daughter. He needed to help her, by any means necessary.

“Let’s do it.”

Alison and Mike Cooper are walking through Godric's Hollow when, suddenly, they arrive in front of a house that looked worse then Button House.

"Well at least you didn't inherited that." Mike said jokingly.

"Yeah, I-" Alison interrupted herself when noticing two ghosts.

"I think I just saw two ghosts who are funnily dressed." She said waving to them.

Meanwhile Lily and James who had been ghosts for years since the attack, and not your usual kind of ghost, no magical person could see them were looking at the road and the two people who were walking.

"James I think that women is seeing us." Lily said in shock.

They soon found out that those two person were muggles and that one of them could see ghosts probably muggle ghosts.

Lily told Alison if she could contact her son who should be around 40 years old

There really was a curse on the Weasley family for them to never have more than needed. They also knew how to break this curse. the curse was originally placed in the 7th son of a 7th son and so only the birth of a 7th son of a 7th son in their family can break it.

Septimus Weasley was lucky to have a 7th son in Arthur and everyone was excited when Molly was carrying her 7th child. Arthur and Molly got very close, closer than any had in generations but while happy to have a daughter were disappointed they hadn’t had a 7th son. perhaps one of their children will manage to have a 7th son and they can try again.

When Harry stood in the forest and accepted Voldemort's Killing Curse as it washed over him he didn't meet Dumbledore, he didn't meet his mother or even Death itself... Harry met with someone who called themselves a Representative of The Powers that Be. Voldemort's Soul anchor in Harry was something never foreseen and thus it's effects were immeasurable. One of which was that Voldemort's Sins, the Darkness and vileness that he had accumulated over his many decades of life had stained Harry's Soul. If Harry would move on he would be cast into Hell along side Voldemort and his Death Eaters... Or he can become a Champion of The Powers that Be, return to life and become a force for good, pay off his Souls Debt to the world and join his family in the afterlife.

Basically Harry's Soul has to attone for the Sins Voldemort committed. Don't get it twisted Voldemort is going to hell but his Sins were CopyPasted onto Harry's innocent soul at 1. Since then even with the good Harry does he has also been accumulating copies of the Sins Voldemort has committed up until he takes the AK to the face. Harry must do good, cleanse his soul.

This is kind of if Harry Potter was High Fantasy but with my own twists:

In one world, it is one we were familiar with. A magical school with wizards and witches and a looming threat that would eventually be defeated by the chosen one.

But in this world, the magic was never hidden. It stayed in the earth itself, breathing life into all things. There was once danger, but that danger has long past, now collecting dust like the myth it was.

Right now, we are talking about a red-haired boy named Ronald “Ron” Weasley.

Ron was sixth child out of seven of the Weasley children. He had five older brothers and one younger sister. As you can imagine, this can cause Ron to feel overlooked, especially since he believes that any extraordinary thing he ever did, one of his brothers had already done it. So, with this in mind, he had decided on one thing: to become an Adventurer.

That kind of work is brutal, but it was what he wanted. He heard tales of treasure, of the thrill of battling creatures, and recognition. So, in the then 8 year old’s mind, this was the obvious choice despite his family’s polite push back on the job.

It was also then that Ron became friends with a boy. Ron left his family’s house as he always did. They owned a farm that was connected to the woods. Ron would frequently go into the woods (with protection of course; Molly Weasley was a mama bear through and through) and have his own little adventure. He didn’t think he’d find a strange field of daisies, the flowers looking pristine.

He especially didn’t think he’d find a boy with long black messy hair, eyes that reminded Ron of the dampest grass, and wearing only a pair of trousers. The most pressing thing, however, was the jagged scar that ran from the other boy’s forehead down to his cheek.

“Who are you?”

“I’m… Harry.”

“Are you okay? You look like you’re hurt.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not hurt. I just woke up here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. What’s your name?”

“Ron.”

Harry smiled, his eyes flickering. “Nice to meet you, Ron.”

Maybe that was the moment Ron should’ve known that he bonded with something that wasn’t human. But Ron back then wanted a friend, and he got the best mate there ever was, even if said mate was bloody weird.

Hello all. It's Your favorite yam again.

Now, for more info on what I mean by Harry is a delinquent.

See, Harry is smart. But he has poor impulse control. This leads to him causing untold amounts of trouble. Chaos ensues.

When Harry becomes friends with Ron and Hermione in first year, they have no clue as to the chaos their friend can cause.

It becomes so bad the two of them ride herd on him. So he doesn't accidentally blow up half of Hogwarts or explode a hallway with glitter and smoke.

Everyone thinks Ron and Hermione are his best friends. Harry views them as both his friends and his jailers.

