The author is trying something new in their off-time.
Premise: Magic works on songs and dance...
Premise: Magic works on songs and dance...
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Harry Potter and the Dancing Diggities - HP Fanfiction (Completed)
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Prologue
zellat451
Learning a foreign language with NF - Happy
- Joined
- Jul 23, 2018
- Messages
- 27
- Likes received
- 263
The author is trying something new in their off-time.
Premise: Magic works on songs and dance. The heck are wands?
Disclaimer: the author obviously doesn't own the Harry Potter series
Also, the author is learning how to post. Please be patient with them.
Chapter 0 - Prologue
Godric's Hollow, Halloween 1981
James Potter POV
Something was wrong.
James knew that a bit of paranoia was to be expected. He had been fighting in this war for slightly over 3 years… Officially that is. After the repeated raids with his Auror Troupe, the Death Eaters' ambushes, the deaths…
Something was wrong.
He has tried, so hard, to not kill anyone. That went against the very precepts of magic, after all. To simply erase a song like that, to stop a dance forever… But trying simply isn't enough sometimes. Not when fighting monsters, not when he sent his men all over the isles.
Something was wrong.
Paranoia is a heavy feeling, stress simply adds onto that, and the reality of your situation is the last kick in the teeth down the path of mental illness. He didn't see the shadows move as often, these days, but he did sometimes. But Peter was in hiding. But Sirius was attracting attention somewhere north. But Lily was upstairs. But Harry was upstairs with her. But Dumbledore came up with the plan. But the Fidelius was safe.
But SoMetHing was WrOng.
He wasn't sure what, but the beat of magic was pounding at him, causing his heart to reciprocate. He thumbed the wooden necklace, his magical focus, slowly, preparing for-
*Frsshh* *Frsshh* *Hmmmmmmm…*
-that. He knew now. He didn't want to believe it. What had happened to Peter? The Fidelius was safe… But not the Secret Keeper. What had happened to Peter? Why was he approaching?
The humming among the footsteps beyond the door, slowly dragging along the gravel of the path was unmistakable. Someone was preparing a chorus, someone- a lot of someones, were dancing in unison, and the magic in the air was starting to sing.
This could only mean one thing. They were here.
The Dread Lord Voldemort, and his Troupe, the Death Eaters.
Voldemort POV
Finally, he was here. Finally, things were approaching their end. Finally, he would affirm his place and power as the Greatest Wizard in the World!
The information that rat had provided, the Secret, was now known to him and his minions. How amusing, that they would choose the one coward he had taken a hold of within their ranks.
Not that it truly mattered. He would have gotten the information regardless.
He glanced to his sides, observing his Death Eaters slowly dragging their feet from side to side in semi-arcs, drawing the shape on the ground below. He felt them hum in unison, the vibration reverberating in his magic as he took his placement as head of the Troupe, and as one, they moved. Their bright pink robes were swaying in the pinkish wind, in the magic they produced, as the Dark marched forward, ever so slowly
As they approached the Potter home, the power grew with every step, projecting the music of his will, and announcing their arrival to the preys inside. They would scramble in fear, perhaps trying to put up a resistance, but who could approach the combined power of over ten wizards under his direction, his will, moved in perfect synchronicity under the lead of his Dark Mark?
A futile endeavour.
A sadistic and content smile stretched his lips as he welcomed the flow within him, torn out of a people broken under his might. He heard a shout inside.
"Lily! They're here! Take Harry and go!"
Ah, James Potter. The pain in his backside. The warrior of the Light. The father to a child fated to defeat him. The greatest dancer on the floors of Hogwarts in the last century, they said. Disdain appeared on his face. Who could be greater than the Dread Lord Voldemort?
'Who would dare to even entertain such a thought?'
With a snarl, he thumbed his ring. Yew, phoenix feather core, the very same creature carved on the outside, destined to do great things.
And great things, Voldermort did.
He pushed at the magic, his hips swaying slowly from side to side, his own voice picking up the humming of his followers, as vocals were slowly but surely added and arms went slowly upwards, building the magic to even greater heights. A shapeless force shattered the entrance to the Potter home, revealing a determined-looking James Potter, stomping on the ground and beating on his chest rhythmically.
For all the good it did him.
The prey suddenly jerked his arms behind his head, and thrust his whole body forward with a "HAH!", launching a jet of red light from his plexus towards the greatest threat- him. It barely made it within a foot of his greatness before disappearing, crushed under the combined magic of his Death Eater Troupe.
He retaliated by bringing his arms down and forward with a feral smile, his minions following him with perfect synchronicity. The resulting wave of green took Potter's life before he could repent on his mistake of challenging the Dread Lord Voldemort, of all beings, to a Wizard's Throwdown.
And that was that.
Switching style, the Troupe began rhythmically stomping on the ground as they voiced wordless, animalistic vocals as accompaniment. A much more effective way to move within a house and climb up stairs while preparing a magical assault.
And up he went, to the nursery, prepared to finally end this. The war, the resistance, the potential threat to his greatness.
The child. Harry Potter.
He saw her first. The Mudblood, the greatest witch of her age, Severus' paramour, muttering and chanting quickly under her breath, covering a crib from his view. Well then, he could be a merciful lord, and Severus was ever so useful. An attempt couldn't hurt.
"Move aside, woman. I am only here for the child." he warned, still stomping along with the Death Eaters behind him, hands on his hips, ready to end this now. He still spent a bit of magic to make sure they could hear each other over the animalistic shouting his followers were doing.
"No! Not him, not Harry! Just take my life and go!" she interrupted her chant in the last verses, notes of panic and fear in her voice. As was only a proper reaction to him.
Oh, well. He tried.
He bent backwards, then fluidly threw his whole body forward while crouching, arms coming in a cross in front of his body. His Death Eater followed, their voice hoarse from the previous effort. Slashing his arms apart, the Killing Rave moved once more, taking the redhead's life for good.
A child's cry resounded in the room, as the Dread Lord Voldemort slowly got up and stepped forward, over the woman's corpse, and towards the source of all this. Harry Potter. The Chosen One. Hah!
Spending the entirety of the remains of the power he produced on the way here, his threw a hand forward, snapping his fingers in a quick rhythm, intent on killing the child, and-
What.
WhAt wAs haPpeNing?
???, ??? 1981
The days following halloween of 1981 were rife with excitement and tears alike, all over the Wizarding World of the British Isles.
The Dread Lord Voldemort was dead. He has tried to kill a child, and instead only succeeded in instantly killing the ten death eaters who went with him that night, as well as destroying himself.
The Potters were dead, all but one. A tragic fate indeed. But the Dread Lord was dead as well, his body nowhere to be found, his dreaded ring no doubt destroyed along with him. The main force of his Death Eaters was destroyed, by his own doing, and the remaining ones were made quick work of by the combined forces of the Auror Troupe and the Order of the Phoenix, under Dumbledore's lead.
Gone were Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband Rodolfus, as well as Mulcibert and quite a few others.
Sirius Black was found out at last, and thrown into Azkaban on charges of being a Death Eater, murdering a dozen muggles in plain sight, and daring to sell out the man who once called him his best friend, while poor Peter Pettigrew died fighting him, trying to get answers.
As for Harry Potter, the child who vanquished the Dread Lord, the babe with the music-note scar on his forehead, the Boy-Who-Lived, he was taken to safety. Far, far from the hands of those who would do him harm, not to be seen again until he turned eleven.
'Or at least', thought Albus, grimly 'not in the magical part of this world'.
"VERNON! THERE'S A BLOODY CHILD ON OUR DOORSTEP!!"
"WHAT?!"
And that's that.
Additional disclaimer: the author is trying a thing. Do not expect updates, savor them.
Premise: Magic works on songs and dance. The heck are wands?
Disclaimer: the author obviously doesn't own the Harry Potter series
Also, the author is learning how to post. Please be patient with them.
Chapter 0 - Prologue
Godric's Hollow, Halloween 1981
James Potter POV
Something was wrong.
James knew that a bit of paranoia was to be expected. He had been fighting in this war for slightly over 3 years… Officially that is. After the repeated raids with his Auror Troupe, the Death Eaters' ambushes, the deaths…
Something was wrong.
He has tried, so hard, to not kill anyone. That went against the very precepts of magic, after all. To simply erase a song like that, to stop a dance forever… But trying simply isn't enough sometimes. Not when fighting monsters, not when he sent his men all over the isles.
Something was wrong.
Paranoia is a heavy feeling, stress simply adds onto that, and the reality of your situation is the last kick in the teeth down the path of mental illness. He didn't see the shadows move as often, these days, but he did sometimes. But Peter was in hiding. But Sirius was attracting attention somewhere north. But Lily was upstairs. But Harry was upstairs with her. But Dumbledore came up with the plan. But the Fidelius was safe.
But SoMetHing was WrOng.
He wasn't sure what, but the beat of magic was pounding at him, causing his heart to reciprocate. He thumbed the wooden necklace, his magical focus, slowly, preparing for-
*Frsshh* *Frsshh* *Hmmmmmmm…*
-that. He knew now. He didn't want to believe it. What had happened to Peter? The Fidelius was safe… But not the Secret Keeper. What had happened to Peter? Why was he approaching?
The humming among the footsteps beyond the door, slowly dragging along the gravel of the path was unmistakable. Someone was preparing a chorus, someone- a lot of someones, were dancing in unison, and the magic in the air was starting to sing.
This could only mean one thing. They were here.
The Dread Lord Voldemort, and his Troupe, the Death Eaters.
Voldemort POV
Finally, he was here. Finally, things were approaching their end. Finally, he would affirm his place and power as the Greatest Wizard in the World!
The information that rat had provided, the Secret, was now known to him and his minions. How amusing, that they would choose the one coward he had taken a hold of within their ranks.
Not that it truly mattered. He would have gotten the information regardless.
He glanced to his sides, observing his Death Eaters slowly dragging their feet from side to side in semi-arcs, drawing the shape on the ground below. He felt them hum in unison, the vibration reverberating in his magic as he took his placement as head of the Troupe, and as one, they moved. Their bright pink robes were swaying in the pinkish wind, in the magic they produced, as the Dark marched forward, ever so slowly
As they approached the Potter home, the power grew with every step, projecting the music of his will, and announcing their arrival to the preys inside. They would scramble in fear, perhaps trying to put up a resistance, but who could approach the combined power of over ten wizards under his direction, his will, moved in perfect synchronicity under the lead of his Dark Mark?
A futile endeavour.
A sadistic and content smile stretched his lips as he welcomed the flow within him, torn out of a people broken under his might. He heard a shout inside.
"Lily! They're here! Take Harry and go!"
Ah, James Potter. The pain in his backside. The warrior of the Light. The father to a child fated to defeat him. The greatest dancer on the floors of Hogwarts in the last century, they said. Disdain appeared on his face. Who could be greater than the Dread Lord Voldemort?
'Who would dare to even entertain such a thought?'
With a snarl, he thumbed his ring. Yew, phoenix feather core, the very same creature carved on the outside, destined to do great things.
And great things, Voldermort did.
He pushed at the magic, his hips swaying slowly from side to side, his own voice picking up the humming of his followers, as vocals were slowly but surely added and arms went slowly upwards, building the magic to even greater heights. A shapeless force shattered the entrance to the Potter home, revealing a determined-looking James Potter, stomping on the ground and beating on his chest rhythmically.
For all the good it did him.
The prey suddenly jerked his arms behind his head, and thrust his whole body forward with a "HAH!", launching a jet of red light from his plexus towards the greatest threat- him. It barely made it within a foot of his greatness before disappearing, crushed under the combined magic of his Death Eater Troupe.
He retaliated by bringing his arms down and forward with a feral smile, his minions following him with perfect synchronicity. The resulting wave of green took Potter's life before he could repent on his mistake of challenging the Dread Lord Voldemort, of all beings, to a Wizard's Throwdown.
And that was that.
Switching style, the Troupe began rhythmically stomping on the ground as they voiced wordless, animalistic vocals as accompaniment. A much more effective way to move within a house and climb up stairs while preparing a magical assault.
And up he went, to the nursery, prepared to finally end this. The war, the resistance, the potential threat to his greatness.
The child. Harry Potter.
He saw her first. The Mudblood, the greatest witch of her age, Severus' paramour, muttering and chanting quickly under her breath, covering a crib from his view. Well then, he could be a merciful lord, and Severus was ever so useful. An attempt couldn't hurt.
"Move aside, woman. I am only here for the child." he warned, still stomping along with the Death Eaters behind him, hands on his hips, ready to end this now. He still spent a bit of magic to make sure they could hear each other over the animalistic shouting his followers were doing.
"No! Not him, not Harry! Just take my life and go!" she interrupted her chant in the last verses, notes of panic and fear in her voice. As was only a proper reaction to him.
Oh, well. He tried.
He bent backwards, then fluidly threw his whole body forward while crouching, arms coming in a cross in front of his body. His Death Eater followed, their voice hoarse from the previous effort. Slashing his arms apart, the Killing Rave moved once more, taking the redhead's life for good.
A child's cry resounded in the room, as the Dread Lord Voldemort slowly got up and stepped forward, over the woman's corpse, and towards the source of all this. Harry Potter. The Chosen One. Hah!
Spending the entirety of the remains of the power he produced on the way here, his threw a hand forward, snapping his fingers in a quick rhythm, intent on killing the child, and-
What.
WhAt wAs haPpeNing?
???, ??? 1981
The days following halloween of 1981 were rife with excitement and tears alike, all over the Wizarding World of the British Isles.
The Dread Lord Voldemort was dead. He has tried to kill a child, and instead only succeeded in instantly killing the ten death eaters who went with him that night, as well as destroying himself.
The Potters were dead, all but one. A tragic fate indeed. But the Dread Lord was dead as well, his body nowhere to be found, his dreaded ring no doubt destroyed along with him. The main force of his Death Eaters was destroyed, by his own doing, and the remaining ones were made quick work of by the combined forces of the Auror Troupe and the Order of the Phoenix, under Dumbledore's lead.
Gone were Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband Rodolfus, as well as Mulcibert and quite a few others.
Sirius Black was found out at last, and thrown into Azkaban on charges of being a Death Eater, murdering a dozen muggles in plain sight, and daring to sell out the man who once called him his best friend, while poor Peter Pettigrew died fighting him, trying to get answers.
As for Harry Potter, the child who vanquished the Dread Lord, the babe with the music-note scar on his forehead, the Boy-Who-Lived, he was taken to safety. Far, far from the hands of those who would do him harm, not to be seen again until he turned eleven.
'Or at least', thought Albus, grimly 'not in the magical part of this world'.
"VERNON! THERE'S A BLOODY CHILD ON OUR DOORSTEP!!"
"WHAT?!"
And that's that.
Additional disclaimer: the author is trying a thing. Do not expect updates, savor them.
Last edited:
Chapter 1 - The Dancing Giant
zellat451
Learning a foreign language with NF - Happy
- Joined
- Jul 23, 2018
- Messages
- 27
- Likes received
- 263
Chapter 1 - The Dancing Giant
4th, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, June 23rd, 1991
Petunia Dursley POV
Life was anything but normal in the Dursley household.
It all started on that blasted November night. Who leaves a baby on a doorstep during a cold night in Britain?! And with only a letter as an explanation at that?!
The freaks, that's who!
And of course they couldn't just send the child to an orphanage, because blah blah "magic shield" wobbly doodly "I'll tell everyone you're the kid's family and they will all come after you" doodly doo. Bloody Dumbledore!
It wouldn't have been so bad, really… If that thing was actually a child!
Seriously, a child crying? That's fine, he probably needs his diapers changed like her sweet Dudders. But a child suddenly gaining a voice with the hoarseness and loudness to rival a professional rocker out of nowhere and making objects float?
That. That is not normal. Nor something she can deal with.
And it didn't stop at that either! A child getting angry and stomping on the ground? Fine. Her Dudders did that too, sometimes, strong boy that he is. But a child suddenly breakdancing in the middle of the room, changing the colors of her beautiful walls, that she painted herself, that is not normal!
Bloody freakish child. So much like her sister. And that worthless tosser she called a husband.
Ah, well. No time to think of the freak and his freak family. After all, today is a special day for her Duddykins~
The sound of someone quickly and excitedly descending the staircase snapped her awake immediately, and brought a slight smile to her face. She got up from her bed, slightly shaking her dear husband awake in the process, and proceeded to slowly dress herself and go down the stairs.
Oh, she could already hear it. The freak's humming, at this hour, probably shaking his hips or twirling around as if he was in some kind of circu- No. No. No freak thoughts for today. Because today is a nice day. Her sweet Dudder's birthday.
She entered the dining room, glaring at the kitchen's entrance where the brainless child's music was coming from, before ignoring it and focusing on the boy of the hour.
"Good morning Duddykins~" she smiled.
"Hi mom! It's my birthday! It's my birthday It's my birthday!" her cute son replied excitedly, focusing immediately on the heart of the matter. Oh, how he took after his father!
Speaking of which, Vernon arrived as well, kissing her a good morning before gathering his little gentleman's attention, taking a seat at the table. Her nephew took that moment to bring their breakfast, quietly. He knew to stay quiet around them by now.
Breakfast was a quiet and quick affair, as her little boy was so excited to start opening his presents. Thirty-six of them in all, which he quickly took note of as being one less than the previous year.
Ah, well. She supposed a trip to the zoo would be a great way of spending her son's birthday.
…Now wait a second, wasn't Mrs Figg unable to care for children today?
Harry Potter POV
Harry Potter was a freak. He knew that. His aunt, uncle, and cousin made sure to remind him multiple times a day.
But more than that, he knew what it meant to be one.
He knew that it wasn't normal to hear this constant, ever-changing song everywhere. He knew that the beating drums were only in his head. He knew that it wasn't normal to suddenly feel like throwing his body around, moving and twisting and jerking along with the unheard beat, the movements appearing in his mind and his muscles flowing along like water.
He knew that it wasn't normal for a song and dance to change things.
That one time his teacher mocked him in class, he felt embarrassed enough that the urge to open his mouth overtook him. And so he did. His vocal range was quite impressive for a child, truth be told, but the teacher certainly did not think the same of his impromptu song, nor of her new, inexplicably blue hair color.
And that time Dudley and his friends chased him across the street, he felt so scared that he gave into the urge to move his body as the song in his mind told him to. He probably looked quite silly, jerking his knees up to his chest as he ran, throwing his arms around from side to side, but it didn't seem to matter overly much considering that he suddenly found himself on a rooftop shortly after.
Perhaps it was the scar? Perhaps it was just him, Harry? Regardless, something was wrong with him, this much was certain. He knew what it meant to be a freak.
"Boy." said a serious voice in front of him.
Right, perhaps he should be paying attention. "Yes uncle Vernon?".
"We are going to the zoo for Dudley's birthday. Since that woman Figg can't take care of you for today, we are forced to bring you along. So, I want to make sure that you understand something." he stated seriously, leaning forwards ever so slightly.
"There will be no freakishness while we are out there. You will say nothing, do nothing, and stay out of the way. Do I make myself clear?" he growled out the last bit of his sentence.
Harry really didn't like to be on the receiving end of that tone.
"Yes, uncle Vernon." he answered in a low voice, eager to be done with this… Conversation?
"Good."
And that was that. He went into the car, half listening to his cousin's excited shouts, half enjoying the ever-present song in his mind and basking into its peacefulness, right up until they reached the zoo.
The zoo was actually interesting. Ignoring his cousin's zipping around and exclamations, each animal actually breathed along with nature, with the song in his head, forming a never-heard before symphony in perfect harmony, though a rather quiet one.
His search for the best tones and tunes led him to a glass pane, a snake trapped behind. After his cousin's fruitless banging on the glass, he stayed there to enjoy the company, and the strangely soothing music. Was that what a grass whistle sounded like?
"Sorry about him," he said quietly, "he doesn't understand what it's like. Laying there, day after day, trying to enjoy the music while wankers shove their ugly faces in front of you…"
He trailed off at the movement, the snake nodding as if to acknowledge him, and sharing his pain, before flicking its tongue out in a strangely melodious whistle.
He didn't need to ask. He knew. The song told him. The snake understood Harry, Harry understood the snake.
'Could the snake be a freak, too?'
He wouldn't hold that thought for long, as Dudley barreled in, screaming about the moving reptile, and shoving Harry down on the floor.
It had been a while since he had encountered something like him. It had been a while since he had felt such frustration. And so, anger took hold of Harry as he thumped his hands rhythmically upon his thighs and whistled away, following the world's lead, and joined by the snake.
The glass barrier suddenly disappeared, causing Dudley to fall right in, and letting the snake out. Harry didn't feel any of the resulting panic, he knew the snake, and the snake knew him.
They stared at each other for a second, sharing a harmonious whistle.
"Good luck out there." he said, receiving what he was quite certain was a "Thanksssss" in return. And so finished today's strange events.
He really wasn't eager for what would follow.
Aaaaand, as expected. Uncle Vernon got upset, he got locked into his cupboard for "blatant freakishness" (was that even a thing?) without dinner, and tried to simply go to sleep. But he couldn't.
It had been the first time in forever since he had felt in a world that would accept him, at home, when he met that snake in that animalistic, natural symphony. He couldn't simply move along and continue on with this day. Or, well, night.
No, Harry was thinking. Thinking and hoping, and slowly came to dream, as a new chapter opened on his story.
Letters. Or well, a letter. For him, that is. Not that there weren't others, so letters was appropriate, but a letter was-
In other words, someone sent a letter to Harry. And Harry really didn't know how to deal with that. The wax seal on it was both very telling, and extremely confusing. A golden harp, containing a colorful emblem in four parts, each part containing an emblem of its own.
A disco ball in shades of pink, red, and white, shooting golden rays of light over a red background. A black pipe organ with stylized music notes over a yellow background. Silver theater masks, on laughing, one crying, one scowling, over an emerald green background. And finally, over a deep blue background, were…Were those bronze water droplets and waves?
Staring at the letter, and slowly making his way to the dining room, Harry eventually lost track of his already confused thoughts when, surprise, Dudley stole his letter and passed it along to uncle Vernon.
Who then proceeded to imitate a stick of white chalk, along with aunt Petunia.
Well well well, wasn't that interesting.
Still disappointed at the loss of the letter and the unanswered mystery, and wondering if directing that much blood away from your head at once could cause health issues, Harry skipped along to his chores, humming along with the world, using his belly as a drum, thoughts spinning away.
???, July 30th, 1991
This was actually proving to be very amusing. For some reason, his relatives decided to move, and move, and keep moving, fleeing the invasion from the hundreds of letters Harry must have been delivered by now. Perhaps freaks like him were involved? He'd only ever seen his relatives react so badly whenever they were brought up. Them and magic.
All of the Dursley household was now holed up in a lighthouse, in the middle of who-knows-where, and Harry was trying to sleep away the night on the cold, hard piece of floor he'd been given as a bedding.
Or, well, not just yet. After all, it was the night of July 30th, approaching midnight, which meant… He glanced at the clock on the wall, its ticking sound starting a beat in his mind as a specific song started up, synchronizing to it.
*Tick* Three, *Tick* two, *Tick* one…
*Dong* *Dong* 'Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to m-' *Dong* *Do- BOOM*
Harry shot up from the floor, along with everyone else, at the sound of the resounding and clear banging on the door. If someone was banging with a hammerhead, that is.
His uncle started reaching for the firearm they were given as protection, as aunt Petunia and Dudley huddled up behind his large frame, but Harry himself was not worried, because he knew.
The Beat of the World resounded from beyond the door, entirely separate from the banging on it, the Song of whatever was behind reaching up and intertwining with his with each resonating wave. It spoke of strength, but gentleness. It sang of greatness, and simplicity. It danced on loyalty and with kindness, and Harry felt his foot tapping along, desperately wishing to join in.
It was the song of someone like him. The song of a freak.
And said freak burst through the door, bounding into the room, his legs a perfect split. His gigantic and large frame landed near the fireplace, crouching, before he brought his arms up above his head and started spinning on a heel. Watching the giant spin, and spin, and the pink shine from the wooden beads tied in his beard, Harry felt happiness like he never felt before.
The cracked wooden beads shone, they sparkled, fire suddenly roared in the fireplace.
Harry stepped forward and spun along, grinning. And the giant grinned back at him.
"Yer a great dancer ye are, Harry!"
4th, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, June 23rd, 1991
Petunia Dursley POV
Life was anything but normal in the Dursley household.
It all started on that blasted November night. Who leaves a baby on a doorstep during a cold night in Britain?! And with only a letter as an explanation at that?!
The freaks, that's who!
And of course they couldn't just send the child to an orphanage, because blah blah "magic shield" wobbly doodly "I'll tell everyone you're the kid's family and they will all come after you" doodly doo. Bloody Dumbledore!
It wouldn't have been so bad, really… If that thing was actually a child!
Seriously, a child crying? That's fine, he probably needs his diapers changed like her sweet Dudders. But a child suddenly gaining a voice with the hoarseness and loudness to rival a professional rocker out of nowhere and making objects float?
That. That is not normal. Nor something she can deal with.
And it didn't stop at that either! A child getting angry and stomping on the ground? Fine. Her Dudders did that too, sometimes, strong boy that he is. But a child suddenly breakdancing in the middle of the room, changing the colors of her beautiful walls, that she painted herself, that is not normal!
Bloody freakish child. So much like her sister. And that worthless tosser she called a husband.
Ah, well. No time to think of the freak and his freak family. After all, today is a special day for her Duddykins~
The sound of someone quickly and excitedly descending the staircase snapped her awake immediately, and brought a slight smile to her face. She got up from her bed, slightly shaking her dear husband awake in the process, and proceeded to slowly dress herself and go down the stairs.
Oh, she could already hear it. The freak's humming, at this hour, probably shaking his hips or twirling around as if he was in some kind of circu- No. No. No freak thoughts for today. Because today is a nice day. Her sweet Dudder's birthday.
She entered the dining room, glaring at the kitchen's entrance where the brainless child's music was coming from, before ignoring it and focusing on the boy of the hour.
"Good morning Duddykins~" she smiled.
"Hi mom! It's my birthday! It's my birthday It's my birthday!" her cute son replied excitedly, focusing immediately on the heart of the matter. Oh, how he took after his father!
Speaking of which, Vernon arrived as well, kissing her a good morning before gathering his little gentleman's attention, taking a seat at the table. Her nephew took that moment to bring their breakfast, quietly. He knew to stay quiet around them by now.
Breakfast was a quiet and quick affair, as her little boy was so excited to start opening his presents. Thirty-six of them in all, which he quickly took note of as being one less than the previous year.
Ah, well. She supposed a trip to the zoo would be a great way of spending her son's birthday.
…Now wait a second, wasn't Mrs Figg unable to care for children today?
Harry Potter POV
Harry Potter was a freak. He knew that. His aunt, uncle, and cousin made sure to remind him multiple times a day.
But more than that, he knew what it meant to be one.
He knew that it wasn't normal to hear this constant, ever-changing song everywhere. He knew that the beating drums were only in his head. He knew that it wasn't normal to suddenly feel like throwing his body around, moving and twisting and jerking along with the unheard beat, the movements appearing in his mind and his muscles flowing along like water.
He knew that it wasn't normal for a song and dance to change things.
That one time his teacher mocked him in class, he felt embarrassed enough that the urge to open his mouth overtook him. And so he did. His vocal range was quite impressive for a child, truth be told, but the teacher certainly did not think the same of his impromptu song, nor of her new, inexplicably blue hair color.
And that time Dudley and his friends chased him across the street, he felt so scared that he gave into the urge to move his body as the song in his mind told him to. He probably looked quite silly, jerking his knees up to his chest as he ran, throwing his arms around from side to side, but it didn't seem to matter overly much considering that he suddenly found himself on a rooftop shortly after.
Perhaps it was the scar? Perhaps it was just him, Harry? Regardless, something was wrong with him, this much was certain. He knew what it meant to be a freak.
"Boy." said a serious voice in front of him.
Right, perhaps he should be paying attention. "Yes uncle Vernon?".
"We are going to the zoo for Dudley's birthday. Since that woman Figg can't take care of you for today, we are forced to bring you along. So, I want to make sure that you understand something." he stated seriously, leaning forwards ever so slightly.
"There will be no freakishness while we are out there. You will say nothing, do nothing, and stay out of the way. Do I make myself clear?" he growled out the last bit of his sentence.
Harry really didn't like to be on the receiving end of that tone.
"Yes, uncle Vernon." he answered in a low voice, eager to be done with this… Conversation?
"Good."
And that was that. He went into the car, half listening to his cousin's excited shouts, half enjoying the ever-present song in his mind and basking into its peacefulness, right up until they reached the zoo.
The zoo was actually interesting. Ignoring his cousin's zipping around and exclamations, each animal actually breathed along with nature, with the song in his head, forming a never-heard before symphony in perfect harmony, though a rather quiet one.
His search for the best tones and tunes led him to a glass pane, a snake trapped behind. After his cousin's fruitless banging on the glass, he stayed there to enjoy the company, and the strangely soothing music. Was that what a grass whistle sounded like?
"Sorry about him," he said quietly, "he doesn't understand what it's like. Laying there, day after day, trying to enjoy the music while wankers shove their ugly faces in front of you…"
He trailed off at the movement, the snake nodding as if to acknowledge him, and sharing his pain, before flicking its tongue out in a strangely melodious whistle.
He didn't need to ask. He knew. The song told him. The snake understood Harry, Harry understood the snake.
'Could the snake be a freak, too?'
He wouldn't hold that thought for long, as Dudley barreled in, screaming about the moving reptile, and shoving Harry down on the floor.
It had been a while since he had encountered something like him. It had been a while since he had felt such frustration. And so, anger took hold of Harry as he thumped his hands rhythmically upon his thighs and whistled away, following the world's lead, and joined by the snake.
The glass barrier suddenly disappeared, causing Dudley to fall right in, and letting the snake out. Harry didn't feel any of the resulting panic, he knew the snake, and the snake knew him.
They stared at each other for a second, sharing a harmonious whistle.
"Good luck out there." he said, receiving what he was quite certain was a "Thanksssss" in return. And so finished today's strange events.
He really wasn't eager for what would follow.
Aaaaand, as expected. Uncle Vernon got upset, he got locked into his cupboard for "blatant freakishness" (was that even a thing?) without dinner, and tried to simply go to sleep. But he couldn't.
It had been the first time in forever since he had felt in a world that would accept him, at home, when he met that snake in that animalistic, natural symphony. He couldn't simply move along and continue on with this day. Or, well, night.
No, Harry was thinking. Thinking and hoping, and slowly came to dream, as a new chapter opened on his story.
Letters. Or well, a letter. For him, that is. Not that there weren't others, so letters was appropriate, but a letter was-
In other words, someone sent a letter to Harry. And Harry really didn't know how to deal with that. The wax seal on it was both very telling, and extremely confusing. A golden harp, containing a colorful emblem in four parts, each part containing an emblem of its own.
A disco ball in shades of pink, red, and white, shooting golden rays of light over a red background. A black pipe organ with stylized music notes over a yellow background. Silver theater masks, on laughing, one crying, one scowling, over an emerald green background. And finally, over a deep blue background, were…Were those bronze water droplets and waves?
Staring at the letter, and slowly making his way to the dining room, Harry eventually lost track of his already confused thoughts when, surprise, Dudley stole his letter and passed it along to uncle Vernon.
Who then proceeded to imitate a stick of white chalk, along with aunt Petunia.
Well well well, wasn't that interesting.
Still disappointed at the loss of the letter and the unanswered mystery, and wondering if directing that much blood away from your head at once could cause health issues, Harry skipped along to his chores, humming along with the world, using his belly as a drum, thoughts spinning away.
???, July 30th, 1991
This was actually proving to be very amusing. For some reason, his relatives decided to move, and move, and keep moving, fleeing the invasion from the hundreds of letters Harry must have been delivered by now. Perhaps freaks like him were involved? He'd only ever seen his relatives react so badly whenever they were brought up. Them and magic.
All of the Dursley household was now holed up in a lighthouse, in the middle of who-knows-where, and Harry was trying to sleep away the night on the cold, hard piece of floor he'd been given as a bedding.
Or, well, not just yet. After all, it was the night of July 30th, approaching midnight, which meant… He glanced at the clock on the wall, its ticking sound starting a beat in his mind as a specific song started up, synchronizing to it.
*Tick* Three, *Tick* two, *Tick* one…
*Dong* *Dong* 'Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to m-' *Dong* *Do- BOOM*
Harry shot up from the floor, along with everyone else, at the sound of the resounding and clear banging on the door. If someone was banging with a hammerhead, that is.
His uncle started reaching for the firearm they were given as protection, as aunt Petunia and Dudley huddled up behind his large frame, but Harry himself was not worried, because he knew.
The Beat of the World resounded from beyond the door, entirely separate from the banging on it, the Song of whatever was behind reaching up and intertwining with his with each resonating wave. It spoke of strength, but gentleness. It sang of greatness, and simplicity. It danced on loyalty and with kindness, and Harry felt his foot tapping along, desperately wishing to join in.
It was the song of someone like him. The song of a freak.
And said freak burst through the door, bounding into the room, his legs a perfect split. His gigantic and large frame landed near the fireplace, crouching, before he brought his arms up above his head and started spinning on a heel. Watching the giant spin, and spin, and the pink shine from the wooden beads tied in his beard, Harry felt happiness like he never felt before.
The cracked wooden beads shone, they sparkled, fire suddenly roared in the fireplace.
Harry stepped forward and spun along, grinning. And the giant grinned back at him.
"Yer a great dancer ye are, Harry!"
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Chapter 2 - Home
zellat451
Learning a foreign language with NF - Happy
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Chapter 2 - Home
In front of the Leaky cauldron, London, July 31st, 1991
Harry Potter POV
Harry was standing in front of a dilapidated-looking pub, beside the dancing giant who intruded in his relative's home the night before, Rubeus Hagrid. Or "Jus' Hagrid.", as he said.
He had plenty of time to gather his thoughts and process them over the flight here. Because yes, flight. Of course motorcycles can fly, it's magic. And yes, magic, which his relatives kept insisting was bogus. And it was where these songs and dances came from the whole time. And he was now preparing to enter Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where his parents went before him. Did he talk about his parents yet?
There was a lot to unpack there, but the most important piece had to be about his parents. Apparently, they weren't drunk driving or killed during a car accident, as Harry has been told. Instead, Hagrid told him they had died protecting him from the Dread Lord Voldemort, or "You-Know-Who" to everyone else, a monster with the ambition of taking head of all songs and dances in the magical world, achieving a power never seen before at the cost of everyone's individuality.
For he who controls the performers, controls the musical show. And the musical show in this metaphor would be magic itself, the performers the wizards. Although…
"Death Eaters? Really?" asked Harry, both bemused at the name, and slightly horrified as to how literal it might have been, with magic involved.
"Dun' speak too much 'bout tha', Harry. And dun' diss the name either. These were dark times. They were." spoke the jolly giant, an unusually serious look hidden behind his beard.
He continued, "They styled themselves afta Death 'imself, from an old story. Tha greatest arts critic in existence, watchin' the living in their songs and dances, they say."
He nodded his head gravely, a far look in his eyes, "Death's garbed in pink, and so were tha Death Eaters. It's tha colour of Magic, y'see? Bright pink, great power, and silva' masks with blank faces. They'd come ta yer home, and leave ashes behind."
He shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, and showed a sad smile. "S'why everyone's so jolly 'bout You-Know-Who's death. That menace nearly killed da whole of Britain. But ye stopped 'im, Harry, ye did. And evr'yone's really thankful for that."
They walked up to the Leaky Cauldron's door, as Harry mulled over that answer. They sounded terrifying, that Voldemort especially. But he was just Harry, he couldn't have destroyed someone so horrible and scary, right?
This train of thought came to a stop as Hagrid pushed the front door slightly open, revealing the dense magic hidden behind, the warmth of the song permeating the air immediately, and the tremors of the dancing reverberating throughout his body. A strange, but welcome mix of chants in a chorus, emotional vocals, powerful screams, rhythmic clappings and stompings, and many instruments, not the least of which was a rather talented saxophone. There was a rave happening in there.
