Harry Potter Classes Schedule Novels & Stories

My mom always said, "I've never played favorites. "You and your brother mean exactly the same to me." She said it so often I almost believed it. Growing up, anything my brother had, I had too. If he got a new pair of sneakers, so did I. If he signed up for coding classes, I was enrolled in the same ones. Even this year, when we came home for the holidays, my mom smiled as she handed each of us a neatly-packaged designer shopping bag. "I picked these out for you two at the store. One for each of you, exactly the same. "These outdoor brands are expensive, you know. A single jacket costs thousands. I'd never buy one for myself, but I don't mind splurging on you two." I took the jacket. It was well-cut, structured, and looked high-quality. A small warmth stirred in my chest. However, when I tried it on, the collar felt oddly irritating against my skin. Frowning, I pulled back the lining to check. There was a ring of yellowed sweat stains around the label, and tiny flakes of dandruff were caught in the Velcro. A faint musty smell lingered on the cloth, mixed with the stale odor of cheap tobacco. It was sour and impossible to ignore.

Brie Larson and Alex Arterra have always been bitter rivals since childhood. They grew up attending the same schools together, and with the brilliant Brie bumped up by three classes because she needs a little more challenge, their constant competition only fueled their hatred towards each other. It is made even worse by the fact that Alex bags the scholarship Brie had worked hard to get, even if he doesn't need it. Years later, their rivalry escalates to new levels of petty when they clash at a shareholders banquet after Alex takes the leadership of Arterra Co. and he finds that Brie had grown from the little, scared nerd to a fiery, beautiful woman. When Alex needs a fake girlfriend, Brie is the only woman who fits his criteria, and at first all she wants is a taste of the soft life, even if it means sharing it with the one person she has sworn to hate for life. Eventually, they fall in love with each other, despite their initial hatred. Unfortunately, their families' long-standing feud becomes a significant obstacle in their relationship. As their relationship deepens, they face a range of challenges from their families' disapproval to the pressures of their different backgrounds. A secret threatens to undo every thread that pulls the duo together, and it is only the beginning. Will they get their happy ever after?

Seven years ago... I was his stalker. Three years ago... I was his wife. Two years ago... I was his ex-wife. Since the day he left me, my life has never been the same. It seems like I gathered all life's misfortunes - my mother died from cancer, our family business went down, and my dad could not face the shame, so he killed himself, leaving me to take on the responsibilities of paying his debts. I have to work hard to make ends meet. I worked as a baker, a dance instructor, and an entertainer to pay the debts as well as to support myself. I was trying to be okay until he came back. He manipulated everything - owned the bakeshop where I worked as a baker, paid me to give him private dance classes, and made me agree to perform in private with him. Do you think that is already worse? Nah-uh! He paid my family's debt in the banks, so I am obliged to pay him based on his terms. I am Patricia Sandoval, sold to Stuart Cordoval - I am his personal assistant, private chef, personal dance instructor, exclusive entertainer, and on-call bedwarmer for my beloved ex-husband. This may sound absurd, but yes, I am sold to my ex-husband.

You shouldn’t be here, Fiona,” his deep voice rasped against her ear, his hand still pressed against the wall behind her. “Then tell me to leave,” she whispered, her lips trembling inches from his. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. And in that moment, she knew he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. Fiona Harry has lived her whole life in a golden cage of wealth, reputation, and suffocating rules. University was supposed to be her escape, her first taste of freedom. But nothing could prepare her for the moment she came face-to-face with Professor Jalen Hart, her father’s best friend. One reckless night changes everything. A drunken mistake turns into an irresistible obsession, pulling her deeper into Jalen’s forbidden world. But secrets don’t stay hidden forever. Between Jude, her possessive friend who knows too much, Marian, Jalen’s wicked wife, and the dangerous power of desire, Fiona is about to risk not only hers and her family’s reputation but her entire future. And what happens when the truth comes out especially to Marian?

He's sugar. She's spice. Together, they will never work. She has done the impossible. Working for the country's most difficult boss for seven years. Rosaline Carter's work life is fueled by her love for spicy food, a fat paycheck, and dreams of sending her brother to Harvard. She's sworn off love completely. Until that fateful monday morning. "I need a fiancée, Miss Carter. And I need one who at least knows my favourite brand of coffee." A contract marriage to her boss, the impossible and difficult Alaric Sylvester? Rosaline never even saw him as a man to begin with. But for five billion dollars? She would propose to Mr Ice king and plan the wedding alone. Alaric Sylvester hates his assistant. With her sensible shoes, horn rimmed glasses, and perfectly polite way of speaking, she never fails to get on his nerves. She's the last person he wants for a wife, or even a romantic figure. Yet she's the best option. No one knows his schedule by heart, or his love for sweets. It's just three years. And he'll never see her again. With his inheritance on the line, the board of directors hounding him for being too antisocial, and rumours starting to stir...he will do anything to save his reputation. Including marrying his cold hearted assistant. And with her hatred for sweets, he's sure he'll never like her. It's only a marriage agreement. The terms were simple. But simple doesn't always equal easy. And the human heart is a traitorous beast.