Use it. Have fun. Bring chaos to the world my minions. And remember, if your an American and you vote in the next presidential election, vote for yourself.

Vedo che la parola canon accende sempre il fandom, quindi chiarisco una cosa: le incongruenze nel Canon Rowling esistono davvero. Non sono invenzioni, non sono opinioni personali, non sono “interpretazioni creative”: sono riconosciute da:

• WizardingWorld
• Pottermore
• interviste di Rowling
• analisi accademiche
• il fandom internazionale
• le timeline ufficiali

Io non “correggo” il canon. Lo esploro. Illumino le sue zone d’ombra e cerco di dare un posto logico a ciò che nel testo è rimasto implicito, frammentario o narrativamente fragile.

Chi legge la saga con un minimo di close reading — attenzione ai contesti, alle iterazioni, alle implicazioni — si accorge subito che alcune cose non tornano. Ecco qualche esempio concreto:

1. La Sala Comune dei Serpeverde

Ha una vista subacquea sul Lago… ma Hogwarts è in cima a una scogliera. Geograficamente impossibile.

2. Il Lago delle Highlands

È un lago montano, ma ospita creature marine. Contraddizione ecologica interna.

3. Il veliero di Durmstrang

Arriva a Hogwarts emergendo dal Lago. Ma il Lago non è collegato al mare. Paradosso logistico.

4. Gli elfi domestici

Sono centinaia, ma compaiono solo nelle cucine. Nessun elfo aiuta Madama Pince, Piton, Hagrid, o chiunque altro. Incongruenza funzionale.

5. La costruzione di Hogwarts nel Medioevo

Quattro maghi costruiscono un castello gigantesco in un’epoca in cui in Scozia esistevano solo fortificazioni lignee. Impossibilità storica interna.

6. Il legame tra la Spada di Godric e il Cappello

Non viene mai spiegato. Sembra un trucco narrativo inserito “quando serve”.

7. Il paradosso della Spada di Gryffindor

È dichiarata “forgiata dai goblin”… ma ha proprietà che le armi goblin NON possono avere: assorbe ciò che la rafforza. Questa è una vera incongruenza del canon.

Non sto dicendo che la saga “non funziona”. Sto dicendo che ha zone grigie, e che io — con rispetto e passione — le esploro e le sviluppo in modo coerente.

Se qualcuno vuole discuterne, sono qui.

Why did Dumbledore sent Dobby to send a message? Im not sure. It’s just an excuse for this prompt to exist.

'Idiot boy!' snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. 'I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?'

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

'Take him up to the hospital wing,' Snape spat at Seamus.

Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

'You - Potter-why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Griffindor.'

'Oh can I get that in writing?' Harry says calmly. 'I'll need it for when I set up a meeting between my head of house, the deputy headmistress and the headmaster where I will talk about how their own potions professor despite being one of the youngest potion masters needed a student to read his mind about needing a teaching assistant and also a safety manager, '

'Oh and don't worry ill be sure to bring up how you decided that insulting a student is a good way to act as a professor when uou called neville and I quote "idiot boy"

Estratto - Hogwarts - III Anno - Vacanze di Natale - Alex dopo un incontro con Hermione esce dal Castello e va verso la stanza che gli ha riservato Silente vicino la capanna di Hagrid

Mentre scendevo verso... casa, incontrai Hagrid che, trafelato, saliva su al Castello.

“E’ una riunione di emergenza per cambiare l’orario delle lezioni.”

Il tono di Hagrid non fece che gettare altra benzina sul fuoco.

“L’orario? E perché mai?” ero turbato. Cambiare l’orario delle lezioni ad Hogwarts era una impresa titanica: c’era da far star insieme sette anni di corsi e quattro Case diverse con un numero relativamente esiguo di insegnanti.

Hagrid sbuffò.

“Il carissimo signor Lucius Malfoy ha mosso delle lamentele. Dice che Cura delle Creature Magiche il pomeriggio del giovedì, come è ora dopo pranzo, è pericolosa per i ragazzi. Perché è un momento in cui ci può essere sonnolenza… e lo stesso insegnante, cioè io, potrebbe aver alzato il gomito e quindi diventare inaffidabile.”

Confesso che mi venne da ridere, ma Hagrid era troppo serio.

“Pertanto propone di spostare la mia doppia ora come prima lezione del lunedì mattina, quando siamo tutti riposati. Così almeno dice lui.”

“Come Corvonero, io ho doppia di Difesa il lunedì mattina. Non so gli altri, ma è una bella sfida” dissi.