Hagrid looked at him, smiled, and winked. "And ah mean evr'yone. Ready ta put on a show, Harry?" And with that, he pushed the door wide open and they both stepped inside with great haste, as if pulled by the flow of the magic itself.
Everything stopped for a moment as he entered, some eyes checking out the new arrival, only to find a distinctive music-note scar on his forehead. All eyes were now directed at the Boy-Who-Lived, and lingering. The magic in the air was frozen, the Song was being held, the Beat was rolling with anticipation.
Harry took a look at the people inside. They were garbed in all colours of the rainbow, though with a notable absence of glittery pink, frozen mid-move for most, a few in quite spectacular positions. This wasn't a pub. This was a dance floor. A building-wide dance floor with a bar attached to a wall, disco balls by the dozen, fog machines, and more. And Harry was stepping towards the center before he knew it, under the awed gazes of all present.
When he reached it, he stood there for a second, unsure of how to proceed. He was used to following the music of his mind, not directing it. Obviously, this wasn't a problem for everyone else, as a smiling witch on his right side started rhythmically clapping, soon followed by others, adding to the constant, rolling beat, gearing up for a sick drop.
And Harry moved. He crouched, he swung to a side then the other, he snapped his fingers and twirled for a beat, stomping his feet on the ground, as the tempo accelerated.
Then, as he finished spinning on his head and pulled himself up, he stopped and pointed to his audience, calling out "Can I get a HEY?"
"HEY!"
The building shook under the power of their cumulative voices, and the beat dropped. The music picked up where it fell, greater than ever, as the Wizarding Rave started up once again, singing merry praises about the Boy-Who-Lived, and welcoming him back home.
As he danced away alongside Hagrid, who was slowly leading him towards the back of the room, Harry decided that he liked this feeling. The feeling of home.
Diagon Alley was an experience. Seeing dozens upon dozen of frea- Magicals skipping along the road and humming as he usually did was vindicating in a strange way, and soothing in others.
There was music permeating the air in the entirety of the Alley, projected by some kind of sound system. He could see everyone moving along to it, some people even stopping entirely and dancing freely for a few minutes before going on their way.
Hagrid directed them both towards a rather stylish building in the center of the Alley, carved in stone and woven in gold, standing rather sideways. Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Hagrid said. Upon the entrance' bronze door, he saw a clever poem about not stealing from the bank.
Which, well, yes. That should go without saying. Points for the poet, however. He wondered if there was a beat or a melody to go along with the lines?
"And does mister Potter have his key?" he heard a growling voice ask, a teller he was standing in front of. He should really start paying more attention to his surroundings.
Hagrid fumbled a bit, before showing a key to the goblin, who promptly had someone lead them to a minecart. On rails. One speed only, apparently.
Harry loved this place already.
Hagrid was green in the face, the vault doors were big, the vault itself was full of gold.
Did his parents… leave all that for him?
Harry felt a sort of warmth in his chest, directed to a couple of no doubt incredible dancers and singers who obviously did their best to let him live a comfortable life, no matter what happened. He would do his best to make them proud of him.
With home galleons in his pockets, and a healthier-looking Hagrid, they set off back to the entrance, stopping shortly at another vault, as Hagrid retrieved a little something in a bag of cloth.
"Keep it a secret", huh? How interesting. Especially since Harry could feel the strange music coming from the small packet. No beat, no idea of a dance, merely pure, undiluted melody. He'd never heard anything like it before, and he was curious.
But it was apparently important for that "Headmaster Dumbledore" guy that it remains a secret, so Harry wouldn't ask.
Harry was left in the clothing shop for measurements, after settling on rather fetching red and gold robes, as Hagrid went to check on a few things for himself. Along with him was another boy. For some reason, said blond boy was staring at him strangely, in a very… complicated way.
It was obvious that he was recognized, so he decided to initiate the conversation.
"So… Hi. I'm Harry." A few seconds of silence followed his declaration... Why was it so difficult? Don't talk about the weather, don't talk about the weather.
"...Draco Malfoy." Finally answered the aristocratic-looking child, quietly. Didn't he hear this name from somewhere?
"My father was a Death Eater." Ah, that answered that. "...Thank you." What?
"I'm… sorry? I'm not really sure how that would be a good thing…"
Draco stared for a bit, the complex expression slowly leaving his face, making space for sadness as he sighed, "The Dark Mark was a monstrosity. The Dread Lord used it to forcefully synchronise the dances and songs of dozens of magicals, achieving never-seen-before amounts of power… At the cost of the participants' individualities."
Draco looked into nothing, seemingly searching for something, "I never knew my father, Lord Lucius Malfoy. But if I had, I would have met him as a deranged madman, a forceful mould of the Dread Lord's individuality branded upon his mind. Like the Death Eaters held in Azkaban."
He turned back to Harry, looking neutral in a way he certainly didn't feel "I won't have that opportunity, but I won't have to suffer this either, thanks to you…"
There was a lull in the conversation, before Draco followed, "Perhaps we can get to know each other better in the future."
Harry gave a tentative smile, and nodded. He may not know what to feel about technically being the cause of orphaning more people, like himself, but he certainly could use more friends. "With pleasure, Draco. Let's party together sometime."
He received a small smile in return, as the tension between the two boys was released. The tailor lady was already done with Draco's robes, all emerald and silver, it seemed.
"Well, it's time for me to depart. I can see my mother waiting for me over there. I'll see you on the train, Potter."
Harry quickly returned Draco's goodbye, as he tracked him beyond the glass pane, walking towards a pretty lady in green, with hair as blond as his. What a nice guy.
What did he mean by "the train", though?
After the clothing and the books, came the magical focus. "Ollivanders, Makers of Fine Wands since 382 b.c" indeed. What were wands, though?
"Ah, it's tha common name for a magical focus, these days." Answered Hagrid. "Could be a ring, a necklace, evn' a baton or a crown fer some. What's certain is, it'll stay with ya yer whole life, Harry."
That sounded brilliant! Harry wondered just how his own wand would work with him, with his magic.
Harry entered the store alone. According to Hagrid, this had to be a personal experience, and he had an errand to run anyway. He didn't mind, the atmosphere was beckoning him and he did want to enjoy it on his lonesome for a while.
So many songs, so many dances, so many beats upon the world. All in one place, all cooperating with and competing against one another in a never-ending party of happiness and colours. And most of all, the pink. The bright pink of magic was present everywhere, leading him along.
Harry skipped, then bounced, then bounded across the shop. He twirled, and turned, and moved along with the flow. He stepped, and stomped, and banged around, inserting himself in the constant beat and directing it ever so slightly. He was exchanging partners, facing off opponents, tasting the magic in each wand and finding those that were more like him.
He became aware, at some point, that he had been joined in his choreography by another, but paid it no mind. They kept a slight distance, not participating in the dance so much as observing it, and critiquing. He received a rather positive feedback through his magic, so that person must be very impressed, indeed.
After a few more minutes of dancing and humming around the shop, Harry had disturbed quite a few cases, sending them to the ground, and breaking a few fragile pieces of glass by accident with his repeated banging. And yet, he paid it no mind, as he was entirely focused on the feeling of "mine" coming from a shelf in front of him.
There it was. His wand. His ring. A reddish-brown wood, carefully carved with the likeness of a burning phoenix in flight. Its magic called to him, their songs intertwined, and when they touched, the pink seemingly became omnipresent within the entire building, for but an instant.
"Wondrous…" whispered a voice, not ten feet away from him.
Harry turned around in shock. He had forgotten the other person in the room!
"Truly wondrous…" The old man continued, seemingly unbothered by his reaction, or his actions throughout the place. "Mister Potter, I was waiting for you…" He was? Should he be worried about that?
"Your father, James Potter. Mahogany, unicorn hair, in the form of a necklace." he spoke, seemingly out of nowhere.
"Your mother, Lily Evans. Willow, dragon heartstring, a bracelet." he continued, his point lost to poor Harry.
Then he smiled, rather sadly, as his eyes narrowed, "I am Garrick Ollivander, owner of this shop, and wandmaker. I remember every wand I have ever sold, mister Potter. As well as the people I have sold them to."
He slowly pointed his gaze towards the ring in Harry's palm "And that ring, I remember, has a brother. Yew, phoenix feather core, a phoenix-styled ring. A brother I sold to someone who would later come to give you that scar.", he said, turning towards the music note on his forehead.
…Of course. Of course Harry Bloody Potter would get the brother ring to the one that murdered his parents.
Harry looked at the ring, felt its magic… And decided to ignore that, after all. This was his ring. Not Voldemort's. The magic sang so. And so, he put the ring on his finger.
"Holly, phoenix feather core, a ring." Ollivander began, "Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, mister Potter…" he let the declaration hold in the air for a moment, before continuing.
"After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things. Terrible, yes, but great."
Well, wasn't that ominous.
Harry left the wand shop seven galleons poorer, and reviewed his feelings for the day. On the positive side, Harry now had his own wand-ring, and it felt wonderful. On the more positive side, he was now the proud owner of a snowy old, which he promptly named "Hedwig".
All in all, the party of a century, a friend, his parent's love, a potential friend, a magic ring, and a friend-shaped owl. Truly, this was the best birthday ever.
Convincing the Dursley to let him house the Hedwig wasn't too much of a bother, with Hagrid to help. Trying to find the train platform from a ticket, alone, was.
What even was 9 and ¾ ? A code of some sort?
Harry was being very lost, when he suddenly felt the pull on his magic. A song was approaching, and a rather large one at that.
His attention was taken to a big family of redheads, skipping along and humming simultaneously on the floor of the station. Well, he knew where to go, now.
Harry followed the family, dragging his cart along, but instead of greeting them, he inserted himself in the family dance, skipping along with them all and humming all the while. Though the youngest girl stopped in shock for a few seconds, turning bright red for some reason, the lady and her other children simply smiled at him and continued on, although some of them did give him weird looks.
The lady stopped before a blank stretch of wall, and her children followed along. So did Harry.
"Well then, welcome mister potter, welcome. Molly Weasley, enchanted. I'm guessing you are quite lost?" the lady smiled kindly.
Harry smiled back "Yes, I am, Mrs Weasley. I was given the ticket, but the directions to the platform were rather… lacking."
He turned a bit to the side when he heard a small squeal, but it was merely the youngest Weasley, staring at his face and looking even redder for some reason.
Molly smiled even further, and invited him "Well then, come along. We're all going to the platform. My little Ronald is in his first year as well, you see?" she pointed to the youngest boy. "Now Fred, George, why don't you go ahead and demonstrate, boys?"
The thus-named red-headed twins smirked, bowed towards Harry, and pushed their carts away from them and straight into the wall. To Harry's slight shock, they didn't crash, but went right through without stopping, as if disappearing on contact. Then, they proceeded to rush at the wall themselves, jumping straight into it while spinning in some kind of aerial dance, and disappeared as well.
Harry grinned and gave a slow clap, then looked questioningly at the rest of them, before understanding that he was being given the go-ahead.
So, Harry skipped along and through a wall.
"So… you're Harry Potter.", said Ronald.
Harry was currently sharing a cabin with him on the train. He seemed friendly enough.
"Yea, that's me." he wasn't sure what to answer to that, really. If there was a thing Harry Potter was lacking in, that was social relationships. Although, given the number of new friends he seemed to have made in barely a month…
"I mean, I know that! It's just… Blimey you know?" and Harry did know. The Leaky Cauldron was indication enough.
Harry and Ronald "Just call me Ron, everyone does" continued their conversation… Or rather tried, as Draco Malfoy dropped by to say hello, with a couple friends. He went away rather quickly, claiming that he was reserved a seat by a few friends of his that Harry probably didn't want to be around to, for obvious reasons.
Thinking "Death Eaters' children", Harry agreed wholeheartedly, and bid Draco goodbye, genuinely happy to have met his tentative friend again, and his feelings were seemingly reciprocated.
Though Ron did look a little put out by his appearance. Well, there was time to let them get to know each other later. For the time being, their discussion went over to spells and magic, and Ron offered to demonstrate one that his brothers taught him on his pet rat, Scabbers.
"What do you actually mean by spell?" questioned Harry. "Isn't all magic done via dances and songs? Are those what spells are?"
Ron looked at him weirdly, thumbing his wand -a cracked necklace- and opening his mouth to answer him… When the door was thrown open.
"Excuse me. Have either of you seen a toad? Someone lost one earlier." quickly questioned a bushy-haired girl, looking rather frazzled and impatient.
"Uh, no?" "Me either." answered Ron and Harry, taken aback by the quick intrusion and quicker interrogation. Interrupted twice in as many minutes. Truly, they must be cursed.
"Oh! I see that you're holding your wand -a necklace is it? Mine is this earring- were you about to do magic? I've practised a few spells myself -nothing too difficult, merely the first few months of our curriculum- but I-"
"-Actually.", cut in Harry, bemused at the lost and almost scared look in Ron's eyes, "Ron here was about to explain to me the difference between spells and magic in general. Oh, I'm Harry by the way."
"Harry? Harry Potter? Are you really? I read all about you of course. The history of the magical world is so fascinating…"
"Read? There are books about me?" questioned Harry, perplexed. He knew he would figure in books, given his apparent fame. But to have books dedicated to him…
"Didn't you know about them? If it was me, I would have found out all I could. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. I am new to the magical world, my parents are pianists, you see. Although, going back to your question…" Hermine took an empty seat next to him.
She seemed rather… Sporadic. Not that it bothered Harry in the least.
"It's quite simple really. Magic is done via songs and dances, it is an expression of your individuality, and can achieve most anything. Although most children only ever experience it as accidental magic, during greatly upsetting moments."
She took a deep breath, then continued. "As for spells, they are standardised. The same movements, and the same songs, for the same effects. Of course they are all slightly affected by our individual artistic sense, and we will eventually learn to adapt our individual magic to reproduce the effects of spells without using standard procedures, but that will only happen during our last few years at Hogwarts, or for spells we are really suited for on a personal level."
Well that was a lot of information, but, "So, magic is an original performance, spells are playable records. Got it."
Harry nodded to himself, as Hermione looked at him weirdly and… Slightly in pain? "Well, yes, I suppose that comparison could work, even if it doesn't take into account the dynamic nature of…"
She trailed off, looking over at Ron, still with that shocked and confused look over his face, before she seemed to give up and simply asked "So! Ron, was it? How about that spell?".
And all was well. Harry knew all about not really fitting in, of course, and he would support Hermione with that if she let him.
Perhaps the spell Ron was given, although the song was quite catchy, was pretty much a dud. Perhaps he got a little angry at Hermione's seemingly patronising tone.
But Harry successfully redirected their attention to the Weasley Twins, and let the two understand each other better. The Song of the World was very good at that, at showing him how people clicked together, where they intertwined, and in what ways.
All in all, Harry Potter would be getting off that train with two new friends. From zero to almost four in only a month. Perhaps Harry really was good at this, after all.
"Firs' Years! Firs' Years with me!" Shouted his giant friend, Hagrid, at the exit of the Hogwarts Express. It was nearly night already.
Harry and his new friends, along with everyone else apparently in their year, were led to a row of boats and told to mount them. Of course, all three remained together.
A 'Neville Longbottom" accompanied them on their boat. A nice guy all around, though a bit shy. Perhaps yet another potential friend?
That thought would have to be kept for later, as they sailed across the lake, and were treated to something truly magical.
A deep, black lake, stars reflected upon the water. It was like being in the middle of the cosmos, stars above, stars below. A castle stood proudly on an island just ahead, shining in the dark with many subtle, yet undeniably present colours, like a firefly crossed with a rainbow.
And throughout their journey, they were accompanied by the singing voices of strange fish-people -"Merpeople", corrected Hermione, awed-, and a giant squid wielding dozens of string and percussive instruments at once, treating them all to a beautiful orchestra.
The music slowly came down, their dreaming thoughts with it, as they reached the shore, right in front of a staircase to the castle. Hagrid helped them all board off, then led them up to the front doors, banging on them. Behind the opening stood a stern and older-looking witch, waiting for them.
"First Years, 'fessor McGonagall. All present and rounded up." explained the bearded giant.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here"
She pulled the door wide open and led them inside, across the gigantic and rather stylish halls of the castle, all the way to another set of doors, music and a lot of voices coming from behind it. Most of the school must have been there already.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall, smiling slightly.
"The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. This is a very important ceremony because, while you are in this castle, your house will be like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room. You will earn and lose points for your house through your behaviour.", she explained.
It sounded like the whole school truly was divided between those houses. Harry wondered if they had any impact on the kind of magic they would learn?
"I will let the Sorting present to you the Houses. Just know that each house has its own noble history, and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours." finishing her rather long speech, Professor McGonagall looked over all of them, seemingly taking their measure, then continued.
"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes, in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all prepare yourselves as much as you can while you are waiting."
She seemed to look critically at a few of them, particularly, before following up. "I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly." she finished.
Then, she left the chamber, leaving them all to chatter among themselves. Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, curious "How exactly do they sort us into houses?".
To no one's surprise, Hermione answered first "No one really knows. Or rather, they don't spread the information around for some reason. Not even in the history books. It's some kind of long-standing tradition to go through this completely in the dark, apparently." she said, seemingly disgruntled at the idea of someone keeping historical knowledge away from a history book of all things.
"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking. They're the twins, after all." Ron followed up, remembering exactly who the information he had came from.
Harry was strangely excited at that. A test didn't sound so impossible, and If it was a test in a school for magic, then it should be a magical test, right? Harry was nothing if not confident in his dancing and singing skills, especially in this place, with so much magic, such a powerful song reaching out and supporting him in his every step.
Then something happened which made him jump slightly, as several people behind him screamed, and not in the musical way.
'What the –?' thought Harry, very much out of his depth when faced by the floating two dozen honest-to-god ghosts that had just streamed through the back wall.
They glided across the room talking to each other seemingly unaware of all of the children present. They also seemed to be arguing. Something about a Peeves?
Eventually, a very nice and kind looking ghost with a great baritone noticed them. "New students!" he said, smiling around at them all. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"
A few people nodded, not quite having found their voices yet. Harry was too busy feeling out their ethereal songs without a beat to care. He'd felt something similar, though not exactly the same, from that small cloth bag in Gringotts…
"I hope to see you in my old House!" said the Friar. "Can't tell you what it is just yet, or course, but we always welcome new additions to the house choir, you know!"
"Move along now," said a sharp voice, making them all flinch. Professor McGonagall could be surprisingly sneaky, it seemed. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start."'
"Now, form a line," she told them, "and follow me."
Feeling as if he was walking on a cloud, basking in the magic all around as he was, and ready to start dancing his heart out whenever, Harry moved forward, with Ron and Hermione behind him, Neville trailing a bit more behind them. They all walked into the Great Hall, under the gazes of all the older years and the school staff.
The place was truly magical. The magical decorations, the magical music, and the roof!
"It's charmed to look like the night sky outside," whispered Hermione, "sometimes."
"Only sometimes?" whispered back Harry, curious.
"It also has a 'nightclub' configuration-" "Ah. Say no more."
Harry nodded his head slightly. It made sense. If he could enchant a roof to look like whatever, why not the truly important places, and why only one of them?
His attention, and that of everyone else, was stolen away when McGonagall appeared in front of the staff's table at the end of the hall, holding up a royal crown in her hands.
It was gorgeous. It was made of solid gold, glimmering in the light, carved with many different pictures he couldn't quite make out, inlaid with jewels, and had a multicoloured cap on the inside. A cap with a Crown, how interesting. And fancy.
To his surprise, and that of everyone else around him, the cap within the crown started wiggling around, as one of its seams opened like a mouth and started to sing.
No, not sing. Rap.
The older students followed along, eager to clap and stomp a beat for the rap and provide vocal accompaniment.
And at that moment, behind his gigantic grin, over the song shouted in his ears, beyond even the magic permeating everything, Harry knew for sure.
He was finally home.
Author's note: checkpoint one out of four attained for "things I wanted to write in this". Will have to see if I get inspired any more.
In front of the Leaky cauldron, London, July 31st, 1991
Harry Potter POV
Harry was standing in front of a dilapidated-looking pub, beside the dancing giant who intruded in his relative's home the night before, Rubeus Hagrid. Or "Jus' Hagrid.", as he said.
He had plenty of time to gather his thoughts and process them over the flight here. Because yes, flight. Of course motorcycles can fly, it's magic. And yes, magic, which his relatives kept insisting was bogus. And it was where these songs and dances came from the whole time. And he was now preparing to enter Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where his parents went before him. Did he talk about his parents yet?
There was a lot to unpack there, but the most important piece had to be about his parents. Apparently, they weren't drunk driving or killed during a car accident, as Harry has been told. Instead, Hagrid told him they had died protecting him from the Dread Lord Voldemort, or "You-Know-Who" to everyone else, a monster with the ambition of taking head of all songs and dances in the magical world, achieving a power never seen before at the cost of everyone's individuality.
For he who controls the performers, controls the musical show. And the musical show in this metaphor would be magic itself, the performers the wizards. Although…
"Death Eaters? Really?" asked Harry, both bemused at the name, and slightly horrified as to how literal it might have been, with magic involved.
"Dun' speak too much 'bout tha', Harry. And dun' diss the name either. These were dark times. They were." spoke the jolly giant, an unusually serious look hidden behind his beard.
He continued, "They styled themselves afta Death 'imself, from an old story. Tha greatest arts critic in existence, watchin' the living in their songs and dances, they say."
He nodded his head gravely, a far look in his eyes, "Death's garbed in pink, and so were tha Death Eaters. It's tha colour of Magic, y'see? Bright pink, great power, and silva' masks with blank faces. They'd come ta yer home, and leave ashes behind."
He shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, and showed a sad smile. "S'why everyone's so jolly 'bout You-Know-Who's death. That menace nearly killed da whole of Britain. But ye stopped 'im, Harry, ye did. And evr'yone's really thankful for that."
They walked up to the Leaky Cauldron's door, as Harry mulled over that answer. They sounded terrifying, that Voldemort especially. But he was just Harry, he couldn't have destroyed someone so horrible and scary, right?
This train of thought came to a stop as Hagrid pushed the front door slightly open, revealing the dense magic hidden behind, the warmth of the song permeating the air immediately, and the tremors of the dancing reverberating throughout his body. A strange, but welcome mix of chants in a chorus, emotional vocals, powerful screams, rhythmic clappings and stompings, and many instruments, not the least of which was a rather talented saxophone. There was a rave happening in there.
Hagrid looked at him, smiled, and winked. "And ah mean evr'yone. Ready ta put on a show, Harry?" And with that, he pushed the door wide open and they both stepped inside with great haste, as if pulled by the flow of the magic itself.
Everything stopped for a moment as he entered, some eyes checking out the new arrival, only to find a distinctive music-note scar on his forehead. All eyes were now directed at the Boy-Who-Lived, and lingering. The magic in the air was frozen, the Song was being held, the Beat was rolling with anticipation.
Harry took a look at the people inside. They were garbed in all colours of the rainbow, though with a notable absence of glittery pink, frozen mid-move for most, a few in quite spectacular positions. This wasn't a pub. This was a dance floor. A building-wide dance floor with a bar attached to a wall, disco balls by the dozen, fog machines, and more. And Harry was stepping towards the center before he knew it, under the awed gazes of all present.
When he reached it, he stood there for a second, unsure of how to proceed. He was used to following the music of his mind, not directing it. Obviously, this wasn't a problem for everyone else, as a smiling witch on his right side started rhythmically clapping, soon followed by others, adding to the constant, rolling beat, gearing up for a sick drop.
And Harry moved. He crouched, he swung to a side then the other, he snapped his fingers and twirled for a beat, stomping his feet on the ground, as the tempo accelerated.
Then, as he finished spinning on his head and pulled himself up, he stopped and pointed to his audience, calling out "Can I get a HEY?"
"HEY!"
The building shook under the power of their cumulative voices, and the beat dropped. The music picked up where it fell, greater than ever, as the Wizarding Rave started up once again, singing merry praises about the Boy-Who-Lived, and welcoming him back home.
As he danced away alongside Hagrid, who was slowly leading him towards the back of the room, Harry decided that he liked this feeling. The feeling of home.
Diagon Alley was an experience. Seeing dozens upon dozen of frea- Magicals skipping along the road and humming as he usually did was vindicating in a strange way, and soothing in others.
There was music permeating the air in the entirety of the Alley, projected by some kind of sound system. He could see everyone moving along to it, some people even stopping entirely and dancing freely for a few minutes before going on their way.
Hagrid directed them both towards a rather stylish building in the center of the Alley, carved in stone and woven in gold, standing rather sideways. Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Hagrid said. Upon the entrance' bronze door, he saw a clever poem about not stealing from the bank.
Which, well, yes. That should go without saying. Points for the poet, however. He wondered if there was a beat or a melody to go along with the lines?
"And does mister Potter have his key?" he heard a growling voice ask, a teller he was standing in front of. He should really start paying more attention to his surroundings.
Hagrid fumbled a bit, before showing a key to the goblin, who promptly had someone lead them to a minecart. On rails. One speed only, apparently.
Harry loved this place already.
Hagrid was green in the face, the vault doors were big, the vault itself was full of gold.
Did his parents… leave all that for him?
Harry felt a sort of warmth in his chest, directed to a couple of no doubt incredible dancers and singers who obviously did their best to let him live a comfortable life, no matter what happened. He would do his best to make them proud of him.
With home galleons in his pockets, and a healthier-looking Hagrid, they set off back to the entrance, stopping shortly at another vault, as Hagrid retrieved a little something in a bag of cloth.
"Keep it a secret", huh? How interesting. Especially since Harry could feel the strange music coming from the small packet. No beat, no idea of a dance, merely pure, undiluted melody. He'd never heard anything like it before, and he was curious.
But it was apparently important for that "Headmaster Dumbledore" guy that it remains a secret, so Harry wouldn't ask.
Harry was left in the clothing shop for measurements, after settling on rather fetching red and gold robes, as Hagrid went to check on a few things for himself. Along with him was another boy. For some reason, said blond boy was staring at him strangely, in a very… complicated way.
It was obvious that he was recognized, so he decided to initiate the conversation.
"So… Hi. I'm Harry." A few seconds of silence followed his declaration... Why was it so difficult? Don't talk about the weather, don't talk about the weather.
"...Draco Malfoy." Finally answered the aristocratic-looking child, quietly. Didn't he hear this name from somewhere?
"My father was a Death Eater." Ah, that answered that. "...Thank you." What?
"I'm… sorry? I'm not really sure how that would be a good thing…"
Draco stared for a bit, the complex expression slowly leaving his face, making space for sadness as he sighed, "The Dark Mark was a monstrosity. The Dread Lord used it to forcefully synchronise the dances and songs of dozens of magicals, achieving never-seen-before amounts of power… At the cost of the participants' individualities."
Draco looked into nothing, seemingly searching for something, "I never knew my father, Lord Lucius Malfoy. But if I had, I would have met him as a deranged madman, a forceful mould of the Dread Lord's individuality branded upon his mind. Like the Death Eaters held in Azkaban."
He turned back to Harry, looking neutral in a way he certainly didn't feel "I won't have that opportunity, but I won't have to suffer this either, thanks to you…"
There was a lull in the conversation, before Draco followed, "Perhaps we can get to know each other better in the future."
Harry gave a tentative smile, and nodded. He may not know what to feel about technically being the cause of orphaning more people, like himself, but he certainly could use more friends. "With pleasure, Draco. Let's party together sometime."
He received a small smile in return, as the tension between the two boys was released. The tailor lady was already done with Draco's robes, all emerald and silver, it seemed.
"Well, it's time for me to depart. I can see my mother waiting for me over there. I'll see you on the train, Potter."
Harry quickly returned Draco's goodbye, as he tracked him beyond the glass pane, walking towards a pretty lady in green, with hair as blond as his. What a nice guy.
What did he mean by "the train", though?
After the clothing and the books, came the magical focus. "Ollivanders, Makers of Fine Wands since 382 b.c" indeed. What were wands, though?
"Ah, it's tha common name for a magical focus, these days." Answered Hagrid. "Could be a ring, a necklace, evn' a baton or a crown fer some. What's certain is, it'll stay with ya yer whole life, Harry."
That sounded brilliant! Harry wondered just how his own wand would work with him, with his magic.
Harry entered the store alone. According to Hagrid, this had to be a personal experience, and he had an errand to run anyway. He didn't mind, the atmosphere was beckoning him and he did want to enjoy it on his lonesome for a while.
So many songs, so many dances, so many beats upon the world. All in one place, all cooperating with and competing against one another in a never-ending party of happiness and colours. And most of all, the pink. The bright pink of magic was present everywhere, leading him along.
Harry skipped, then bounced, then bounded across the shop. He twirled, and turned, and moved along with the flow. He stepped, and stomped, and banged around, inserting himself in the constant beat and directing it ever so slightly. He was exchanging partners, facing off opponents, tasting the magic in each wand and finding those that were more like him.
He became aware, at some point, that he had been joined in his choreography by another, but paid it no mind. They kept a slight distance, not participating in the dance so much as observing it, and critiquing. He received a rather positive feedback through his magic, so that person must be very impressed, indeed.
After a few more minutes of dancing and humming around the shop, Harry had disturbed quite a few cases, sending them to the ground, and breaking a few fragile pieces of glass by accident with his repeated banging. And yet, he paid it no mind, as he was entirely focused on the feeling of "mine" coming from a shelf in front of him.
There it was. His wand. His ring. A reddish-brown wood, carefully carved with the likeness of a burning phoenix in flight. Its magic called to him, their songs intertwined, and when they touched, the pink seemingly became omnipresent within the entire building, for but an instant.
"Wondrous…" whispered a voice, not ten feet away from him.
Harry turned around in shock. He had forgotten the other person in the room!
"Truly wondrous…" The old man continued, seemingly unbothered by his reaction, or his actions throughout the place. "Mister Potter, I was waiting for you…" He was? Should he be worried about that?
"Your father, James Potter. Mahogany, unicorn hair, in the form of a necklace." he spoke, seemingly out of nowhere.
"Your mother, Lily Evans. Willow, dragon heartstring, a bracelet." he continued, his point lost to poor Harry.
Then he smiled, rather sadly, as his eyes narrowed, "I am Garrick Ollivander, owner of this shop, and wandmaker. I remember every wand I have ever sold, mister Potter. As well as the people I have sold them to."
He slowly pointed his gaze towards the ring in Harry's palm "And that ring, I remember, has a brother. Yew, phoenix feather core, a phoenix-styled ring. A brother I sold to someone who would later come to give you that scar.", he said, turning towards the music note on his forehead.
…Of course. Of course Harry Bloody Potter would get the brother ring to the one that murdered his parents.
Harry looked at the ring, felt its magic… And decided to ignore that, after all. This was his ring. Not Voldemort's. The magic sang so. And so, he put the ring on his finger.
"Holly, phoenix feather core, a ring." Ollivander began, "Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, mister Potter…" he let the declaration hold in the air for a moment, before continuing.
"After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things. Terrible, yes, but great."
Well, wasn't that ominous.
Harry left the wand shop seven galleons poorer, and reviewed his feelings for the day. On the positive side, Harry now had his own wand-ring, and it felt wonderful. On the more positive side, he was now the proud owner of a snowy old, which he promptly named "Hedwig".
All in all, the party of a century, a friend, his parent's love, a potential friend, a magic ring, and a friend-shaped owl. Truly, this was the best birthday ever.
Convincing the Dursley to let him house the Hedwig wasn't too much of a bother, with Hagrid to help. Trying to find the train platform from a ticket, alone, was.
What even was 9 and ¾ ? A code of some sort?
Harry was being very lost, when he suddenly felt the pull on his magic. A song was approaching, and a rather large one at that.
His attention was taken to a big family of redheads, skipping along and humming simultaneously on the floor of the station. Well, he knew where to go, now.
Harry followed the family, dragging his cart along, but instead of greeting them, he inserted himself in the family dance, skipping along with them all and humming all the while. Though the youngest girl stopped in shock for a few seconds, turning bright red for some reason, the lady and her other children simply smiled at him and continued on, although some of them did give him weird looks.
The lady stopped before a blank stretch of wall, and her children followed along. So did Harry.
"Well then, welcome mister potter, welcome. Molly Weasley, enchanted. I'm guessing you are quite lost?" the lady smiled kindly.
Harry smiled back "Yes, I am, Mrs Weasley. I was given the ticket, but the directions to the platform were rather… lacking."
He turned a bit to the side when he heard a small squeal, but it was merely the youngest Weasley, staring at his face and looking even redder for some reason.
Molly smiled even further, and invited him "Well then, come along. We're all going to the platform. My little Ronald is in his first year as well, you see?" she pointed to the youngest boy. "Now Fred, George, why don't you go ahead and demonstrate, boys?"
The thus-named red-headed twins smirked, bowed towards Harry, and pushed their carts away from them and straight into the wall. To Harry's slight shock, they didn't crash, but went right through without stopping, as if disappearing on contact. Then, they proceeded to rush at the wall themselves, jumping straight into it while spinning in some kind of aerial dance, and disappeared as well.
Harry grinned and gave a slow clap, then looked questioningly at the rest of them, before understanding that he was being given the go-ahead.
So, Harry skipped along and through a wall.
"So… you're Harry Potter.", said Ronald.
Harry was currently sharing a cabin with him on the train. He seemed friendly enough.
"Yea, that's me." he wasn't sure what to answer to that, really. If there was a thing Harry Potter was lacking in, that was social relationships. Although, given the number of new friends he seemed to have made in barely a month…
"I mean, I know that! It's just… Blimey you know?" and Harry did know. The Leaky Cauldron was indication enough.
Harry and Ronald "Just call me Ron, everyone does" continued their conversation… Or rather tried, as Draco Malfoy dropped by to say hello, with a couple friends. He went away rather quickly, claiming that he was reserved a seat by a few friends of his that Harry probably didn't want to be around to, for obvious reasons.
Thinking "Death Eaters' children", Harry agreed wholeheartedly, and bid Draco goodbye, genuinely happy to have met his tentative friend again, and his feelings were seemingly reciprocated.
Though Ron did look a little put out by his appearance. Well, there was time to let them get to know each other later. For the time being, their discussion went over to spells and magic, and Ron offered to demonstrate one that his brothers taught him on his pet rat, Scabbers.
"What do you actually mean by spell?" questioned Harry. "Isn't all magic done via dances and songs? Are those what spells are?"
Ron looked at him weirdly, thumbing his wand -a cracked necklace- and opening his mouth to answer him… When the door was thrown open.
"Excuse me. Have either of you seen a toad? Someone lost one earlier." quickly questioned a bushy-haired girl, looking rather frazzled and impatient.
"Uh, no?" "Me either." answered Ron and Harry, taken aback by the quick intrusion and quicker interrogation. Interrupted twice in as many minutes. Truly, they must be cursed.
"Oh! I see that you're holding your wand -a necklace is it? Mine is this earring- were you about to do magic? I've practised a few spells myself -nothing too difficult, merely the first few months of our curriculum- but I-"
"-Actually.", cut in Harry, bemused at the lost and almost scared look in Ron's eyes, "Ron here was about to explain to me the difference between spells and magic in general. Oh, I'm Harry by the way."
"Harry? Harry Potter? Are you really? I read all about you of course. The history of the magical world is so fascinating…"
"Read? There are books about me?" questioned Harry, perplexed. He knew he would figure in books, given his apparent fame. But to have books dedicated to him…
"Didn't you know about them? If it was me, I would have found out all I could. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. I am new to the magical world, my parents are pianists, you see. Although, going back to your question…" Hermine took an empty seat next to him.
She seemed rather… Sporadic. Not that it bothered Harry in the least.
"It's quite simple really. Magic is done via songs and dances, it is an expression of your individuality, and can achieve most anything. Although most children only ever experience it as accidental magic, during greatly upsetting moments."
She took a deep breath, then continued. "As for spells, they are standardised. The same movements, and the same songs, for the same effects. Of course they are all slightly affected by our individual artistic sense, and we will eventually learn to adapt our individual magic to reproduce the effects of spells without using standard procedures, but that will only happen during our last few years at Hogwarts, or for spells we are really suited for on a personal level."
