The soul exists beyond death; it can transcend time, space and even the barriers of dimension. It is not bound to one form, or one race. In it is a power that can call out beyond the boundaries of what can and cannot be. Sometimes, a soul is awakened from its slumber, and it can impart lingering effects on its current incarnation.
A change in a past, one extra life included and with the right trigger, everything can change.
A Soul's Echoes.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co belong to JK Rowling. The concept is my own.
His heart hammered in his chest as he heard the racing shudder of his pulse pumping eagerly through his veins. Outside, through the thin barrier of the tent, he could hear the crowds; hear their jeers and cheers as they watched the drama unfold before them. He wondered, as he watched each of the three champions exit one by one, how they faired. How would they triumph or fail?
Shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts, he focused instead on that odd feeling thrumming inside of him since that night he'd followed Hagrid, the night he'd first laid eyes on those four, full-grown dragons. It echoed through him, pulling at his heart and something deeper that ran to his gut. It soothed him, and yet, filled him at times with a throbbing undertone of rage as he stood there alone and waiting for his time to come.
Finally, his turn came and as he stepped into the light the throbbing pulse in his veins began a sudden, raging torrent, pounding through him like a river of pulsing heat racing through his veins. As his eyes adjusted again to sudden intensity of daylight, he stared out across the stadium, watching the collared rage that was the Hungarian Horntail. All around him, he could hear the baying roar of the crowd, their hunger thickening the air, forcing its weight down onto his uneasy shoulders.
Wand clenched tightly in his fingers, he struggled for a moment fighting back against the pressure they threw down onto him. The cheers, the jeers, everything in between simply mingled together into a wave of indistinguishable white noise. Finally, almost snapping out of his trance, he raised his wand into the air, ready to unleash the spell he'd so recently pushed himself to master, only when his eyes rose up to finally meet the gaze of the creature before him, everything else suddenly melted away.
Those eyes bore into his own, twisting, piercing deep through the veil of his soul with a burning rage and hunger, wanting to consume, to devour him whole. Those eyes burned into him with a demand, a demand that he quiver in fear before her, for she was predator, and he was prey. A challenge that sank deep into that the dark, primal part of him recognized; recognized and fought back against.
The pressure in his veins was pushing harder and harder. Throbbing, pulsing now with an angry roar of his own as his eyes met the beast's, and a feral snarl curled over his lips. The growl that burned from his throat lost itself against the roaring din of the crowd, even as the dragon echoed back with her own. Then, the first step came, then another, and with each footfall, the pressure built, stronger, thicker in his veins.
Then, it exploded, that thick, pulsing pressure that built up so deep inside of him exploded outwards and silence fell across the arena as a wave of pure, paralyzing fear shot through the stadium. Blazing emerald eyes were suddenly flecked with gold, as his pupils shifted, turning into angry black slits as they bore into the dragon across from him. There were no thoughts running through his mind, no questions, nothing tangible, nothing concrete. Only wild, primal instinct filled where they would be, and guided his body to action.
As their eyes met, a the looming dragon and the boy fought a battle of strength and instinct. A test of Dominance. For a moment, a semblance of thought formed in Harry's mind. This lowly, bound creature thought it could test him? And with that, he roared in a voice that seemed to break the very air itself and glared back at the damned creature before him.
Suddenly the unfocused waves of fear that rolled off the boy bore down, focused into a channeled intensity straight into the creature before it. The golden flecks burned through the brilliant emerald hues of his eyes, consuming the vibrant color and leaving only the burning, metallic hue in its wake. Teeth, bared and savage, sharpened as his canines became almost fangs in his mouth. He hunched slightly forward, his posture defiant, challenging as his fingers curled back, nails lengthening, sharpening into claws as he took another step forward, then another.
It was against this change, this assault that the horntail faltered, her head dropping against the sheer presence of this Predator before her. Tail fallen limply behind her, she finally bowed her head, a slow, whining whimper escaping into the silent air as she stared back at the boy in a mix of fear and awe. Casting one last snarl of victory, the wild surging power inside of him slowly died down, the burning gold melting again into shining emerald as his fingers drew back into only the slightest hint of claws.
Still, traces lingered as he stalked forward, the awkwardness of adolescence gone, banished in favor of the flowing, tensed grace of a predator on the hunt. The hushed silence rang through the air as the boy quietly rose up through the nest, snagging the golden egg in his hands before studying it a moment. Behind him, the beast, the mother, gave a soft, pathetic little whimper of protest, her eyes widening, pleading back at the boy.