I was born with a one-track mind—I take everything seriously and do exactly as I'm told. When my adoptive father cursed a rival company, calling them bloodsucking vampires, I immediately went out, bought ten pounds of garlic and a crucifix, and stormed into their CEO's office to perform an exorcism. When my adoptive mother said she was willing to sell a kidney for the sake of the company, I contacted an underground black-market clinic on the spot and asked when they could schedule her surgery. Over time, no one dared joke casually around me anymore. Everyone in the family chose their words with extreme care, terrified I might take them at face value. That is, until the day of the family reunion banquet—when the fake heiress, who refused to leave no matter what, showed up as well. She hooked her arm through my brother's and flashed me a provocative smile. "Arista, Benji dotes on me the most," she said sweetly. "He said if anyone dares to make me unhappy, he'll chop them into pieces and dump them in the river to feed the fish." The banquet hall erupted in laughter. I was the only one whose face went deathly pale. The next second, I kicked my brother, Benji Collins, straight onto the dining table. I grabbed the silver steak knife and pressed it against his throat. "Everyone, stay calm," I announced loudly. "I've already called the police! For publicly advocating premeditated murder, desecration of a corpse, and antisocial personality tendencies… The minimum sentence is the death penalty!"

As the college entrance exams approached, I paid the top student in our class to tutor me. But the day she came over, she brought along her childhood sweetheart and insisted that he join our study sessions. I declined her request politely, and she did not press the matter further. The boy left my house in defeat and was struck by a car, suffering injuries so severe that they left him crippled. He could no longer continue his education and was forced to drop out, taking on grueling manual labor to survive. The girl continued tutoring me nonetheless. We both gained admission to the same university, grew close over time, fell in love, got married, and started a family. But on the night of our wedding anniversary, Sharon slipped poison into my soup and watched impassively as I began to convulse and vomit blood, the crimson stain spreading slowly across the floor. "This is what you owe Harry," she said with cold venom. "Taste what it's like to lose all hope." It turned out that she had harbored resentment toward me for all those years. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day she first came to my house with her friend.

The impostor took his own life the day I married Cathy Jones. By the second year of our marriage, we had turned against each other completely because of him. She despised me because my return had driven Zac Lowe to his death. And I despised her for longing after the man who had stolen my name for twenty years. For a decade, we hurled the cruelest words and wished death upon each other until the earthquake came. She shielded me under her body and used her back to bear the weight of the collapsing beam to keep me alive. The ceiling fell. Blood and debris blurred together. As her life slipped away, she whispered in my ear, “If I had known he would die, I would have never brought you home. “If there’s another life, your only family should be me.” In the end, I still died in the aftershock. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day she first took me to meet my biological parents. But she suddenly changed her mind. “Harry, I was wrong! You’re not the son the Lowe family lost twenty years ago.”

On our wedding anniversary, I canceled all my meetings and made a reservation at a restaurant. That evening, my wife, the renowned investigative journalist Amaya Shaw, called me. “Efim, I’m sorry! I just received a tip from a source. It’s urgent. “It involves inside information about a well-known company. I have to go verify it immediately!” But the next day, I saw that Javor Furey, the junior she had brought along, had posted a collage on his social media. The central photo showed Amaya wearing a childish birthday hat. Her head was pressed against Javor’s, as they made a wish together in front of a cake covered in candles. This was the caption. [Thanks, my dear Ms. Shaw! Even in the midst of her busy schedule chasing big stories, she remembered to give me this surprise birthday!] [Chasing big stories.] I stared at those three words. Then, I glanced at the limited-edition bag on our dining table. It was the one she had been raving about for half a year. It was the anniversary gift I had prepared for her. I felt absurd. I commented just two words under that post. [How touching.] Her call came in almost the second I hit send. She sounded furious. “Efim, do you have to be so sarcastic? “It’s just an anniversary. How old are you? Why are you still celebrating such childish anniversaries?” From our first year of marriage to the present, her “tip-offs from informants” and “special circumstances” always took precedence over our promises. This time, she could not even be bothered to come up with a plausible excuse. I did not say anything. I hung up and blocked her number. This marriage was over.

On the fifth year of my marriage with Stefano Calderone, his older brother, Don Giovanni Calderone, sacrificed himself to protect him during an ambush. When Stefano inherited Giovanni's position as the next Don, he also inherited Giovanni's widowed wife, Camilla Bianchi. Every night, after leaving Camilla's room, he'd embrace me and say, "Alessandro, you're my actual lover. Once Camilla gets pregnant, I'll register our marriage once again and ensure that you and our son will have proper positions in the Calderone family." For the next six months, he slept with Camilla 200 times in a row. At first, he'd only spend one night with her per week. But gradually, it shifted into a regular schedule of nightly visits in her room. After their 201st coupling, the news of Camilla being pregnant gets spread throughout the villa. Soon after, news of Stefano and Camilla getting married breaks out. My son, Niccolo Calderone, grips the hem of my clothes while asking me innocently, "Mommy, didn't Daddy tell us that he'd give us a home? Why is he marrying another woman, then?" I just ruffle his hair in return. "Daddy no longer belongs to us. But it's okay, Niccolo. Mommy will take you back to our real home." Stefano will never find out that I'm not as alone as he thinks in this world. The truth is, I'm the principessa of another powerful mafia family in Sirelia. I never wanted the position of the Calderones' Donna, to begin with.