Well that was a lot of information, but, "So, magic is an original performance, spells are playable records. Got it."
Harry nodded to himself, as Hermione looked at him weirdly and… Slightly in pain? "Well, yes, I suppose that comparison could work, even if it doesn't take into account the dynamic nature of…"
She trailed off, looking over at Ron, still with that shocked and confused look over his face, before she seemed to give up and simply asked "So! Ron, was it? How about that spell?".
And all was well. Harry knew all about not really fitting in, of course, and he would support Hermione with that if she let him.
Perhaps the spell Ron was given, although the song was quite catchy, was pretty much a dud. Perhaps he got a little angry at Hermione's seemingly patronising tone.
But Harry successfully redirected their attention to the Weasley Twins, and let the two understand each other better. The Song of the World was very good at that, at showing him how people clicked together, where they intertwined, and in what ways.
All in all, Harry Potter would be getting off that train with two new friends. From zero to almost four in only a month. Perhaps Harry really was good at this, after all.
"Firs' Years! Firs' Years with me!" Shouted his giant friend, Hagrid, at the exit of the Hogwarts Express. It was nearly night already.
Harry and his new friends, along with everyone else apparently in their year, were led to a row of boats and told to mount them. Of course, all three remained together.
A 'Neville Longbottom" accompanied them on their boat. A nice guy all around, though a bit shy. Perhaps yet another potential friend?
That thought would have to be kept for later, as they sailed across the lake, and were treated to something truly magical.
A deep, black lake, stars reflected upon the water. It was like being in the middle of the cosmos, stars above, stars below. A castle stood proudly on an island just ahead, shining in the dark with many subtle, yet undeniably present colours, like a firefly crossed with a rainbow.
And throughout their journey, they were accompanied by the singing voices of strange fish-people -"Merpeople", corrected Hermione, awed-, and a giant squid wielding dozens of string and percussive instruments at once, treating them all to a beautiful orchestra.
The music slowly came down, their dreaming thoughts with it, as they reached the shore, right in front of a staircase to the castle. Hagrid helped them all board off, then led them up to the front doors, banging on them. Behind the opening stood a stern and older-looking witch, waiting for them.
"First Years, 'fessor McGonagall. All present and rounded up." explained the bearded giant.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here"
She pulled the door wide open and led them inside, across the gigantic and rather stylish halls of the castle, all the way to another set of doors, music and a lot of voices coming from behind it. Most of the school must have been there already.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall, smiling slightly.
"The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. This is a very important ceremony because, while you are in this castle, your house will be like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room. You will earn and lose points for your house through your behaviour.", she explained.
It sounded like the whole school truly was divided between those houses. Harry wondered if they had any impact on the kind of magic they would learn?
"I will let the Sorting present to you the Houses. Just know that each house has its own noble history, and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours." finishing her rather long speech, Professor McGonagall looked over all of them, seemingly taking their measure, then continued.
"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes, in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all prepare yourselves as much as you can while you are waiting."
She seemed to look critically at a few of them, particularly, before following up. "I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly." she finished.
Then, she left the chamber, leaving them all to chatter among themselves. Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, curious "How exactly do they sort us into houses?".
To no one's surprise, Hermione answered first "No one really knows. Or rather, they don't spread the information around for some reason. Not even in the history books. It's some kind of long-standing tradition to go through this completely in the dark, apparently." she said, seemingly disgruntled at the idea of someone keeping historical knowledge away from a history book of all things.
"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking. They're the twins, after all." Ron followed up, remembering exactly who the information he had came from.
Harry was strangely excited at that. A test didn't sound so impossible, and If it was a test in a school for magic, then it should be a magical test, right? Harry was nothing if not confident in his dancing and singing skills, especially in this place, with so much magic, such a powerful song reaching out and supporting him in his every step.
Then something happened which made him jump slightly, as several people behind him screamed, and not in the musical way.
'What the –?' thought Harry, very much out of his depth when faced by the floating two dozen honest-to-god ghosts that had just streamed through the back wall.
They glided across the room talking to each other seemingly unaware of all of the children present. They also seemed to be arguing. Something about a Peeves?
Eventually, a very nice and kind looking ghost with a great baritone noticed them. "New students!" he said, smiling around at them all. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"
A few people nodded, not quite having found their voices yet. Harry was too busy feeling out their ethereal songs without a beat to care. He'd felt something similar, though not exactly the same, from that small cloth bag in Gringotts…
"I hope to see you in my old House!" said the Friar. "Can't tell you what it is just yet, or course, but we always welcome new additions to the house choir, you know!"
"Move along now," said a sharp voice, making them all flinch. Professor McGonagall could be surprisingly sneaky, it seemed. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start."'
"Now, form a line," she told them, "and follow me."
Feeling as if he was walking on a cloud, basking in the magic all around as he was, and ready to start dancing his heart out whenever, Harry moved forward, with Ron and Hermione behind him, Neville trailing a bit more behind them. They all walked into the Great Hall, under the gazes of all the older years and the school staff.
The place was truly magical. The magical decorations, the magical music, and the roof!
"It's charmed to look like the night sky outside," whispered Hermione, "sometimes."
"Only sometimes?" whispered back Harry, curious.
"It also has a 'nightclub' configuration-" "Ah. Say no more."
Harry nodded his head slightly. It made sense. If he could enchant a roof to look like whatever, why not the truly important places, and why only one of them?
His attention, and that of everyone else, was stolen away when McGonagall appeared in front of the staff's table at the end of the hall, holding up a royal crown in her hands.
It was gorgeous. It was made of solid gold, glimmering in the light, carved with many different pictures he couldn't quite make out, inlaid with jewels, and had a multicoloured cap on the inside. A cap with a Crown, how interesting. And fancy.
To his surprise, and that of everyone else around him, the cap within the crown started wiggling around, as one of its seams opened like a mouth and started to sing.
No, not sing. Rap.
"Oooooooh,
Yeah! You may think I'm gaudy,
But pal! don't judge just what you see,
'Cause I'll! I'll eat myself if you can find
A dapper crown than me."
Yeah! You may think I'm gaudy,
But pal! don't judge just what you see,
'Cause I'll! I'll eat myself if you can find
A dapper crown than me."
The older students followed along, eager to clap and stomp a beat for the rap and provide vocal accompaniment.
"You can keep your bowlers brown," (Yeah, you can keep 'em all!)
"Or your top hats sleek and tall,"
"For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Crown" (Sing along and take the throne!)
"And I can cap 'em all!"
"There's nothing hidden in your soul" (Sing your heart out in full!)
"The Sorting Crown can't see,"
"So try me on, and I'll tell you" (Yeah, you tell me!)
"Just where you ought to be."
"Or your top hats sleek and tall,"
"For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Crown" (Sing along and take the throne!)
"And I can cap 'em all!"
"There's nothing hidden in your soul" (Sing your heart out in full!)
"The Sorting Crown can't see,"
"So try me on, and I'll tell you" (Yeah, you tell me!)
"Just where you ought to be."
"You might go to Gryff-on-the-floor," (Red and gold are our colours!)
"Where dwell free-styling hearts,"
"Freeform dancin', singin', and more" (A dance for every hour!)
"Set our Gryffs apart;"
"Y'might belong in Huff'n'Puff," (Sing along brothers, sisters!)
"Choir of vocals and chants,"
"The house sings together, that's the truth" (Yellow and black of Huff'n'Puff!)
"Their dances slow and grand;"
"Where dwell free-styling hearts,"
"Freeform dancin', singin', and more" (A dance for every hour!)
"Set our Gryffs apart;"
"Y'might belong in Huff'n'Puff," (Sing along brothers, sisters!)
"Choir of vocals and chants,"
"The house sings together, that's the truth" (Yellow and black of Huff'n'Puff!)
"Their dances slow and grand;"
"Or yet old Ravin' flow tells us," (Feelings of blue and bronze!)
"If you've a ready mind,"
"Inspired and spontaneous," (Ephemeral and curious!)
"Will always find their kind;"
"Or perhaps on the Slyther-scene" (A silver grace, a stage of green!)
"You'll make your real friends,"
"Where dramatic, on-point acting" (Playwrights of minds cunning and keen!)
"Is the name of the game."
"If you've a ready mind,"
"Inspired and spontaneous," (Ephemeral and curious!)
"Will always find their kind;"
"Or perhaps on the Slyther-scene" (A silver grace, a stage of green!)
"You'll make your real friends,"
"Where dramatic, on-point acting" (Playwrights of minds cunning and keen!)
"Is the name of the game."
"So put me on! Don't be afraid!" (Enter the dance and sing along!)
"And get ready to clap!"
"You're in safe hands, though I have none," (Though he has none!)
"For I'm the Rapping Cap!!"
"And get ready to clap!"
"You're in safe hands, though I have none," (Though he has none!)
"For I'm the Rapping Cap!!"
And at that moment, behind his gigantic grin, over the song shouted in his ears, beyond even the magic permeating everything, Harry knew for sure.
He was finally home.
Author's note: checkpoint one out of four attained for "things I wanted to write in this". Will have to see if I get inspired any more.
Last edited:
Chapter 3 - This Isn’t What I Meant By “Full House”!
zellat451
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Chapter 3 - This Isn't What I Meant By "Full House"!
The Great Hall, Hogwarts, late evening of September 1st, 1991
Harry Potter POV
As the Sorting Crown's song finished, the whole room devolved into enthusiastic clapping, as the older years and some of the staff took back their places at their respective tables.
Harry hadn't even noticed that some people had climbed on them to dance! He was too entranced by the incredibleness of it all. Still, this was the occasion to take a clearer look around the room.
The ambient music was stopping as students reorganised themselves, probably preparing for the Sorting itself, serious event that it was supposed to be. Professor McGonagall looked both amused and just done with the Gryff-on-the-floor table -or so Harry guessed, given the colours of the table- and Fred and George in particular, who must have taken the opportunity for a headspin, given the state of their hair.
Harry could see, and feel, the other members of the staff quite clearly. The font of peppy and jazzy music and beat was unmistakably powerful and protectively all-encompassing. Following Hagrid's previous comments, this old man with star-shaped glasses in glittery purple robes and with rainbow-coloured hair and beard must be the Headmaster, Dumbledore.
Who apparently noticed Harry as well, if the smile and wink were any indication. He was getting far too many of those these days, and Harry wasn't really sure of how to deal with kind and considerate adults just yet.
So, obviously, he looked away and searched for more interesting, less personally disturbing things to look at.
There was a man on the far right who felt quite grand in the magic also. Dressed in emerald robes, sporting a big, crooked nose, and perfectly combed black hair. He looked like a first rate actor, and obviously had some sort of relationship with the house of Slyther-scene. He, too, had noticed Harry and was… glaring at him?
Finally, some normality. Though Harry honestly wasn't exactly sure how to feel about that after everything. So, he looked away.
There were plenty of other interesting Songs coming from the staff table. From the very small man somewhere on the left, a whimsy tune, whisted in a chorus and accompanied by maracas. From a lady in a plant-covered tunic, a powerful choir holding their notes as long as they possibly could, accompanied by a pipe organ. And the heavily-percussive piece coming from Professor McGonagall was definitely interesting.
The weirdest, however, was this dual song coming from some guy with a turban. One, a rather emotional serenade, the other, a powerful acapella hymn. The latter seemed to be… choking the former, somehow.
Harry wasn't sure what to make of that, but he didn't like it.
"Abbot, Hannah!" spoke the percussion, clearly and loudly, snapping Harry out of his fugue as he looked towards… a student of his year walking towards the Professor holding the sorting Crown. She then proceeded to place it on the student's head, and, after a few seconds, it yelled out "Huff'n'Puff!" as applause sounded from the black and yellow table.
It seems that they would be called on, the Crown placed on their heads, and it would choose how to place them that way. Like the song said. Well, good thing that Harry wasn't the first on the list, distracted as he was.
He listened as "Granger, Hermione" and "Longbottom, Neville" were sent to "Gryff-on-the-floor" both, though Neville had required some deliberations, while "Malfoy, Draco", was immediately sent to "Slyther-scene".
He certainly has the dramatic down to a second nature. Good for him. Sad thing that his friends from the train -Harry never got their names, did he?- were sent to different houses. One to Huff'n'Puff, the other to Ravin' flow.
Well , it's not like cross-houses parties would be disallowed, right? That would be pretty dumb in Harry's opinion.
He walked to the stool himself upon a cry of "Potter, Harry.", as the Great Hall suddenly turned even more silent than before.
Right. Boy-Who-Lived, fame, all of that. Harry had forgotten, for a moment.
Harry walked up to Professor McGonagall in the silence and sat down on the stool, slightly nervous at first, but quickly soothed by the magic of the castle. She put the Sorting Crown upon his head.
'Ah… Harry Potter. Plenty of minds are thinking about you these days.' sounded in his head a voice that he had heard singing only a few minutes before.
'The… Sorting Crown? Can you hear my thoughts?' he asked, slightly disturbed, though trusting that no magic used in a school would be made to harm him in any way.
'Indeed, and you are right of course. All that I see here I will keep to myself.' said the Crown reassuringly, 'This is merely for the purpose of Sorting you in the best way. Now then-'
The Crown interrupted itself -himself? The song said so, right?- for a few seconds before continuing.
'I see, I see! What a great power you have, Harry Potter, to hear the Song of the World so easily!' exclaimed the Crown, seemingly pleasantly surprised.
Surmising about what he was speaking about, Harry answered back 'You mean the music in my head that I hear all day long? Or perhaps the one coming from others? Isn't that common?'
'Certainly not!' thought back the dapper cap immediately, 'Very few people can hear the World itself, and it takes them a lot of focus, as well as carefully-constructed rituals. As of hearing the personal songs of others, this has never happened to my knowledge. Twisting them, certainly, but hearing them? Only when in close contact and by a singular object in all of the world: myself. Never by humans. How incredible.' he trailed off for a moment.
'Well, interesting as this is, this does cause me problems to sort you, mister Potter.' said the Crown, sending Harry panicking a little.
'Nothing like that! You are here, you will be Sorted. How it will happen is what will change. The Founders would never turn anyone away from Hogwarts, regardless of how difficult they are to deal with.' assured the Crown, immediately picking up on Harry's thoughts.
'Oh, so what's the matter then?' asked Harry, reassured.
'Your personal song, mister Potter, is the problem.' began the Crown. 'I take a look deep within the thoughts of the Sortee before I can Sort them, you see. A personal song resonating strongly with one's feelings and creativity, and lacking in the inhibitions to stop itself from being expressed as it arrives, these songs are sent to Ravin'flow. They tend to perform alone because of that.'
'Ravin'flow for the emotional, creative, solo dancers who like to throw down at a moment's notice. Got it.' Harry nodded his understanding, filing the thought for later.
'Quite.' continued the gaudy headgear, sounding amused. 'For those who prefer personal forms of self-expression, much like Ravin'flow, but would rather hold back for a while and share their ideas to perform in small groups, they are sent to Gryff-on-the-floor.'
'Gryff-on-the-floor for emotional and creative performers who would rather work in groups, alright.' nodded Harry once again, following the train of thought, but not yet seeing the point.
'As for Huff'n'Puff,' the Crown picked up where he left off 'it is the House of dancers and singers that do not work well alone. They would rather let their own song tangle up with a large group around them. Generally, someone comes up with an idea, and the House performs as one, you see?'
Harry did see, and answered as such. Huff'n'Puff would work as a singular, gigantic Troupe that reflected the personal song of a single person at a time.
...Wait a moment, wasn't that how the Dark Mark worked? He thought Draco told him something similar to that...
'No, no.' interjected the Crown, 'The Dark Mark was a successful attempt to replicate a terrible curse, and project it to a wide range of people at once.' he thought at Harry, somberly. 'Where the Dark Mark forcefully made people share the Dread Lord's individuality and emotions, the House of Huff'n'Puff prides itself on their individuality.'
'It is the difference between a single person with very big, powerful emotions working towards a goal, and a mass of people, all different, working towards the same goal but each with their own interpretation of it. One is purer and more powerful, the other varied and more beautiful.' he finished, and Harry nodded in understanding.
'Finally, the Slyther-scene', wrapped up the cap, 'welcomes those who, like in Huff'n'Puff, prefer to perform in groups. But, instead of using their songs as a support for others, they prefer to think of them all as puzzle pieces, to assemble and make work together, expressing the songs of many at once.'
Thus the dramas and plays, understood Harry. After all, what is drama but multiple stories working to tell a single, greater one through their interactions?
'Everyone has such points reflected in their personal song, mister Potter.' continued the Sorting Crown, about to bring forth his point 'This allows me to sort them with others like them. Except for you, mister Potter. Your song is akin to that of the World, after basking in it for so long. You appreciate everything. You enjoy everything. You understand everything. You would work well with everything.'
The taking cap paused for a second, giving Harry some time to digest all of that, before continuing, 'Because you are all of the songs, mister Potter. And so, though I must Sort you, I really cannot.'
Harry felt his head buzzing from the revelation, and suddenly became very aware of just how long he was sitting on that stool. He could hear the murmurs starting to grow in the Great Hall. 'What happens to me, then?'
'Something, unique, mister Potter.' answered the Crown, a grin in his voice. 'After all, the purpose of Hogwarts was to let all magicals express themselves without having to hide. To designate a House for you over the others would go against everything this place was built for.'
'Still,' the sentient headgear continued, 'you require a place to sleep. So, simply choose a house for yourself, and let me do the rest.'
Harry was confused, but did as the Crown asked. He asked himself if he had any preference at all, and realised that he would like to remain with his friends. Already partial to Gryff-on-the-floor and Slyther-scene due to Hermione, Neville, and Draco, he focused on the Song of the World, and asked himself where he thought Ron would go.
The answer was exceedingly clear, 'Very well, then. Welcome home, Harry Potter.' and the Sorting Crown picked up on that, apparently.
Albus Dumbledore POV
Albus was waiting for this moment with great trepidation.
The day he heard that blasted prophecy was the day that sealed everything for him, and Tom, and the whole of Britain. That day, Magic itself had decided that he couldn't simply defeat Tom himself. Instead, that burden would have to fall to a child.
He had defeated Gellert in a Wizard's Throwdown all these years ago, and only earned himself pain as his once lover was locked away.
He had met Tom, the most controlling boy he had ever met, and watched him grow to become the Dread Lord Voldemort, unable to stop him and his army of dance-controlled minions thrown his way to block his search and attempts to take the man down.
Truly, the Tarantallegra curse was worthy of its name as Unforgivable. There would be no individuality left in all of these Death Eaters, all of these people he once called his students, and now called corpses, or husks, for the living ones.
He had kept on failing to stop the disasters in time, and now a child was to suffer the same fate. He had to prepare him for it.
He couldn't teach young Harry how to better wield his magic. Spells wouldn't do against the Dread Lord Voldemort -and he would learn these as school anyway-, and no one could teach another to push their individuality in their magic, to realise their own selves through their songs and dances, to truly become themselves and have the World acknowledge them.
That came with time, practice, and experience.
But experience, he could give. Or rather, he could force on the boy. So, he sent him to a family which would never love him. The blood wards as a protection were a nice bonus, but his true aim was the abuse. Emotional pain taught one how to recognize loss, and to truly feel what was taken from them when it is finally given back. Adversity bred creativity, the very lifeblood of magic. And a change in his life so complete as the revelation of the Magical World would affirm the place of wonder, hope, and love in his heart, as it did in so many muggleborns.
It is the reason why they were usually so much more powerful than those born in the magical world, after all. A great emotional upheaval, and sudden change in perspective, it was the spark of change that lit into a fire of passion and creativity to sing about. And one's magic recognised and supported that.
And now, year 1991, Albus had confirmation that his wayward student was indeed still alive. The last confirmation that the prophecy was not complete hogwash. The last nail in his coffin. And he needed to prepare.
He knew that, disembodied as he was, Tom would first attempt to rebuild himself. And with his ever-present thirst for immortality and multiple backup plans, Albus felt that it was only natural to use the Philosopher's Tune as bait.
Tom would send his agents to the castle, or better yet, come himself. Harry would hear about the artefact and seek to protect it, with the right incentives. The "protections" in place would slow down Tom long enough to entrap him, and serve as a good enough test for young Harry, as well as to help bring out this "power the Dread Lord knows not". And Albus would be here to make sure that he remained safe, just in case, and to take another shot at Tom himself should he get the opportunity.
With an internal sigh, Albus looked over the group of first years, new faces, new songs threatened by the evil of this world. A new child that would be forced to stand up and protect them all, at the cost of his own happiness, like he once did himself.
He looked on to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, 'And now,' he mused, 'the Crownstall would become yet another title of his, I suppose.'
The boy has been sitting on that stool for at least ten minutes now, seemingly deep in a conversation, if the nods he sometimes gave were any indication.
It was as if the whole room was holding its breath, some murmuring to their friends, trying to understand what was going on, but Albus only looked on, feeling only certainty in a dreadful future for the child. For what did it mean when even Hogwarts took notice of you, but a greater, more encompassing Fate, and the sacrifices that always come with it?
Finally, the Crown strengthened along with the child it was put on. His mouth-like seam opened up as he prepared a shout.
"Gryff-on-the-floor!" as expected, the entire House blew up in excitement. Albus nodded his head and smiled sadly, reminiscing about two of his former students, once sitting on that very stool, as the Sorting Crown shouted that exact same name. No doubt they would be feeling parental pride at thei-
"Huff'n'Puff!" -What?
It was as if the entire Great Hall was choked, as yet another cry resounded. "Ravin'flow!"
Eyes could not get any bigger, nor mouth opened wider in confusion and shock, as "Slyther-scene!" resounded throughout the now thoroughly silent room.
"But for the sake of Housing arrangements, Gryff-on-the-floor it shall be!" finished the damned singing cap, with a bright smile and a laugh in his voice.
Well, this was shaping up to be an interesting few school years.
Albus merely clapped his hands once, attracting everyone's attention to push away their confusion, and with a smile, indicated to young Harry the Gryff-on-the-floor table. The boy gave a smile of his own, seemingly embarrassed -which was only expected- and went, taking a seat among his new house. One of four of his new Houses. His primary House?
Well, there would be time to think of that later. The Crown's decisions were final, after all, and the unexpected was expected with a child of prophecy involved. For now, there would be a few words of welcome from him, there would be a banquet, there would be a warning, and there would be a sick welcoming party in the Great Hall, as well as each of the Houses' common rooms.
Albus nodded his head at Minerva, urging her along.
Before all of that, of course, there was a Sorting to finish.
Author's note:
One kid to rule them all, One crown to find them,
One kid to bring them all, and on the dance floor challenge them,
In the Land of Hogwarts where the music sounds
Each house does have its particularities. They wouldn't be divided that way otherwise. And now, he has access to them all.
Also, Dumbledore is Rainbow Dash and you can't change my mind.
The Great Hall, Hogwarts, late evening of September 1st, 1991
Harry Potter POV
As the Sorting Crown's song finished, the whole room devolved into enthusiastic clapping, as the older years and some of the staff took back their places at their respective tables.
Harry hadn't even noticed that some people had climbed on them to dance! He was too entranced by the incredibleness of it all. Still, this was the occasion to take a clearer look around the room.
The ambient music was stopping as students reorganised themselves, probably preparing for the Sorting itself, serious event that it was supposed to be. Professor McGonagall looked both amused and just done with the Gryff-on-the-floor table -or so Harry guessed, given the colours of the table- and Fred and George in particular, who must have taken the opportunity for a headspin, given the state of their hair.
Harry could see, and feel, the other members of the staff quite clearly. The font of peppy and jazzy music and beat was unmistakably powerful and protectively all-encompassing. Following Hagrid's previous comments, this old man with star-shaped glasses in glittery purple robes and with rainbow-coloured hair and beard must be the Headmaster, Dumbledore.
Who apparently noticed Harry as well, if the smile and wink were any indication. He was getting far too many of those these days, and Harry wasn't really sure of how to deal with kind and considerate adults just yet.
So, obviously, he looked away and searched for more interesting, less personally disturbing things to look at.
There was a man on the far right who felt quite grand in the magic also. Dressed in emerald robes, sporting a big, crooked nose, and perfectly combed black hair. He looked like a first rate actor, and obviously had some sort of relationship with the house of Slyther-scene. He, too, had noticed Harry and was… glaring at him?
Finally, some normality. Though Harry honestly wasn't exactly sure how to feel about that after everything. So, he looked away.
There were plenty of other interesting Songs coming from the staff table. From the very small man somewhere on the left, a whimsy tune, whisted in a chorus and accompanied by maracas. From a lady in a plant-covered tunic, a powerful choir holding their notes as long as they possibly could, accompanied by a pipe organ. And the heavily-percussive piece coming from Professor McGonagall was definitely interesting.
The weirdest, however, was this dual song coming from some guy with a turban. One, a rather emotional serenade, the other, a powerful acapella hymn. The latter seemed to be… choking the former, somehow.
Harry wasn't sure what to make of that, but he didn't like it.
"Abbot, Hannah!" spoke the percussion, clearly and loudly, snapping Harry out of his fugue as he looked towards… a student of his year walking towards the Professor holding the sorting Crown. She then proceeded to place it on the student's head, and, after a few seconds, it yelled out "Huff'n'Puff!" as applause sounded from the black and yellow table.
It seems that they would be called on, the Crown placed on their heads, and it would choose how to place them that way. Like the song said. Well, good thing that Harry wasn't the first on the list, distracted as he was.
He listened as "Granger, Hermione" and "Longbottom, Neville" were sent to "Gryff-on-the-floor" both, though Neville had required some deliberations, while "Malfoy, Draco", was immediately sent to "Slyther-scene".
He certainly has the dramatic down to a second nature. Good for him. Sad thing that his friends from the train -Harry never got their names, did he?- were sent to different houses. One to Huff'n'Puff, the other to Ravin' flow.
Well , it's not like cross-houses parties would be disallowed, right? That would be pretty dumb in Harry's opinion.
He walked to the stool himself upon a cry of "Potter, Harry.", as the Great Hall suddenly turned even more silent than before.
Right. Boy-Who-Lived, fame, all of that. Harry had forgotten, for a moment.
Harry walked up to Professor McGonagall in the silence and sat down on the stool, slightly nervous at first, but quickly soothed by the magic of the castle. She put the Sorting Crown upon his head.
'Ah… Harry Potter. Plenty of minds are thinking about you these days.' sounded in his head a voice that he had heard singing only a few minutes before.
'The… Sorting Crown? Can you hear my thoughts?' he asked, slightly disturbed, though trusting that no magic used in a school would be made to harm him in any way.
'Indeed, and you are right of course. All that I see here I will keep to myself.' said the Crown reassuringly, 'This is merely for the purpose of Sorting you in the best way. Now then-'
The Crown interrupted itself -himself? The song said so, right?- for a few seconds before continuing.
'I see, I see! What a great power you have, Harry Potter, to hear the Song of the World so easily!' exclaimed the Crown, seemingly pleasantly surprised.
Surmising about what he was speaking about, Harry answered back 'You mean the music in my head that I hear all day long? Or perhaps the one coming from others? Isn't that common?'
'Certainly not!' thought back the dapper cap immediately, 'Very few people can hear the World itself, and it takes them a lot of focus, as well as carefully-constructed rituals. As of hearing the personal songs of others, this has never happened to my knowledge. Twisting them, certainly, but hearing them? Only when in close contact and by a singular object in all of the world: myself. Never by humans. How incredible.' he trailed off for a moment.
'Well, interesting as this is, this does cause me problems to sort you, mister Potter.' said the Crown, sending Harry panicking a little.
'Nothing like that! You are here, you will be Sorted. How it will happen is what will change. The Founders would never turn anyone away from Hogwarts, regardless of how difficult they are to deal with.' assured the Crown, immediately picking up on Harry's thoughts.
'Oh, so what's the matter then?' asked Harry, reassured.
'Your personal song, mister Potter, is the problem.' began the Crown. 'I take a look deep within the thoughts of the Sortee before I can Sort them, you see. A personal song resonating strongly with one's feelings and creativity, and lacking in the inhibitions to stop itself from being expressed as it arrives, these songs are sent to Ravin'flow. They tend to perform alone because of that.'
'Ravin'flow for the emotional, creative, solo dancers who like to throw down at a moment's notice. Got it.' Harry nodded his understanding, filing the thought for later.
'Quite.' continued the gaudy headgear, sounding amused. 'For those who prefer personal forms of self-expression, much like Ravin'flow, but would rather hold back for a while and share their ideas to perform in small groups, they are sent to Gryff-on-the-floor.'
'Gryff-on-the-floor for emotional and creative performers who would rather work in groups, alright.' nodded Harry once again, following the train of thought, but not yet seeing the point.
'As for Huff'n'Puff,' the Crown picked up where he left off 'it is the House of dancers and singers that do not work well alone. They would rather let their own song tangle up with a large group around them. Generally, someone comes up with an idea, and the House performs as one, you see?'
Harry did see, and answered as such. Huff'n'Puff would work as a singular, gigantic Troupe that reflected the personal song of a single person at a time.
...Wait a moment, wasn't that how the Dark Mark worked? He thought Draco told him something similar to that...
'No, no.' interjected the Crown, 'The Dark Mark was a successful attempt to replicate a terrible curse, and project it to a wide range of people at once.' he thought at Harry, somberly. 'Where the Dark Mark forcefully made people share the Dread Lord's individuality and emotions, the House of Huff'n'Puff prides itself on their individuality.'
'It is the difference between a single person with very big, powerful emotions working towards a goal, and a mass of people, all different, working towards the same goal but each with their own interpretation of it. One is purer and more powerful, the other varied and more beautiful.' he finished, and Harry nodded in understanding.
'Finally, the Slyther-scene', wrapped up the cap, 'welcomes those who, like in Huff'n'Puff, prefer to perform in groups. But, instead of using their songs as a support for others, they prefer to think of them all as puzzle pieces, to assemble and make work together, expressing the songs of many at once.'
Thus the dramas and plays, understood Harry. After all, what is drama but multiple stories working to tell a single, greater one through their interactions?
'Everyone has such points reflected in their personal song, mister Potter.' continued the Sorting Crown, about to bring forth his point 'This allows me to sort them with others like them. Except for you, mister Potter. Your song is akin to that of the World, after basking in it for so long. You appreciate everything. You enjoy everything. You understand everything. You would work well with everything.'
The taking cap paused for a second, giving Harry some time to digest all of that, before continuing, 'Because you are all of the songs, mister Potter. And so, though I must Sort you, I really cannot.'
Harry felt his head buzzing from the revelation, and suddenly became very aware of just how long he was sitting on that stool. He could hear the murmurs starting to grow in the Great Hall. 'What happens to me, then?'
'Something, unique, mister Potter.' answered the Crown, a grin in his voice. 'After all, the purpose of Hogwarts was to let all magicals express themselves without having to hide. To designate a House for you over the others would go against everything this place was built for.'
'Still,' the sentient headgear continued, 'you require a place to sleep. So, simply choose a house for yourself, and let me do the rest.'
Harry was confused, but did as the Crown asked. He asked himself if he had any preference at all, and realised that he would like to remain with his friends. Already partial to Gryff-on-the-floor and Slyther-scene due to Hermione, Neville, and Draco, he focused on the Song of the World, and asked himself where he thought Ron would go.
The answer was exceedingly clear, 'Very well, then. Welcome home, Harry Potter.' and the Sorting Crown picked up on that, apparently.
Albus Dumbledore POV
Albus was waiting for this moment with great trepidation.
The day he heard that blasted prophecy was the day that sealed everything for him, and Tom, and the whole of Britain. That day, Magic itself had decided that he couldn't simply defeat Tom himself. Instead, that burden would have to fall to a child.
He had defeated Gellert in a Wizard's Throwdown all these years ago, and only earned himself pain as his once lover was locked away.
He had met Tom, the most controlling boy he had ever met, and watched him grow to become the Dread Lord Voldemort, unable to stop him and his army of dance-controlled minions thrown his way to block his search and attempts to take the man down.
Truly, the Tarantallegra curse was worthy of its name as Unforgivable. There would be no individuality left in all of these Death Eaters, all of these people he once called his students, and now called corpses, or husks, for the living ones.
He had kept on failing to stop the disasters in time, and now a child was to suffer the same fate. He had to prepare him for it.
He couldn't teach young Harry how to better wield his magic. Spells wouldn't do against the Dread Lord Voldemort -and he would learn these as school anyway-, and no one could teach another to push their individuality in their magic, to realise their own selves through their songs and dances, to truly become themselves and have the World acknowledge them.
That came with time, practice, and experience.
But experience, he could give. Or rather, he could force on the boy. So, he sent him to a family which would never love him. The blood wards as a protection were a nice bonus, but his true aim was the abuse. Emotional pain taught one how to recognize loss, and to truly feel what was taken from them when it is finally given back. Adversity bred creativity, the very lifeblood of magic. And a change in his life so complete as the revelation of the Magical World would affirm the place of wonder, hope, and love in his heart, as it did in so many muggleborns.
It is the reason why they were usually so much more powerful than those born in the magical world, after all. A great emotional upheaval, and sudden change in perspective, it was the spark of change that lit into a fire of passion and creativity to sing about. And one's magic recognised and supported that.
And now, year 1991, Albus had confirmation that his wayward student was indeed still alive. The last confirmation that the prophecy was not complete hogwash. The last nail in his coffin. And he needed to prepare.
He knew that, disembodied as he was, Tom would first attempt to rebuild himself. And with his ever-present thirst for immortality and multiple backup plans, Albus felt that it was only natural to use the Philosopher's Tune as bait.
Tom would send his agents to the castle, or better yet, come himself. Harry would hear about the artefact and seek to protect it, with the right incentives. The "protections" in place would slow down Tom long enough to entrap him, and serve as a good enough test for young Harry, as well as to help bring out this "power the Dread Lord knows not". And Albus would be here to make sure that he remained safe, just in case, and to take another shot at Tom himself should he get the opportunity.
With an internal sigh, Albus looked over the group of first years, new faces, new songs threatened by the evil of this world. A new child that would be forced to stand up and protect them all, at the cost of his own happiness, like he once did himself.
He looked on to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, 'And now,' he mused, 'the Crownstall would become yet another title of his, I suppose.'
The boy has been sitting on that stool for at least ten minutes now, seemingly deep in a conversation, if the nods he sometimes gave were any indication.
It was as if the whole room was holding its breath, some murmuring to their friends, trying to understand what was going on, but Albus only looked on, feeling only certainty in a dreadful future for the child. For what did it mean when even Hogwarts took notice of you, but a greater, more encompassing Fate, and the sacrifices that always come with it?
Finally, the Crown strengthened along with the child it was put on. His mouth-like seam opened up as he prepared a shout.
"Gryff-on-the-floor!" as expected, the entire House blew up in excitement. Albus nodded his head and smiled sadly, reminiscing about two of his former students, once sitting on that very stool, as the Sorting Crown shouted that exact same name. No doubt they would be feeling parental pride at thei-
"Huff'n'Puff!" -What?
It was as if the entire Great Hall was choked, as yet another cry resounded. "Ravin'flow!"
Eyes could not get any bigger, nor mouth opened wider in confusion and shock, as "Slyther-scene!" resounded throughout the now thoroughly silent room.
"But for the sake of Housing arrangements, Gryff-on-the-floor it shall be!" finished the damned singing cap, with a bright smile and a laugh in his voice.
Well, this was shaping up to be an interesting few school years.
Albus merely clapped his hands once, attracting everyone's attention to push away their confusion, and with a smile, indicated to young Harry the Gryff-on-the-floor table. The boy gave a smile of his own, seemingly embarrassed -which was only expected- and went, taking a seat among his new house. One of four of his new Houses. His primary House?
Well, there would be time to think of that later. The Crown's decisions were final, after all, and the unexpected was expected with a child of prophecy involved. For now, there would be a few words of welcome from him, there would be a banquet, there would be a warning, and there would be a sick welcoming party in the Great Hall, as well as each of the Houses' common rooms.
