100+ Things Not to Do at Hogwarts

My name is Serenity Alexis Black. One of my fathers is Sirius Black - and, before you can ask, no, he isn't dead. The other... well, that isn't important right now. I have bright blue eyes and waist-length brown hair. Believe it or not, my best subject is (and probably always will be) Potions... despite the fact that I'm a Gryffindor. That idea was hard for me to grasp, too. By this point, I'm sure you've wondered why I'm telling you all this; the fact is, I have written down the true story of Harry Potter and his - for want of a better word - misadventures.

Now, you're immediate reaction will be "But Jo owns that story", and I am well aware of that. I was there, after all, when Harry gave her the only copy of his autobiography, saying she could change whatever she liked as long as Voldemort died at the end. I asked her not to include me in the books, and was also left out of the film by choice. Anyway, I have written a rather pensive book, in which the memories of Harry, Ron, Hermione and myself have been contained - along with those of several others. Each chapter in the book contains a moral; one such being, 'I have learned to be careful who I make sarcastic remarks [about relationships] with'. You should also be aware that this story follows the adventures Harry and I had through Hogwarts. Both times. Yes, we went through Hogwarts twice - you'll understand that one later.

Chapter 1: Number 138, I will not tell first years that Professor Snape is the voice of God.

Year one

Snape's POV

The sorting was tactless. The Potter boy and the Black girl were both sorted into Gryffindor. How typically like their fathers they both are - in looks, as well. Potter with his chaotic hair and his Spellotaped glasses... he'd undoubtedly need to be the centre of the universe, like his precious father. But there were also Lily's unmistakable emerald eyes. How she could go and marry him is beyond me. Sitting beside Potter was Black. She looked towards the end of the table and I caught sight of her eyes; they claimed the exact shade of blue as her father's eyes, right down to the spark of happiness and youth I'd see before I was hexed. I had met her before, delivering a potion to her guardian's house - if anyone could call it that; it was just a two bedroom flat, when it came down to it. I sneered as the students were released to their dormitories. Black's eyes met mine and she smirked as though I were a puzzle she longed to solve. I have only ever seen such a look on one other individual: The Dark Lord, Voldemort. The next seven years did not bode well. My blood ran cold as she turned and whispered something to Potter; he looked up and raised an eyebrow looking at her and then me, before the crowd swept him away.

The first Potions class was unfortunately Gryffindor/Slytherin first years I launched into my usual speech when I noticed the Potter boy taking notes and Miss Black looking between him and myself obviously trying to keep from laughing. Sneering at her I stood in front of Potter.

The first Potions class was unfortunately Gryffindor and Slytherin first years. I launched into my usual speech when I noticed the Potter boy taking notes, whilst Miss Black looked between him and myself, obviously trying to keep from laughing. Sneering at her, I strode towards Potter.

"Potter!" He started and looked at me as one would do a God. "What would I get if I added powdered root of Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood?"

Granger's hand shot up into the air, and Black stopped snickering and continued to look between Potter and myself, now biting her bottom lip to stifle the new spate of laughter that threatened to burst forth.

"I don't know, sir," he said, still with that worshipful look on his face. Narrowing my eyes, I continued.

"Tut tut - fame clearly isn't everything." I glanced at Granger, whose hand still bobbed demandingly in the air. My sneer increased. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a Bezoar?"

Potter looked confused. "I don't know, sir." This blatant lack of knowledge disgusted me, and I didn't try to hide it.

"Thought you wouldn't even open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Granger's arm appeared to have taken on a life of its own, jumping and waving in the air in a manner that truly was rather vile. "What is the difference, Potter, between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

His eyes lost that admiration and narrowed on mine. His answer came low-voiced and surprisingly even-toned. "I don't know, Professor. I think Hermione does though, why don't you ask her?"

Several Gryffindors laughed softly, Black louder than them all combined.

