Sound The Death Knell

Chapter 2
A Lesson On Theft

Lessons were easy.

Magic had always been an instinct, had never failed to respond when she called upon it. It was based upon intent, if she wanted something to happen badly enough, if she willed it then it would become so. It was as simple as that, Harry couldn't understand why any of the other children were struggling with such a concept.

Vexing, was how she'd describe the classes she attended so far. It was almost insufferable, having to sit around and listen to over privileged, spoilt children whine about not instantly accessing the powers they'd otherwise been too lazy to truly exercise before. It was like watching Dudley's failed attempts at physical education all over again, watching a person perform something that, had they not been taking absolutely everything in their life for granted before today and had thus never lifted a finger, should have come as naturally as breathing.

The pure-bloods and the half-bloods, hell, even the vast majority of the muggleborns seemed to have been sucked into the idea that it was the stick of wood within their grasp that performed the magic, that their only choice in the matter was what spell came out of the tip. Ideals so wrong that it almost physically pained Harry to listen as the professors regurgitated everything that had been impressed upon them from a young age.

Worst of all, no one would listen to her the single time she spoke up to voice her own findings regarding magic. The Gryffindors had been devastated to learn that she wasn't the brave and friendly heroine that their society had made her image into.

Betrayed, apparently. That's what Hermione said they were feeling anyway, but Harry couldn't really see how betrayal could come from a trust that was based upon false information in the first place. She had never entrusted them with her personality, with her beliefs and dreams, so Harry had no idea how they dared to feel cheated out of their golden girl.

Some of them muttered beneath their breath that she was a Ravenclaw -or worse, a Slytherin- in disguise. Yet outside of the fairy-tale tower it was all smiles, because while she may not have been what they'd expected, what they had wanted, she was still The-Girl-Who-Lived. A Gryffindor, and that was a point of pride apparently.

It was only Hermione, her only friend that she would trust and fight for through thick and thin, that listened to her words as the other Gryffindors laughed. It was only Hermione who had the patience to listen to her as she explained the difference between wizarding magic and what Harry lovingly referred to as 'true magic'. The wizards had it all wrong, food could be created because it was just a different molecular structure, rearranging the molecules until it formed the correct pattern and them forcing in energy, forcing in magic, to make the substance required.

As the only one to listen, it was only Hermione that shared in her academic success. It was only Hermione who came somewhat close to her in the rankings, and when the Gryffindor boys and girls came to her, begging for help, Harry turned her nose up at them in a mockery of their own expression days before. Once bitten twice shy didn't apply here.

It was once bitten forever suspecting.

Harry would never offer her help again, not when she'd reached out first and been attacked, if only through words, in return. The marks on her skin were the ones to speak of blind and trusting intentions, of running headfirst into dreams of the future without a clear understanding of all around her. She'd seen what that'd done to both Hermione and herself, watched Hermione break down and could remember the burning of her own tears as her heart tore itself apart in her chest.

She would never trust blindly again, and having witnessed the Gryffindors' true colours when she had failed to live up to their expectations. She would never seek them out of her own freewill.

.

There were some that annoyed her on a personal level more than others.

A red head boy had insisted she was his soulmate and if only she would speak to him to confirm it most certainly fell into this category. When Harry had told him to go crawl back under whatever rock housed him, his face had gone as red as his hair. The boy didn't seem to understand that she was in no way whatsoever his soul mate, that she couldn't possibly be and that declaring it for the world to hear would not suddenly make that statement correct.

The girls that both Hermione and she shared their dormitories with were no better. They blathered on about their own soul marks, cooing and giggling over the words that'd yet to be whispered to them. What was perhaps worse was that had her own words been anything else, Harry would have been right over there with them. Smiling and hoping childishly that her own Prince Charming was still on his way to come and fetch her.

The other houses are little better, though Harry feels that her favourites are perhaps a handful of Hufflepuffs. The loyalty was a key factor in that, she supposed. It was something she wished she could experience, having a soul mate that would never turn their backs upon her, friends that would stand by her forever.

Regardless, she had Hermione.

And Harry knew there were others rejected, others that had been thrown away so they formed their own relationships. They broke from the words or their skin and while it was never perfect, they were happy in those relationships. There had been an elderly couple down the street from Privet Drive, both of whom had lost their soul mate in the Second World War. They had found comfort and, eventually, love in each other.

So someday, in perhaps the most distant future, a future in which she could once again trust in humanity, Harry would find that out for herself.


It was during flying lessons that Harry found her second comrade. Neville Longbottom seemed pitiful in so many different ways. But the words on his arm that Harry had seen when the boy's wild magic fluctuated and loosened the charm covering the syntaxes, gave her an insight to the future. Harry had registered the words.

Neville's soul mate would ask for help regarding the Patronus charm. A tricky bit of magic if your name wasn't Harry Potter.