Albus nodded his head at Minerva, urging her along.
Before all of that, of course, there was a Sorting to finish.
Author's note:
One kid to rule them all, One crown to find them,
One kid to bring them all, and on the dance floor challenge them,
In the Land of Hogwarts where the music sounds
Each house does have its particularities. They wouldn't be divided that way otherwise. And now, he has access to them all.
Also, Dumbledore is Rainbow Dash and you can't change my mind.
Last edited:
Chapter 4 - History of a Story
zellat451
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Chapter 4 - History of a Story
Ancient Greece, 478 b.c.
??? POV
He was about to finish it.
His life's greatest work, and undoubtedly something he would never top in all of his existence thereafter. After all, it would serve to give him all of that time, in the first place.
He was about to finish it, the ritual circle was complete.
This gift he was born with, the Tongue of the Serpents, was merely the first indication of his greatness. The first proof that he was better than all others before him. The greatest wizard in all of the world.
He was about to finish it, his magical staff was in his hands, ready to direct the power to his will, and to serve as a receptacle.
That gift, that proof of superiority, he had studied and pushed beyond all that those before him had discovered. He found out the power behind the language that made magic spoken with it so much more powerful. He found that the ability to control snakes extended to all magical breeds, irrespective of their innate power. He created the very first Basilisk, the King of Serpents, the Beast That Killed With a Look, and dominated it, leading it to battle against his enemies.
He was about to finish it, the sacrifice was bound to the altar, spelled unmoving. The magical child would serve a purpose in her life, after all.
He then studied the boundaries of power magic could attain, and saw them shattered before his might and intelligence. He created over two-thirds of all Dark Curses in existence. He was the respected Herpo the Foul, and there would be no other like him.
And he yearned for an eternal existence. Immortality.
He was about to finish it, his pet Basilisk, over 50 years of age by now, was standing next to the ritual circle with him, ready to provide its concept of long-lasting life to aid him.
He conceptualized the idea of a Horcrux, that the soul could be shattered, the pieces sealed in objects, and used as anchors for the remaining pieces in the case of death, preventing one from passing on. The knowledge from those Egyptians about the workings of the soul was truly a great help, but he was the one who designed everything here based on it.
He was finishing it, now.
He walked up to the altar, and killed the girl with one entrails-expelling curse, fracturing his soul in the process.
He never noticed the Song of the World jarring from the sudden loss, taking notice of him.
He pushed his magic into the circle, ripping additional power from his Basilisk, widening the fracture slowly into an open wound.
He never noticed his own, personal symphony tearing apart at the seams, drums beating out of control, strings breaking in their vibrations, voices falling over, never to sing again.
He pushed harder, feeling the slight pain he knew would happen, and smiled in confidence. He was nearly there!
If only he had cut between each separate track, instead of through. Perhaps the result would have been different.
Herpo the Foul suddenly keeled over, dead. He has split his soul, through each and every track of his own Song, forcing them all into silence.
And when the Song makes place for silence, one must be dead.
Such are the rules of this world.
A shame for him, then, that the truth of the Musicality of Magic would only be discovered in full within the following century.
British Isles, 1234
??? POV
It was waiting, garbed in pink.
It knew not of impatience, nor of hopelessness. It could wait for centuries, millennia, in order to find a new, worthy performance.
It was waiting, and heard footsteps up ahead.
It had been a while since It's children had finally wisened up to the truth of their power, of their existence. The performers now knew the script, they knew the stage, they wrote their own songs and dances. All they needed now was an audience, a reviewer, a critic.
It was waiting, as always, and looked on with interest at the three brothers beyond the river, It's presence unknown to them.
It thus prepared a stage. It cut off a part of the country from the other, partly, with a river of deadly speed and great width, for the age. It knew that leaving an island on the center would give them an incentive to try, to believe it not to be impossible to get to the other side, and reach the natural riches the rumours said were there.
Rumours that, of course, it had spread.
It was waiting, observing the three brothers beyond the river, as they seemingly prepared their choreography, putting out their instruments. They would find the World in this place far harder to move, and they knew that.
With the stage set, performers attracted to it, and the critic in place, it could observe a performance worthy of Magic, worthy of itself. A proof that the gift was not wasted. All that was needed was time.
The brothers worked well together.
The youngest led with a dance, full of spins and pirouettes, his steps light and his movements fluids. The earth shook and thick vines were born.
The second oldest accompanied him with a song, his soprano echoing all over the riverbank, leading the vines forward and holding back the flow of the water enough that it would not instantly break any construction.
The elder took position in their front, leading the performance, as the drums upon his waist echoed out with strength and power, shaping the newly-created bridge. None of them could have achieved as much without him to amplify their inner song, and lead them in their dance together.
It was waiting, as the brothers stepped forward, across their bridge. It was proud. It was shocked. It was moved to tears.
It had found a winning performance, after thousands of years.
-Marvellous-
It spoke, and clapped all at once, the concept of its applause seared directly into their minds, forcing comprehension. The brothers stopped as they "heard" it, and it appeared before them, ready to reward the performers.
-Choose- It urged them.
The brothers, named Peverell, took some time to understand the situation, and to decide on their rewards. But eventually, they did.
To the eldest, it would leave a baton. The perfect tool to beat a drum and to lead a performance. The Elder Baton, the Death Stick. It would amplify the sound of all percussion, making them far reaching, and enhance the power created by any group performance, making sure that no drop of magic would be wasted.
To the second oldest, it gave the Tone of Resurrection. A choker to put around one's neck, changing the tone of their voice so that it may reach out to and call down shades of the dead, to appreciate a performance and dance along.
And to the youngest, it would leave a part of its own, bright pink cloak. The Cloak of Visibility, which would force an audience to focus on the dancer garbed in it, intertwining their songs to his, spreading understanding, love, and urging them to dance along.
-Soon-
Soon it would see them again, and they knew. That day, one day, they would perform for it again, and again, and forevermore.
In the land of the dead, where Death observes and critiques, and the once-living dance and sing, in a never-ending rave.
France, late 14th century
??? POV
Nearly there!
Himself and his dear Perenelle were waltzing around a pyre, plants and alloys of all kinds, all of alchemical make, magically thrown into the burning flame at regular intervals.
Nearly there! Just a few more repetitions before their greatest work would be complete.
They sang as they danced, each verse and tone carefully crafted, written, and repeated to link what made the two Flamels similar in their differences, and what made that similarity similar to the World itself.
Nearly there! Their steps on the ritual circle were perfect, the array was fed more than enough power, the materials were in over twice the calculated required quantity. Nothing had gone wrong, it was going to work.
This was his theory, which they refined together, and finally put into practice. The Song of the World would keep a performer alive so long as they were needed. This need could be created simply by having a unique, irreplaceable voice.
It was why ghosts existed, after all. A music only made of instrumentals and vocals, their beat having left with their body. Their Songs were unchanging, much as the ghosts were, because the Song of the World was keeping their voices in reserve. The ghosts were the backstage musicians to be called on at a moment's notice, the living were the on-stage performers forever coming and going, and the dead watched as ever-silent critics.
Nearly there! This would either work, or it would fail. But Nicolas chose to believe in his wife's genius, in their love-fueled crazy ideas, and in living your life to the fullest. If they didn't try, could they call themselves alchemists? Would such a life be worth living?
As such, by studying ghosts, they surmised that it could be possible to alchemically create a physical representation of the World's Song, and to magically bind someone's Song to its center. The object being physical would prevent the World from changing in its location, thus marking them as a "backstage performer" forever, and forcefully stopping their ageing process so long as they were recognized as such, much as was the case for ghosts.
Of course this wouldn't be an automatic form of immortality. The object would have to be consumed regularly in order to reaffirm the truth of their position, to not simply disappear from the World's attention, and it would work only for them.
But it could work, and they were nearly there! A Song made of them, for them, embraced by the very World.
As Nicolas and Perenelle finished their dance, their voices tapered off in nothingness, and the pyre burned brighter than ever before, they watched.
The array snapped, the circle broke, and the flame was snuffed, in a melodious and colourful show of magic.
There only remained an old alchemist, his darling wife, and a ruby-red stone. A stone made of the Song of the world, Magic itself. A Song without the beats or the voices added by mortals, but fully made of pure instrumentals instead. A Song that contained in its center, hidden and covered, the Songs of two people in love.
A stone with a Song of Self representing two mad magicals, who had just achieved greatness. A Song of hopes and dreams realised, a Song of what was and of what could be. A Song whistling a tune of Personal Philosophy.
'A Philosopher's Tune.', thought Nicolas, drowning in pride, love, and joy. 'How apt.'
Hogwarts, 1940s
??? POV
"Good evening Professor, thank you for having me." he spoke, carefully keeping his mask in place.
"Nonsense, Tom! I always have time for my brightest student!" replied Professor Slughorn, his usual cheerful face on, ready to be drained dry of information by him. "Now what exactly can I do for you? Not a problem in your classes I surmise?", he asked, reaching for a cup of tea.
Tom gave a well-practised chuckle "Nothing of the sort, indeed, Professor. This is a personal curiosity of mine."
The Professor looked intrigued as he continued, "You see, I was perusing the books in the restricted section when I came across a term I simply do not understand, and no explanation was present anywhere I could find…"
Tom trailed off, seeing the suddenly disturbed face of the Professor, then continued, adjusting his speech in consequence, "So of course, I understood that this was something usually left alone, either because of the dangers it poses, or other reasons. I thought I would ask you about it, to get a better idea."
He left some time for Slughorn to gather his thoughts, and watched the old potions master open his mouth, "Well, Tom, there are plenty of things in the restricted section which are kept unexplained for good reason, as you said…", he look at Tom, who carefully locked his 'confused and innocent expression' into place. "Though I know you would be responsible enough with such knowledge, after all this time."
He took a gulp of his teacup, and finished off. "So, what was that term which you are curious about, Tom?"
Triumph surging inside him, he carefully replied, "Well, I am unsure how to pronounce it, of course. But it was something along the lines of… Horcrux?"
Tom watched with interest as his Professor turned slightly white, then looked at him with an unusually serious look on his face.
"Tom, I will tell you what I know, but then I ask that you cease searching for information on Horcruxes."
Tom carefully nodded, slightly shocked at the Professor's reaction, and prepared his mental focus, as he recognized the coming lecturing tone.
"You know that, at Hogwarts, we study spells in the form of songs and dances," began the Professor, "and that our magic is a Song, a Melody, an entire Symphony personal to us, which we can use to replicate the effects of spells and, eventually, do magic which is personal to us as well."
He took a look at Tom, evaluating, then continued "This all hinges on the fact that Magic is Music, so to speak…" he trailed off, "but that was not always the case."
Tom felt an explosion go through his mind. He had never considered that there was once a time where the musicality of Magic was unknown. The Song of the World, the Personal Song, all of it… But now that he realised that, he could see where this was going.
"A Horcrux," continued the Potions Master, "was an attempt by Herpo the Foul, a known dark wizard of Ancient Greece, to reach immortality."
He took another sip. "The idea was to separate his soul into two pieces, put one of them into an object, a Horcrux, and have it act as an anchor to the living world for the rest of the soul. So long as the Horcrux existed, one could not pass on. Of course…"
Slughorn trailed off once again, looking slightly sick, as Tom predicted the results of such an act in his mind, "Of course, to cut one's soul in half, is to cut one's Song in half. To… kill all of the performers. To kill oneself instantly. And that is exactly what happened to him."
As Slughorn fell into silence, giving Tom the time to digest the information, Tom was thinking of something more.
After all, cutting the songs in half would be a terrible idea, but what about slicing carefully along each track?
Slughorn interrupted that thought once again, "There have been multiple attempts, since, to achieve a working Horcrux, by slicing carefully along one's soul, to separate the tracks instead of cutting through them, and use one of them as an anchor." the old man stated, unknowingly echoing Tom's thoughts.
"But a Song that doesn't have all of the components of your own, a song that isn't completely you in all of its parts, simply isn't you." he finished, thoroughly tearing down that plan.
Oh well, thought Tom, that was merely one idea. After all, even if ancient knowledge wouldn't help him on his quest, he still had another possibility. Something never done before.
The Song of the World is a song, a never-ending performance, performers coming and going all the time.
So, what if someone made themselves indispensable to the performance? What if they became the only performer, or the very content of the performance itself? Would the World not forcefully keep them alive?
And so, Tom schemed. To kill off the entire population of the planet would be difficult, but to twist the Songs of a great many people to echo his, now that seemed more doable.
After all, if the World sang Tom's Songs and only that, then Tom would certainly exist forever. There would be no other way for the World to continue its performance without him, after all.
Now, he just needed a curse to twist one's song, and a way to spread it and keep it permanently on everyone. The Tarantallegra would be a great starting point.
Yes, Tom would reach immortality. That was inevitable. And woe betide anything that got in his way.
Author's note:
The author has no idea why they did worldbuilding in a crack fic. They just felt like it.
Ancient Greece, 478 b.c.
??? POV
He was about to finish it.
His life's greatest work, and undoubtedly something he would never top in all of his existence thereafter. After all, it would serve to give him all of that time, in the first place.
He was about to finish it, the ritual circle was complete.
This gift he was born with, the Tongue of the Serpents, was merely the first indication of his greatness. The first proof that he was better than all others before him. The greatest wizard in all of the world.
He was about to finish it, his magical staff was in his hands, ready to direct the power to his will, and to serve as a receptacle.
That gift, that proof of superiority, he had studied and pushed beyond all that those before him had discovered. He found out the power behind the language that made magic spoken with it so much more powerful. He found that the ability to control snakes extended to all magical breeds, irrespective of their innate power. He created the very first Basilisk, the King of Serpents, the Beast That Killed With a Look, and dominated it, leading it to battle against his enemies.
He was about to finish it, the sacrifice was bound to the altar, spelled unmoving. The magical child would serve a purpose in her life, after all.
He then studied the boundaries of power magic could attain, and saw them shattered before his might and intelligence. He created over two-thirds of all Dark Curses in existence. He was the respected Herpo the Foul, and there would be no other like him.
And he yearned for an eternal existence. Immortality.
He was about to finish it, his pet Basilisk, over 50 years of age by now, was standing next to the ritual circle with him, ready to provide its concept of long-lasting life to aid him.
He conceptualized the idea of a Horcrux, that the soul could be shattered, the pieces sealed in objects, and used as anchors for the remaining pieces in the case of death, preventing one from passing on. The knowledge from those Egyptians about the workings of the soul was truly a great help, but he was the one who designed everything here based on it.
He was finishing it, now.
He walked up to the altar, and killed the girl with one entrails-expelling curse, fracturing his soul in the process.
He never noticed the Song of the World jarring from the sudden loss, taking notice of him.
He pushed his magic into the circle, ripping additional power from his Basilisk, widening the fracture slowly into an open wound.
He never noticed his own, personal symphony tearing apart at the seams, drums beating out of control, strings breaking in their vibrations, voices falling over, never to sing again.
He pushed harder, feeling the slight pain he knew would happen, and smiled in confidence. He was nearly there!
If only he had cut between each separate track, instead of through. Perhaps the result would have been different.
Herpo the Foul suddenly keeled over, dead. He has split his soul, through each and every track of his own Song, forcing them all into silence.
And when the Song makes place for silence, one must be dead.
Such are the rules of this world.
A shame for him, then, that the truth of the Musicality of Magic would only be discovered in full within the following century.
British Isles, 1234
??? POV
It was waiting, garbed in pink.
It knew not of impatience, nor of hopelessness. It could wait for centuries, millennia, in order to find a new, worthy performance.
It was waiting, and heard footsteps up ahead.
It had been a while since It's children had finally wisened up to the truth of their power, of their existence. The performers now knew the script, they knew the stage, they wrote their own songs and dances. All they needed now was an audience, a reviewer, a critic.
It was waiting, as always, and looked on with interest at the three brothers beyond the river, It's presence unknown to them.
It thus prepared a stage. It cut off a part of the country from the other, partly, with a river of deadly speed and great width, for the age. It knew that leaving an island on the center would give them an incentive to try, to believe it not to be impossible to get to the other side, and reach the natural riches the rumours said were there.
Rumours that, of course, it had spread.
It was waiting, observing the three brothers beyond the river, as they seemingly prepared their choreography, putting out their instruments. They would find the World in this place far harder to move, and they knew that.
With the stage set, performers attracted to it, and the critic in place, it could observe a performance worthy of Magic, worthy of itself. A proof that the gift was not wasted. All that was needed was time.
The brothers worked well together.
The youngest led with a dance, full of spins and pirouettes, his steps light and his movements fluids. The earth shook and thick vines were born.
The second oldest accompanied him with a song, his soprano echoing all over the riverbank, leading the vines forward and holding back the flow of the water enough that it would not instantly break any construction.
The elder took position in their front, leading the performance, as the drums upon his waist echoed out with strength and power, shaping the newly-created bridge. None of them could have achieved as much without him to amplify their inner song, and lead them in their dance together.
It was waiting, as the brothers stepped forward, across their bridge. It was proud. It was shocked. It was moved to tears.
It had found a winning performance, after thousands of years.
-Marvellous-
It spoke, and clapped all at once, the concept of its applause seared directly into their minds, forcing comprehension. The brothers stopped as they "heard" it, and it appeared before them, ready to reward the performers.
-Choose- It urged them.
The brothers, named Peverell, took some time to understand the situation, and to decide on their rewards. But eventually, they did.
To the eldest, it would leave a baton. The perfect tool to beat a drum and to lead a performance. The Elder Baton, the Death Stick. It would amplify the sound of all percussion, making them far reaching, and enhance the power created by any group performance, making sure that no drop of magic would be wasted.
To the second oldest, it gave the Tone of Resurrection. A choker to put around one's neck, changing the tone of their voice so that it may reach out to and call down shades of the dead, to appreciate a performance and dance along.
And to the youngest, it would leave a part of its own, bright pink cloak. The Cloak of Visibility, which would force an audience to focus on the dancer garbed in it, intertwining their songs to his, spreading understanding, love, and urging them to dance along.
-Soon-
Soon it would see them again, and they knew. That day, one day, they would perform for it again, and again, and forevermore.
In the land of the dead, where Death observes and critiques, and the once-living dance and sing, in a never-ending rave.
France, late 14th century
??? POV
Nearly there!
Himself and his dear Perenelle were waltzing around a pyre, plants and alloys of all kinds, all of alchemical make, magically thrown into the burning flame at regular intervals.
Nearly there! Just a few more repetitions before their greatest work would be complete.
They sang as they danced, each verse and tone carefully crafted, written, and repeated to link what made the two Flamels similar in their differences, and what made that similarity similar to the World itself.
Nearly there! Their steps on the ritual circle were perfect, the array was fed more than enough power, the materials were in over twice the calculated required quantity. Nothing had gone wrong, it was going to work.
This was his theory, which they refined together, and finally put into practice. The Song of the World would keep a performer alive so long as they were needed. This need could be created simply by having a unique, irreplaceable voice.
It was why ghosts existed, after all. A music only made of instrumentals and vocals, their beat having left with their body. Their Songs were unchanging, much as the ghosts were, because the Song of the World was keeping their voices in reserve. The ghosts were the backstage musicians to be called on at a moment's notice, the living were the on-stage performers forever coming and going, and the dead watched as ever-silent critics.
Nearly there! This would either work, or it would fail. But Nicolas chose to believe in his wife's genius, in their love-fueled crazy ideas, and in living your life to the fullest. If they didn't try, could they call themselves alchemists? Would such a life be worth living?
As such, by studying ghosts, they surmised that it could be possible to alchemically create a physical representation of the World's Song, and to magically bind someone's Song to its center. The object being physical would prevent the World from changing in its location, thus marking them as a "backstage performer" forever, and forcefully stopping their ageing process so long as they were recognized as such, much as was the case for ghosts.
Of course this wouldn't be an automatic form of immortality. The object would have to be consumed regularly in order to reaffirm the truth of their position, to not simply disappear from the World's attention, and it would work only for them.
But it could work, and they were nearly there! A Song made of them, for them, embraced by the very World.
As Nicolas and Perenelle finished their dance, their voices tapered off in nothingness, and the pyre burned brighter than ever before, they watched.
The array snapped, the circle broke, and the flame was snuffed, in a melodious and colourful show of magic.
There only remained an old alchemist, his darling wife, and a ruby-red stone. A stone made of the Song of the world, Magic itself. A Song without the beats or the voices added by mortals, but fully made of pure instrumentals instead. A Song that contained in its center, hidden and covered, the Songs of two people in love.
A stone with a Song of Self representing two mad magicals, who had just achieved greatness. A Song of hopes and dreams realised, a Song of what was and of what could be. A Song whistling a tune of Personal Philosophy.
'A Philosopher's Tune.', thought Nicolas, drowning in pride, love, and joy. 'How apt.'
Hogwarts, 1940s
??? POV
"Good evening Professor, thank you for having me." he spoke, carefully keeping his mask in place.
"Nonsense, Tom! I always have time for my brightest student!" replied Professor Slughorn, his usual cheerful face on, ready to be drained dry of information by him. "Now what exactly can I do for you? Not a problem in your classes I surmise?", he asked, reaching for a cup of tea.
Tom gave a well-practised chuckle "Nothing of the sort, indeed, Professor. This is a personal curiosity of mine."
The Professor looked intrigued as he continued, "You see, I was perusing the books in the restricted section when I came across a term I simply do not understand, and no explanation was present anywhere I could find…"
Tom trailed off, seeing the suddenly disturbed face of the Professor, then continued, adjusting his speech in consequence, "So of course, I understood that this was something usually left alone, either because of the dangers it poses, or other reasons. I thought I would ask you about it, to get a better idea."
He left some time for Slughorn to gather his thoughts, and watched the old potions master open his mouth, "Well, Tom, there are plenty of things in the restricted section which are kept unexplained for good reason, as you said…", he look at Tom, who carefully locked his 'confused and innocent expression' into place. "Though I know you would be responsible enough with such knowledge, after all this time."
He took a gulp of his teacup, and finished off. "So, what was that term which you are curious about, Tom?"
Triumph surging inside him, he carefully replied, "Well, I am unsure how to pronounce it, of course. But it was something along the lines of… Horcrux?"
Tom watched with interest as his Professor turned slightly white, then looked at him with an unusually serious look on his face.
"Tom, I will tell you what I know, but then I ask that you cease searching for information on Horcruxes."
Tom carefully nodded, slightly shocked at the Professor's reaction, and prepared his mental focus, as he recognized the coming lecturing tone.
"You know that, at Hogwarts, we study spells in the form of songs and dances," began the Professor, "and that our magic is a Song, a Melody, an entire Symphony personal to us, which we can use to replicate the effects of spells and, eventually, do magic which is personal to us as well."
He took a look at Tom, evaluating, then continued "This all hinges on the fact that Magic is Music, so to speak…" he trailed off, "but that was not always the case."
Tom felt an explosion go through his mind. He had never considered that there was once a time where the musicality of Magic was unknown. The Song of the World, the Personal Song, all of it… But now that he realised that, he could see where this was going.
"A Horcrux," continued the Potions Master, "was an attempt by Herpo the Foul, a known dark wizard of Ancient Greece, to reach immortality."
He took another sip. "The idea was to separate his soul into two pieces, put one of them into an object, a Horcrux, and have it act as an anchor to the living world for the rest of the soul. So long as the Horcrux existed, one could not pass on. Of course…"
Slughorn trailed off once again, looking slightly sick, as Tom predicted the results of such an act in his mind, "Of course, to cut one's soul in half, is to cut one's Song in half. To… kill all of the performers. To kill oneself instantly. And that is exactly what happened to him."
As Slughorn fell into silence, giving Tom the time to digest the information, Tom was thinking of something more.
After all, cutting the songs in half would be a terrible idea, but what about slicing carefully along each track?
Slughorn interrupted that thought once again, "There have been multiple attempts, since, to achieve a working Horcrux, by slicing carefully along one's soul, to separate the tracks instead of cutting through them, and use one of them as an anchor." the old man stated, unknowingly echoing Tom's thoughts.
"But a Song that doesn't have all of the components of your own, a song that isn't completely you in all of its parts, simply isn't you." he finished, thoroughly tearing down that plan.
Oh well, thought Tom, that was merely one idea. After all, even if ancient knowledge wouldn't help him on his quest, he still had another possibility. Something never done before.
The Song of the World is a song, a never-ending performance, performers coming and going all the time.
So, what if someone made themselves indispensable to the performance? What if they became the only performer, or the very content of the performance itself? Would the World not forcefully keep them alive?
And so, Tom schemed. To kill off the entire population of the planet would be difficult, but to twist the Songs of a great many people to echo his, now that seemed more doable.
After all, if the World sang Tom's Songs and only that, then Tom would certainly exist forever. There would be no other way for the World to continue its performance without him, after all.
Now, he just needed a curse to twist one's song, and a way to spread it and keep it permanently on everyone. The Tarantallegra would be a great starting point.
Yes, Tom would reach immortality. That was inevitable. And woe betide anything that got in his way.
Author's note:
The author has no idea why they did worldbuilding in a crack fic. They just felt like it.
Last edited:
Chapter 5 - Welcome to Hogwarts, Leave Your Sanity at the Door.
zellat451
Learning a foreign language with NF - Happy
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Chapter 5 - Welcome to Hogwarts, Leave Your Sanity at the Door.
Great Hall, Hogwarts, late evening of September 1st, 1991
Severus Snape POV
Severus Snape was not a good person.
He had once met and befriended a young witch, Lily Evans, when he was but a child. They had been inseparable since. They had shared good times, bad times, secrets, magic, and far more feelings that he had ever shared with anyone else, including his own mother.
Severus Snape was not a good person.
He was the half-blood child of a disowned pureblood from the Prince family. He was an abused child. He was a man who despised his own family for multiple reasons, one for abusing him physically, the other for abusing him emotionally by refusing to leave.
But he was a good friend. A great one, even. He didn't shy away from Lily, even after his experiences, because she needed someone like him. Just as he needed someone like her. He didn't give up on her even after James bloody Potter intruded into their lives and warned him off, because Lily was his friend, and Severus was Lily's friend, and they had been there for each other for so long that a spoiled brat really could not change anything. It wasn't like he didn't deal with threats and abuse on a daily basis at home, already.
But Severus Snape was not a good person. And it showed, eventually.
When 'Snivellus' was pushed too far, after the actual murder attempt from Black, after the years of the self-styled Marauders stealing his home from him, after the Dread Lord Voldemort made himself known, after his friends in Slyther-scene were granted a place within his ranks through their parents, after they invited him…
…After he called her that.
After everything, Severus agreed, and joined. And it was the worst mistake of his life.
Nothing unexpected, of course. After all, Severus Snape was not a good person, by far.
The Death Eater Troupe quickly realised their mistake upon taking the Mark. Well, the ones who remained sane thereafter, that is. Some became nothing more than puppets, to be led at the Dread Lord's whims, much like what remains of a wizard after a Dementor's Kiss. Others became deranged madmen, as the Dread Lord's personality and Song, his individuality, attacked their minds incessantly, reshaping them into him, but too weak to completely break them.
And others, like Severus, were far too in control in their own minds and emotions to fall prey to the Dark Mark. Though the Dread Lord's Self in it was still battering at his own individuality even to this day, Severus had long reached a state of Occlumens, the Perfect Knowledge of Self. He knew what parts of him were from him, and could easily ignore them or redirect them where they would cause no damage. Running plays and performances in his own mind continuously was a good way to do so.
These days, Severus only thought and dreamt in scripts and shows, and that was what saved him from the Dread Lord and his Dark Mark.
Not that it mattered, because Severus Snape was not a good person.
And Severus had to keep telling himself that. Perhaps he'd believe it one day. He needed to believe it, despite what she had once told him.
After all, what good person would remain by the Dread Lord's side out of spite, even after knowing what he did to the world around him?
What good person would work against the side his once best friend had chosen?
What good person would send the Dread Lord after her personally?
What good friend would skip her funerals?
What good friend would… Ignore all of that and simply think of her child as James Potter? Glaring at him on arrival, even!
Severus wasn't sure anymore. Of anything. But he knew one thing.
That child who was just sitting on the stool, for whom the Sorting Crown had just shouted out his own House's name, among all of the others, was undoubtedly Harry Potter. James could have never achieved that. And neither could Lily. Nor himself.
With a sigh, and running a hand through his perfectly-combed hair, Severus ignored all of that for the moment, and mechanically picked at the dinner which had appeared at a cry of "Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak!" from his side.
After all, Severus Snape may not be a good person.
But soon, he would need to be a good Head of House for the First Year Slyther-scenes. There was a welcoming play -an opera- prepared for them, right after the Welcoming Rave in the Great Hall. The prefects had practised. Severus had practised. All of the other years were participating, as a "Welcome" worthy of the most tight-knit House of Hogwarts, behind only Huff'n'Puff.
And Severus would be damned if those kids' first Hogwarts experience was any lesser than his.
Filius Flitwick POV
This was wonderful!
A new year, new arrivals, new faces, new Songs, new everything!
And, somehow, a new uniqueness in the form of a multi-House student.
This was highly irregular, highly unexpected, completely unheard of, completely beyond anyone's decision to argue against, and most of all-
-This was wonderful!
Filius smiled, all teeth as a goblin should, and led his house to their Common Room, Ravin'flow Tower, just after the Welcoming Rave. It was now slightly past midnight, like every year.
And like every year, classes would start in the afternoon tomorrow only, while the new arrivals would be given a free day to roam the castle.
Filius stopped before the Raven gargoyle, excited about what a wondrous few years awaited them all, as he started explaining,
"Welcome, one and all, to the Ravin'flow Tower. Would any of you care to open the door? You simply need to dance or sing as you wish, the House already knows you."
He stepped aside as a First Year -mister Goyle, he believed- approached and started shuffling timidly, clapping his hands slowly.
'Always some of those, the first time around', smiled Filius. "Just like that, mister Goyle. Let it all out. This house is all about spontaneous self-expression, you know!"
To prove his point, and reassure the boy, Filius started bouncing on one foot, then the other, then agitated his arms and twisted his body, in such a way that he could express his joy and excitement, laughing out loud all the while, his wand -multiple linked bracelets- knocking on itself repeatedly like maracas. His older years, bless them, followed along with their own dances.
Oh! How Miss Clearwater had improved during the summer! Her water-like movements were truly a sight to behold, a testament of peace and acceptance of the years gone by, as well as for the years to come.
Mister Goyle, emboldened by everyone's reactions, started moving far more erratically, and it was sublime!
He threw his whole torso behind his movements, his feet firmly rooted on the ground, and using his belly as a rapid percussion. A declaration of his confusion and excitement, but his decisiveness to stand firm and learn, perhaps?
The gargoyle observed Mister Goyle for a few seconds, before it started singing a war-like march, seemingly supporting young Goyle's decisiveness, and took a firm step to the side, allowing them all entry.
"Wonderful, Mister Goyle! Simply wonderful!", praised Filius, leading everyone inside, as the boy blushed a bit under the praise.
He'd have to work on that. After all, a true Ravin'flow throws down as they wish, anywhere, at any time, uncaring of the feelings of anyone but themselves when it comes to the display of their individuality.
With everyone in the common room, Filius started to explain the basics of the school rules, gave out schedules -and oh, weren't the firsties surprised to learn about the free day tomorrow!-, and showed them to their quarters.
Personal rooms, of course. Though there was a scene-like room for those who wished to display their inner feelings, most Ravin'flows worked better alone, in the emptiness of their own room, to perfectly realise their own choreographies.
And that was that. He'd meet some of them tomorrow afternoon. He'd meet the new ones first thing in the morning the day after, the whole of the First Years at that. He was the one who would explain to them how spells worked at their base, after all!
This was a new year. The party was great. The new arrivals were interesting. The older ones were blooming into incredible wizards and witches. It was great, it was sensational, it was, it was…
It was wonderful!
Pomona Sprout POV
She led the song, she led the dance.
The choir was powerful, the chorus held long, and the voices of dozens, hundreds of students crashed against the walls of the Huff'n'Puff inner cathedral.
The Huff'n'Puff way of welcome was simple, to let the new arrivals experience what they could do, together.
Instruments were added. A few electric guitars, drums, powerful basses of the acoustic kind, cymbals, flutes, violins, and even a zither solo as the song died down, readying for the second movement.
She smiled, her leaf-green robes flowing around as she stepped simply on all sides, turning slowly upon herself, making sure that each and every movement mattered and lasted long enough to be appreciated. Her students followed by her side.
When they clapped, the House clapped as one, the Beat resonating across the walls and floor, within and without, and eventually, the First Years joined in as well.
They did choose a rather easy and repetitive symphony for a reason, after all!
As no one within the Huff'n'Puff inner cathedral was left silent or unmoving, the air glowed pink and Pomona Sprout smiled, as she readied her breath for another note.
She led the song, she led the dance, but Huff'n'Puff moved as one.
Minerva McGonagall POV
After mister Potter took his seat at the Gryff-on-the-floor table, the Sorting finished up rather quickly. The students were left with their questions mostly unanswered, as dinner appeared on their tables and they suddenly realised how much they were starving.
Magic was hungry work, after all! Although, "Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak!" ? Really, Albus?
With a sigh, Minerva prepared herself for the end of the feast. There was something special this year in Hogwarts, beyond Harry Potter, and she would need to keep an eye on troublesome elements before they put themselves in danger going after the Philosopher's Tune.
Although, she already had a good idea of whom -two whoms- would take up most of her attention and time. She sent a warning glare at the insufferable Weasley twins, letting them know that yes, misters Weasleys, old McGonagall is indeed watching you getting ready to throw that plate of chicken legs around.
Shaking her head with a hidden smile, and finishing a glass of berry punch, she waited for the headmaster's announcement as the food disappeared.
A crisp *Ding* resonated across the Great Hall, as Albus stood, tapping on his glass, the ever-present music dying down for the second time tonight.
"Your attention please." began the headmaster, his star-shaped glasses and ridiculously-coloured hair not detracting anyone from the power in his voice in the least.
"Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts!" he smiled, "And welcome at all for our new arrivals, I am ever so glad to see new generations of wizards and witches ready to join us in this never-ending party that is Hogwarts castle.", he said, adding a bit of levity to the air.
He continued, "I will let your Heads of Houses explain to you the rules of the castle later, as well as give out your schedules.", he nodded to the staff around him, "But before we can start the proper welcoming party, I must give you all a warning."
Albus' tone turned extremely serious, as he looked over the student body as a whole, "Beyond the restrictions on the Forbidden Forest, beyond even the restrictions on the use of spells in the corridors, I must warn all of you of the following."
Then, completely in character for himself, the headmaster showed a bright smile as he said in a conversational tone, "The third-floor corridor on the left, for this year, is completely out-of-bounds for anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Minerva could feel her eyebrow twitch, and held back the need to dope-slap Albus on top of his head, again. There were going to be so many rule-breakers for this particular one…
"And on that note," The rainbow-coloured dumbass continued without shame, "Beware that, while the Great Hall Welcoming Rave finishes at midnight exactly, you will all have personal House-wide parties right after. So, enjoy it while it lasts, children! Now then-"
The headmaster cut himself off, and Minerva could feel herself smile brightly despite everything, as she did every year. A resounding *Clap* from Albus changed the ceiling to its "Nightclub" configuration, as low lighting, bright rays of light, fog, disco balls, and more replaced the current setting, the tables slowly disappearing as students stood up, changing the Great Hall into a gigantic dance floor.
"-Let's party!".
And party, Minerva did.
As the Gryff-on-the-floor common room was fully embroiled into its freeform dancing and singing competition, Minerva took a moment to gather her breath. She wasn't so young anymore, after all, and supporting her students with a percussive solo, alone, for over thirty minutes, was taking its toll on her.
Then, breath caught, she subtly and sneakily reached for mister Potter, who apparently felt her arrive a few seconds before she did, and she beckoned him to the side of the Gryff-on-the-floor personal dance floor.
"I won't take up much of your time, mister Potter." she began quietly as they arrived. "This is of course about your… unique situation."