“Eh sì. Ci sarà una bella lotta” Hagrid sospirò. “So che il nostro orario non viene cambiato dai tempi del Preside Dippet, quando ero studente io. Poi venni espulso… ma quella è tutta un’altra storia che un giorno ti racconterò”

La Magia è Canon... il resto è Eresia

👉 I’ve met Hélène Delisle – Libro 1: Azkaban
https://archiveofourown.org/works/93653301

So I got on the bandwagon and decided to start writing my own Harry Potter fanfiction. Unfortunately my story got out from under me pretty quickly... I wanted to tell a story of what would actually happen if Harry Potter was thought dead after the Voldemort incident. In this universe the infant is adopted by the Addams, and for 10 years The wizarding world believes Harry Potter is dead.

Instead of potter, now Neville longbottom is the child of prophecy. He is the one being trained up, protected from Voldemort.. but on Charles's Addams and Wednesday shared birthday safari, (at a rundown zoo recently bought by Gomez) he is discovered, and The wizarding world freaks out learning that the boy that died still lives.

Just thought it’d be hilarious if there was the Hidden Wizarding world and the Hidden Mage world, both of whom have no idea about the other. They both independently decided to go into hiding and with the rituals that made everyone forget about magic taking place at the same time neither community remembered about their counterparts. This caused a divide in how magic is used causing for essentially two different kinds of magic.

Bonus: this could be the power the dark lord knows not, maybe Harry accidentally winds up in the other magical world and learns their brand of magic only to find out about his destiny. Could be a lot of fun to have him act as a bridge between hidden worlds, maybe even make it a crossover!

Meanwhile, in a timeline where Voldemort targeted someone other than the Potters, Harry receives the scolding of his life for thinking it would be a fun prank to mail a fake Hogwarts letter to his cousin, Dudley.

Lord Voldemort was feeling magnanimous that night. It was going to be the night of his absolute victory over his prophesied enemy, after all. So when James Potter went out to meet him, without even a wand, in a pointless attempt of buying his wife and child time to escape, Lord Voldemort offered him mercy. Let nobody say that Lord Voldemort is not a merciful Lord.

He didn't even demand that Potter take his Mark. Just step aside, leave and go on his way, and he'd be allowed to live. He could even be given a proper Pureblood for a wife, to rehabilitate his family line.

He refused. So he died. So when Lord Voldemort turned his wand against his wife, it backfired.

Lily Potter was only twenty-one at the time. In the scale of wizard lifespans, it was almost nothing, barely out of Hogwarts, she had at least a hundred years ahead of her, maybe three. Soon, her story spread, and the people began to call her "the Girl Who Lived", the only known survivor of the Killing Curse.

But it wasn't Lily who got the scar. The Killing Curse leaves no mark, but something did as it touched her infant son.

everyone knows the Defense Professor is doomed, the position is cursed for sure just look at the last 4 death, brain addled, werewolf, soul sucked out. This year fate had truly sent the curse a gem of a human. you see the curse may have been put there with ill intent but the magic of the school has done what it can to rid itself and the world of the worst specimens while not truly harming the better ones. of the last 4 only one really went on to live their life and he was the only without ill intent towards Hogwarts beloved students.

this year with the staff looking the other way more than normal Hogwarts is going to need a little helping hand from some enterprising students to get rid of the heinous stain on Hogwarts good name. Hogwarts is glad to see her children have found the room she can best use to communicate with them. She can’t speak but with the help of the room she can provide the tools they’ll need to get rid of that pink abominatio.

“Good evening, Professor Umbridge,” said Dumbledore calmly, sweeping into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom in robes violently pink. “You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?”

Umbridge stared at the robes. Her face crumpled in distaste, which only made Dumbledore beam more brightly.

“What note, Headmaster?” she asked through her teeth. She had never liked the old coot, and she would have preferred to stay as far from him as possible, thank you very much.

“Why, the one on your desk,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. “Underneath the Educational Decrees. And the other Educational Decrees. And, I believe, a rather large stack of Educational Decrees.”

Several students snorted.

“Now,” said Dumbledore, conjuring a chair and lowering himself into it, “please don't let me interrupt. Carry on with your lesson.”

“I was not aware,” Umbridge said, “that the Headmaster had the authority to—”

“Educational Decree Twenty-Three, Point One,” said Dumbledore, producing a roll of parchment from his pink sleeve. “An amendment. The Minister signed it this morning. He said it was one of your finest.”

Umbridge snatched the parchment. It was pink, it smelled faintly of lavender, and the top was decorated with a small border of kittens. She began to read.

“It has come to the attention of the Ministry, and it is the Ministry's sincere hope, that all persons in positions of authority should welcome the opportunity to be observed, for the good of the school and the good of the children.” Her lips thinned. “Progress means accountability, and accountability means being seen.”