It was with some hesitancy that Harry allowed Neville to join both herself and Hermione, but she hadn't regretted as of yet. The boy was soft spoken, but beneath his gentle exterior lay a will of steel that was just waiting to be teased out.

Harry was not a bitter girl, not towards those who had done her no wrong. She hoped that Neville would find what had failed both Hermione and herself, that he would be truly happy with whatever young man or woman would speak those words on his skin. There had to be at least one of their trio that would go on to work well with those destined for them. The Patronus charm was light magic, so certainly Neville's intended was upon the same side the boy stood for.

Not like Hermione and Draco, who stood on opposing ends. Or like she, who'd never even gotten to think over her first meeting with her soulmate, because his first words were a murder attempt.

Regardless, her time at Hogwarts passed by slowly in some ways, and in others, it sped by. Harry became a legend of Gryffindor when she took down an invading troll during the Halloween feast before professor Quirrell could even alert the lot of them to its presence.

When asked what she was doing wondering the halls while the feast was in progress, Harry had been unable to help herself. She'd stared at them in complete incredulous amazement, unable to believe they had dared to voice such a question. In the tone of voice one would take whilst explaining to a particularly slow child, Harry had clearly stated that she felt no need to celebrate the day she was made an orphan. The day her soulmate tried to kill her.

Not that she spoke of the latter point, the first was enough for the staff's faces to whiten and allow their eyes to gleam with supposed sympathy.

Harry didn't care. None had come up to her and offered condolences for her dead parents.

All they'd done was celebrate the defeat of the Dark Lord. Celebrated the day that had ruined every aspect of Harry's life, leaving her with a wreckage and not even the building block to begin reconstructing her world.

Everything she had, she'd worked hard for, suffered for.

She wasn't deaf. She could hear the other students whispering how she was ungrateful, how she had everything she could ever want and didn't even both to be friendly with the rest of the lowly masses. She'd been place atop a pedestal, praised and worship with all her flaws and crack painted over. They saw a saviour, they didn't see the lonely orphan that'd been unloved by her only remaining family.

They didn't see the girl that had to crawl into bed knowing that there'd be no mother to tuck her in, no father to protect her from all the monsters the night brought.

They much preferred the perfection they'd built up from within the comfort of their own minds, and now they dared to be angry when she didn't fit their perfectly designed hero.

.

The year flew by fast, Harry ducking out of any social interactions that went beyond her friends. Hermione and Neville were hers now, and she would protect them as best she could.

She formed a tentative alliance with the Weasley twins, who hadn't so much as been interested in her title but more over what possibilities her abilities with magic opened up for them. Harry didn't have a problem working with the duo, especially after bargaining so that she would aid them in whatever misendeavours they had concocted in return to the secret of their success.

The Marauders Map.

It made sneaking around the castle so much easier, especially when she gained the invisibility cloak at Christmas.

Something hot and angry burned in her chest upon learning that someone had been holding on to this piece of her father, the only piece she had, and had only seen fit to return it as a Christmas gift. As if they were doing her a favour. She should have been given this years ago, it should not have been withheld from her.

Harry was vicious in her protection of the cloak, having bound Lavender Brown to the ceiling of the Great Hall when the girl dared to taunt her over it. So what if Harry slept with the cloak, imagining the fluid silvery material that wrapped around her form was in fact a paternal hug? The ditzy blonde shouldn't have shouted it out to the common room that she slept with a baby blanket.

Harry normally couldn't careless, but she'd heard whispers that some were planning to steal it, to rile her up. And that was unacceptable.

Luckily, the would be bullies understood the implications that came with Lavender's situation and left her well alone.

.

Now though, sat up the Gryffindor table as the end of term feast was held, Harry met Dumbledore's gaze fearlessly.

Under his weighty stare, she felt as if she'd failed some form of life defining test, like she had not only failed to jump through the required hoops but completely ignored the obstacle course all together. Something the aged headmaster clearly wasn't happy with.

Harry let her gaze drift towards the empty seat at the table, taking note of the distinct lack of Professor Quirrell. Apparently he'd attempted to steal something of grave important, but had been unable to crack the code before Dumbledore had arrived at the scene and forced the thief to flee. No word had been said on what the professor had been trying to steal, nor the motive behind his attempted theft.

Harry didn't like it, didn't like begin kept in the dark like this. She could make several guesses, astute guesses, but she had no surety. Hermione and Neville considered the case closed though, so Harry sought to not bring it up with either of her friends.

Instead, she concluded that it would be something she could work on over the summer. Having bought a three compartment trunk, one of those compartments containing what amounted to a small flat warded to the high heavens, the Gryffindor planned on experimenting with her magic and thoughts within it's safe walls over the holiday.

.

So it was with several questions in her mind and a fist sized red stone in the bottom of her trunk, that Harry Potter returned to Privet Drive for the next three months.


Shorter than I'd have liked, and for that I'm sorry. But we're onto year two now and I loads to write about there. I'm sorry this took so long, forgive me?

Tsmue

xxx