Mister Potter nodded in understanding, apparently having expected that, to no one's surprise. What was slightly surprising, was Miss Granger, Mister Longbotton, and the youngest Mister Weasley apparently having taken note of the conversation and subtly shooting looks in their direction. Mister Potter was apparently as good at friendships as James, good to know.
She smiled at the thought of having new Marauders running around, and continued, "As this is the first time something of this sort has ever happened, we have no protocols in place. As such, the headmaster and I will take some time tomorrow to discuss how you will be given entry to all common rooms, and how house points will work for you. But, for the sake of simplicity, you will be treated as fully Gryff-on-the-floor when it comes to your schedule and housing arrangements." she took a breath, and finished. "I believe you will receive a definite answer this week. In the meantime, don't expect to receive special treatment of any kind for this, Mister Potter.".
She waited for an instant, before following with, "Only magic and music matter, at Hogwarts. You will be no different."
Oddly, or perhaps not, Mister Potter seemed very happy with her statement. The fame must have taken its toll on him, perhaps?
"I understand, Professor.", he answered dutifully, nodding seriously despite his somewhat-hidden joy.
She smiled back at him "Good, then I won't keep you any longer. Go enjoy your welcoming party, Mister potter."
He nodded happily, and started to turn around when a thought suddenly made its way in her mind. "And, Mister Potter?"
He turned back, a question on his face.
She smiled sadly, "Plenty of us here knew your parents personally, and still remember them fondly. Feel free to come to any of the House Head's offices, or to Hagrid's hut outside, if you would like to talk about them."
She gave the child a nod, not commenting on his suddenly sad yet happy expression, and walked back to the magical battery set on one side of the room.
After all, Minerva McGonagall was many things.
She was a widow. She was a witch. She was a mistress of Transfiguration. She was a warrior. She was a rather talented percussionist. She was a mother to her students.
But, most of all, she was once a child who loved a good beat and a great party.
And, as she took the mallets in her hands, party, Minerva did.
Author's note:
The author felt like just giving out past moment without advancing the story a bit would be just dirty.
Sooooo, surprise?
Great Hall, Hogwarts, late evening of September 1st, 1991
Severus Snape POV
Severus Snape was not a good person.
He had once met and befriended a young witch, Lily Evans, when he was but a child. They had been inseparable since. They had shared good times, bad times, secrets, magic, and far more feelings that he had ever shared with anyone else, including his own mother.
Severus Snape was not a good person.
He was the half-blood child of a disowned pureblood from the Prince family. He was an abused child. He was a man who despised his own family for multiple reasons, one for abusing him physically, the other for abusing him emotionally by refusing to leave.
But he was a good friend. A great one, even. He didn't shy away from Lily, even after his experiences, because she needed someone like him. Just as he needed someone like her. He didn't give up on her even after James bloody Potter intruded into their lives and warned him off, because Lily was his friend, and Severus was Lily's friend, and they had been there for each other for so long that a spoiled brat really could not change anything. It wasn't like he didn't deal with threats and abuse on a daily basis at home, already.
But Severus Snape was not a good person. And it showed, eventually.
When 'Snivellus' was pushed too far, after the actual murder attempt from Black, after the years of the self-styled Marauders stealing his home from him, after the Dread Lord Voldemort made himself known, after his friends in Slyther-scene were granted a place within his ranks through their parents, after they invited him…
…After he called her that.
After everything, Severus agreed, and joined. And it was the worst mistake of his life.
Nothing unexpected, of course. After all, Severus Snape was not a good person, by far.
The Death Eater Troupe quickly realised their mistake upon taking the Mark. Well, the ones who remained sane thereafter, that is. Some became nothing more than puppets, to be led at the Dread Lord's whims, much like what remains of a wizard after a Dementor's Kiss. Others became deranged madmen, as the Dread Lord's personality and Song, his individuality, attacked their minds incessantly, reshaping them into him, but too weak to completely break them.
And others, like Severus, were far too in control in their own minds and emotions to fall prey to the Dark Mark. Though the Dread Lord's Self in it was still battering at his own individuality even to this day, Severus had long reached a state of Occlumens, the Perfect Knowledge of Self. He knew what parts of him were from him, and could easily ignore them or redirect them where they would cause no damage. Running plays and performances in his own mind continuously was a good way to do so.
These days, Severus only thought and dreamt in scripts and shows, and that was what saved him from the Dread Lord and his Dark Mark.
Not that it mattered, because Severus Snape was not a good person.
'You're my best friend, Sev!' exclaimed a child with bright red hair, her smile shining like the sun.
And Severus had to keep telling himself that. Perhaps he'd believe it one day. He needed to believe it, despite what she had once told him.
After all, what good person would remain by the Dread Lord's side out of spite, even after knowing what he did to the world around him?
What good person would work against the side his once best friend had chosen?
What good person would send the Dread Lord after her personally?
'You didn't know.'
A sad not-smile, from no one.
A sad not-smile, from no one.
What good friend would skip her funerals?
'What bad friend would cry over me, holding me in his arms?'
A flash of not-red, from a not-place he could not see.
A flash of not-red, from a not-place he could not see.
What good friend would… Ignore all of that and simply think of her child as James Potter? Glaring at him on arrival, even!
'What bad friend would vow on his very Song to protect him?'
A not-question from a not-voice he never heard.
A not-question from a not-voice he never heard.
Severus wasn't sure anymore. Of anything. But he knew one thing.
'And I know you, Sev.'
A not-person he not-knew, too.
A not-person he not-knew, too.
That child who was just sitting on the stool, for whom the Sorting Crown had just shouted out his own House's name, among all of the others, was undoubtedly Harry Potter. James could have never achieved that. And neither could Lily. Nor himself.
With a sigh, and running a hand through his perfectly-combed hair, Severus ignored all of that for the moment, and mechanically picked at the dinner which had appeared at a cry of "Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak!" from his side.
After all, Severus Snape may not be a good person.
'You are.'
A not-hand on his shoulder.
A not-hand on his shoulder.
But soon, he would need to be a good Head of House for the First Year Slyther-scenes. There was a welcoming play -an opera- prepared for them, right after the Welcoming Rave in the Great Hall. The prefects had practised. Severus had practised. All of the other years were participating, as a "Welcome" worthy of the most tight-knit House of Hogwarts, behind only Huff'n'Puff.
And Severus would be damned if those kids' first Hogwarts experience was any lesser than his.
A sad not-smile he would never see again.
Filius Flitwick POV
This was wonderful!
A new year, new arrivals, new faces, new Songs, new everything!
And, somehow, a new uniqueness in the form of a multi-House student.
This was highly irregular, highly unexpected, completely unheard of, completely beyond anyone's decision to argue against, and most of all-
-This was wonderful!
Filius smiled, all teeth as a goblin should, and led his house to their Common Room, Ravin'flow Tower, just after the Welcoming Rave. It was now slightly past midnight, like every year.
And like every year, classes would start in the afternoon tomorrow only, while the new arrivals would be given a free day to roam the castle.
Filius stopped before the Raven gargoyle, excited about what a wondrous few years awaited them all, as he started explaining,
"Welcome, one and all, to the Ravin'flow Tower. Would any of you care to open the door? You simply need to dance or sing as you wish, the House already knows you."
He stepped aside as a First Year -mister Goyle, he believed- approached and started shuffling timidly, clapping his hands slowly.
'Always some of those, the first time around', smiled Filius. "Just like that, mister Goyle. Let it all out. This house is all about spontaneous self-expression, you know!"
To prove his point, and reassure the boy, Filius started bouncing on one foot, then the other, then agitated his arms and twisted his body, in such a way that he could express his joy and excitement, laughing out loud all the while, his wand -multiple linked bracelets- knocking on itself repeatedly like maracas. His older years, bless them, followed along with their own dances.
Oh! How Miss Clearwater had improved during the summer! Her water-like movements were truly a sight to behold, a testament of peace and acceptance of the years gone by, as well as for the years to come.
Mister Goyle, emboldened by everyone's reactions, started moving far more erratically, and it was sublime!
He threw his whole torso behind his movements, his feet firmly rooted on the ground, and using his belly as a rapid percussion. A declaration of his confusion and excitement, but his decisiveness to stand firm and learn, perhaps?
The gargoyle observed Mister Goyle for a few seconds, before it started singing a war-like march, seemingly supporting young Goyle's decisiveness, and took a firm step to the side, allowing them all entry.
"Wonderful, Mister Goyle! Simply wonderful!", praised Filius, leading everyone inside, as the boy blushed a bit under the praise.
He'd have to work on that. After all, a true Ravin'flow throws down as they wish, anywhere, at any time, uncaring of the feelings of anyone but themselves when it comes to the display of their individuality.
With everyone in the common room, Filius started to explain the basics of the school rules, gave out schedules -and oh, weren't the firsties surprised to learn about the free day tomorrow!-, and showed them to their quarters.
Personal rooms, of course. Though there was a scene-like room for those who wished to display their inner feelings, most Ravin'flows worked better alone, in the emptiness of their own room, to perfectly realise their own choreographies.
And that was that. He'd meet some of them tomorrow afternoon. He'd meet the new ones first thing in the morning the day after, the whole of the First Years at that. He was the one who would explain to them how spells worked at their base, after all!
This was a new year. The party was great. The new arrivals were interesting. The older ones were blooming into incredible wizards and witches. It was great, it was sensational, it was, it was…
It was wonderful!
Pomona Sprout POV
She led the song, she led the dance.
The choir was powerful, the chorus held long, and the voices of dozens, hundreds of students crashed against the walls of the Huff'n'Puff inner cathedral.
The Huff'n'Puff way of welcome was simple, to let the new arrivals experience what they could do, together.
Instruments were added. A few electric guitars, drums, powerful basses of the acoustic kind, cymbals, flutes, violins, and even a zither solo as the song died down, readying for the second movement.
She smiled, her leaf-green robes flowing around as she stepped simply on all sides, turning slowly upon herself, making sure that each and every movement mattered and lasted long enough to be appreciated. Her students followed by her side.
When they clapped, the House clapped as one, the Beat resonating across the walls and floor, within and without, and eventually, the First Years joined in as well.
They did choose a rather easy and repetitive symphony for a reason, after all!
As no one within the Huff'n'Puff inner cathedral was left silent or unmoving, the air glowed pink and Pomona Sprout smiled, as she readied her breath for another note.
She led the song, she led the dance, but Huff'n'Puff moved as one.
Minerva McGonagall POV
After mister Potter took his seat at the Gryff-on-the-floor table, the Sorting finished up rather quickly. The students were left with their questions mostly unanswered, as dinner appeared on their tables and they suddenly realised how much they were starving.
Magic was hungry work, after all! Although, "Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak!" ? Really, Albus?
With a sigh, Minerva prepared herself for the end of the feast. There was something special this year in Hogwarts, beyond Harry Potter, and she would need to keep an eye on troublesome elements before they put themselves in danger going after the Philosopher's Tune.
Although, she already had a good idea of whom -two whoms- would take up most of her attention and time. She sent a warning glare at the insufferable Weasley twins, letting them know that yes, misters Weasleys, old McGonagall is indeed watching you getting ready to throw that plate of chicken legs around.
Shaking her head with a hidden smile, and finishing a glass of berry punch, she waited for the headmaster's announcement as the food disappeared.
A crisp *Ding* resonated across the Great Hall, as Albus stood, tapping on his glass, the ever-present music dying down for the second time tonight.
"Your attention please." began the headmaster, his star-shaped glasses and ridiculously-coloured hair not detracting anyone from the power in his voice in the least.
"Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts!" he smiled, "And welcome at all for our new arrivals, I am ever so glad to see new generations of wizards and witches ready to join us in this never-ending party that is Hogwarts castle.", he said, adding a bit of levity to the air.
He continued, "I will let your Heads of Houses explain to you the rules of the castle later, as well as give out your schedules.", he nodded to the staff around him, "But before we can start the proper welcoming party, I must give you all a warning."
Albus' tone turned extremely serious, as he looked over the student body as a whole, "Beyond the restrictions on the Forbidden Forest, beyond even the restrictions on the use of spells in the corridors, I must warn all of you of the following."
Then, completely in character for himself, the headmaster showed a bright smile as he said in a conversational tone, "The third-floor corridor on the left, for this year, is completely out-of-bounds for anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Minerva could feel her eyebrow twitch, and held back the need to dope-slap Albus on top of his head, again. There were going to be so many rule-breakers for this particular one…
"And on that note," The rainbow-coloured dumbass continued without shame, "Beware that, while the Great Hall Welcoming Rave finishes at midnight exactly, you will all have personal House-wide parties right after. So, enjoy it while it lasts, children! Now then-"
The headmaster cut himself off, and Minerva could feel herself smile brightly despite everything, as she did every year. A resounding *Clap* from Albus changed the ceiling to its "Nightclub" configuration, as low lighting, bright rays of light, fog, disco balls, and more replaced the current setting, the tables slowly disappearing as students stood up, changing the Great Hall into a gigantic dance floor.
"-Let's party!".
And party, Minerva did.
As the Gryff-on-the-floor common room was fully embroiled into its freeform dancing and singing competition, Minerva took a moment to gather her breath. She wasn't so young anymore, after all, and supporting her students with a percussive solo, alone, for over thirty minutes, was taking its toll on her.
Then, breath caught, she subtly and sneakily reached for mister Potter, who apparently felt her arrive a few seconds before she did, and she beckoned him to the side of the Gryff-on-the-floor personal dance floor.
"I won't take up much of your time, mister Potter." she began quietly as they arrived. "This is of course about your… unique situation."
Mister Potter nodded in understanding, apparently having expected that, to no one's surprise. What was slightly surprising, was Miss Granger, Mister Longbotton, and the youngest Mister Weasley apparently having taken note of the conversation and subtly shooting looks in their direction. Mister Potter was apparently as good at friendships as James, good to know.
She smiled at the thought of having new Marauders running around, and continued, "As this is the first time something of this sort has ever happened, we have no protocols in place. As such, the headmaster and I will take some time tomorrow to discuss how you will be given entry to all common rooms, and how house points will work for you. But, for the sake of simplicity, you will be treated as fully Gryff-on-the-floor when it comes to your schedule and housing arrangements." she took a breath, and finished. "I believe you will receive a definite answer this week. In the meantime, don't expect to receive special treatment of any kind for this, Mister Potter.".
She waited for an instant, before following with, "Only magic and music matter, at Hogwarts. You will be no different."
Oddly, or perhaps not, Mister Potter seemed very happy with her statement. The fame must have taken its toll on him, perhaps?
"I understand, Professor.", he answered dutifully, nodding seriously despite his somewhat-hidden joy.
She smiled back at him "Good, then I won't keep you any longer. Go enjoy your welcoming party, Mister potter."
He nodded happily, and started to turn around when a thought suddenly made its way in her mind. "And, Mister Potter?"
He turned back, a question on his face.
She smiled sadly, "Plenty of us here knew your parents personally, and still remember them fondly. Feel free to come to any of the House Head's offices, or to Hagrid's hut outside, if you would like to talk about them."
She gave the child a nod, not commenting on his suddenly sad yet happy expression, and walked back to the magical battery set on one side of the room.
After all, Minerva McGonagall was many things.
She was a widow. She was a witch. She was a mistress of Transfiguration. She was a warrior. She was a rather talented percussionist. She was a mother to her students.
But, most of all, she was once a child who loved a good beat and a great party.
And, as she took the mallets in her hands, party, Minerva did.
Author's note:
The author felt like just giving out past moment without advancing the story a bit would be just dirty.
Sooooo, surprise?
Last edited:
Chapter 6 - A Wish for the Future
zellat451
Learning a foreign language with NF - Happy
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Chapter 6 - A Wish for the Future
Gryff-on-the-floor dormitories, Hogwarts, morning of September 2nd, 1991
Harry Potter POV
Harry Potter was suddenly startled awake by an electric guitar(piano?), a very long-held vocal, and a singer telling him to "get the fuck out of bed bitch go". His owl, Hedwig, was hooting along happily for some reason.
It seemed that one of the older years, or perhaps Professor MacGonagall herself, had been kind enough to spell the dormitories with an alarm set to activate before it got too late in the day. After all, though it was a free day for them First Years, they still had a castle to explore.
And Harry was certain that the parties of last night were as tiring for the older years as they were for him, wonderful as they were.
Shaking his head more awake, and picking up a glass of water from his night table, Harry let the cool liquid put things into focus as he noticed three very notable points this morning.
First, it seems that his roommates -Ron and Neville, how great is that!- were, too, shaken awake by the morning DJ, his techno and his drums.
Second, it was already twenty minutes past ten in the morning, and he really could use breakfast after all of last night's dancing and singing.
Lastly, he definitely did not put a glass of water on his bedside table, which made the source of that wonderful thirst-killing cold juice a complete mystery. He'd have to ask Hermione about that. She seemed to know everything.
With a quickly slurred out, "Mornin' all, I'm heading to a shower.", Harry walked on, red and gold clothes in his arms. He was answered in kind by Neville, who appeared to be interested in the idea himself, and Ron, who had somehow snored, answered, yawned, and gone back to sleep all at once.
Truly, Harry's new friends were impressive people.
A shower later, a slightly damp-haired Harry walked down the stairs from the dorms to the Gryff-on-the-floor Common Room alongside Neville and a slightly more awake Ron Weasley. And, apparently, alongside the whole rest of the House. That alarm was set across their entire tower, it seemed.
The older years didn't waste time skipping out, probably to break their fast, as they would have classes in less than three hours. As for the First Years, like Harry, they seemed mostly interested in exploring the Gryff-on-the-floor personal dance floor more in depth.
And Hermione, to no one's surprise, had gotten there long before them all. She was great on the electronic keyboard. Pianist parents indeed.
She was so focused, in fact, that she didn't notice the new arrivals until they started hollering in praise, which cut her off through sheer embarrassment.
Well, that wouldn't do.
With a bright smile, Harry walked up to Hermione and her setup, and started plugging the amps and adjusting them, as he said, "Here let me help you with that.". Not that he knew how, but it seemed that the magic in the air was leading him on to do a pretty okay job.
Hermione seemed like she was going to open her mouth, still red from embarrassment, but Harry cut her off, "We've got time for a little dance before going, don't we? You're great!".
With a wink, he continued, "So if I went…", he cleared his throat to get the right tune, "Today, I don't feel like doing anything~"
With a tentative smile, and still-red cheeks, Hermione grinned and flicked a few switches, before accompanying Harry's refrain. Then everyone present joined in.
Suffice to say, the First Years would not be going down for breakfast until a few minutes short of eleven.
In the only half-full Great Hall, Harry devoured his breakfast along with Ron, as Neville and Hermione tried to appear slightly more dignified, and a white ball of fluff and feathers repeatedly stole bacon from their plates, hooting in defiance. Music was hungry work, damn it!
Apparently, Hermione had been awake since nine thirty, and was playing on her keyboard since then. A habit of practising every morning at home. They were about to go more in depth into Neville's apparent own morning practise with string string instruments, when a green dragon approached their table.
Or, well, a Draco garbed in green.
"Draco!", exclaimed Harry with a grin. "Good morning! Hogwarts is great, isn't it?"
"Good morning Pott- Harry.", he answered, then smiled, "It is, at that. You know, the older years held a play mixed in with an opera as a welcome for us Slyther-scenes. It was fascinating. A comedic story about Merlin and the Round Table, led by unc- Professor Snape himself."
"Really?", questioned Harry with slight envy, "I have to admit that you guys may have topped Gryff-on-the-floor with that. We just had a gigantic dance party and competition, but the older years were just too good…" he trailed off for a moment.
"Professor McGonagall was really great on these drums, though", said Neville, rather quietly. "Who knew she could solo like that?"
All Gryff-on-the-floors listening to the conversation nodded wholeheartedly. The old woman was shockingly skilled and fast on a battery set. The stern-looking Professor never missed a single beat!
"That good?" said Draco, surprised, before he took a seat at the table. "I mean, uncle Sev told me she was, but I never got to see her play myself."
"Perhaps you could ask for a demonstration during class?", took up Hermione, between bites of a pancake, "I heard that drum beats and heavy-step dances were the most used in transfiguration spells, so it would be on subject. Also, 'uncle Sev'?"
"Ah," blushed Draco, "I might try that. And Professor Snape, Severus Snape, is my godfather and uncle. It's a habit. Don't spread it around too much, will you?"
With a nod, they let the subject drop as Draco seemed to gather himself and carefully asked, "So, Harry. You remember those friends of mine who you probably wouldn't want to meet?".
Harry slowly nodded his head, already seeing where it was going, "I got a unique result in the Sorting and they want to meet me now, is that it?"
"Actually, no." denied Draco immediately, much to Harry's surprise. "It's because you're technically in Slyther-scene yourself. It makes you trustworthy. Understandable. Like us.", he stressed.
Harry's eyes widened a bit, as he reevaluated Draco's friends in his mind. A difficulty to trust things that once hurt them, but a willingness to reach out at the first sign of familiarity. It seemed, after all, that they had a lot in common. "I understand. Why don't you call them over? We could explore the castle together when we're done here!"
With a bright smile, Draco turned around to the other tables and, with simple nods, brought over a few people from Ravin'flow, Huff'n'Puff, and Slyther-scene alike. Most older years having already departed, or waiting for lunch instead, there was plenty of space for all of them.
This was how Harry Potter met Gregory Goyle from Ravin'flow, Vincent Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson from Huff'n'Puff, as well as Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Theodore Nott, and Blaise Zabini from Slyther-scene.
Though, in all honesty, with so few First Years in this generation, when the others saw their gathering leaving the room, they all followed along.
As such, all of the First Years decided simultaneously to visit the Castle Grounds first, if only to have enough space to walk together, numerous as they were.
Also, lunch would be served in less than thirty minutes, so there wouldn't be much time to explore the insides of the castle, too.
A gaggle of children approached a small hut a short way away from the castle. Harry being at the head of them all, for some reason, could already feel the ground shaking in front. Like something really big and heavy was being dropped down repeatedly.
Or perhaps, someone really big and heavy was simply bouncing around?
His guess was confirmed, as they approached a field of pumpkins, a giant dancing and humming as he bounded from one vegetable to the others. Eventually, in the middle of a spin, he noticed the rather large group with a special child at the head.
"Harry!" exclaimed the giant, happily, "Glad to see ye here! Had a great party las' night?"
"Hagrid!" answered Harry with a smile, "It was brilliant! And Professor McGonagall can really beat those drums!"
Losing a bit of his levity, he checked around that no one was listening too much, and noted with thankfulness that most everyone else was too busy playing with a rather large dog. "She told me that a lot of people here knew about my… My parents. I was wonder-"
A large palm on his shoulder cut him off. "O' course, Harry.", said an unusually serious voice. "Perhaps ye could come fer tea on the week-end? Ah'll have a few stories and pictures ready fer ya.", nodded the giant, kindly.
Harry smiled back, more happily, and decided not to bother his friend during work for longer than necessary. Also, though breakfast was a rather late affair, it was already lunch time. And lunch would not be skipped by a Potter, nor by a Weasley. And the Granger and Longbottom in the group didn't want to be left alone either, so they went along.
Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts, 12:33, September 2nd, 1991
Albus Dumbledore POV
"Then, it is decided. I will pass the message along at this afternoon's staff gathering.", he nodded to Minerva, setting down the silverware on his plate.
"Very well, Albus. I am sure Mister Potter will be thrilled to hear about this. I will be alerting him myself of the planned visits at the end of the day.", she nodded back, before finishing her sandwich, and taking it down with a glass of water.
"Now then, if that is all, I will be heading to class with the Third Year Huff'n'Puff.", Minerva stood up, apparently done with the conversation, and with her lunch.
With a careless smile, Albus replied, "Off you go, my dear. I will be taking it up from here.". She nodded a goodbye, and went past the door, down the stairs.
Albus leaned back against his cushioned chair and waved his hand over the plate with a sigh as he gathered his thoughts. It disappeared, Magic be blessed for House Elves. Albus set his big, star-shaped glasses down on his desk, and ran a hand in his fabulous rainbow-coloured beard.
Last night, during the Sorting, he had been fixated on the 'Destiny' and 'Fate' parts of young Harry's Sorting and its meaning, caught up in the prophecy as he was. He had neglected something far more important, and what it could mean for his plans. Thankfully, a good night of sleep had righted his head, as facts came knocking on his mind.
Albus Dumbledore had been Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for decades now, and he knew what each house meant, with far more clarity than the Crown would care to give others during its yearly little songs.
Albus knew that the Sorting Crown was created to look at someone's personal Song, their individuality. As each house represented a part of the Song of the World, for someone to be sorted in every House at once…
Albus shuddered, unclear of what he was supposed to feel, but he was certain of one thing: Harry Potter's inner Song was similar, if not a perfect replica of, the Song of the World.
That was it. That had to be it. The 'Power the Dread Lord Knows Not'.
But then, what did it mean? How could it possibly aid Harry in defeating a monster? How would that fact impact his carefully planned-out future?
As he looked over the spinning trinkets, crafted to warn him of Harry's state of health and location, he asked himself. He questioned his decisions for this year. If that power was already awakened, would it work along with his plans? Or would it render them…
"Unnecessary…?", he breathed out, in shock and hope, yet unwilling to give up on his carefully-maintained paranoia.
Knowing it to be a fruitless endeavour, Albus still turned towards the Sorting Crown, sitting on a shelf, and opened his mouth, a question burning on his tongue.
The damned cap was apparently watching, as he answered before he could ask. "You know I can't tell you anything in particular about any student, Albus, regardless of how important to the World they may be."
Albus bit back a sigh and cocked an eyebrow, knowing that the Crown always chose its words very carefully, artist that it was. "Nothing in particular", and "about any student", indeed?
"The only thing I'll tell you, old man, is this.", grinned the Crown, as his Office's sound system started a simple beat.
And with that little rap, and its rather obvious message, the cap fell asleep as the headmaster's office quieted down once more.
'...Being honest, huh?', Albus thought, deeply.
He could tell the child everything. He could prepare him for his fate from the light, instead of hidden in the shadows. He could ask him directly about anything unusual he may have discovered about himself, and teach him to better take advantage of his gifts.
He could… He could…
…He could…
Albus slowly let his fingers glide over a very special wand, a special baton, hidden up his right sleeve. A very powerful baton. A unique baton indeed.
With deliberation in his eyes, and a severe look on his face, Albus turned towards a drawer not five feet from his desk, where a sibling to that baton rested, a keepsake from the late James Potter.
Perhaps, on top of a power the Dread Lord knows not… A power the Dread Lord would never have could be added?
Deep in thoughts, the Headmaster was certain of only a few things. Firstly, the Philosopher's Tune and the traps would remain, for now. Though they might have lost most of their purpose after last night's event, they would remain an effective way to force a confrontation between Harry and Tom, to let the boy know that he had an enemy.
Secondly, whatever thoughts and plans he had on the entire subject of the prophecy would have to be reevaluated and reworked. Perhaps a new approach was needed. After all, the Sorting Crown, Hogwarts, had spoken. And the Headmaster had a duty to at least listen, even if he did not follow.
Thirdly, whatever his end choice was, to continue with the plan, or to scrap everything and rely only on the whims of fate and old stories, he should probably prepare all that was necessary for both, just in case.
'Fourthly,' he stood up, snapping his fingers, 'dancing the Macarena is a great way to clear one's mind.', thought the headmaster, music filling the room once more as the furniture disappeared. Albus jumped to his feet, and extended his arms in front of him along with the music, shaking his behind from side to side all the while.
On that note, where were Gellert's notes on the location of the Tone of Resurrection, already?
Great Hall, Hogwarts, 12:23, September 2nd, 1991
Harry Potter POV
Lunch was a far quicker affair than breakfast, for everyone. The older years departed for their classes, and the youngest year decided to separate in small groups to visit the castle. Harry did note the absence of both Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall at the staff table, however, probably off to discuss that thing the professor mentioned last night. He noticed, as well, that Professor Snape -it had to be him, given Draco's description- was not glaring at him anymore, though he was now wincing anytime their crossed looks.
Weird.
Regardless, with his belly filled, a goodbye waved at all of his new friends in the other houses, and in company of his decidedly three best friends, Harry set off.
The golden quartet would be exploring all of the floors, starting from the bottom, the dungeons.
Their trip around the castle was as informative as it was incredible.
To start with, the Dungeons apparently housed most of the House Ghosts, who were delightful conversations. Harry was happy to be able to study their strange, beat-less songs once more, and surmised that it must be due to the absence of a living body.
'Then,' he wondered, 'would a zombie -inferi, corrected Hermione- only have a beat without instrumentals or voice? Perhaps a beat and instrumentals?'
They found multiple classrooms, both used and not, and also the Hogwarts Library. It was full of interesting-looking and colourful books, flying into aerial formations throughout the place, following a rather chill beat.
And, to no one's surprise, they had to forcefully drag Hermione out of it. She was quite strong, for a little girl -although Harry wasn't so buff himself, there were still three of them!-, but relented after a promise to come back later.
On the upper floors, Harry was led to a wall of Songs similar to the Songs of the ghosts: the Songs of the portraits. The living portraits. All over the walls on the upper floors. They were eternally dancing, singing, playing instruments, talking to each other and more. And they could apparently go to another's portrait at will!
It was simply fascinating. Harry wondered how they were made at all, as he didn't know of any magic that had to do with paitings. But then again, wand crafting didn't have much to do with dancing and singing either, or did it? Regardless, Harry didn't know much magic in any case, and Hermione did not have any information on the subject either, much to her chagrin.
One of the paintings, a Barnabas the Barmy, was attempting to teach ballet to the trolls present in the scenery of his portrait. Harry thought that it was a very noble goal, and accompanied him for a while, amusedly followed by his friends after a moment.
As the children turned and spinned around, they suddenly noticed the appearance of a new door on the opposing wall, leading to what appeared to be a very large ballroom with crystal chandeliers.
It was no more strange than the rest of the castle, they thought. What was strange, was that the door disappeared into the wall, shrinking into nothingness as they closed it behind them. No one had seen it come, no one had seen it go. No one could get it to open again.
Hermione swore to research the subject later.
As they came back down the stairs, close to dinner time already, all the way from the top to the general direction of the Great Hall, the golden quartet ran into a corridor filled with many displayed armours. It wasn't the unexpected parts, Harry and the others had seen plenty of gargoyles and armour littering the walls all over the castle.
But these ones were far more numerous in such a close space, and were simply fabulous!
They were all painted a different colour, one armour for every colour of the rainbow and then some. They were standing in strange positions, as if in the middle of a dance move. And some had instruments.
Taking into account what he had seen so far, and following the mischievous urging he received from the castle through its Song, Harry grinned and lifted a foot.
He turned and placed it down with power, before taking three large steps forward with deliberation. He stopped in front of Neville, who looked on with amusement, and offered his right hand up, placing his left behind his back.
With a shake of his head and a grin, Neville took up his hand, replicated his position, and they started moving. Three skips in a circle centered on their clasped hands, half a turn to exchange hands, a three-steps turn in the other direction, repeat. Harry sometimes took a spin, or a few more steps to the side, at the urging of the Song of Hogwarts, and Neville flawlessly followed, somehow, probably led by the Song along with Harry.
After a couple repetitions, Harry noticed with a large smile that, not only had Ron and Hermione joined him and Neville, but the knights had started to leave the walls and dance along!
They could now start exchanging partners at regular intervals, skipping all over the corridor. Harry went from Neville, to a blue armour with a stupendous peacock feather on its helmet, to a red knight in literal scaled armour. He danced in circles with a green, rabbit-faced gargoyle, he was spun around by Hermione, he locked arms with everyone in a circle and they circled around for a while, legs sticking as far as they could go, all along to the upbeat, cheerful, and fast-paced mediaeval music.
This all came to a halt when Ron exclaimed with a "Ah!", finally taking notice of the amused Headmaster Dumbledore standing there, after nearly running into him.
So, of course, Ron tentatively offered his hand to the old man, who took it with a bright smile, as the music picked up once again. And damn could the headmaster go. There was no doubt in Harry's mind, as the procession of dancing living armours, gargoyles, students, and an old man slowly danced their way down to the Great Hall, that said old man had utterly crushed any hope of competition as he spun around, stepped, kicked, sang, and led more partners than anyone else, without pause or stop, as his rainbow-kissed hair and beard flew in the wind with every movement.
Author's note:
Pay no attention to the anachronisms, they're really not the most unbelievable thing being written in here.
Gryff-on-the-floor dormitories, Hogwarts, morning of September 2nd, 1991
Harry Potter POV
Harry Potter was suddenly startled awake by an electric guitar(piano?), a very long-held vocal, and a singer telling him to "get the fuck out of bed bitch go". His owl, Hedwig, was hooting along happily for some reason.
It seemed that one of the older years, or perhaps Professor MacGonagall herself, had been kind enough to spell the dormitories with an alarm set to activate before it got too late in the day. After all, though it was a free day for them First Years, they still had a castle to explore.
And Harry was certain that the parties of last night were as tiring for the older years as they were for him, wonderful as they were.
Shaking his head more awake, and picking up a glass of water from his night table, Harry let the cool liquid put things into focus as he noticed three very notable points this morning.
First, it seems that his roommates -Ron and Neville, how great is that!- were, too, shaken awake by the morning DJ, his techno and his drums.
Second, it was already twenty minutes past ten in the morning, and he really could use breakfast after all of last night's dancing and singing.
Lastly, he definitely did not put a glass of water on his bedside table, which made the source of that wonderful thirst-killing cold juice a complete mystery. He'd have to ask Hermione about that. She seemed to know everything.
With a quickly slurred out, "Mornin' all, I'm heading to a shower.", Harry walked on, red and gold clothes in his arms. He was answered in kind by Neville, who appeared to be interested in the idea himself, and Ron, who had somehow snored, answered, yawned, and gone back to sleep all at once.
Truly, Harry's new friends were impressive people.
A shower later, a slightly damp-haired Harry walked down the stairs from the dorms to the Gryff-on-the-floor Common Room alongside Neville and a slightly more awake Ron Weasley. And, apparently, alongside the whole rest of the House. That alarm was set across their entire tower, it seemed.
The older years didn't waste time skipping out, probably to break their fast, as they would have classes in less than three hours. As for the First Years, like Harry, they seemed mostly interested in exploring the Gryff-on-the-floor personal dance floor more in depth.
And Hermione, to no one's surprise, had gotten there long before them all. She was great on the electronic keyboard. Pianist parents indeed.
She was so focused, in fact, that she didn't notice the new arrivals until they started hollering in praise, which cut her off through sheer embarrassment.
Well, that wouldn't do.
With a bright smile, Harry walked up to Hermione and her setup, and started plugging the amps and adjusting them, as he said, "Here let me help you with that.". Not that he knew how, but it seemed that the magic in the air was leading him on to do a pretty okay job.
Hermione seemed like she was going to open her mouth, still red from embarrassment, but Harry cut her off, "We've got time for a little dance before going, don't we? You're great!".
With a wink, he continued, "So if I went…", he cleared his throat to get the right tune, "Today, I don't feel like doing anything~"
With a tentative smile, and still-red cheeks, Hermione grinned and flicked a few switches, before accompanying Harry's refrain. Then everyone present joined in.
Suffice to say, the First Years would not be going down for breakfast until a few minutes short of eleven.
In the only half-full Great Hall, Harry devoured his breakfast along with Ron, as Neville and Hermione tried to appear slightly more dignified, and a white ball of fluff and feathers repeatedly stole bacon from their plates, hooting in defiance. Music was hungry work, damn it!
Apparently, Hermione had been awake since nine thirty, and was playing on her keyboard since then. A habit of practising every morning at home. They were about to go more in depth into Neville's apparent own morning practise with string string instruments, when a green dragon approached their table.
Or, well, a Draco garbed in green.
"Draco!", exclaimed Harry with a grin. "Good morning! Hogwarts is great, isn't it?"
"Good morning Pott- Harry.", he answered, then smiled, "It is, at that. You know, the older years held a play mixed in with an opera as a welcome for us Slyther-scenes. It was fascinating. A comedic story about Merlin and the Round Table, led by unc- Professor Snape himself."