Without a word, he turned back, bounding quickly through the nest before he stood in front of the creature, without speaking a word as he ran on instinct. Its surface gleaming in the light, he held the egg up to the creature, letting her see it, letting her smell it. A confused whine escaped the dragon's throat, as he reached back, lightly running his fingers soothingly against her snout as she came to the simple realization that this egg was not her own and with a slight nod she ceased her protest.
Stroking the creature once more, he nodded his head, before he turned, and without a word, stalked away from the arena.
In his wake, the crowd sat in their seats, a stunned silence in the air. No one cheered, no one booed, no one even dared so much as breath as they watched with slack jawed amazement and fear. At the judges booth, even Albus Dumbledore stood frozen in the sudden storm of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. Finally, two reverent, terrified words left his lips. "Dragon fear."
-o-O-o-
Harry collapsed as soon as he was out of sight, his body shaking, trembling as he could feel the meager contents of his stomach threatening to expel themselves back out. A cold sweat had broken out across his skin, his breath coming in slow, deepening pants as he fell to his knees. Fingers dug down into the cool blades of grass as he trembled and shook where he was. Then, through everything else, the fear burst through.
"Merlin… What the bloody hell was that?" He continued to pant heavily as his eyes screwed shut, trying, desperately to sort through the muddy mess of sensations that defined the few minutes that had been his trial.
Glancing down, he looked at his fingers, and a slight sound of fear hissed past his lips. He wasn't sure, but they seemed longer, thicker than they had been before, the knuckles more pronounced, but that wasn't what drew his attention. Each of his nails, had thickened, lengthened slightly was a hue that looked a mix between the shiny metallic hues of gold, and the muted properties of rugged bone.
As a sudden flash of memory rose through him, he reached up, pushing those fingers into his mouth, and feeling against his teeth. Were his canines lower, sharper than they'd been before? He ran his tongue across them, and it felt, different, it roamed around his mouth with an ease he'd never known before.
Fear grew thicker in his veins as he could feel his heart, hammering there in his chest. It drove him to push himself up, his knees raised from the cool earth, before he would find himself again on his feet. The egg, clutched in his arms, he ran, practically flying across the ground, faster than he'd ever remembered moving before. Faster still as he raced into the almost completely vacant Hogwarts castle, desperate to find a mirror.
-o-o-o-
Glittering flecks of gold shone amid the gleaming pulse of emerald as Harry stared in disbelief into the gaze reflected back at him in the mirror. Golden flecks that had never been there before, running in small streaks along the lines of his irises down to his nose slit shaped pupils. Eyes now like a snake, or as a voice hissed angrily in the back of his mind, as a dragon should.
Shakily, his fingers descended down, gripping onto the polished porcelain of the sink as he couldn't help but let a slow shuddering break of frustration. "Merlin… What the bloody hell is happening to me this time?"
Twisting around, Harry could feel a shuddering growl erupting from his throat as his eyes burned across the bathroom until he caught sight of the wide eyes of a familiar, ghostly figure staring back at him. Hot, primal anger burned through his veins as he caught sight of the expression on her face, a mix of shock and fear as she hesitantly spoke up. "H-Harry..? Is… that you?"
Again, a growl rolled through his throat so easily he almost missed how it made his flesh rumble slowly before he forced it down. A slow, deep breath taken, he let his eyes fall closed, forcing himself to relax, to fight down the sudden onslaught of emotions that seemed so very much more potent than anything he'd felt before as he spoke. "Myrtle."
The word was almost tasted as it left his mouth, a slight undertone of uncertainty rippling through it as he again let his eyes slowly rise and open once more before he continued forcing his voice to calm, even tones. "Sorry, just… Been an eventful day."
"Hmph." The ghost crossed her arms about her chest as she quickly recovered from the bout of fear she'd felt earlier, staring down her nose at the boy as she floated slowly higher and higher into the air. "No one ever asks me how my day was. But then, no one wants to talk to Myrtle, no one even visits me, no matter how they say they will!"
A flash of guilt dug down into the boy's gut, even as he could feel that whisper, that hissing angry voice in the back of his mind roar up in response to the girl's words, another hot, sudden rush of fire burning into words that left his lips without thought of censor. "Then, maybe you shouldn't be such a self centered, whiny, manipulative little bint."