"Sit down," I snapped at Granger, who was now on her feet in her desperation to answer a question. She sat instantly, to my pleasure, out of fear, and the class fell silent, albeit a few chuckles from Black. "And you," I turned, refocusing my wrath on her, "keep quiet unless you have something useful to say. Which, at this time, would be an answer to my questions. Considering your choice in... guardians, you should at least one of them." The laughter died from her face and she narrowed her eyes at me.

"Asphodel and wormwood create the Draught of the Living Death, the strongest sleeping potion known to wizarding kind; a Bezoar comes from the stomach of a goat and serves as an antidote to most poisons. Monkshood and Wolfsbane are easy - they're the same thing, also called aconite." She answered quietly, her gaze never leaving my own. "And another thing, Professor, don't insult uncle Remus. Oh, and before you ask, I told Harry - that's his name, and it wouldn't hurt you to use it - that you were the voice of God. It was a good joke." She shrugged, her voice quiet, her gaze still on mine.

My voice rose as I next addressed the class. "Her answers to my questions were correct, so write them down! As for you, Black, you shall report back here at 8pm sharp. Bring your quill."

Thankfully, the class only had two minor explosions. Longbottom melted the cauldron and burst out in boils, necessitating a trip to the Hospital Wing. His whining gave me a headache. As I walked back into the classroom, my eyes landed on Black, who caught my gaze and subsequently did the most perplexing thing. Holding the correct ingredient - and what appeared to be the correct quantity - she sighed, before lifting the ingredient beside it and dropped it into her cauldron, shielding her face with her sleeve against the explosion.

I watched detachedly as she remained immobile for a moment, until the acids in the potion began to eat their way into her skin. She shrugged out of her outer robes as I stalked over to her. Looking up at me as I vanished the remainder of the potion with a quick Evanesco, she sighed and held up her forearm. Her arm was raw, blistered and bleeding all at once. And it was dripping on my shoe.

"Professor, I think I need to go to the hospital wing."

The calm tone of her voice irritated me to no end. She had clearly known what she was doing when she put the frog's tongue into her potion, instead of the chizpurfle carapaces. This girl had potential - one that belonged to a Slytherin, not the spawn of one my childhood tormentors.

"Finish and bottle your potions, and place them on my desk. You should all be finished shortly. Then clean your cauldrons and begin the homework I have set you. Any other explosions in this class will result in some very severe deductions of points. I am already taking fifty points from Gryffindor, for both Mr. Longbottom's and Miss Black's misdemeanours."

After giving my directions, I pointed my wand at the board and the homework appeared. Then I grabbed Black's arm and, in particularly violent and vengeful state of mind, dug my fingers into the wound. She didn't make a sound - not a whimper, not a whine, not so much as a twitch! I was shocked, although the only evidence of this was a deepening of my sneer. The only indication of her pain was a faint glistening of her eyes, as I locked mine with hers, pulling her in the direction of the hospital wing. She stumbled slightly, but quickly caught up again; she was almost jogging to keep up with my purposefully long strides. As we rounded the staircase on the third floor, I addressed her.

"You are aware, Miss Black, that you will have to re-brew the potion tonight during your detention and you will stay until you get it right. I have no idea why you put down the correct ingredient and instead chose to blow up your own potion. Especially considering the fact that, until that point, it was very well-brewed indeed."

She stopped, clearly astonished. I halted myself too, if only to be in a better position to sneer at her.

"Oh yes, I was watching you; don't seem so surprised, Black. I had, after all, just taken Longbottom to the hospital wing, or have you forgotten already? You are so much like your father... and yet, there is also something about you which makes you so very different to him. I don't particularly care to figure it out, but rest assured I will ensure you are treated no better than you deserve."

She blinked slowly, her blue eyes once again meeting mine, hinting at a power far stronger than I would have expected from anyone other than the boy-who-lived, the golden child of Gryffindor. Thus far, Potter appeared every bit as spoilt and pampered as his father.