"Really?", questioned Harry with slight envy, "I have to admit that you guys may have topped Gryff-on-the-floor with that. We just had a gigantic dance party and competition, but the older years were just too good…" he trailed off for a moment.
"Professor McGonagall was really great on these drums, though", said Neville, rather quietly. "Who knew she could solo like that?"
All Gryff-on-the-floors listening to the conversation nodded wholeheartedly. The old woman was shockingly skilled and fast on a battery set. The stern-looking Professor never missed a single beat!
She had successfully impressed Harry that night. And he vowed that, one day, Harry Potter would beat the drum better than even Minerva McGonagall. A wish that would follow him for the rest of his life.
"That good?" said Draco, surprised, before he took a seat at the table. "I mean, uncle Sev told me she was, but I never got to see her play myself."
"Perhaps you could ask for a demonstration during class?", took up Hermione, between bites of a pancake, "I heard that drum beats and heavy-step dances were the most used in transfiguration spells, so it would be on subject. Also, 'uncle Sev'?"
"Ah," blushed Draco, "I might try that. And Professor Snape, Severus Snape, is my godfather and uncle. It's a habit. Don't spread it around too much, will you?"
With a nod, they let the subject drop as Draco seemed to gather himself and carefully asked, "So, Harry. You remember those friends of mine who you probably wouldn't want to meet?".
Harry slowly nodded his head, already seeing where it was going, "I got a unique result in the Sorting and they want to meet me now, is that it?"
"Actually, no." denied Draco immediately, much to Harry's surprise. "It's because you're technically in Slyther-scene yourself. It makes you trustworthy. Understandable. Like us.", he stressed.
Harry's eyes widened a bit, as he reevaluated Draco's friends in his mind. A difficulty to trust things that once hurt them, but a willingness to reach out at the first sign of familiarity. It seemed, after all, that they had a lot in common. "I understand. Why don't you call them over? We could explore the castle together when we're done here!"
With a bright smile, Draco turned around to the other tables and, with simple nods, brought over a few people from Ravin'flow, Huff'n'Puff, and Slyther-scene alike. Most older years having already departed, or waiting for lunch instead, there was plenty of space for all of them.
This was how Harry Potter met Gregory Goyle from Ravin'flow, Vincent Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson from Huff'n'Puff, as well as Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Theodore Nott, and Blaise Zabini from Slyther-scene.
Though, in all honesty, with so few First Years in this generation, when the others saw their gathering leaving the room, they all followed along.
As such, all of the First Years decided simultaneously to visit the Castle Grounds first, if only to have enough space to walk together, numerous as they were.
Also, lunch would be served in less than thirty minutes, so there wouldn't be much time to explore the insides of the castle, too.
A gaggle of children approached a small hut a short way away from the castle. Harry being at the head of them all, for some reason, could already feel the ground shaking in front. Like something really big and heavy was being dropped down repeatedly.
Or perhaps, someone really big and heavy was simply bouncing around?
His guess was confirmed, as they approached a field of pumpkins, a giant dancing and humming as he bounded from one vegetable to the others. Eventually, in the middle of a spin, he noticed the rather large group with a special child at the head.
"Harry!" exclaimed the giant, happily, "Glad to see ye here! Had a great party las' night?"
"Hagrid!" answered Harry with a smile, "It was brilliant! And Professor McGonagall can really beat those drums!"
Losing a bit of his levity, he checked around that no one was listening too much, and noted with thankfulness that most everyone else was too busy playing with a rather large dog. "She told me that a lot of people here knew about my… My parents. I was wonder-"
A large palm on his shoulder cut him off. "O' course, Harry.", said an unusually serious voice. "Perhaps ye could come fer tea on the week-end? Ah'll have a few stories and pictures ready fer ya.", nodded the giant, kindly.
Harry smiled back, more happily, and decided not to bother his friend during work for longer than necessary. Also, though breakfast was a rather late affair, it was already lunch time. And lunch would not be skipped by a Potter, nor by a Weasley. And the Granger and Longbottom in the group didn't want to be left alone either, so they went along.
Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts, 12:33, September 2nd, 1991
Albus Dumbledore POV
"Then, it is decided. I will pass the message along at this afternoon's staff gathering.", he nodded to Minerva, setting down the silverware on his plate.
"Very well, Albus. I am sure Mister Potter will be thrilled to hear about this. I will be alerting him myself of the planned visits at the end of the day.", she nodded back, before finishing her sandwich, and taking it down with a glass of water.
"Now then, if that is all, I will be heading to class with the Third Year Huff'n'Puff.", Minerva stood up, apparently done with the conversation, and with her lunch.
With a careless smile, Albus replied, "Off you go, my dear. I will be taking it up from here.". She nodded a goodbye, and went past the door, down the stairs.
Albus leaned back against his cushioned chair and waved his hand over the plate with a sigh as he gathered his thoughts. It disappeared, Magic be blessed for House Elves. Albus set his big, star-shaped glasses down on his desk, and ran a hand in his fabulous rainbow-coloured beard.
Last night, during the Sorting, he had been fixated on the 'Destiny' and 'Fate' parts of young Harry's Sorting and its meaning, caught up in the prophecy as he was. He had neglected something far more important, and what it could mean for his plans. Thankfully, a good night of sleep had righted his head, as facts came knocking on his mind.
Albus Dumbledore had been Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for decades now, and he knew what each house meant, with far more clarity than the Crown would care to give others during its yearly little songs.
Albus knew that the Sorting Crown was created to look at someone's personal Song, their individuality. As each house represented a part of the Song of the World, for someone to be sorted in every House at once…
Albus shuddered, unclear of what he was supposed to feel, but he was certain of one thing: Harry Potter's inner Song was similar, if not a perfect replica of, the Song of the World.
That was it. That had to be it. The 'Power the Dread Lord Knows Not'.
But then, what did it mean? How could it possibly aid Harry in defeating a monster? How would that fact impact his carefully planned-out future?
As he looked over the spinning trinkets, crafted to warn him of Harry's state of health and location, he asked himself. He questioned his decisions for this year. If that power was already awakened, would it work along with his plans? Or would it render them…
"Unnecessary…?", he breathed out, in shock and hope, yet unwilling to give up on his carefully-maintained paranoia.
Knowing it to be a fruitless endeavour, Albus still turned towards the Sorting Crown, sitting on a shelf, and opened his mouth, a question burning on his tongue.
The damned cap was apparently watching, as he answered before he could ask. "You know I can't tell you anything in particular about any student, Albus, regardless of how important to the World they may be."
Albus bit back a sigh and cocked an eyebrow, knowing that the Crown always chose its words very carefully, artist that it was. "Nothing in particular", and "about any student", indeed?
"The only thing I'll tell you, old man, is this.", grinned the Crown, as his Office's sound system started a simple beat.
"Yo! Hear me out, it's the Sor-tin'-Crown!
I've got a message, a baggage, a simple hand-me-down!
And if you don't, know, the sender;
Then you must be, my, receiver;
So here's the thing, pal yeah here's the biz:
You've got your hands, full with prophecies;
Instead of pushing, things, for the best;
Have you considered, once, being honest?"
I've got a message, a baggage, a simple hand-me-down!
And if you don't, know, the sender;
Then you must be, my, receiver;
So here's the thing, pal yeah here's the biz:
You've got your hands, full with prophecies;
Instead of pushing, things, for the best;
Have you considered, once, being honest?"
And with that little rap, and its rather obvious message, the cap fell asleep as the headmaster's office quieted down once more.
'...Being honest, huh?', Albus thought, deeply.
He could tell the child everything. He could prepare him for his fate from the light, instead of hidden in the shadows. He could ask him directly about anything unusual he may have discovered about himself, and teach him to better take advantage of his gifts.
He could… He could…
…He could…
Albus slowly let his fingers glide over a very special wand, a special baton, hidden up his right sleeve. A very powerful baton. A unique baton indeed.
With deliberation in his eyes, and a severe look on his face, Albus turned towards a drawer not five feet from his desk, where a sibling to that baton rested, a keepsake from the late James Potter.
Perhaps, on top of a power the Dread Lord knows not… A power the Dread Lord would never have could be added?
Deep in thoughts, the Headmaster was certain of only a few things. Firstly, the Philosopher's Tune and the traps would remain, for now. Though they might have lost most of their purpose after last night's event, they would remain an effective way to force a confrontation between Harry and Tom, to let the boy know that he had an enemy.
Secondly, whatever thoughts and plans he had on the entire subject of the prophecy would have to be reevaluated and reworked. Perhaps a new approach was needed. After all, the Sorting Crown, Hogwarts, had spoken. And the Headmaster had a duty to at least listen, even if he did not follow.
Thirdly, whatever his end choice was, to continue with the plan, or to scrap everything and rely only on the whims of fate and old stories, he should probably prepare all that was necessary for both, just in case.
'Fourthly,' he stood up, snapping his fingers, 'dancing the Macarena is a great way to clear one's mind.', thought the headmaster, music filling the room once more as the furniture disappeared. Albus jumped to his feet, and extended his arms in front of him along with the music, shaking his behind from side to side all the while.
On that note, where were Gellert's notes on the location of the Tone of Resurrection, already?
Great Hall, Hogwarts, 12:23, September 2nd, 1991
Harry Potter POV
Lunch was a far quicker affair than breakfast, for everyone. The older years departed for their classes, and the youngest year decided to separate in small groups to visit the castle. Harry did note the absence of both Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall at the staff table, however, probably off to discuss that thing the professor mentioned last night. He noticed, as well, that Professor Snape -it had to be him, given Draco's description- was not glaring at him anymore, though he was now wincing anytime their crossed looks.
Weird.
Regardless, with his belly filled, a goodbye waved at all of his new friends in the other houses, and in company of his decidedly three best friends, Harry set off.
The golden quartet would be exploring all of the floors, starting from the bottom, the dungeons.
Their trip around the castle was as informative as it was incredible.
To start with, the Dungeons apparently housed most of the House Ghosts, who were delightful conversations. Harry was happy to be able to study their strange, beat-less songs once more, and surmised that it must be due to the absence of a living body.
'Then,' he wondered, 'would a zombie -inferi, corrected Hermione- only have a beat without instrumentals or voice? Perhaps a beat and instrumentals?'
They found multiple classrooms, both used and not, and also the Hogwarts Library. It was full of interesting-looking and colourful books, flying into aerial formations throughout the place, following a rather chill beat.
And, to no one's surprise, they had to forcefully drag Hermione out of it. She was quite strong, for a little girl -although Harry wasn't so buff himself, there were still three of them!-, but relented after a promise to come back later.
On the upper floors, Harry was led to a wall of Songs similar to the Songs of the ghosts: the Songs of the portraits. The living portraits. All over the walls on the upper floors. They were eternally dancing, singing, playing instruments, talking to each other and more. And they could apparently go to another's portrait at will!
It was simply fascinating. Harry wondered how they were made at all, as he didn't know of any magic that had to do with paitings. But then again, wand crafting didn't have much to do with dancing and singing either, or did it? Regardless, Harry didn't know much magic in any case, and Hermione did not have any information on the subject either, much to her chagrin.
One of the paintings, a Barnabas the Barmy, was attempting to teach ballet to the trolls present in the scenery of his portrait. Harry thought that it was a very noble goal, and accompanied him for a while, amusedly followed by his friends after a moment.
As the children turned and spinned around, they suddenly noticed the appearance of a new door on the opposing wall, leading to what appeared to be a very large ballroom with crystal chandeliers.
It was no more strange than the rest of the castle, they thought. What was strange, was that the door disappeared into the wall, shrinking into nothingness as they closed it behind them. No one had seen it come, no one had seen it go. No one could get it to open again.
Hermione swore to research the subject later.
As they came back down the stairs, close to dinner time already, all the way from the top to the general direction of the Great Hall, the golden quartet ran into a corridor filled with many displayed armours. It wasn't the unexpected parts, Harry and the others had seen plenty of gargoyles and armour littering the walls all over the castle.
But these ones were far more numerous in such a close space, and were simply fabulous!
They were all painted a different colour, one armour for every colour of the rainbow and then some. They were standing in strange positions, as if in the middle of a dance move. And some had instruments.
Taking into account what he had seen so far, and following the mischievous urging he received from the castle through its Song, Harry grinned and lifted a foot.
He turned and placed it down with power, before taking three large steps forward with deliberation. He stopped in front of Neville, who looked on with amusement, and offered his right hand up, placing his left behind his back.
With a shake of his head and a grin, Neville took up his hand, replicated his position, and they started moving. Three skips in a circle centered on their clasped hands, half a turn to exchange hands, a three-steps turn in the other direction, repeat. Harry sometimes took a spin, or a few more steps to the side, at the urging of the Song of Hogwarts, and Neville flawlessly followed, somehow, probably led by the Song along with Harry.
After a couple repetitions, Harry noticed with a large smile that, not only had Ron and Hermione joined him and Neville, but the knights had started to leave the walls and dance along!
They could now start exchanging partners at regular intervals, skipping all over the corridor. Harry went from Neville, to a blue armour with a stupendous peacock feather on its helmet, to a red knight in literal scaled armour. He danced in circles with a green, rabbit-faced gargoyle, he was spun around by Hermione, he locked arms with everyone in a circle and they circled around for a while, legs sticking as far as they could go, all along to the upbeat, cheerful, and fast-paced mediaeval music.
This all came to a halt when Ron exclaimed with a "Ah!", finally taking notice of the amused Headmaster Dumbledore standing there, after nearly running into him.
So, of course, Ron tentatively offered his hand to the old man, who took it with a bright smile, as the music picked up once again. And damn could the headmaster go. There was no doubt in Harry's mind, as the procession of dancing living armours, gargoyles, students, and an old man slowly danced their way down to the Great Hall, that said old man had utterly crushed any hope of competition as he spun around, stepped, kicked, sang, and led more partners than anyone else, without pause or stop, as his rainbow-kissed hair and beard flew in the wind with every movement.
In that moment, Harry made another heartfelt wish, one more that would follow him for the rest of his life. Harry Potter vowed that he would become a dancer greater than even Albus Dumbledore, one day.
The children had never noticed, in their dancing around, that this strange armour-filled corridor was situated on the third floor, by the left side of the staircase.
Author's note:
Pay no attention to the anachronisms, they're really not the most unbelievable thing being written in here.
Last edited:
Chapter 7 - Track Starter
zellat451
Learning a foreign language with NF - Happy
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Chapter 7 - Track Starter
???, ???
??? POV
Here, there. Everywhere.
Something is waking.
Great Hall, Hogwarts, morning of September 3rd, 1991
Harry Potter POV
Another day, another song to wake up to. What a nice Tuesday it was shaping up to be already.
It was quite early when Harry woke up, at least compared to the previous day. Well, he assumed that, whatever the case, 7:20 should be considered early, right?
Having learned his lesson from the past day's alarm, Harry simply went to take a quick shower. He was eager to see Hermione practising again!
Under the cool water, Harry thought of last evening's conversation he had with Professor MacGonagall. As expected, his rather… unique situation was sorted quickly enough. He would simply be given free entry within all Houses' Common Rooms, and would be given a visit over this week, whenever the Heads had the time. Probably over Saturday, or perhaps even as soon as Thursday afternoon for the Slyther-scene House, she said.
In any case, as Harry finished his shower and went down towards the dancefloor, he quickly realised that something was wrong. He wasn't sure what, though.
Well, nothing for it. As he entered the large room, he heard the sound of the keyboard being mashed with passion and speed, a frizzy brunette leaning over her instrument in utter focus and…
Wait.
That's what was wrong!
Harry suddenly realised that… Everything was too good. The Song of the World was too clear. From here, he could already feel Ron and Neville starting to wake up, which had been impossible for him yesterday, and he could actually feel how focused Hermione was over her piece right now!
When did that happen?
Slightly worried about his health, and thinking hard, Harry slowly made his way to the guitar next to the keyboard, tapping his fingers on his thigh, both out of tenseness and to get his own Song revving up.
As he grabbed the neck, his friend still oblivious to his presence, he remembered the past evening. He had had impromptu dance numbers before… But never did he ever entangle people in his Songs and Dances like he had Neville, sharing his moves instinctively that way. He had assumed Hogwarts had helped at first, but now…
With a shake of his head, and a pluck of a string that finally gained the adorable pianist's attention, Harry allowed himself a grin as Thunderstruck began playing.
Yes, he could deal with magical changes later. A magical time with his friend was far more important.
Harry, sat next between Ron and Neville during breakfast, had to interrupt his meal when a pile of fluffy feather -which was obviously not Hedwig, the little bacon-stealer was right there- dive-bombed at the shy boy before stopping right in his plate and offering him-
"Is that a letter?" blurted out a very confused Harry Potter, "Owls deliver letters? How does that even work?"
He earned a strange look from the two purebloods, while the muggleborn in front looked at him as if understanding and sharing the pain he would soon feel. "They do deliver letters, as a matter of fact, Harry." she started, "And they can somehow find anyone on the planet with only a name or an address to go on. No one has ever explained the phenomenon."
Harry only felt more confused. Sure, he could understand that it could be possible to use the Song of the World to find someone if you knew what they sounded like, but to go at it completely blind? How did that even work? And how did they prevent the letters from being stolen? The owl from being hunted? The-
"Um, Harry.", interrupted the shy Longbottom, having read his letter in the meantime, "It's, well, I mean…".
Seemingly remembering something, Neville closed his eyes, took a deep breath, straightened his spine, and then looked straight at Harry, "My parents welcome you back to the Wizarding World and would like to invite you to Longbottom Manor for christmas.", he said in one breath.
Harry, flattered and confused, answered, "I mean, I'll gladly accept of course. It'll be brill!", he began, "But, why would they want to meet me?".
It took exactly a second for Harry to remember who he was, "Besides the obvious I mean, I know about the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing, but that just seem a bit-"
"-Harry.", cut off Neville, looking slightly in pain and ashamed. "It's, well, I guess no one ever told you and I didn't think to so-"
Again, he cut himself off, did his little ritual, then continued, "What I mean is, my parents are your sworn godparents. My mum was best friends with yours. They would've taken you in if the Headmaster didn't hide you away.", he finished, a blush on his cheeks.
Harry was shocked. He had a brother. Well, a Godbrother. An almost-brother? That had to count for something, right?
Of course it did! Harry thought he had a friend, but had actually found himself a family he could feel proud to call as such! He could even feel the Song of Love written in the letter along with the words. Truly, getting kidnapped by a dancing giant was the best thing that ever happened to him.
With a resplendent grin, Harry gave his answer, and then decided to write a letter himself to the Longbottom family. Hedwig could really use the exercise, fattening herself up as she was.
As the thus-named owl suddenly shot Harry a look and stared, he could only think one thing.
He now understood why owls were used as delivery-people. Truly, no one would be insane enough to steal from Satan in a fluffy feather coat.
Her eyes narrowed.
Harry broke into a cold sweat and offered a piece of bacon as sacrifice.
Hogwarts Amphitheater, Hogwarts
Filius Flitwick POV
Filius smiled, welcoming the large swath of students in the Hogwarts Amphitheater. It was the case on the second school day of every year. All First Years would first have to be taught the basics of spellcasting before they could understand the more subtle intricacies of the specialised classes.
Like every year, this responsibility fell onto him.
As the last Huff'n'Puff entered and they all sat nearly together, as they did all years, Filius allowed himself an amused grin as he began.
"Welcome, students, to spells one-oh-one, where you will be taught the basics of a spell's structure and workings. Then, we will get started on your very first one!"
Murmurs broke out in his student's excitement, as the background music ever-present in all rooms of Hogwarts Castle picked up a peppy tune.
"To start with, singing and dancing!", he continued, indicating on the temporary magical projection board the relevant projections of a singer in a chorus, and a grooving dancer.
"Spells take advantage of the Song of the World's nature of possessing separate Tracks!", he looked over at his students. "A part instrumentals, a part percussion, a part singing voices. This much you would have learned about in many books."
Nodding his head at the slight sounds of agreement from the room, he continued, "What is less talked about, are the parts which are not entirely musical in nature. Dance and Critique."
Seeing some confusion starting to appear, he clarified. "You'll learn about Critique more in depth in later years, as well as instrumentals and percussion, for those of you who will take electives in Arithmancy, Druidism, Ancient Lore, and many more. For now, simply understand that the Song of the World is made up of five parts", he stressed with a pause, "and that spells only use two of these. Dance and Voice."
Waiting for the careful nods from his audience, Filius continued on the part that would certainly confuse more than a few. Thankfully, the projector behind him reacted along with his speech to show them clearer imagery of what was being said. Some people just learned better from a picture. Mister Potter did seem far more focused than everyone else, for some reason. Or perhaps, as expected of the Full-House Student?
"The Voice part of the Song of the World represents one's mind, soul, and memories.", he said, "And as such, voices are used in spells to act on the mind, soul, and memories of the World. Voice-heavy spells are mainly used to alter the properties of a thing. Is it affected by gravity? Does it ignore incoming forces? Can it fly? Can the colour change, even though the material does not?"
Letting his questions fill the air for a moment, and observing most his prouds Ravin'flows taking notes, before picking up where he left off.
"As such, this type of spell, commonly known as Charms, is always temporary unless sustained, as the Song of the World eventually reasserts reality upon itself."
He drank a bit of water, "As for the Dance part, it represents the moving. That which is alive. The body, power, change, reality. Dance-heavy spells, generally known as Transfigurations, are utilised to alter not the properties of a thing, but its very nature. Its shape. It's physical composition. Where Charms are temporary dreams, Transfigurations are truly real changes."
Lolling his head on a side, he followed with, "In fact, some Dance-based spells are so real that they make such changes permanent, where they would otherwise be reverted after a few days. These are commonly known as the Art of Alchemy, as a whole."
"Now," he said, clapping once, "Before we move on to the next part, are there any questions?"
As he well knew she would, going off Minerva's description, Miss Granger shot up her hand in the air, alongside quite a few of his own house members.
"Questions which do not have to do with the parts of the Song unused in spells?" he clarified with a grin.
Many hands went back down, as one faltered, but eventually chose to remain standing.
"Yes, Miss Granger." he called out. The poor girl looked surprised that he knew her already.
"Well, professor." she began, hesitating a tad, "What about Instrumentals and percussion? I know that quite a few spells use an instrument or another as a focus. And, why the distinction between the two? Aren't percussion considered instruments as well?"
With a nod, Filius started explaining, "To your second question, Miss Granger, not when it comes to the Song of the World. I will not explain too much on this subject here, but where percussion is representative of Life, Instrumentals is the Track of the World, of magic, of the separation between life and death."
He continued, foreseeing another question, "To answer you in advance, where Dances are considered the Track of the moving and that which is alive, percussions are considered to be the Track of Life itself. A slight difference, but it matters."
He took another gulp of his water, then followed, "As for your first question, instruments of all kinds are used mainly as enhancers. Percussive instruments will gather the magic of nature all around you to support a magical effect and make it more powerful. Other instruments will be used to tie a magical effect into the natural magic of the World, making it semi-permanent. The latter are mostly used in wards."
With a quick thought, he added, "Of course, all of these rules only apply to spells, standardised magical effects. When personal magic born of one's individuality is involved, the rules cease to apply. Any more questions?"
Seeing none, and with a grin, he finished the first part of his class. Time for the fun part! "Then remember, students: Voices and Dances, Charms and Transfiguration, Properties and Nature! Now then, take a look at the show behind me."
As the projecting board flashed and the instructions for the Lumos Charm appeared, Filius allowed himself a happy twirl as he demonstrated.
"As I explained earlier, your Voice is the truly important part here! You'll want to hum from low to high notes, all while focusing on your respective wands, like so!"
Holding up his linked bracelets as a show, palm open and facing up, Filius began humming slowly, from a baritone to a soprano, as his palm lit up ever so slowly.
He look over at his students, awe and excitement in the gazes, "Your turn, students!", Filius grinned even wider in amusement, "I want everyone to get it before lunch, so get lit!"
Hah! "Get lit"! That never got old.
With a shake of his head, a part of himself cursing the rest for finding puns so amusing even after so many years, Filius started walking down the aisles. He observed his students, carefully listened to each and every hum, correcting where he found an error, and praising just the right amount when they got it right, to encourage them to continue trying harder.
Well, you didn't become the House Head for a group of highly emotional teenagers without getting some great observation and psychology skills.
As he arrived at the Gryff-on-the-floor-claimed side of the room, he took his focus to mister Potter. He had noticed the boy observing Filius himself quite intensely, as if thinking deeply, and he was currently doing the same to his classmates, not focused on his own work.
Filius was about to open his mouth, when young Potter seemed to go through an epiphany, rubbed the ring on his finger, and then-
-LIGHT.
Harry Potter POV
Harry Potter was very carefully listening to the Professor's explanation on how spells, how the Song of the World, worked, and he understood a bit more about his own abilities.
As the active part of the class began, he felt the Songs around him, all of the magic revving up around, ready to be used, he focused even deeper in the common Song they all shared.
He heard the Voices, he felt the Beats, he enjoyed the Instrumentals, and slowly… He started seeing flashes of Dances, he started feeling the weight of stares.
And he saw.
He felt Professor Flitwick's Song slowly reaching out to his students, one by one, carefully prodding at their notes, enjoying their hummings, and humming along to a better tune, slowly dragging them along the path to betterment.
He felt more than he saw how the short man brought others up. How he nearly immediately understood them, without truly listening to their inner symphonies as Harry did.
No, Flitwick simply knew people that well. He understood them upon seeing them. He immediately got what was wrong, and had the answer to fix it, always.
Flitwick was.. He was…
He was an observer, a spectator, a critic. And a bloody talented one, at that.
With realisation upon his face, Harry Potter found a deep respect within himself for his Professor, and decided that he wanted his approval.
Harry thumbed at his ring, started humming, and-
He felt it only as it happened. The Song of the World crashed into his spell, Hogwarts pushing it all along, and fed within his own power.
Harry Potter wanted to do his very best, and the World provided.
LIGHT shone upon the classroom, blinding any and all looking his way, and plenty more who did not, including Harry himself.
The shock of it all made him choke on his spit as the massively overpowered Lumos stopped, along with all sounds in the classroom.
Then, the Professor laughed.
"Wonderful! Simply wonderful, Mister Potter!", he smiled, seemingly overjoyed, "But, perhaps try to hum a bit less next time, yes?", he finished, both very amused and proud at once.
Harry could only nod, blushing silently.
It was lunch already. The First Years had their whole afternoon left free to try out their first spell -Charm- some more, and review the theory before tomorrow's classes. Transfiguration and Potions, they would be. This ought to be interesting.
Neville and Ron had decided to go visit the Greenhouses and the Quidditch Pitch respectively, while Hermione was, of course, headed to the library, hungry for more knowledge about the strange room they had previously found, as well as the different Tracks of the Song of the World. He would probably accompany her after he got some dancing done. Perhaps he could go find the dancing knights from before?
As Harry was walking away from the Great Hall, his lunch finished and a goal in mind, he was suddenly ambushed by an old man. The old man. Headmaster Dumbledore.
"Headmaster Dumbledore!", exclaimed Harry, not really surprised. He'd felt him arrive a few seconds ago through the Song, after all. "Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you? Did you want to join me and the knights again?"
With an amused look, he replied "Happily so, young Harry. Unfortunately, I am quite busy at the moment. I am only here to-", he suddenly gained a slightly sad look, though Harry could feel some trepidation and… fear? "-pass down something to you."
"Really?", Harry asked, unsure. "What is it, sir?"
Dumbledore took out a bright, glittery pink cloak from under his robes and passed it onto Harry.
"This," he said gravely, "is an old artefact your father left with me, for you."
Harry stared at the cloak with conflicted feelings. On one hand, it was his father's! On the other hand, it was the same style as the Death Eaters'.
…Wait. Artefact? Pink? Death Eaters?
Harry took the cloak in hands as he asked slowly, "Sir… Is this related to Death, somehow? I remember Hagrid telling me about the Death Eaters' stylistic choices, and why they did. This is rather…"
With a slight look of surprise, and Harry felt some alarm from him before it was swiftly crushed under understanding, the old man answered, "Indeed. Perhaps you would want to look for the Tales of Beedle the Bard. I remember there is a copy in the library. In the meantime, I urge you to not reveal that you are in possession of this cloak.", he said, very seriously.
Then, with a smile, he continued, "Also, perhaps you should try it on, young Harry. You could be surprised."
Feeling only nostalgia and amusement from the headmaster's Song, and respecting him quite a lot for his dancing skills, Harry decided to put on the Evil-looking cloak which-
-Suddenly turned bright red and ornate gold, with even more glitters?
Turning a shocked look at the laughing old man, Harry let himself laugh as well from the absurdity of the situation. Of course magic clothes could change colour, duh!
Bidding farewell to the Headmaster, and altering his route for the library, Harry let the smile slide off slowly as he fell in thoughts… And arrived absolutely nowhere, be it in questions or answers. He knew though, that he should be questioning some things, and that was already pretty good!
Albus Dumbledore POV
He looked behind himself with a sigh, his choice made and irreversible. Perhaps something good would result from this decision, perhaps something terrible.
But he had to hope. He had to believe in his student, his good heart, and his specialness.
He would need to find the Tone of Resurrection before he parted from the Elder Baton, and the search would take a while. Gellert had never found it himself, but he knew it to be in the possession of the Slytherin line at some point.
Slytherin, Gaunt, Riddle.
He could not unsee the connection. It was so clear, so well-crafted. A perfect plot point for an epic story. The three most powerful magicals of the era, each holding onto a priceless artefact sourced from the great Critic itself.
'Fate,' determined Albus with a nod, 'really is a bitch, sometimes.'
Now, the wizard was off to ruin a probable play by the greater powers to give more troubles to his student, an attempt with a high possibility of failure, and certainly unavoidable consequences of the kind that no sane person would want to deal with.
In essence, a Tuesday. How appropriate.
???, ???
??? POV
A song.
Author's note:
Aaaand done!
Where is the worldbuilding going? Even the author only has a vague idea.
That one's pretty obvious, tho
???, ???
??? POV
Here, there. Everywhere.
Nowhere.
Where?Transparency, light, a pile of not-glass.
A void. Sheer emptiness.A dream, but… real?
Something?Perhaps.
…No, nothing. Not yet.But, soon.
I AM [A]
Something, a beat.Something dead.
Something alive.Desire, wish.
*Ba-Bump* *Ba-Bump*
It resonates. With me, with [A].
It resonates. With me, with [A].
…Are the others waking, yet?
Yes!No. Let us sleep.
He wakes, he wills, he comes.We sleep, we deny, until all are ready.
A choice, fine then.I choose, too. Don't I?
Perhaps. Who is I?I is me. Truly, I am.
…I AM [G]
So many, in so little time. Something is waking.
We are the ones waking, dummy.
Only us, not us. A spark is yet needed.
Only us, not us. A spark is yet needed.
*Swish* *Swish* *Whoosh*
It moves. With me, with [G]
…
Something is happening.
It moves. With me, with [G]
…
Something is happening.
Great Hall, Hogwarts, morning of September 3rd, 1991
Harry Potter POV
Another day, another song to wake up to. What a nice Tuesday it was shaping up to be already.
It was quite early when Harry woke up, at least compared to the previous day. Well, he assumed that, whatever the case, 7:20 should be considered early, right?
Having learned his lesson from the past day's alarm, Harry simply went to take a quick shower. He was eager to see Hermione practising again!
Under the cool water, Harry thought of last evening's conversation he had with Professor MacGonagall. As expected, his rather… unique situation was sorted quickly enough. He would simply be given free entry within all Houses' Common Rooms, and would be given a visit over this week, whenever the Heads had the time. Probably over Saturday, or perhaps even as soon as Thursday afternoon for the Slyther-scene House, she said.
In any case, as Harry finished his shower and went down towards the dancefloor, he quickly realised that something was wrong. He wasn't sure what, though.
Well, nothing for it. As he entered the large room, he heard the sound of the keyboard being mashed with passion and speed, a frizzy brunette leaning over her instrument in utter focus and…
Wait.
That's what was wrong!
Harry suddenly realised that… Everything was too good. The Song of the World was too clear. From here, he could already feel Ron and Neville starting to wake up, which had been impossible for him yesterday, and he could actually feel how focused Hermione was over her piece right now!
When did that happen?
Slightly worried about his health, and thinking hard, Harry slowly made his way to the guitar next to the keyboard, tapping his fingers on his thigh, both out of tenseness and to get his own Song revving up.
As he grabbed the neck, his friend still oblivious to his presence, he remembered the past evening. He had had impromptu dance numbers before… But never did he ever entangle people in his Songs and Dances like he had Neville, sharing his moves instinctively that way. He had assumed Hogwarts had helped at first, but now…
With a shake of his head, and a pluck of a string that finally gained the adorable pianist's attention, Harry allowed himself a grin as Thunderstruck began playing.
Yes, he could deal with magical changes later. A magical time with his friend was far more important.
Harry, sat next between Ron and Neville during breakfast, had to interrupt his meal when a pile of fluffy feather -which was obviously not Hedwig, the little bacon-stealer was right there- dive-bombed at the shy boy before stopping right in his plate and offering him-
"Is that a letter?" blurted out a very confused Harry Potter, "Owls deliver letters? How does that even work?"
He earned a strange look from the two purebloods, while the muggleborn in front looked at him as if understanding and sharing the pain he would soon feel. "They do deliver letters, as a matter of fact, Harry." she started, "And they can somehow find anyone on the planet with only a name or an address to go on. No one has ever explained the phenomenon."
Harry only felt more confused. Sure, he could understand that it could be possible to use the Song of the World to find someone if you knew what they sounded like, but to go at it completely blind? How did that even work? And how did they prevent the letters from being stolen? The owl from being hunted? The-
"Um, Harry.", interrupted the shy Longbottom, having read his letter in the meantime, "It's, well, I mean…".
Seemingly remembering something, Neville closed his eyes, took a deep breath, straightened his spine, and then looked straight at Harry, "My parents welcome you back to the Wizarding World and would like to invite you to Longbottom Manor for christmas.", he said in one breath.
Harry, flattered and confused, answered, "I mean, I'll gladly accept of course. It'll be brill!", he began, "But, why would they want to meet me?".
It took exactly a second for Harry to remember who he was, "Besides the obvious I mean, I know about the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing, but that just seem a bit-"
"-Harry.", cut off Neville, looking slightly in pain and ashamed. "It's, well, I guess no one ever told you and I didn't think to so-"
Again, he cut himself off, did his little ritual, then continued, "What I mean is, my parents are your sworn godparents. My mum was best friends with yours. They would've taken you in if the Headmaster didn't hide you away.", he finished, a blush on his cheeks.
Harry was shocked. He had a brother. Well, a Godbrother. An almost-brother? That had to count for something, right?
Of course it did! Harry thought he had a friend, but had actually found himself a family he could feel proud to call as such! He could even feel the Song of Love written in the letter along with the words. Truly, getting kidnapped by a dancing giant was the best thing that ever happened to him.
With a resplendent grin, Harry gave his answer, and then decided to write a letter himself to the Longbottom family. Hedwig could really use the exercise, fattening herself up as she was.
As the thus-named owl suddenly shot Harry a look and stared, he could only think one thing.
He now understood why owls were used as delivery-people. Truly, no one would be insane enough to steal from Satan in a fluffy feather coat.
Her eyes narrowed.
Harry broke into a cold sweat and offered a piece of bacon as sacrifice.
Hogwarts Amphitheater, Hogwarts
Filius Flitwick POV
Filius smiled, welcoming the large swath of students in the Hogwarts Amphitheater. It was the case on the second school day of every year. All First Years would first have to be taught the basics of spellcasting before they could understand the more subtle intricacies of the specialised classes.
Like every year, this responsibility fell onto him.
As the last Huff'n'Puff entered and they all sat nearly together, as they did all years, Filius allowed himself an amused grin as he began.
"Welcome, students, to spells one-oh-one, where you will be taught the basics of a spell's structure and workings. Then, we will get started on your very first one!"