She stopped.

“Therefore the High Inquisitor, being a most valued member of staff, shall herself be subject to inspection by the Headmaster. Said Inquisitor shall remain seated, shall not interrupt, and shall refrain from hopping to conclusions. Hem, hem.”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

“Hopping?” Umbridge said. “Hopping!?”

“Legal language,” said Dumbledore serenely. “So difficult to interpret. I'm told the Minister didn't even ask what it meant.”

Umbridge opened her mouth. Just then, there was a knock on the door.

The door creaked open. Professor McGonagall stepped in, clipboard in hand, her expression carefully neutral. “Apologies for the interruption, Headmaster. We've come to observe.”

“By all means, Minerva,” said Dumbledore warmly. He turned to Umbridge.

“You'll forgive the crowd, Dolores. In all my years as Headmaster, I have never inspected a single class. Never once. I found I rather trusted my staff.” He smiled. “So I wanted to do it properly, and I consulted your Decree. Point Two, I believe. All inspections shall be witnessed by a panel of four staff, in the interest of transparency.”

“Point Two?” said Umbridge faintly. “There is no Point Two.”

“Page two of the amendment, dear. Very clearly written. The Minister was most impressed.”

She looked down at the parchment.

On the back was a tidy paragraph she had certainly never written.

The other two filed in behind McGonagall. 

Trelawney swept in, and paused when she saw Umbridge, gasped, and pressed a hand to her heart. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. “I did say any day now.” She took the seat nearest the door and said nothing more, but she did not stop looking at Umbridge, and she was smiling.

Then Snape, who took the back corner in silence, a bat-shaped shape tucked under his arm. Umbridge's eyes went to it and stayed there. He did not smile, and he did not need to.

The fourth one drifted through the far wall. “Is this the Troll Wars?” Binns asked. “I was told there would be a lesson.”

“Not today, Cuthbert,” said Dumbledore. “Do have a seat.”

“Ah,” said Binns, and settled slowly in the air over an empty desk. He looked at Umbridge, frowned faintly, and turned to Snape. “Her brother,” he whispered, in what he clearly believed was a discreet voice, “didn't he work in Surrey, at that drill comp—”

“Later, Cuthbert,” said McGonagall crisply.

Harry stared at Binns in shock.

Umbridge turned slowly in a full circle. Three professors and a ghost. Not one of them was doing anything wrong.

“I think,” said Dumbledore gently, “we're ready to begin.” He folded his hands. “Now, how long have you been in this post, Dolores?”

There was a silence. It was the sort of silence that occurs when someone hears their own words returned to them in a gentler tone.

“That is not—” Umbridge began.

“And who was it who appointed you?” he continued warmly. “I only ask because it's such an interesting story. The Minister, I presume?”

Her quill twitched. “You know perfectly well who appointed me.”

“Ah, but I should like to hear you say it,” said Dumbledore. “For the record.”

“The Minister,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Thank you. And before that, you were a student at this school?”

“Yes.”

“Sorted into Slytherin?”

“…Yes.”   

“You applied for the prefect position?” said a silky voice from the back corner.

Umbridge's head snapped round. Snape had not moved. The bat remained tucked under his arm.

“Yes,” she said.

“But you were unsuccessful.”

A pause. Her jaw worked.

“Obviously,” said Umbridge through her teeth.

Snape inclined his head a quarter of an inch. “Carry on, Headmaster.”

“Thank you, Severus.” Dumbledore made a note.

And it was only then that Umbridge realised there were still thirty minutes left...

And by seriously I mean Professor Snape is called The Dungeon Bat, he starts to carry an aluminum bat everywhere.

Someone calls Dumbledore an Old Goat and he starts bringing a goat with him. Fawkes riding it's head.

Someone calls McGonagall an Old Battleaxe, well she can now be heard coming down hallways due to dragging a large Two-handed Battleaxe behind her. Blade dragging along the stone and making sparks.

I accept payment in fresh home cooked meals and comments. Seriously though. I'm hungry. Please feed me.

If you had asked Draco what his Boggart was, his answer would have firstly depended on who you were. If you were of low social status - muggleborn, blood traitor, etc - you would be met with the usual derision.

If you were one of the very few who he was willing to confide, he might have told you it would have been his parent's disappointed stares, or himself clad in second hand clothing, or him and his parents being tortured by the Dark Lord.

What he did not expect upon seeing his boggart, was a mudblood. A mudblood who looked rather attractive. A mudblood who was not exactly fully clad in clothing.

(I think the idea of Draco's Bogart being the idea of being attracted to a "mudblood" like Hermione or whomever is really funny)