A Whole New Theory
By Cassandra
Disclaimer
The characters in this story (except for OC's they're mine ;.;) belong solely to J.K. Rowling, I am making NO profit off this work.
Prologue
Rose Marie Knight was always looked upon as a skilled witch. Talent and intelligence rolled off of her in waves. She had the flawless appearance of a powerful witch, both physically and mentally. Of course, it was all a façade.
It was only natural, especially for one so infatuated with appearance. It just wouldn't do to appear weak at a time such as this. In her book, it was just as much a sin as wearing plaid on Sundays. Simply unthinkable.
'Lying never pays.' Her mother had told her, but she wasn't really lying, was she? Telling a few stories never hurt anyone, except perhaps Lockhart. He, however, was far out of style. Smiling too much is almost as bad as appearing weak.
Having people look up to you for things you didn't do could be difficult, but all exhaustion could be dismissed as the price for being 'in'. Besides, no one would ever seriously take an interest in her little white lies. It's not like she was going public. It's not like being talented would single her out, right? Besides, appearance really was her 'thing', not magic.
Upon being abducted, many many thoughts ran through Rose Marie Knight's head. Many thoughts and many questions that simply could not be answered.
Her first thought upon awakening in an unfamiliar place was: It's not 'in' to stun someone while they are at unawares.
Her second though upon being interrogated about her lies was: It wouldn't do to not set a good example for the fashion perpetrators; therefore, her lies stood firm.
Her third thought upon feeling her magic drain little by little out of her body was: I guess lying doesn't pay after all.
Her fourth thought upon listening to the cold, cruel laughter of one she thought could only exist in child horror stories was: I'm not even dying in a fashionable way.
Opinions differ, of course, but none can deny that Rose Marie Knight died in a very suitable way to her character. The scene itself wasn't very 'fashionable', but few ever actually saw it.
I think, however, that when it all came down, it really wasn't her 'thing' to lie bloody and broken on a cold stone floor, not an ounce of magic left within her empty green eyes.
'-;-'
Kendrix Micheal Gregor was an extremely talented musician. Whatever magic existed in him could be found in every piece of music he had ever written. He could mold notes and sounds, beats and measures, until a perfect composition could be heard.
In his home was a collection of different pieces of music, a lot of it written by he himself, and the rest by his favorite composers. Bach, Mozart, Tchiakovsky, even now a piece by William Henry Monk was drifting through his home. 'Abide With Me'. Simply beautiful.
He was an honest man, if not a little on the odd side. He was good-humored, well natured, and extremely quiet. If the man had any special magical talents, he kept them well to himself. There was no reason to show off ones powers, not when there was music to be written.
When a great cacophony of contrasting sounds filled the old man's home, he knew immediately something was seriously wrong. He didn't think about fashion, or style, he thought of safety. He thought of using what he had for protection, and not for music.
He put up a good fight none can argue that. The light from different spells could be seen miles away. The noise was unbearable, but the old man neither saw nor heard anything. He knew what had to be done.
However, knowledge alone is not enough. Kendrix Micheal Gregor failed, not horribly, but he failed. His thoughts were true, but his wand was not. In the end, perhaps music was his only true unbeatable skill.
Everyone saw the scene. The whole wizarding community knew what it looked like when the Aurors walked into the old man's home. None, however, could describe how it felt. None better than the Aurors themselves.
The house was a shambles. Amidst the rubble of fallen bookcases and shattered lamps lay a tattered note, the scrawling script reminiscent of a Dark Lord who lived not to long ago. The note read 'There are none worthy.' And was signed by no one.
In the back room, amidst scattered pages of music, lay Kendrix himself. 'Abide With Me' rang softly through the air, what an honor it was to die with music. However, upon listening to some of his own compositions, trying to decide which piece to play at his funeral, they discovered the magic was gone from the notes.
Two very different people they were, though not quite so different at all. Perhaps there was still much to fear in the wizarding world.
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A/N- So I saw this as totally different, but I think that's my punishment. XD
Contract-I, the author, am absolutely terrible at chapter fics; therefore, I am henceforth relieved of my duties of 1) Plot 2)Continuity and 3) Updating on a regular basis. Signed-Cassie.
Ok, there's a reason why I don't do chapter fics, but this was just. . .nagging at me. Yes, I'll continue. And I swear I'll do my best not to run out. I've got this one a little more planned than my others. Please give me feedback, tell me where I messed up and how I can improve. I'll do my best.