"Professor, everyone knows a talent for potions is a Slytherin trait, just as Gryffindors are supposedly good at transfiguration, or Hufflepuffs with charms. Had I shown the others my aptitude, I'd most likely be ostracised from my house."

Her annoying grin returned with the cockiness she knew I expected.

"I am actually rather confident in my abilities. It's just that I am also willing to do whatever necessary to ensure my success. Now, if we could continue to the hospital wing? My arm hurts quite a bit, and your grip really isn't helping."

Her tone sharpened at that last part. Reluctantly, I loosened my grip; no sooner had my fingers left her arm, then she had yanked it away. In the light of the nearby window, I could see the faint discolouration of a bruise on her wrist, along with several nail marks. She must have seen me glaring at the marks because she turned her arm out of view.

"Don't worry, Professor, I bruise very easily. Always have, and probably always will. Granted, your grip was a bit tighter than necessary, but I'll take that as added punishment for the whole 'Professor Snape is the voice of God' thing."

She started walking up the next flight of stairs and veered off into a wrong hallway. I grabbed her by the uninjured arm and forcefully steered her along the correct path. She hardly seemed to notice, as her focus seemed to be on a spot above the burn on her arm. This hopefully meant she would keep quiet; her whole attitude was extremely grating, reminding me forcibly of that damned guardian of hers. Yet the words came unbidden from a memory of my seventh year, memories of a similar blotchy scar on the forearm of one of my dorm mates.

'Honestly, Severus. It was my first year and I made a mistake. The reason it looks like part of a handprint is because my professor was a bit... enthusiastic on the first three flights of stairs. Frankly, I'm surprised he didn't burn his hand.' It was a female's voice, but I couldn't remember who she was. Oh, wait, she had been a time traveller... Alexis Collins, with her friend Evan Barnes. Something about the two of them was agonisingly familiar to me, yet it hung just out of my reach. I chanced another look at the girl wandering to my side; she was still lost in thought, no doubt planning a long, drawn out injury report to tell Remus Lupin. A red outline of small blisters was appearing in the vague outline of my hand.

This batch of Gryffindor first years looked likely to be worse than the last lot - a group of the normal incompetent children with an impossibly incompetent one thrown in. A know-it-all, a celebrity, another Weasley and Black, who had the appearance of her father and yet wished to fade into the background. If she had a talent for potions, then there was no need to melt cauldrons in my classroom unless she wanted to make a nuisance of herself. If she wanted to make a nuisance of herself, she could do so in her own Head of House's classroom, instead of mine.

I heard the bell ring; students began to flood the halls. I smirked, seeing the older ones kept their distance from me. I fixed my glare on Black again and slapped her hand away from her arm, where she had been trying to pop one of the blisters.

"Don't pop them, you silly girl. That will cause you more pain and scarring! Or is that your aim? So that you can prove I've mishandled you, and show your guardian?" Malice dripped from every word, as I ranted, "because I assure you that I will not stand for it. You may look and act just like your father, but we will not have a repeat of my Hogwarts years. I am still your professor."

She stopped and whirled on me, eyes blazing with anger. It was the reaction I had expected, but her words gave me a chill.

"How dare you accuse me of being like that abandoner? I hate him, and I will not have you compare me to that freak! It makes me sick to think I'm related to him. So in future, leave him out of it, Professor. Just so you know, the only people I think of family, are Tonks and Uncle Remus."

She turned and walked into the hospital wing, leaving the door ajar. I stood in the doorway, waiting, as Poppy came out of her office.

"Miss Black, what happened to your arm?"

I saw Black catch Poppy's eyes before murmuring, "It was just a potions accident, Madam Pomfrey. Can you fix it?"

Her tone was soft and polite, innocently curious. I scowled deeply. She met my eyes, and I had to stifle a gasp as I saw that her eyes were devoid of all emotion. She blinked quickly, and the sparkle appeared as quickly as it had left; Poppy coated the burn with a salve before deftly wrapping it with clean gauze. I scowled again as Potter came up behind me, holding Black's charred robes in his hands.