If she could've, the ghost would have blushed in outrage as she glared back at the boy, her eyes burning for a moment as she struggled to come up with a response to the boy's words, only to finally let out a wail and turn around suddenly flashing through the air as she vanished back down into the toilet with a splash.
For a moment, another stab of guilt dug through his veins, stronger this time as it throbbed back against the flare of anger that hung across his mind. Finally, he could feel himself slowly forcing his way free from the harsh veil of rage that seemed to pulse so easily through his veins. Rising up, so easily, so quickly, so hungrily in fact in a way he'd never experienced before.
With another, shuddering step he could feel how his fingers clenched back into his palms. The thick, almost claw like nails dug slightly into his skin with a small spike of pain that seemed to focus his eyes back onto the world before him. Shaking his head a moment, trying to clear it, he took a slow, deep breath before exhaling as he glanced around the bathroom once more before he turned and walked out, headed towards the Headmaster's office.
-o-o-o-
Albus Dumbledore couldn't quite decide how to describe what had occurred during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, when its most reluctant participant had taken to the stage. For a moment, it had seemed as if the boy had planed some sort of spell, his wand directed not towards the dragon herself, but towards the sky above him. He had at first thought perhaps the young Potter had planned to summon forth his broom, and draw forth the beast in a display of aerial skill. Then, everything had changed.
Something had happened to the boy, something frightening, something extraordinary. Some how, he had summoned forth what he'd only put together through a variety of obscure and brief allusions to the ancient wyrms of yore during his research into dragons with Nicolas Flammel. The frightening presence of those terrifying, now extinct creatures, said to have sent all but the most stalwart running in panicked fear should they dare have ventured too close.
Whispers had already begun to turn into rumors of the Boy-Who-Lived delving into the Dark Arts. Vultures had already started to pick at Harry since the announcement of his forced entry into the Tournament, and not for the first time he wished he could have simply refused to have the damned competition held. Shaking his head, the old man sighed, wearily as he slumped back into his chair and lightly caught his brow in his hand.
Why couldn't the poor boy simply be allowed to have a normal year, in peace and quiet, away from the growing madness of the world, he simply couldn't understand. A spout of anger welled in his chest, as he turned his head away, glancing for a moment towards the cabinet hanging above his pensieve and a coarse whisper left his lips. "He's just a boy! A child! Why? How could you place this burden on the shoulders of a child?!"
But, as always, no answers were given to him, leaving the old man to slump back into his chair and sigh once more, just before one of his devices informed him of the boy in question. Slowly taking a moment to calm himself, a quick flick of his wand opened up the entry to his office. As he listened to the quiet steps of Harry's footfalls as the boy made his way up the waiting stairs, before his eyes caught their first, up close sight of the boy.
He had changed, that much he was certain of. The boy stood slightly hunched forward, his body, moving with an awkwardness he didn't have before, as if suddenly his own body didn't fit him quite right. Thick, bone-like nails extended into the appearance of claws at his fingertips. Every little uncertain step, every motion, screamed out tension, fear, discomfort. Everything about him, as his gold flecked, emerald eyes darted around, catching everything in their slitted gaze, was a sudden melding of primal instinct and intelligence like he'd never seen before.
"Professor... What's happening to me?" Harry spoke up, his voice soft as he glanced up, meeting the twinkling eyes of the old man with a look of conflicting emotions as he lightly clenched his fingers back into fists. "I... What happened back at the stadium... And... I'm just so angry! I can't think straight! I can barely walk! Everything... It's all just different!"
"Harry..." For a moment, the man was at a loss, his eyes suddenly so dim, so weary as he slumped back into his chair. "Please... Have a seat."
"You know something." The words were half way between accusation and a bubbling hope, as he none the less, awkwardly made his way into the chair the Headmaster had pointed to, slumping back into it as his shoulders hit the back, slouching into place.
"What's happened to you... The theory has been around for centuries, perhaps even millennium. The actual proof..." A pause again, before the man let out a weary sigh. "It's been recorded, people garnering bits and pieces of lives not their own, and yet, their own. Lives they've lived long, long before their current ones."
"Re… Re something?" Harry forced his brows to furrow as he struggled to come up with the word for a concept he only vaguely recalled.
"Reincarnation." The word was spoken softly as Dumbledore turned his head, not quite able to meet the boy's gaze as he spoke the word. "Harry… do you know what you did against that dragon?"