Murmurs broke out in his student's excitement, as the background music ever-present in all rooms of Hogwarts Castle picked up a peppy tune.
"To start with, singing and dancing!", he continued, indicating on the temporary magical projection board the relevant projections of a singer in a chorus, and a grooving dancer.
"Spells take advantage of the Song of the World's nature of possessing separate Tracks!", he looked over at his students. "A part instrumentals, a part percussion, a part singing voices. This much you would have learned about in many books."
Nodding his head at the slight sounds of agreement from the room, he continued, "What is less talked about, are the parts which are not entirely musical in nature. Dance and Critique."
Seeing some confusion starting to appear, he clarified. "You'll learn about Critique more in depth in later years, as well as instrumentals and percussion, for those of you who will take electives in Arithmancy, Druidism, Ancient Lore, and many more. For now, simply understand that the Song of the World is made up of five parts", he stressed with a pause, "and that spells only use two of these. Dance and Voice."
Waiting for the careful nods from his audience, Filius continued on the part that would certainly confuse more than a few. Thankfully, the projector behind him reacted along with his speech to show them clearer imagery of what was being said. Some people just learned better from a picture. Mister Potter did seem far more focused than everyone else, for some reason. Or perhaps, as expected of the Full-House Student?
"The Voice part of the Song of the World represents one's mind, soul, and memories.", he said, "And as such, voices are used in spells to act on the mind, soul, and memories of the World. Voice-heavy spells are mainly used to alter the properties of a thing. Is it affected by gravity? Does it ignore incoming forces? Can it fly? Can the colour change, even though the material does not?"
Letting his questions fill the air for a moment, and observing most his prouds Ravin'flows taking notes, before picking up where he left off.
"As such, this type of spell, commonly known as Charms, is always temporary unless sustained, as the Song of the World eventually reasserts reality upon itself."
He drank a bit of water, "As for the Dance part, it represents the moving. That which is alive. The body, power, change, reality. Dance-heavy spells, generally known as Transfigurations, are utilised to alter not the properties of a thing, but its very nature. Its shape. It's physical composition. Where Charms are temporary dreams, Transfigurations are truly real changes."
Lolling his head on a side, he followed with, "In fact, some Dance-based spells are so real that they make such changes permanent, where they would otherwise be reverted after a few days. These are commonly known as the Art of Alchemy, as a whole."
"Now," he said, clapping once, "Before we move on to the next part, are there any questions?"
As he well knew she would, going off Minerva's description, Miss Granger shot up her hand in the air, alongside quite a few of his own house members.
"Questions which do not have to do with the parts of the Song unused in spells?" he clarified with a grin.
Many hands went back down, as one faltered, but eventually chose to remain standing.
"Yes, Miss Granger." he called out. The poor girl looked surprised that he knew her already.
"Well, professor." she began, hesitating a tad, "What about Instrumentals and percussion? I know that quite a few spells use an instrument or another as a focus. And, why the distinction between the two? Aren't percussion considered instruments as well?"
With a nod, Filius started explaining, "To your second question, Miss Granger, not when it comes to the Song of the World. I will not explain too much on this subject here, but where percussion is representative of Life, Instrumentals is the Track of the World, of magic, of the separation between life and death."
He continued, foreseeing another question, "To answer you in advance, where Dances are considered the Track of the moving and that which is alive, percussions are considered to be the Track of Life itself. A slight difference, but it matters."
He took another gulp of his water, then followed, "As for your first question, instruments of all kinds are used mainly as enhancers. Percussive instruments will gather the magic of nature all around you to support a magical effect and make it more powerful. Other instruments will be used to tie a magical effect into the natural magic of the World, making it semi-permanent. The latter are mostly used in wards."
With a quick thought, he added, "Of course, all of these rules only apply to spells, standardised magical effects. When personal magic born of one's individuality is involved, the rules cease to apply. Any more questions?"
Seeing none, and with a grin, he finished the first part of his class. Time for the fun part! "Then remember, students: Voices and Dances, Charms and Transfiguration, Properties and Nature! Now then, take a look at the show behind me."
As the projecting board flashed and the instructions for the Lumos Charm appeared, Filius allowed himself a happy twirl as he demonstrated.
"As I explained earlier, your Voice is the truly important part here! You'll want to hum from low to high notes, all while focusing on your respective wands, like so!"
Holding up his linked bracelets as a show, palm open and facing up, Filius began humming slowly, from a baritone to a soprano, as his palm lit up ever so slowly.
He look over at his students, awe and excitement in the gazes, "Your turn, students!", Filius grinned even wider in amusement, "I want everyone to get it before lunch, so get lit!"
Hah! "Get lit"! That never got old.
With a shake of his head, a part of himself cursing the rest for finding puns so amusing even after so many years, Filius started walking down the aisles. He observed his students, carefully listened to each and every hum, correcting where he found an error, and praising just the right amount when they got it right, to encourage them to continue trying harder.
Well, you didn't become the House Head for a group of highly emotional teenagers without getting some great observation and psychology skills.
As he arrived at the Gryff-on-the-floor-claimed side of the room, he took his focus to mister Potter. He had noticed the boy observing Filius himself quite intensely, as if thinking deeply, and he was currently doing the same to his classmates, not focused on his own work.
Filius was about to open his mouth, when young Potter seemed to go through an epiphany, rubbed the ring on his finger, and then-
-LIGHT.
Harry Potter POV
Harry Potter was very carefully listening to the Professor's explanation on how spells, how the Song of the World, worked, and he understood a bit more about his own abilities.
As the active part of the class began, he felt the Songs around him, all of the magic revving up around, ready to be used, he focused even deeper in the common Song they all shared.
He heard the Voices, he felt the Beats, he enjoyed the Instrumentals, and slowly… He started seeing flashes of Dances, he started feeling the weight of stares.
And he saw.
He felt Professor Flitwick's Song slowly reaching out to his students, one by one, carefully prodding at their notes, enjoying their hummings, and humming along to a better tune, slowly dragging them along the path to betterment.
He felt more than he saw how the short man brought others up. How he nearly immediately understood them, without truly listening to their inner symphonies as Harry did.
No, Flitwick simply knew people that well. He understood them upon seeing them. He immediately got what was wrong, and had the answer to fix it, always.
Flitwick was.. He was…
He was an observer, a spectator, a critic. And a bloody talented one, at that.
At that moment, Harry Potter made a wish. He vowed that, one day, he would be even better than Filius Flitwick at understanding people and their performances, and at guiding them to better paths and a greatness suited to them.
Harry Potter would be the best critic in the world.
Harry Potter would be the best critic in the world.
With realisation upon his face, Harry Potter found a deep respect within himself for his Professor, and decided that he wanted his approval.
Harry thumbed at his ring, started humming, and-
-The World-
-Moved.
He felt it only as it happened. The Song of the World crashed into his spell, Hogwarts pushing it all along, and fed within his own power.
Harry Potter wanted to do his very best, and the World provided.
LIGHT shone upon the classroom, blinding any and all looking his way, and plenty more who did not, including Harry himself.
The shock of it all made him choke on his spit as the massively overpowered Lumos stopped, along with all sounds in the classroom.
Then, the Professor laughed.
"Wonderful! Simply wonderful, Mister Potter!", he smiled, seemingly overjoyed, "But, perhaps try to hum a bit less next time, yes?", he finished, both very amused and proud at once.
Harry could only nod, blushing silently.
It was lunch already. The First Years had their whole afternoon left free to try out their first spell -Charm- some more, and review the theory before tomorrow's classes. Transfiguration and Potions, they would be. This ought to be interesting.
Neville and Ron had decided to go visit the Greenhouses and the Quidditch Pitch respectively, while Hermione was, of course, headed to the library, hungry for more knowledge about the strange room they had previously found, as well as the different Tracks of the Song of the World. He would probably accompany her after he got some dancing done. Perhaps he could go find the dancing knights from before?
As Harry was walking away from the Great Hall, his lunch finished and a goal in mind, he was suddenly ambushed by an old man. The old man. Headmaster Dumbledore.
"Headmaster Dumbledore!", exclaimed Harry, not really surprised. He'd felt him arrive a few seconds ago through the Song, after all. "Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you? Did you want to join me and the knights again?"
With an amused look, he replied "Happily so, young Harry. Unfortunately, I am quite busy at the moment. I am only here to-", he suddenly gained a slightly sad look, though Harry could feel some trepidation and… fear? "-pass down something to you."
"Really?", Harry asked, unsure. "What is it, sir?"
Dumbledore took out a bright, glittery pink cloak from under his robes and passed it onto Harry.
"This," he said gravely, "is an old artefact your father left with me, for you."
Harry stared at the cloak with conflicted feelings. On one hand, it was his father's! On the other hand, it was the same style as the Death Eaters'.
…Wait. Artefact? Pink? Death Eaters?
Harry took the cloak in hands as he asked slowly, "Sir… Is this related to Death, somehow? I remember Hagrid telling me about the Death Eaters' stylistic choices, and why they did. This is rather…"
With a slight look of surprise, and Harry felt some alarm from him before it was swiftly crushed under understanding, the old man answered, "Indeed. Perhaps you would want to look for the Tales of Beedle the Bard. I remember there is a copy in the library. In the meantime, I urge you to not reveal that you are in possession of this cloak.", he said, very seriously.
Then, with a smile, he continued, "Also, perhaps you should try it on, young Harry. You could be surprised."
Feeling only nostalgia and amusement from the headmaster's Song, and respecting him quite a lot for his dancing skills, Harry decided to put on the Evil-looking cloak which-
-Suddenly turned bright red and ornate gold, with even more glitters?
Turning a shocked look at the laughing old man, Harry let himself laugh as well from the absurdity of the situation. Of course magic clothes could change colour, duh!
Bidding farewell to the Headmaster, and altering his route for the library, Harry let the smile slide off slowly as he fell in thoughts… And arrived absolutely nowhere, be it in questions or answers. He knew though, that he should be questioning some things, and that was already pretty good!
Albus Dumbledore POV
He looked behind himself with a sigh, his choice made and irreversible. Perhaps something good would result from this decision, perhaps something terrible.
But he had to hope. He had to believe in his student, his good heart, and his specialness.
He would need to find the Tone of Resurrection before he parted from the Elder Baton, and the search would take a while. Gellert had never found it himself, but he knew it to be in the possession of the Slytherin line at some point.
Slytherin, Gaunt, Riddle.
He could not unsee the connection. It was so clear, so well-crafted. A perfect plot point for an epic story. The three most powerful magicals of the era, each holding onto a priceless artefact sourced from the great Critic itself.
'Fate,' determined Albus with a nod, 'really is a bitch, sometimes.'
Now, the wizard was off to ruin a probable play by the greater powers to give more troubles to his student, an attempt with a high possibility of failure, and certainly unavoidable consequences of the kind that no sane person would want to deal with.
In essence, a Tuesday. How appropriate.
???, ???
??? POV
A song.
A quote.
A pen.A written note.
…
The stage is set.The performers are here.
That's us, by the way.Just not us, not yet.
…?
It listens!Of course it does, dummy!
Three for five now, are we?We are, we aren't. Don't get it mixed up.
They'll wake up soon.Probably. What about it?
*Stare* …It…WaTcHeS…
Does that answer your question?Oh, shush! Let it finish.
WiTh… Me…
I
aM
[c]
So we see.I
aM
[c]
…Really?
Let me be.I am. Thou art I. I be me. You be I.
So you are. Oh well. Do we wake up now?Me? You? Us? Us?
All of the above.No.
Guess not.
NoT… yEt…
I aM [c]. I oBsErVe. I cRiTiQuE.
I am [A]. I beat. I echo.I am [G]. I move. I dance.
Something, somewhere, awakens.
Soon, we will all be.
Soon, we will all be.
Author's note:
Aaaand done!
Where is the worldbuilding going? Even the author only has a vague idea.
That one's pretty obvious, tho
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Chapter 8 - History of Great Things
zellat451
Learning a foreign language with NF - Happy
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Chapter 8 - History of Great Things
Chamber of Secrets, 1940s
Myrtle Warren(?) POV
Myrtle Warren danced and sang.
They repeated the slow moves, dragging their feet along the ground and humming a long-lasting, powerful note from deep within their throat, as the only singer in a church's choir.
"The subject's changes appear to be slowing down, but approaching the expected results.", said a voice, somewhere. They couldn't care enough to remember who. "I will have to see about adapting the runic formula and tunes for magicals a bit further, the results from the muggle tests were biased, as expected."
Myrtle Warren danced and sang.
The buzzing voice from somewhere was getting kinda annoying. It was distracting them from this very important thing they were doing. That couldn't stand. But Myrtle Warren was dancing, and there was nothing that they(-she-they-she-they? they.) could do about it.
"The modified Tarantallegra appears to have lasted nearly an hour longer than the last application. This might be the last one needed.", the echo spoke from somewhere, and Myrtle Warren(?) suddenly felt their passion for dancing and singing increase. Truly, this is what they(-she-they-he-she-they? they…) were born for.
MyrTom Warren danced and sang.
They(she-he-they? they…?) couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop. They(she!-he-they?-sh… he. He.) could feel the magic dancing with him, and he recognized his goals, his self, his truth.
"Soon, it will be finished. The ritual circle is ready, the receptacle in place… Now, I only need to wait. How exhilarating!", continued the echo.
MyTom WarRiddle danced and sang.
He had been doing so for the past two days, without rest. He could recognise pain, but the dance was more important. He could recognise weariness, but the song was more important. He could feel wrongness, but the desire deep within showed him the truth: he was approaching everything he'd ever wanted. His dreams were soon to be fulfilled. And that was far more important than everything else.
Tom WaRiddle danced and sang.
He smiled, as he knew and understood, that everything was ready, everything was a part of his great plan from the start, and that his body was just wrong was not going to be a bother for much longer.
"Perfect! The Song matches mine! Now, then, the Mark…", exclaimed a voice Tom recognised as his own, but he didn't care enough.
Tom Riddle danced and sang.
He kept his feet light on the ground and his voice heavy, he kept drowning in himself and didn't want to pull out.
"And now, the final component.", laughed the echo from the darkness.
Tom felt his body crumble as organs stopped working, but the song and dance never finished. He continued to move and breathe out, in the unfeeling nothingness, the ink seeping in his pages.
Tom Riddle POV
Tom, no, Lord Voldemort smiled as the first part of his plans was brought to fruition.
He'd thought further upon his idea to imitate immortality the same way a working Horcrux would have, and came upon a problem. Even if he forced the people of the world to match his Song, they would eventually die, and Lord Voldemort would run out of failsafes with every passing year.
So, he came up with an idea. Why not steal even more from the process of Horcrux creation? After all, objects do not die. So, if an object were to be made to sing his Song eternally, Voldermort, too, would be eternal.
For that purpose, he first created the Dark Mark, a tool of runic design through which he could entrap and spread his personal Song, forcing that of the Marked to match it. Then, he would use ancient magic to entrap a soul within an object, Mark the object itself, and he would thus have a working Horcrux.
Of course, there were a few caveats with that process.
First, the entrapped soul's own Song would resist the change, and though it would not be able to prevent it, its struggle could possibly break the bond linking it to the object. So, he would need to make sure that the soul would match his own Song before being transferred.
Second, the Song of a soul alone would not be able to support a Beat or a Dance, a living body would be needed for that. So, Voldemort would need to either find an object that was alive and would remain so forever, or find a way to bind his own life to the object and allow it to use it as a Track.
He went with the second option. After all, were Voldemort to die permanently, the Tracks of Life would be lost and the anchor would cease working, but Voldemort would not die thanks to the anchor so it would keep working forever. It was the perfect plan!
Yes, it all seemed like it would work perfectly. The notes were finished, the runes perfected, the spell usable, the muggle tests done with success, and the circles drawn. Now, he only needed a soul.
And that's when Myrtle Warren came into the bathroom, crying.
They looked at each other, her in shock at finding a boy -a prefect, at that- in the girl's bathroom, him in delight at finding the perfect test subject when he needed one. No one would miss the muggleborn too much, after all.
He hit her with a quick sleeping wave in a snap of his fingers, and dragged her into the Chamber below, where he made great use of his modified Tarantallegra mixed with a few runes and an Imperius curse to start the change.
Then, Myrtle woke up, and she danced.
Tom smiled, setting an alarm and a few wards. He would prevent her from escaping, he would keep her ignorant of what was happening, he would reapply the curses when needed, he would set a stasis field to freeze her should she snap out of it when he was busy.
He readied the ritual circle, placed his prototype Dark Mark on his personal journal -which he'd stopped using a long time ago-, linked it to himself, and he waited. He waited for a Song to change, his personal talent he had developed through a handcrafted ritual telling him of her progress when he focused on her.
Lord Voldemort waited for Myrtle Warren to become Tom Riddle.
When the moment came, he moved the changed soul into the journal, where it would sing and dance a Song of Tom Riddle forever.
He had created his first ever Horcrux.
No, not Horcrux. This was different. Not an anchor for a soul, but for a Song. Not a creation of a failed dark wizard from millenia ago, but the resounding success of Lord Voldemort.
Yes, he'd created his very first Musica Aeternalis, his very first Musicalis.
Standing over a soulless husk, Lord Voldemort laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and swore to make many more.
A stray thought from a distant past made him laugh even harder, as his ring shone pink ever so slightly, and the words of a young wand-maker echoed in his mind.
Great things, indeed.
Author's note:
Didn't feel like doing much today, so have that.
Probably the last we see of voldie for a while.
Chamber of Secrets, 1940s
Myrtle Warren(?) POV
Myrtle Warren danced and sang.
They repeated the slow moves, dragging their feet along the ground and humming a long-lasting, powerful note from deep within their throat, as the only singer in a church's choir.
"The subject's changes appear to be slowing down, but approaching the expected results.", said a voice, somewhere. They couldn't care enough to remember who. "I will have to see about adapting the runic formula and tunes for magicals a bit further, the results from the muggle tests were biased, as expected."
Myrtle Warren danced and sang.
The buzzing voice from somewhere was getting kinda annoying. It was distracting them from this very important thing they were doing. That couldn't stand. But Myrtle Warren was dancing, and there was nothing that they(-she-they-she-they? they.) could do about it.
"The modified Tarantallegra appears to have lasted nearly an hour longer than the last application. This might be the last one needed.", the echo spoke from somewhere, and Myrtle Warren(?) suddenly felt their passion for dancing and singing increase. Truly, this is what they(-she-they-he-she-they? they…) were born for.
MyrTom Warren danced and sang.
They(she-he-they? they…?) couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop. They(she!-he-they?-sh… he. He.) could feel the magic dancing with him, and he recognized his goals, his self, his truth.
"Soon, it will be finished. The ritual circle is ready, the receptacle in place… Now, I only need to wait. How exhilarating!", continued the echo.
MyTom WarRiddle danced and sang.
He had been doing so for the past two days, without rest. He could recognise pain, but the dance was more important. He could recognise weariness, but the song was more important. He could feel wrongness, but the desire deep within showed him the truth: he was approaching everything he'd ever wanted. His dreams were soon to be fulfilled. And that was far more important than everything else.
Tom WaRiddle danced and sang.
He smiled, as he knew and understood, that everything was ready, everything was a part of his great plan from the start, and that his body was just wrong was not going to be a bother for much longer.
"Perfect! The Song matches mine! Now, then, the Mark…", exclaimed a voice Tom recognised as his own, but he didn't care enough.
Tom Riddle danced and sang.
He kept his feet light on the ground and his voice heavy, he kept drowning in himself and didn't want to pull out.
"And now, the final component.", laughed the echo from the darkness.
Tom felt his body crumble as organs stopped working, but the song and dance never finished. He continued to move and breathe out, in the unfeeling nothingness, the ink seeping in his pages.
Tom Riddle POV
Tom, no, Lord Voldemort smiled as the first part of his plans was brought to fruition.
He'd thought further upon his idea to imitate immortality the same way a working Horcrux would have, and came upon a problem. Even if he forced the people of the world to match his Song, they would eventually die, and Lord Voldemort would run out of failsafes with every passing year.
So, he came up with an idea. Why not steal even more from the process of Horcrux creation? After all, objects do not die. So, if an object were to be made to sing his Song eternally, Voldermort, too, would be eternal.
For that purpose, he first created the Dark Mark, a tool of runic design through which he could entrap and spread his personal Song, forcing that of the Marked to match it. Then, he would use ancient magic to entrap a soul within an object, Mark the object itself, and he would thus have a working Horcrux.
Of course, there were a few caveats with that process.
First, the entrapped soul's own Song would resist the change, and though it would not be able to prevent it, its struggle could possibly break the bond linking it to the object. So, he would need to make sure that the soul would match his own Song before being transferred.
Second, the Song of a soul alone would not be able to support a Beat or a Dance, a living body would be needed for that. So, Voldemort would need to either find an object that was alive and would remain so forever, or find a way to bind his own life to the object and allow it to use it as a Track.
He went with the second option. After all, were Voldemort to die permanently, the Tracks of Life would be lost and the anchor would cease working, but Voldemort would not die thanks to the anchor so it would keep working forever. It was the perfect plan!
Yes, it all seemed like it would work perfectly. The notes were finished, the runes perfected, the spell usable, the muggle tests done with success, and the circles drawn. Now, he only needed a soul.
And that's when Myrtle Warren came into the bathroom, crying.
They looked at each other, her in shock at finding a boy -a prefect, at that- in the girl's bathroom, him in delight at finding the perfect test subject when he needed one. No one would miss the muggleborn too much, after all.
He hit her with a quick sleeping wave in a snap of his fingers, and dragged her into the Chamber below, where he made great use of his modified Tarantallegra mixed with a few runes and an Imperius curse to start the change.
Then, Myrtle woke up, and she danced.
Tom smiled, setting an alarm and a few wards. He would prevent her from escaping, he would keep her ignorant of what was happening, he would reapply the curses when needed, he would set a stasis field to freeze her should she snap out of it when he was busy.
He readied the ritual circle, placed his prototype Dark Mark on his personal journal -which he'd stopped using a long time ago-, linked it to himself, and he waited. He waited for a Song to change, his personal talent he had developed through a handcrafted ritual telling him of her progress when he focused on her.
Lord Voldemort waited for Myrtle Warren to become Tom Riddle.
When the moment came, he moved the changed soul into the journal, where it would sing and dance a Song of Tom Riddle forever.
He had created his first ever Horcrux.
No, not Horcrux. This was different. Not an anchor for a soul, but for a Song. Not a creation of a failed dark wizard from millenia ago, but the resounding success of Lord Voldemort.
Yes, he'd created his very first Musica Aeternalis, his very first Musicalis.
Standing over a soulless husk, Lord Voldemort laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and swore to make many more.
A stray thought from a distant past made him laugh even harder, as his ring shone pink ever so slightly, and the words of a young wand-maker echoed in his mind.
Great things, indeed.
Author's note:
Didn't feel like doing much today, so have that.
Probably the last we see of voldie for a while.
Last edited:
Chapter 9 - The Art of Storytelling
zellat451
Learning a foreign language with NF - Happy
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Chapter 9 - The Art of Storytelling
Dungeon Corridor, Hogwarts, afternoon of September 4th, 1991
Harry Potter POV
Harry Potter was walking down the corridor to his first ever potions class, flanked by his friends, slowly bobbing his head to the seemingly religious chanting that was accompanying them for this hour. Truly, the Hogwarts sound system was a thing of wonder.
The last evening was a trip and a half, to say the least. And not in the "travel" sense of the word. First, as per the Headmaster's instructions, Harry went back up to his room to store his new, gaudy, red and gold, Death-related cloak in his trunk. Then, he went to the library and easily convinced Hermione to help him find some Magical story books or fairy tales in the name of "appreciating the culture more deeply".
Beedle, by the way. The author was Beedle the Bard. Who decided to name a child with such a strong similarity to an insect -regardless of how cool that insect may be-, Harry really was curious.
Now then, the Cloak of Visibility. Unique in the world, apparently won by the three Peverelle brothers at the end of a surprise art contest set up by the Death Reaper itself, lasting for more than a thousand years, completely by accident. If the book is to be believed, that is. Of course, given the actual Cloak of Visibility he now owned, Harry was rather inclined to believe it. As well as because of something else, but that would come up slightly later in his recollection.
On top of the whole surprise performance contest thing, there were apparently three of those "Deathly Hallows", including a baton and a choker of some sort.
And given the warnings at the end of the story about the baton's holder being assassinated for its power, and the choker's holder singing to his own death along with the ghost of his dead wife, Harry was very much decided on taking the Headmaster's advice very seriously and hide the Cloak's existence until he needed it.
On the positive side, the story told him what the Cloak does. Mainly, it makes it so much easier to drag people along into one's dances, it ensures a long life by making one's Song and Performance nearly unforgettable to observers -thus causing said observers to lead the World into "keeping the dancer on stage for as long as possible"-, and it is a very cool shape-shifting garment.
All in all, neat stuff.
Then, came the night, sleep, strange dreams, and then the morning.
And oh!, what a morning it was. Harry has suddenly discovered that his Song-senses were now powerful enough to hear slight Songs coming from the objects around him. Magical ones being louder than most. They said things related to what they are, mostly. Like his robes singing "pretty!" and "soft!", his very comfortable bed sheets squealing "mofu-mofu!" for some reason, and his ring chanting "magic!" among rather melodious bird cries.
And the Cloak? Nothing.
Absolutely. Bloody. Nothing.
If the bloody story didn't convince Harry, the fact that the bloody thing didn't have a bloody Song bloody did, for certain. Bloody hell.
…That sounds so much more traumatic and visceral than it actually is when that word is used in quick repetition. Why was it even slang?
Harry pondered over this important existential question for a few seconds, before shaking his head and gathering his thoughts once again. And paying a bit more attention to the sudden reggae accompanying his steps on the hard floor. Nice tune and beat, that.
Breakfast today had gone as usual. For the Magical world, that is. So, appearing and disappearing plates full of food, ambient lighting, an ever-shifting ceiling, the tables getting dive-bombed by owls carrying letters, Hedwig stealing his bacon again and scaring him into giving more…
The works. Though he did feel some new Songs he didn't before, popping all over the place as the food did. Since he could now hear objects, that would make them some sort of magical teleporting puppet servants? Something else?
Now, the first transfiguration class had been a banger. Literally.
First, the Professor was a cat, although she didn't explain how -which was totally unfair, Harry wanted to be a cat, too!-. Suffice to say, Mister Potter would be researching that later.
Second, Professor McGonagall gave out multiple statements about the impermanence of transfiguration, the danger of eating transfigured food, the dangers of practising alone, a small reminder of why dances and drums are used more in this class… Basically, dancing lesson, don't eat food that is transfigured, and don't make transfigured stuff that you could lose track of outside of class, so you don't kill someone by accident.
Then, she gave a demonstration of a slow transfiguration of a table into a tiger, via a tribal dance around said table while banging on a small waist-drum held by straps to her shoulders.
Draco had gotten his wish to observe McGonagall on percussion after all, and he was suitably impressed with her speed and flow indeed.
Sneaking a glance to his friend walking next to him, Harry noticed that he was deep into a debate with Hermione about… the development of percussion instruments and dances in the Magical world based on developments in the Muggle world, and their impact on modern transfigurations? Or something. Neville looked very much decided on the "or something" part, or so his confused face told Harry.
In any case, Harry was curious to see if this "Uncle Sev" would, too, give a demonstration of his art as impressive as McGee's own, for those who didn't have the chance to appreciate the Slyther-scene's Hogwarts introduction party. He was rather looking forward to it. Plus, if he remembered correctly, he would even get to visit the House itself after class.
Harry shook his head again, with a smile this time, and continued on his recount of events, growing ever closer to the potions class classroom entrance.
During this first transfiguration class, students were taught how to change a ball of yarn into a disco ball using a rather involved tribal dance including many hand movements and small jumps. Like a rain dance, or perhaps a bonfire dance?
Regardless, Harry could feel the Song and the magic involved in the transformation. His Gift truly made everything much easier. He easily understood that feelings, desires were a part of it all as much as the Dance was. He could feel them resonating in the Song and changing things, after all. Also, it became much easier to change something into something else after becoming able to hear what those things should be singing.
As such, Harry had made sure during his dance to stay focused, let the Song of the World carry his movement through the dance, and move his own Song slightly to force the cry of "threads!" to turn into "reflection!".
It worked. The very first time. On all of the yarn balls in the room, and quite a few desks as well. The Professor was suitably impressed, indeed. Although he did hear a Song of "as expected" or similar echoing through the room. It seems that everyone was quickly becoming desensitised to Harry's shenanigans.
Now, after a good lunch -and more lost bacon. Thou shalt never be forgotten-, Harry was off to potions class. The door to which he was now standing in front of.
Harry hesitated, asking himself if he should just open it and go right in… for about a second before it swung wide open, a voice echoing out from beyond it.
Bewildered as he felt -and he was certainly not the only one, the Song told him-, Harry took a step inside, bemused, and sat somewhere as instructed. He was quickly followed by his classmates, as he studied the Song before him.
Grand, guilty, handsome, proud, self-hating, contained, dangerous, protective, warm, poetic, loving, nostalgic, sad, and many other qualifiers that could apply.
All in all, a tired but definitely good person. And, most interestingly, a Song restrained yet free, coming and going between the creation of rhymes and the repeat of an epic, each note and step carefully crafted and guided to maximum effect.
This was the most carefully-constructed and impressive Song that Harry had ever witnessed, something he only realised now with his newfound power. It was also the most tainted Song he's ever heard and seen, that weird smoke choking it, attacking it, and trying to change it as Snape remained unaffected, his inner self remaining stoic and fabulous in all his glory as he stared at what must be the Dark Mark in disdain, reciting plays -which he couldn't quite hear yet- all the while.
Well, that explained a lot about his behaviour, then. Who was this "Tom Riddle" that the Mark kept screaming about, though? Voldemort's real name? Well, thoughts for later.
As he observed the perfectly-combed hair bobbing with every grand, carefully placed step of the confident, artful man in front of the class, his robes swaying splendidly in the air with every move, Harry desired to know more.
Severus Snape POV
He observed the students coming through the door, sufficiently put off by his greeting that their interest had been aroused, bringing them into a state of mind more suited to learn.
There would be a lot of ground to cover this afternoon.
Not, of course, that he had much choice in his form of speech. With his mind defending constantly against the Dark Mak, he thought, breathed, dreamt, and as such spoke only in poetry and plays all the time, asserting his identity, his self, his Song in that way.
He would be the quirky and weird professor in their innocent, soulful eyes, and that was alright. There was no need for Severus to be understood, as most artists were not. There was no need for Severus to be relatable, as a guide shows the way but does not lead nor push along. There was no need for Severus to care for his image or the mocking of his new wards, barely restraining themselves from laughing in confusion, as he had cast down his dignity and pride as a Wizard a long time ago, with his ability and right to love.
No, there was no need, merely a duty.
A duty to teach the young, and for the old to learn from them in turn.
A duty to wash away the stains of his past, by doing better in the present.
A duty to remind himself of what was and what could have been, so he may prevent what will be from burning into the flames of his self-scorn.
A duty as a failed child, a duty as a regretful man.
A duty to the children, a duty to the elders.
A duty to his once-loved friend, a duty to his once-hated enemy.
A duty to the living, a duty to the dead.
A duty as a member of the staff, a duty as a potions master.
A duty to, a duty to…
A duty to get his thoughts back on track and shut up with the monologue. He nearly missed his cue! And timing, to a potions master, was half of everything.
'The time has come. The show, once more, must go on.', he thought, grandly gesturing over the room and opening his mouth, his well-practised lines flowing like water.
This was her child, he needed to be at his best.
"You are all welcome, students, to your first ever potions class." Half-a-turn, his green robes swishing and the glitter glimmering in the low lighting of the room.
"Today, I present to you the epitome of your Song, the summit of your life." A grand declaration, accompanied by an equally grand gesture, a step closer to his audience.
A step closer to the nephew he'd never have.
"Today, you will be taught to read the story of a World and all of its wealth." His voice raised nearly to a bellow, ingredients flying in a formation out of drawers and around his body.
"Today, today, you will discover how to bottle fame, brew glory, and put a stopper on death." And now down to a whisper, resonating in the thoroughly silent room. He had successfully captured their attention.
But never turn back time, or undo a murder. Potions couldn't help Lily. Couldn't help Severus.
After a beat of silence, he continued with the script
"But first, a demonstration of greatness, for understanding,", A cocky smirk showing some teeth, as a cauldron full of water appeared behind him in a puff of pink smoke.
"But first!" Severus bellowed, "A Story of colours, a Song of the Dreaming!" He suddenly turned towards the big, pitch-black cauldron and brandished his hand over it, flowers of all colours rotating around him as planets around a star.
Severus opened his mouth, and recited.
Hermione Granger POV
Yes! Yes, yes, yes yesyesyesyes YES!
This was amazing, this was amazing!
Ahem! Cool down 'Mione! Deep breaths, stop bouncing in your chair, Professor Snape is just being so cool!
Gah! Stop! Stay focused on the performance or you'll miss it!
Okay! Okay, now she's calm.
With a quick expelling breath, she pulled herself together as the handsome Professor Snape sharply turned around towards the cauldron, and started reciting a story.
His suave voice was resonating through the room, with a melodious quality. The ingredients seemed to float up and down, slowly, along with his tone. How incredible! The chanting quality of his voice would then be a floating Charm of some sort? Or was it actually relevant to the concoction itself? And what about the words? Is it a true story? Are true stories required to create potions? Where do the ingredients come in? Hermione kept musing over the inner workings of potioneering.
She wrote it all down.
He walked now, in weird side-steps that led him around the cauldron ever so slowly, but never losing any of his coolness factor!
And hmmm, that hair~
Ahem! Anyway, steps, so dance. Transfiguration? Is he changing the ingredients into something else? Wait no, not physically, otherwise that would be dangerous, as Professor McGonagall explained earlier. Then, is it Alchemy? Permanent changes, or an extraction of properties?
A small, black marble suddenly threw itself into the cauldron.
Marble, stone, a similarity between the ingredients and the story? The ingredients help make the story real via similitude or symbolism? She thought it wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen in the magical arts.
She wrote it all down again.
Gestures were added wrong with the steps, everything becoming more frantic, as Professor snape mimed looking around and a few very colourful flowers were added into the mix.
A rod appeared in the cauldron, slowly stirring right, then left, once each. Then, it disappeared, as red, green and blue smoke waved off the mixture. "Round and round, Nowhere and nowhere"? The rod to symbolise the movement? Why one turn each only? Why then and not before?
Drops of water and a length of forked tongue followed stings from a bow into the mixture, as Professor Snape mimed his head exploding, his face showing awe and realisation, his voice far more melodious during the part with the snake talking. More flowers followed behind.
So! Water for tears, symbolising despair? Forked tongue -ew-, a snake. Strings, more difficult. Bow, stringed instruments, the Track of the World, as Professor Flitwick had said? The movements, realisation, preparation for the next part? Can the Dance show a story which is not told? The singing voice in the snake part, because the snake is actually talking? A Song to represent a living being? And why all the flowers? Beyond the "colourful" and "Trisha the Flowery" parts, there's no indication… Actually, why "Trisha" at all?
She continued to take notes, her ballpoint pen dancing across the paper.
He hugged the cauldron with open arms -isn't that boiling hot!? Apparently not…- and sang along his story far more noticeably now. Flowers of all kinds flew into the pot one by one, giving an explosion of colour each time, sometimes accompanied by a vine or a root of some kind. The substance bubbled ominously, as if imitating a drum roll.
Well, the flowers made sense now, for sure. Her theory on singing during the parts with the characters talking also had more supporting evidence.
Professor Snape's movements were grand, his face softly smiling, his movements assured, gearing up for the finale.
The cauldron suddenly stilled as the Professor bowed to them, before the whole concoction started shaking violently, spewing fumes everywhere. And Magic happened.
The stone floor, the stone walls, and the stone roof of the dungeon classroom were suddenly covered in flowers and plants of all kinds, spreading very fast from their epicenter, obviously intent on turning this whole place into a lush garden. And it was gorgeous.