"At the worst, there will be some mild scarring. It is a minor wound, but I'm afraid the salve is all I can do. Try to avoid putting too much pressure on it, and please come back this evening to get that bandage changed."

Black nodded before skirting passed me and through the door, whispering a charm to repair her robes.

"Miss Black, don't think that your injury will get you out of detention tonight," I called after her, doing my best to ignore the sound of her mocking snort as she pulled on her robes.

"I wouldn't dream of it, professor. I have the feeling that this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship."

With that said, she took her bag from Potter and offered me a sarcastic wave. She dragged a bemused looking Potter around the corner and was thankfully out of my sight.

"Insufferable bloody Gryffindors," I muttered darkly, glaring at the spot Black had so recently vacated. My gaze settled back on Poppy as she cleared her throat.

"Don't give me that look, Severus. I know that what Serenity just told me is not entirely the truth; and I'm perfectly aware that you know it wasn't. Maybe she explained most of what happened, but that little tale doesn't explain why the burn goes around her whole wrist, nor the reason her eyes went blank as she looked at you."

"The burn, Poppy, goes all the way around her wrist because it soaked through the sleeve of her robe. As for why she looked at me so blankly, I can only assume it has something to do with the fact that I mentioned her father and guardian on the way here. That's pure speculation, you realise; I have no wish to know what goes on in her mind."

I looked at the Mediwitch, sure she would not dare to ask another question. Surprisingly, I was wrong.

"And even with her injury, you will have her in detention tonight? Severus, you of all people should know how much pain that particular potion can cause. Especially when brewed incorrectly. It will be at least a week before she can touch her wrist without pain. You should be ashamed of yourself, Severus."

Pinching the bridge of my nose served two purposes: quelling both my irritation and the threatening headache.

"Poppy, this girl is not only a Gryffindor - a fact which disinclines me to give her leave of her deserving detention anyway - but she also happens to be the daughter of Sirius Black. The same Sirius Black who, if you remember correctly, almost got me killed in my fifth year by none other than her guardian!"

"Severus, I know exactly who Miss Black is; in case you have forgotten, I delivered her. You cannot blame Serenity or Remus Lupin for what happened in your fifth year. You've seen her every month when you deliver Remus' potions, and has she ever had so much as a scratch on her?"

Poppy was right, a fact which pained me to admit even to myself. There was always the possibility that he had slipped healing potions into her drinks, but I knew Lupin was far too honest too cover his mistakes that way.

"Now don't you go inventing conspiracy theories, Severus. Remus Lupin would no more put a healing potion in Serenity's drinks than you would let go of these schoolboy grudges of yours."

Poppy Pomfrey clearly had me worked out; we'd known each other too many years.

"Besides, who else would take her in? The Weasleys have too many people in their house as it is, and her other Godparents are dead. The only other relatives she has are the Malfoys - and we all know how she'd end up if she went to live with them! So tell me, Severus, who else is there? You?"

I gave her the full force of my glare, turned on my heel and strode from the room.

At exactly eight o'clock, Black knocked on my door. I looked up from the stack of essays I was marking and unlocked the door with a flick of my wand.

"Enter."

The door opened slowly and she stepped into the room, the door swinging shut behind her. She spun to face it, obviously startled; I smirked inwardly, pleased to see her uneasiness. I let her wait; finishing the essay I was currently marking, before looking up at her. She at least had the decency to look ashamed. I pointed at the desk directly in front of my own.

"Sit."

She followed the command, fidgeting slightly under my scrutiny. I gestured towards the board with my wand, and she followed my gaze, her eyes flickering over the sentence she was to copy.

"I will not tell first years that Professor Snape is the voice of God," she repeated. "Interesting."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "I'm glad you think so, Black, because you will be copying it one hundred times. Begin."

I went back to marking the essays before me, pausing every so often to award her a glare. Impudent girl, she really was so much like her father.