"No, not really…" He paused a moment, brow still knitted together in thought as he struggled to answer the man. "I mean… I was about to cast the summoning charm for my Firebolt, then that dragon looked into my eyes. All of a sudden, I was just… so angry!"
His fingers clenched back into his palms, Harry bared his teeth in a snarl, the jagged glint of his sharpened canines shining noticeably against his gums. "It dared look down on me? To see me as prey? I reminded that mongrel of its place."
The flash of triumph in that feral grin sent a worried chill down Dumbledore's spine as he listened to the way the boy spoke as another pulse of fear seemed to roll off the boy as he sank into the memory. "Harry… what you did… you some how let loose something that absolutely terrified everyone in the entire arena. It was so thick, people were almost choking beneath it."
Suddenly snapping out of his recollection at the man's words, the boy's fingers relaxed as he withdrew his almost clawed fingers from his palm, before pausing a moment, his eyes catching sight of the drops of crimson liquid dripping off their tips. He stared at it. Something about it was scratching at the back of his mind, itching in his memories as he struggled to make sense of it.
"Harry?" The boy in question made no motion to answer him.
Frowning slightly, the Professor again spoke his name again. When he again offered no response, Dumbledore reached out and lightly touched the boy's shoulder. Instantly, Harry started, his eyes flicking up as his head twisted back towards Dumbledore and for a brief moment, the old man could visibly see the way the gold drained back into emerald as his pupils tightened back into slits.
"Wha…?" Harry stared up at the man, confusion written on his features, before slowly shaking his head, as if to clear the cobwebs out of it. "Sorry, Professor. Everything just…"
"Harry, do you understand how much trouble this is going to cause for you?" The words were chosen carefully as Dumbledore studied him over his half moon glasses.
"Trouble?" That seemed to take Harry aback as he looked up at Dumbledore in confusion.
He could only watch, with a kind of morbid marvel, at how quickly the boy seemed to shrink back down. Harry seemed so lost and confused. As he could feel the way his chest clenched, he nodded his head before speaking.
"Yes, Harry… What you did… That.. Presence you projected. It affected everyone in the stadium." The lull that followed lasted until the implications filtered into Harry's mind as he stared back at the man with growing eyes. "It terrified everyone there." Reluctantly, he offered an admission. "Including myself."
"But…" The boy's eyes widened again, even as something flickered across his gaze, his mouth opening to speak, though nothing more came past his lips.
"Though, as frightening as it was, it was also truly remarkable." Dumbledore trailed off, his eyes staring out into the distance before he spoke again. "Yes, truly remarkable. No wizard has felt that aura since before even Hogwarts herself was formed."
"I… don't follow you," Harry stated as he would look back at Dumbledore, "What did I do? What happened?"
"Dragon fear," Dumbledore stated softly, "A sense of presence held by the great dragons of old that would drive men to flee in terror before it. All but the most stalwart were said to be able to hold their wits before that onslaught. It has not been seen on this earth in over a thousand years. Not until today."
"But… I… I'm not a dragon…" Harry said in a halfhearted protest, the words made him his stomach twist to say them, as if he was saying some horrible lie about his entire life.
"Perhaps you were not born as such in this life, but…" Dumbledore gestured helplessly towards him, "But now? Do you truly wish to deny the mark they've left upon you?"
"I…" Harry glanced down at his hands, the claws still there sharp and stained with the blood they'd drawn from his skin.
"It cannot be easy," Dumbledore said gently, quietly as he stared back at Harry, watching the boy carefully.
"I'm… I'm just so angry, at everything," Harry said. "It's just so strong I don't know what to do. I want to lash out… No I want to strike them down. Those that would dare to raise their hands against me, that would treat me as something beneath them, to use me or…"
The words trailed off and he shook his head with an angry hiss, "I don't want to be this angry! How do I stop it?"
Dumbledore looked at him for a moment, speculatively and thoughtful before he spoke, "I can think of several possibilities. The best, and hardest, is Occlumency, mastering your own mind to the point where you can keep your emotions completely under control. I will start teaching you the exercises, but they are a long term solution, and will not likely to give you the relief you need now."
Not giving Harry a chance to protest or let the thoughts settle enough to grow into anger, he continued, "The second is to find a place for you to exhaust yourself, to crush and destroy until you are too tired to feel anger anymore. However, that would teach you simply to use destruction to release your anger.
"The last is for you to find something to do, something that takes up your focus that you can use to bleed off the excess energy until you are calm again," Dumbledore finished as he looked quietly at Harry. "Personally, I recommend the last for now, while working on the Occlumency exercises."
"I… What could I do?" Harry stated carefully as he let himself take a slow, deep breath, then let it out again as he stared back at Dumbledore, eyes almost seemingly glowing.
For a moment, Dumbledore stared hesitantly at Harry, before pulling out an unmarked leather bound book and offering to him, "As I'm only prohibited from giving aid in regards to the tournament, I think perhaps this would be of benefit to you."
Gingerly taking the book, he flipped it open and began to read through it before looking back up at Dumbledore, "…Runes?"
"Yes," Dumbledore agreed with a nod of his head, "Specifically, unlike most of what we teach here at Hogwarts, the runes based upon the ley lines. Also known as the dragon lines."
Harry stared at the book for a moment looking through the runes, specifically at the listed attributes and frowned, "… This is wrong."
"… Pardon?" Dumbledore asked with a slight blink of confusion.
"This rune… this isn't even half of what it can do, and what is there is misleading. This isn't the rune for fire. This is the rune for heat."
"… Truly?"
"Yes," Harry said, then frowned, "No… It's… the heat of the earth and life. It's used for heating things up, yes, but also for granting mobility, limited change."
Dumbledore did not ask Harry how he knew this, instead pulling out a leather journal and handing it to Harry, "Then, perhaps you might try to transcribe the things you see wrong and what you don't see in there? It might also help you come to terms with your… changes."
For a moment, Harry said nothing, before slowly he just nodded his head and took both, "Thank you, Headmaster."
"I shall inform the staff to be sure to avoid calling upon you or adding to your… frustrations," Dumbledore said quietly and looked at Harry, "I only ask that you do your best to keep your temper in check."
"… And Snape?" Harry asked with only a slight growl to his voice.
Dumbledore made no motion to correct the boy about his status as Harry's teacher and nodded his head, "I will speak to Severus. I simply implore you to do your best to keep your temper under control. I will do my best to mitigate the damage, but Dragon fear is not something easily explained."
"… They're going to call me Dark again, aren't they?" Harry stated with a half whisper.
"Who they say we are matters little compared to who we are and what we do. How you react to this will be more telling about who you are than anything else."
Uncertainly, Harry nodded his head, "I… Yes… sir."
The honorific audibly forced, as if his tongue was struggling against it, "Would you be willing to show me the steps for that… Occlumency?"
"Of course, Harry," Dumbledore stated with a nod and began his instruction.
-o-o-o-
It was sometime later that Harry made his way back through the halls, and almost immediately he changed his route from the regular corridors to every hidden passage he could recall from the Marauder's Map. Everyone was staring at him, watching him with looks of fear and worry. When they turned and flinched away from the sight of him had been bad enough, but he had seen a flash of Draco's familiar blond head, he had decided he didn't want to be called before the Wizengamut for attempted murder.
When he passed into the Gryffindor common room, he'd breathed a sigh of relief he had managed to avoid a confrontation on the way.
"Harry! There you are!"
Reflexively, his eyes flashed open and he sent an angry glare in the direction of the voice while a low growl left his throat. Upon seeing it was Hermione, he took a slow, deep breath, trying to clear his mind as he forced the anger down, before he looked at her again and stated in a controlled, agitated voice, "Hermione."
"Where have you been? We've been worried about you! You didn't even stay to see what your score was!" She either didn't notice the anger in his voice and glare, or she was purposely ignoring it. "Are you all right? What you did in the stadium… What happened to just summoning your broom? What was the spell you used? No one seems to know and I haven't been able to find anything about it!"
He took another slow deep breath, trying to maintain the way his temper frayed at the rush of conflicting questions, before he settled on the last, "It wasn't a spell."
"What're you talking about, Harry? Of course it was a spell, what else could it be?" Hermione asked as she stared back at Harry, looking at him as if were a slow child who couldn't grasp the obvious.
Slowly, Harry stalked up to her, his steps measured, and for those actually paying attention, spoke of barely leashed violence. Then, he was practically in her face as he growled his words out, "Hermione, look at me. I am not all right. What I did was not a spell. I don't even know how I did it. But I did. And now I look like this!"
Gesturing to his face, he revealed his clawed fingers and then glared at her again as she finally noticed the long slits of his eyes. Only, he wasn't in the mood to listen to her any more, "I'm going to dorm. I need to calm down."
And with that, he turned and walked away, heading up the stairs and to the room he shared with the other boys in his year.
Once there, he pulled out both the book Dumbledore had given him, and the blank journal and focused on reviewing and correcting what he found in the book, as well as every little bit of information that popped into his head following the trains of thought.
By the time the sun had fallen and night had come, he had exhausted himself by writing everything he could think of, and he was still barely a quarter of the way through the book. Shaking his head, he put away his quill and ink, then carried the books and the golden egg to his trunk, depositing them both before he crawled into bed. He had seen Ron look like he wanted to say something, only a flat glare had stilled the boy's tongue.
He had enough problems keeping his temper in check as it was, another fight with Ron would only make things worse.
-o-o-o-
The next morning found Harry up early and after a quick shower and dressing he had his books and supplies for the day ready and quickly exited to the common room. Only, he found it wasn't quite as empty as he had hoped it would be. Sitting there, lazily in a pair of chairs, Fred and George Weasley were looking at him.
"Harry," they said in unison before one of them continued, "We won't bother to ask if you're all right, you showed you're not particularly keen on that question last night."
"And we figured you didn't want to deal with everyone staring at you at meals for a bit." The second twin had picked up where the other twin had stopped, though, in a much more sedate and less annoying fashion than usual.
"So, we're going to show you were to find the kitchens. Sound good?"
Blinking for a moment, Harry then nodded his head slightly, not saying anything as he watched the pair, his fingers clenching warily on his book bag, as he proceeded to follow the twins down towards the Hufflepuff portion of the castle.
Stopping in front of a large painting of a fruit bowl, they made an exaggerated motion of tickling the pear which quickly transformed into a door knob. Opening up the door, they revealed a massive room filled with identical tables to the great hall and a great number of bustling house elves. One of those elves quickly appeared in front of the three boys.
"Yes? Can we help Messers Weasel-y?" it asked politely.
"Not us, Harry here would like breakfast and doesn't want to have to go to the great hall," one of the twins stated.
"Headmister Dumbley-door has told us. We be happy to feed Mister Harry Potter."
And in fact, Harry had more trouble getting the fretting elves to stop feeding him than getting them to, though it only took a firm word to get them to back off and refrain from forcing the issue. He spent some time working on his journal in a relatively quiet portion of the kitchen. Then, when it was time for class, he made his way to the Charms Class room, arriving at the last possible minute and taking an isolated seat away from most everyone else.
This didn't last, as Hermione had purposely picked up her things and moved into the seat next to him as class began.
Harry's quill lazily scratched down on the parchment as he kept his eyes purposely on the diminutive form of Professor Flitwick, thankful for the way the man's only reaction had been a slight, curious blink then a nod before he'd resumed his careful reviewing of his notes when he'd entered. The class had started off quickly enough, though Hermione kept sending him odd glances, trying to peer at his notes.
He could feel the tenuous hold he'd managed to keep on his temper begin to fray as she became increasingly blatant in her attempts. Finally, when Flitwick had turned his attention to help one of the other students, he almost slapped his quill down and hissed angrily at her. "Do you mind?! I'm trying to take notes."
At least she had the decency to blush when he said it. He didn't give her a chance to respond though, quickly turning his head back and continuing to move his quill on his parchment.
"Harry, what're you doing?" Hermione's voice was a hushed, insistent whisper.
"Writing he said in emphasis with a growling hiss of breath, as he continued to take the notes and put down his thoughts.
"Harry!" she hissed, fingers digging into his arm.
"What?!" he demanded, an angry growl burning out of his throat as his eyes finally turned upon her and he just snarled at her.
She flinched at his tone and expression, before firming her shoulders and looking back at him, "That's not English!"
Now, everyone was looking at them.
"Ms. Granger!" Flitwick cut in with a sharp voice, "5 points from Gryffindor! Leave Mr. Potter be!"
"But, Professor!" she immediately protested.
"And a detention on top of it," Flitwick stated firmly, "How someone chooses to write their notes does not matter as long as their official assignments are handed in, in English. Now, please stop disrupting class or I will add more detentions on top of it."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Hermione's mouth fell silent and she stared at the Charm's professor in shock. It also gave him a moment to look over his notes, and he found rather… different characters. The series of characters had sharp interconnected lines, only he found their meaning easily flowing through his mind as he read through them.
Tilting his head to the side, he considered the writing, but shrugging his shoulders and again resuming taking his notes, allowing the familiar script to take shape as he wrote.