'I am learning this.' Thought Hermione, awed, her questions forgotten for the moment as she clapped along with everyone else, 'I am learning this and everything that comes with it!'
Special effects in a pot. This was amazing.
Note to self, find out what kind of potions she could mix with a piano performance for maximum effect.
Harry Potter POV
Harry clapped along with the others, smiling widely. As expected, this was amazing. Magic never ceased to impress.
The introductory performance was nothing short of beautiful, even more so when Harry focused all of his senses on it. He could see the variations, how they interacted with each other, and how the end result came to be. He wasn't certain of how it all worked, though.
No matter, Professor Snape was about to explain.
So, it turns out that potions are like grand performances, with multiple performers. Only, the performers aren't real people, they are faked. A story is sung to establish the context and the effect, a dance is used to give the story life, and ingredients and their symbolism are used to link the story to the World, filling out the missing pieces and information.
The Professor was very clear on this, despite his speech impediment. Apparently, timing was extremely important to a potions master, as much as what story is told, how it is sung, what dance moves to use, and what ingredients to throw into the concoction.
The flowers and marble were obvious, but not everything else was. For instance, according to the Professor, the snake tongue was necessary not only because of the snake in the story, but also because snakes were one of few beings tied so closely with nature that could actually speak to certain wizards and witches. Should he have said "a bear" or "a sparrow" instead, the potion would have failed even if he were using the relevant ingredients to represent them, because it would have made the story "impossible in reality". No bear or sparrow can speak, after all.
He could, apparently, also have used "a druid", in which case he would have needed a tongue from an actual druid. So ew.
As for the droplets of water, they were needed as the water possesses a concept of "spreading", otherwise the flowers would have only bloomed on the cauldron itself. The word "despair" in the story was only added for the purpose of being able to use water droplets without breaking the immersion.
There were plenty of other components like that, such as the different kinds of flowers being carefully thrown in at specific parts of the story, in places that correspond to their meaning, or the dances being also specific at certain moments. For instance, hugging the cauldron was a way of marking the cauldron as the "tree" of the story, thus making it the epicenter of the effect instead of Snape himself. Other stuff, however, was completely up to the potioneer, like the name "Trisha", although the fact that Trisha is a "witch" and a "Dame" apparently helps with the creation of flowers. The world is sexist, so is the magic. Something about performers affecting the stage, go figure.
All in all, fascinating stuff. Harry felt the flowers under his feet as they got started on a replication of this very potion. A simplified version which only created a few glittering flowers in their hair when drunk, but also far simpler to enact.
Not that it would have been a problem for Harry in the first place. His Song-sense made it so easy to know which ingredient to use and when, given that the words they kept crying out were more or less synonyms of the words he had to sing or mime.
Professor Snape was walking around the class, gravitas in every step, ready to stop errors and right wrongs. His entire class was like a gigantic performance that he was leading, each student with their own story, a bundle of chaos of which he was holding all of the thread at once. He gave out his own story, to encompass all of the others and guide them along to a natural conclusion, together.
Yes, Severus Snape was a storyteller.
With class done, a finished potion, and a bunch of flowers in everyone's hair, Harry walked on out. A look from the Professor made him stay at the entrance, however, and he motioned to his friends to go on with a smile.
Snape started breakdancing in the middle of the room. Cauldrons and unused ingredients flew back to their rightful place as he did. Since it was a dance and not a song, Harry figured that he was witnessing actual magic instead of a spell.
Then, he stood up, dusted off his emerald robes and put his fabulous hair back into place with a tap, and approached Harry, staring into him deeply, his Song singing of uncertainty, guilt, and duty.
"You don't have to tell me anything if you're not ready, Professor, you know." Harry blurted out, not wanting to cause this incredible man discomfort, "I, ah, can feel your Song, uncertain and all. All the Songs. 'Swhy the Crown sent me everywhere. Part of it, I mean. Mostly it?"
Harry trailed off and stopped, blushing a bit in his embarrassment as Professor Snape elevated an eyebrow, his Song torn between shock and a feeling of "of course you do". Then, he sighed, and spoke.
"Then, if that's alright with you Mister Potter,
I would like to extend an invitation for you in the winter,
To discuss your mother, my old childhood friend,
And share stories, feelings, and dreams we once made."
Harry looked on, unsure of how to feel. His mum was friends with such a cool and epic guy? Awesome! On the other hand, where was he, when he was trapped with the Dursleys?
And also, there sure are a lot of people offering to talk about his parents these days, aren't there?
"Well, I'd be happy to accept?" Harry questioned, "I mean, definitely I'd be happy to accept! I'll…. wait for your invitation then?" he trailed off, unsure of how to continue.
Two very awkward people stared at each other for a moment, before one decided to just go one with his day and asked, "So! Slyther-scene common room? That was today, right? Lead the way, Professor?"
Professor Snape looked at Harry for a second longer, before nodding his head and gesturing with his hand to follow.
As always, every stride the man took was self-assured, of perfect length and movement, and made his robes and hair swish in the most wondrous ways. Harry did his best to copy him, trying to emulate such greatness even a tiny bit. The Song helped, but that would take a lot of practise and skill to master.
After grandly gesturing to a blank wall, Harry went through the green, slime-like substance that it suddenly turned into, and finally experienced the wonders of living in an aquarium.
Truly, the Slyther-scene common room was majestic. Most walls in the entrance were glass -or maybe just magically transparent?-, showing off the black lake beyond them and its aquatic inhabitants.
But the most impressive part was the Slyther-scene Theater, an entire room dedicated to plays, with an immense space to move in and watch, instruments of all kinds, magical props, and more. Oh yeah, that room was definitely bigger on the inside.
Harry took off with his Slither-scene friends to test out the place in its entirety. Draco was very happy to share one of his own scripts they were working on, and testing the stage as a group in a trial play.
Thus, Harry, dressed as a singing cauldron, sang and danced across the stage, reciting his lines and stumbling over quite a few of them. Famous wizarding fairy tale or not, it's not like he had ever read it before!
???, ???
??? POV
Steps and words.
What.
-HeHeHe…nO mOrE… sOoN…
…NiCe AlLiTeRaTiOn.
Thank you. I do try.
And yours.
…
tHe Question Is NoT a SiMpLe QuEsTiOn.
Interesting.
It won't be long, then. The others?
ThE sTrInGs ArE vIbRaTiNg. ThE wInD bLoWiNg SlOwLy…
Feeding the flames. Very soon, then.
Dungeon Corridor, Hogwarts, afternoon of September 4th, 1991
Harry Potter POV
Harry Potter was walking down the corridor to his first ever potions class, flanked by his friends, slowly bobbing his head to the seemingly religious chanting that was accompanying them for this hour. Truly, the Hogwarts sound system was a thing of wonder.
The last evening was a trip and a half, to say the least. And not in the "travel" sense of the word. First, as per the Headmaster's instructions, Harry went back up to his room to store his new, gaudy, red and gold, Death-related cloak in his trunk. Then, he went to the library and easily convinced Hermione to help him find some Magical story books or fairy tales in the name of "appreciating the culture more deeply".
Beedle, by the way. The author was Beedle the Bard. Who decided to name a child with such a strong similarity to an insect -regardless of how cool that insect may be-, Harry really was curious.
Now then, the Cloak of Visibility. Unique in the world, apparently won by the three Peverelle brothers at the end of a surprise art contest set up by the Death Reaper itself, lasting for more than a thousand years, completely by accident. If the book is to be believed, that is. Of course, given the actual Cloak of Visibility he now owned, Harry was rather inclined to believe it. As well as because of something else, but that would come up slightly later in his recollection.
On top of the whole surprise performance contest thing, there were apparently three of those "Deathly Hallows", including a baton and a choker of some sort.
And given the warnings at the end of the story about the baton's holder being assassinated for its power, and the choker's holder singing to his own death along with the ghost of his dead wife, Harry was very much decided on taking the Headmaster's advice very seriously and hide the Cloak's existence until he needed it.
On the positive side, the story told him what the Cloak does. Mainly, it makes it so much easier to drag people along into one's dances, it ensures a long life by making one's Song and Performance nearly unforgettable to observers -thus causing said observers to lead the World into "keeping the dancer on stage for as long as possible"-, and it is a very cool shape-shifting garment.
All in all, neat stuff.
Then, came the night, sleep, strange dreams, and then the morning.
And oh!, what a morning it was. Harry has suddenly discovered that his Song-senses were now powerful enough to hear slight Songs coming from the objects around him. Magical ones being louder than most. They said things related to what they are, mostly. Like his robes singing "pretty!" and "soft!", his very comfortable bed sheets squealing "mofu-mofu!" for some reason, and his ring chanting "magic!" among rather melodious bird cries.
And the Cloak? Nothing.
Absolutely. Bloody. Nothing.
If the bloody story didn't convince Harry, the fact that the bloody thing didn't have a bloody Song bloody did, for certain. Bloody hell.
…That sounds so much more traumatic and visceral than it actually is when that word is used in quick repetition. Why was it even slang?
Harry pondered over this important existential question for a few seconds, before shaking his head and gathering his thoughts once again. And paying a bit more attention to the sudden reggae accompanying his steps on the hard floor. Nice tune and beat, that.
Breakfast today had gone as usual. For the Magical world, that is. So, appearing and disappearing plates full of food, ambient lighting, an ever-shifting ceiling, the tables getting dive-bombed by owls carrying letters, Hedwig stealing his bacon again and scaring him into giving more…
The works. Though he did feel some new Songs he didn't before, popping all over the place as the food did. Since he could now hear objects, that would make them some sort of magical teleporting puppet servants? Something else?
Now, the first transfiguration class had been a banger. Literally.
First, the Professor was a cat, although she didn't explain how -which was totally unfair, Harry wanted to be a cat, too!-. Suffice to say, Mister Potter would be researching that later.
Second, Professor McGonagall gave out multiple statements about the impermanence of transfiguration, the danger of eating transfigured food, the dangers of practising alone, a small reminder of why dances and drums are used more in this class… Basically, dancing lesson, don't eat food that is transfigured, and don't make transfigured stuff that you could lose track of outside of class, so you don't kill someone by accident.
Then, she gave a demonstration of a slow transfiguration of a table into a tiger, via a tribal dance around said table while banging on a small waist-drum held by straps to her shoulders.
Draco had gotten his wish to observe McGonagall on percussion after all, and he was suitably impressed with her speed and flow indeed.
Sneaking a glance to his friend walking next to him, Harry noticed that he was deep into a debate with Hermione about… the development of percussion instruments and dances in the Magical world based on developments in the Muggle world, and their impact on modern transfigurations? Or something. Neville looked very much decided on the "or something" part, or so his confused face told Harry.
In any case, Harry was curious to see if this "Uncle Sev" would, too, give a demonstration of his art as impressive as McGee's own, for those who didn't have the chance to appreciate the Slyther-scene's Hogwarts introduction party. He was rather looking forward to it. Plus, if he remembered correctly, he would even get to visit the House itself after class.
Harry shook his head again, with a smile this time, and continued on his recount of events, growing ever closer to the potions class classroom entrance.
During this first transfiguration class, students were taught how to change a ball of yarn into a disco ball using a rather involved tribal dance including many hand movements and small jumps. Like a rain dance, or perhaps a bonfire dance?
Regardless, Harry could feel the Song and the magic involved in the transformation. His Gift truly made everything much easier. He easily understood that feelings, desires were a part of it all as much as the Dance was. He could feel them resonating in the Song and changing things, after all. Also, it became much easier to change something into something else after becoming able to hear what those things should be singing.
As such, Harry had made sure during his dance to stay focused, let the Song of the World carry his movement through the dance, and move his own Song slightly to force the cry of "threads!" to turn into "reflection!".
It worked. The very first time. On all of the yarn balls in the room, and quite a few desks as well. The Professor was suitably impressed, indeed. Although he did hear a Song of "as expected" or similar echoing through the room. It seems that everyone was quickly becoming desensitised to Harry's shenanigans.
Now, after a good lunch -and more lost bacon. Thou shalt never be forgotten-, Harry was off to potions class. The door to which he was now standing in front of.
Harry hesitated, asking himself if he should just open it and go right in… for about a second before it swung wide open, a voice echoing out from beyond it.
"Enter, students, and proceed.
For class is now in session.
Take place, take a seat, and take heed
Let us begin this lesson."
For class is now in session.
Take place, take a seat, and take heed
Let us begin this lesson."
Bewildered as he felt -and he was certainly not the only one, the Song told him-, Harry took a step inside, bemused, and sat somewhere as instructed. He was quickly followed by his classmates, as he studied the Song before him.
Grand, guilty, handsome, proud, self-hating, contained, dangerous, protective, warm, poetic, loving, nostalgic, sad, and many other qualifiers that could apply.
All in all, a tired but definitely good person. And, most interestingly, a Song restrained yet free, coming and going between the creation of rhymes and the repeat of an epic, each note and step carefully crafted and guided to maximum effect.
This was the most carefully-constructed and impressive Song that Harry had ever witnessed, something he only realised now with his newfound power. It was also the most tainted Song he's ever heard and seen, that weird smoke choking it, attacking it, and trying to change it as Snape remained unaffected, his inner self remaining stoic and fabulous in all his glory as he stared at what must be the Dark Mark in disdain, reciting plays -which he couldn't quite hear yet- all the while.
Well, that explained a lot about his behaviour, then. Who was this "Tom Riddle" that the Mark kept screaming about, though? Voldemort's real name? Well, thoughts for later.
As he observed the perfectly-combed hair bobbing with every grand, carefully placed step of the confident, artful man in front of the class, his robes swaying splendidly in the air with every move, Harry desired to know more.
Severus Snape POV
He observed the students coming through the door, sufficiently put off by his greeting that their interest had been aroused, bringing them into a state of mind more suited to learn.
There would be a lot of ground to cover this afternoon.
Not, of course, that he had much choice in his form of speech. With his mind defending constantly against the Dark Mak, he thought, breathed, dreamt, and as such spoke only in poetry and plays all the time, asserting his identity, his self, his Song in that way.
He would be the quirky and weird professor in their innocent, soulful eyes, and that was alright. There was no need for Severus to be understood, as most artists were not. There was no need for Severus to be relatable, as a guide shows the way but does not lead nor push along. There was no need for Severus to care for his image or the mocking of his new wards, barely restraining themselves from laughing in confusion, as he had cast down his dignity and pride as a Wizard a long time ago, with his ability and right to love.
No, there was no need, merely a duty.
A duty to teach the young, and for the old to learn from them in turn.
A duty to wash away the stains of his past, by doing better in the present.
A duty to remind himself of what was and what could have been, so he may prevent what will be from burning into the flames of his self-scorn.
A duty as a failed child, a duty as a regretful man.
A duty to the children, a duty to the elders.
A duty to his once-loved friend, a duty to his once-hated enemy.
A duty to the living, a duty to the dead.
A duty as a member of the staff, a duty as a potions master.
A duty to, a duty to…
A duty to get his thoughts back on track and shut up with the monologue. He nearly missed his cue! And timing, to a potions master, was half of everything.
'The time has come. The show, once more, must go on.', he thought, grandly gesturing over the room and opening his mouth, his well-practised lines flowing like water.
This was her child, he needed to be at his best.
"You are all welcome, students, to your first ever potions class." Half-a-turn, his green robes swishing and the glitter glimmering in the low lighting of the room.
"Today, I present to you the epitome of your Song, the summit of your life." A grand declaration, accompanied by an equally grand gesture, a step closer to his audience.
A step closer to the nephew he'd never have.
"Today, you will be taught to read the story of a World and all of its wealth." His voice raised nearly to a bellow, ingredients flying in a formation out of drawers and around his body.
"Today, today, you will discover how to bottle fame, brew glory, and put a stopper on death." And now down to a whisper, resonating in the thoroughly silent room. He had successfully captured their attention.
But never turn back time, or undo a murder. Potions couldn't help Lily. Couldn't help Severus.
After a beat of silence, he continued with the script
"But first, a demonstration of greatness, for understanding,", A cocky smirk showing some teeth, as a cauldron full of water appeared behind him in a puff of pink smoke.
"But first!" Severus bellowed, "A Story of colours, a Song of the Dreaming!" He suddenly turned towards the big, pitch-black cauldron and brandished his hand over it, flowers of all colours rotating around him as planets around a star.
Severus opened his mouth, and recited.
Hermione Granger POV
Yes! Yes, yes, yes yesyesyesyes YES!
This was amazing, this was amazing!
Ahem! Cool down 'Mione! Deep breaths, stop bouncing in your chair, Professor Snape is just being so cool!
Gah! Stop! Stay focused on the performance or you'll miss it!
Okay! Okay, now she's calm.
With a quick expelling breath, she pulled herself together as the handsome Professor Snape sharply turned around towards the cauldron, and started reciting a story.
"Take heed, all, and listen well.
'Tis the story of a Colourful damsel."
'Tis the story of a Colourful damsel."
His suave voice was resonating through the room, with a melodious quality. The ingredients seemed to float up and down, slowly, along with his tone. How incredible! The chanting quality of his voice would then be a floating Charm of some sort? Or was it actually relevant to the concoction itself? And what about the words? Is it a true story? Are true stories required to create potions? Where do the ingredients come in? Hermione kept musing over the inner workings of potioneering.
She wrote it all down.
"Trisha the Flowery, great witch of her own,
Went one day on a quest for a wonderful stone."
Went one day on a quest for a wonderful stone."
He walked now, in weird side-steps that led him around the cauldron ever so slowly, but never losing any of his coolness factor!
And hmmm, that hair~
Ahem! Anyway, steps, so dance. Transfiguration? Is he changing the ingredients into something else? Wait no, not physically, otherwise that would be dangerous, as Professor McGonagall explained earlier. Then, is it Alchemy? Permanent changes, or an extraction of properties?
A small, black marble suddenly threw itself into the cauldron.
Marble, stone, a similarity between the ingredients and the story? The ingredients help make the story real via similitude or symbolism? She thought it wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen in the magical arts.
She wrote it all down again.
"Not any stone, However! For Trisha only had one goal in mind:
She wanted the shape, touch, and colours unique, to be one-of-a–kind!"
She wanted the shape, touch, and colours unique, to be one-of-a–kind!"
Gestures were added wrong with the steps, everything becoming more frantic, as Professor snape mimed looking around and a few very colourful flowers were added into the mix.
"Round and round, Trisha in the plain went searching.
Nowhere and nowhere, would the right stone be hiding."
Nowhere and nowhere, would the right stone be hiding."
A rod appeared in the cauldron, slowly stirring right, then left, once each. Then, it disappeared, as red, green and blue smoke waved off the mixture. "Round and round, Nowhere and nowhere"? The rod to symbolise the movement? Why one turn each only? Why then and not before?
"But! In the depths of despair, Trisha found,
A friend of great aid, and of most wondrous views.
A snake, that spoke, and said with nary a sound:
'Perhaps to find your stone, the World would give you clues?'"
A friend of great aid, and of most wondrous views.
A snake, that spoke, and said with nary a sound:
'Perhaps to find your stone, the World would give you clues?'"
Drops of water and a length of forked tongue followed stings from a bow into the mixture, as Professor Snape mimed his head exploding, his face showing awe and realisation, his voice far more melodious during the part with the snake talking. More flowers followed behind.
So! Water for tears, symbolising despair? Forked tongue -ew-, a snake. Strings, more difficult. Bow, stringed instruments, the Track of the World, as Professor Flitwick had said? The movements, realisation, preparation for the next part? Can the Dance show a story which is not told? The singing voice in the snake part, because the snake is actually talking? A Song to represent a living being? And why all the flowers? Beyond the "colourful" and "Trisha the Flowery" parts, there's no indication… Actually, why "Trisha" at all?
She continued to take notes, her ballpoint pen dancing across the paper.
"'A Grand Idea!', Dame Trisha thought, and went to hug a tree.
'Send me a stone, unique and bold, colourful as my dreams show!'
The tree swayed, and the earth cracked, as roots and vines spread free.
And flowers bloomed across the land, a natural, living rainbow."
'Send me a stone, unique and bold, colourful as my dreams show!'
The tree swayed, and the earth cracked, as roots and vines spread free.
And flowers bloomed across the land, a natural, living rainbow."
He hugged the cauldron with open arms -isn't that boiling hot!? Apparently not…- and sang along his story far more noticeably now. Flowers of all kinds flew into the pot one by one, giving an explosion of colour each time, sometimes accompanied by a vine or a root of some kind. The substance bubbled ominously, as if imitating a drum roll.
Well, the flowers made sense now, for sure. Her theory on singing during the parts with the characters talking also had more supporting evidence.
"Trisha realised then and there, that without speaking, the tree spoke truth.
Colourful, unique a stone may be, it doesn't hold a candlelight,
To flowers blooming all over, up and down, between and through,
As nature shines both soft and bright."
Colourful, unique a stone may be, it doesn't hold a candlelight,
To flowers blooming all over, up and down, between and through,
As nature shines both soft and bright."
Professor Snape's movements were grand, his face softly smiling, his movements assured, gearing up for the finale.
"'So then begone with rocks and stones, as flowers have shown me beauty',
Trisha spoke as she gathered a bouquet of tulips and lilies.
'I shall instead have many flowers, colourful and beautiful, however common they may be'
And so finishes the story, of Trisha the Flowery."
Trisha spoke as she gathered a bouquet of tulips and lilies.
'I shall instead have many flowers, colourful and beautiful, however common they may be'
And so finishes the story, of Trisha the Flowery."
The cauldron suddenly stilled as the Professor bowed to them, before the whole concoction started shaking violently, spewing fumes everywhere. And Magic happened.
The stone floor, the stone walls, and the stone roof of the dungeon classroom were suddenly covered in flowers and plants of all kinds, spreading very fast from their epicenter, obviously intent on turning this whole place into a lush garden. And it was gorgeous.
'I am learning this.' Thought Hermione, awed, her questions forgotten for the moment as she clapped along with everyone else, 'I am learning this and everything that comes with it!'
Special effects in a pot. This was amazing.
Note to self, find out what kind of potions she could mix with a piano performance for maximum effect.
Harry Potter POV
Harry clapped along with the others, smiling widely. As expected, this was amazing. Magic never ceased to impress.
The introductory performance was nothing short of beautiful, even more so when Harry focused all of his senses on it. He could see the variations, how they interacted with each other, and how the end result came to be. He wasn't certain of how it all worked, though.
No matter, Professor Snape was about to explain.
So, it turns out that potions are like grand performances, with multiple performers. Only, the performers aren't real people, they are faked. A story is sung to establish the context and the effect, a dance is used to give the story life, and ingredients and their symbolism are used to link the story to the World, filling out the missing pieces and information.
The Professor was very clear on this, despite his speech impediment. Apparently, timing was extremely important to a potions master, as much as what story is told, how it is sung, what dance moves to use, and what ingredients to throw into the concoction.
The flowers and marble were obvious, but not everything else was. For instance, according to the Professor, the snake tongue was necessary not only because of the snake in the story, but also because snakes were one of few beings tied so closely with nature that could actually speak to certain wizards and witches. Should he have said "a bear" or "a sparrow" instead, the potion would have failed even if he were using the relevant ingredients to represent them, because it would have made the story "impossible in reality". No bear or sparrow can speak, after all.
He could, apparently, also have used "a druid", in which case he would have needed a tongue from an actual druid. So ew.
As for the droplets of water, they were needed as the water possesses a concept of "spreading", otherwise the flowers would have only bloomed on the cauldron itself. The word "despair" in the story was only added for the purpose of being able to use water droplets without breaking the immersion.
There were plenty of other components like that, such as the different kinds of flowers being carefully thrown in at specific parts of the story, in places that correspond to their meaning, or the dances being also specific at certain moments. For instance, hugging the cauldron was a way of marking the cauldron as the "tree" of the story, thus making it the epicenter of the effect instead of Snape himself. Other stuff, however, was completely up to the potioneer, like the name "Trisha", although the fact that Trisha is a "witch" and a "Dame" apparently helps with the creation of flowers. The world is sexist, so is the magic. Something about performers affecting the stage, go figure.
All in all, fascinating stuff. Harry felt the flowers under his feet as they got started on a replication of this very potion. A simplified version which only created a few glittering flowers in their hair when drunk, but also far simpler to enact.
Not that it would have been a problem for Harry in the first place. His Song-sense made it so easy to know which ingredient to use and when, given that the words they kept crying out were more or less synonyms of the words he had to sing or mime.
Professor Snape was walking around the class, gravitas in every step, ready to stop errors and right wrongs. His entire class was like a gigantic performance that he was leading, each student with their own story, a bundle of chaos of which he was holding all of the thread at once. He gave out his own story, to encompass all of the others and guide them along to a natural conclusion, together.
Yes, Severus Snape was a storyteller.
At that moment, Harry Potter made a wish. A wish that, one day, he would be as great as Severus Snape at leading and telling stories. The greatest storyteller and playwright in the world.
With class done, a finished potion, and a bunch of flowers in everyone's hair, Harry walked on out. A look from the Professor made him stay at the entrance, however, and he motioned to his friends to go on with a smile.
Snape started breakdancing in the middle of the room. Cauldrons and unused ingredients flew back to their rightful place as he did. Since it was a dance and not a song, Harry figured that he was witnessing actual magic instead of a spell.
Then, he stood up, dusted off his emerald robes and put his fabulous hair back into place with a tap, and approached Harry, staring into him deeply, his Song singing of uncertainty, guilt, and duty.
"You don't have to tell me anything if you're not ready, Professor, you know." Harry blurted out, not wanting to cause this incredible man discomfort, "I, ah, can feel your Song, uncertain and all. All the Songs. 'Swhy the Crown sent me everywhere. Part of it, I mean. Mostly it?"
Harry trailed off and stopped, blushing a bit in his embarrassment as Professor Snape elevated an eyebrow, his Song torn between shock and a feeling of "of course you do". Then, he sighed, and spoke.
"Then, if that's alright with you Mister Potter,
I would like to extend an invitation for you in the winter,
To discuss your mother, my old childhood friend,
And share stories, feelings, and dreams we once made."
Harry looked on, unsure of how to feel. His mum was friends with such a cool and epic guy? Awesome! On the other hand, where was he, when he was trapped with the Dursleys?
And also, there sure are a lot of people offering to talk about his parents these days, aren't there?
"Well, I'd be happy to accept?" Harry questioned, "I mean, definitely I'd be happy to accept! I'll…. wait for your invitation then?" he trailed off, unsure of how to continue.
Two very awkward people stared at each other for a moment, before one decided to just go one with his day and asked, "So! Slyther-scene common room? That was today, right? Lead the way, Professor?"
Professor Snape looked at Harry for a second longer, before nodding his head and gesturing with his hand to follow.
As always, every stride the man took was self-assured, of perfect length and movement, and made his robes and hair swish in the most wondrous ways. Harry did his best to copy him, trying to emulate such greatness even a tiny bit. The Song helped, but that would take a lot of practise and skill to master.
After grandly gesturing to a blank wall, Harry went through the green, slime-like substance that it suddenly turned into, and finally experienced the wonders of living in an aquarium.
Truly, the Slyther-scene common room was majestic. Most walls in the entrance were glass -or maybe just magically transparent?-, showing off the black lake beyond them and its aquatic inhabitants.
But the most impressive part was the Slyther-scene Theater, an entire room dedicated to plays, with an immense space to move in and watch, instruments of all kinds, magical props, and more. Oh yeah, that room was definitely bigger on the inside.
Harry took off with his Slither-scene friends to test out the place in its entirety. Draco was very happy to share one of his own scripts they were working on, and testing the stage as a group in a trial play.
Thus, Harry, dressed as a singing cauldron, sang and danced across the stage, reciting his lines and stumbling over quite a few of them. Famous wizarding fairy tale or not, it's not like he had ever read it before!
???, ???
??? POV
Steps and words.
Reality is a suggestion.
Indeed, my dear. But why are we here this time?Don't steal my shtick! Also, another one is waking already?
InTeReStInG……
Oho! Another one indeed!I wonder who it is this time.
No… He. HeHe. HeHeHeHaHaHAHAHA-What.
What.
…?
Oh. Oh! Oh my."Oh my" is right. My, oh my.
Who's stealing who's shtick now?You are, I am thou… Do we have to go through this again?
It is a nice distraction. Also [C] is still laughing.! ...?
Laugh along? Well, we could. But I don't feel like it.You certainly do if they feel like it. Although I have to admit…
This is getting tiring. And very separated as well. Am I really you?I… will need to rethink that.
Indeed, my dear.-HeHeHe…nO mOrE… sOoN…
…!!
I see! That makes sense.It does, at that. But what sense would that be?
No idea. But I'm sure it does. Our new Us is getting it, after all.Indeed, indeed… Now then, a new one for the count, huh?
Seems like it. Dare we display a new Dancing Diggity during the decade?…NiCe AlLiTeRaTiOn.
Thank you. I do try.
Do you?
Sometimes.Is now one of those times?
…No, not really. In any case, are we still the Dancing Diggities?I think so. We only change at the turn of centuries, not for newcomers.
There haven't been newcomers in millenia.My point stands.
So DoEs ThEiRs.And yours.
Very well. What do we call ourselves then?
……
…
…!
tHe ChIlD hAs NoT-sPoKeN.So they have. Not. Haven't. Dancing Diggities we will remain, then.
For now.For now.
Now that I think about it, who are they?That's the Question, isn't it?
…Well yes, I just asked. That makes it a question.tHe Question Is NoT a SiMpLe QuEsTiOn.
Listen to them, dummy. And me. You? Hm.
…
Still debating on that?Yuppers! Also, I don't think they've decided yet-
!...
-nevermind
Heh.Oh, shush you.
! …….. I! Am!
Oho?Oho.
Hm……….. [K]!
Unusual.Inevitable.
a ChOiCe MaDe AnD eNaCtEd… VeRy WeLl.Interesting.
Fascinating.
aNd FuLl Of CoNsEqUeNcEs.Indeed.
Yep. The Song is changing.A new Track, after all this time. How exciting!
nOt YeT. bUt ThE wIlL iS tHeRe.It won't be long, then. The others?
Waking. Give it a day or two for my bestie, the chorus is growing stronger.
And the house?On fire.
I suppose it is a good time for a party.Hehe. Who said anything about a party?
I did. And I suddenly don't want to ask anymore.ThE sTrInGs ArE vIbRaTiNg. ThE wInD bLoWiNg SlOwLy…
Feeding the flames. Very soon, then.
Perhaps even before next week! Yay!
Indeed, my dear. Shall we prepare?We shall!
ThEn, UnTiL nExT tImE, lEt Us ObSeRvE.!...
After all, the unexpected makes for the greatest performance.
Author's note:
New chapter. Yay!
Also, this is going much faster than the author thought it would. Are we even going to pass first year at this rate?
I need to write more Quirrell...
New chapter. Yay!
Also, this is going much faster than the author thought it would. Are we even going to pass first year at this rate?
I need to write more Quirrell...
Last edited:
Chapter 10 - Of Dread Lords and Prophecies
zellat451
Learning a foreign language with NF - Happy
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Chapter 10 - Of Dread Lords and Prophecies
Wool's Orphanage, Sometimes near the 1940s
Tom Riddle POV
Strange child, demon kid, abomination. Tom Riddle had been called many such names, and plenty more besides.
His life at the orphanage was rough, especially as a magical born in the muggle world, in a time where the unknown was to be terrified of, the unfamiliar was to be hurt, and the different was to be hunted to extinction.
His bouts of accidental magic, though at first frequent, he had quickly tamed and brought under his heel, his will, as his magic turned from being a Sword of Damocles to becoming a Sword of Victory.
The child who would sometimes dance and sing out of nowhere and make weird things happen was a demon that should be banished, but the child who could make you hurt and set your things on fire with a finger snap, a whistle, or a well-placed step was a demon that should be feared.
And feared, Tom endeavoured to become. After all, fear was power, and he craved power most of all after getting a taste of it. Or rather, almost most of all.
He had a greater goal yet, more important even than the accumulation of power, or the mastery of his specialness. Tom wanted to prevent the end of his own story. He wanted to avoid the fate his mother met.
Tom… Didn't want to die. He wanted to live forever.
And that chance finally came, one day, when an old man performed a squat dance in his room and set his belongings on fire.
Tom's early life at Hogwarts was a dream come true. He learned more about his power, his magic. He, unlike others of his age, mastered his own Song quite quickly and graduated from using puny spells by his second year.
Tom was talented, he was charming, he was loved by all, and his friends in Slyther-scene brought him knowledge.
This knowledge gifted from the Malfoy and Lestrange libraries, later supplemented by the Black's, helped him master, use, and later create his own rituals. Through rituals, he lost his useless emotions and feelings, such as guilt and taste, and he gained the ability to feel magic itself in exchange. Through this magical sense, he discovered the legendary Chamber of Secrets and Room of Requirements. Through the knowledge stashed in there, by the start of his fourth year, Tom had learned how to sacrifice muggle and animal lives to grant himself the very same enchantments present in the Sorting Crown, the ability to listen to the Songs of others. His magic helped him stay under the Ministry's attention as he completed his work during the summer.
This Song-sense, he used to understand others and magic itself, push his connections and knowledge of music to greater heights than ever before, until he became the uncrowned King of Slyther-scene. The best actor, the most powerful wizard of his age, the greatest dancer and singer Hogwarts had seen in a hundred years.
Dumbledore might still suspect his character and be wary of him, but it didn't matter. Tom was great, Tom was powerful, Tom was in line to become the new God of this world!
And Tom had finally gotten started on his plans to reach immortality. The Black library had so many interesting subjects to talk about… Now, what was that about a Horcrux?
Graduating from Hogwarts -with O* on everything, of course- marked the beginning of Tom Riddle's rebirth as the Dread Lord Voldemort. Not immediately officially or publicly, of course.
But, by that time, Voldemort already had created three Musicalis for his network of immortality, each a soul bound into an item forever singing a Song of Tom Riddle, of Lord Voldemort. A journal, a ring from the Gaunt family -taken off his grandfather's corpse-, and a precious diadem that he finally found after much work and research.
Yes, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem of Ravin'flow was truly his greatest discovery so far, an object that allowed one to completely immerse themselves into their own emotions and that of others, nothing of value to him, but a great way to stroke his ego and pride.
Soon, he would find all of the Founder's artefacts, and turn them into pieces of Lord Voldemort, too.
He soon recognized a problem in the logic of his Musicalis network. After all, a dance of life would be needed to recreate a body from a Song of his Musicalis. The objects themselves would not be enough, although a great way to prevent instantaneous death or passing away to the next realm. As such, he would proceed with his original plan and use the Mark on as many people as he could, adding their lives and souls to the network, providing himself with a stockpile to take from when he needed it, to recreate himself a body.
He wondered, in the process of Marking a few muggles as a test, if adding them to the network would make them, too, immortal as he was. The answer was a resounding yes. The souls he reaped from his own Musicalis network were sealed within it, ready to be recalled and reincarnated, although they did seem to take on the appearance and mind of Tom Riddle when pulled out. Of course, all of these tests he destroyed. Lord Voldemort would not accept duplicates of himself running around.
Regardless, he now had a working path to immortality, as well as the proof that it worked. And for the first time in his life, Tom Riddle felt safe, he felt free.
And Lord Voldemort could finally start working on his grand designs.
With immortality achieved, Lord Voldemort would now aim to rule this world. To become its true God. After all, why not? Why not rule? Why not assert his greatness and dominance over everyone else? Why not rid this world of the filthy muggles that made his youth hell? These… things with Songs lesser than even beasts, removed from nature and magic as they were? Why not gain access to the power and knowledge of an entire world?
And so, he got started.
Tom Riddle applied for the post of Defense against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. He did not expect Dumbledore to accept him, despite his credentials, given their relationship. But that wasn't the goal, oh no. He took the opportunity to curse the position itself through one of his self-made rituals, ensuring that the next generations would be powerless to fight against him effectively. Then, he decided to leave one of his Musicalis here, at Hogwarts, in the Room of Requirements, in a wonderful turn of irony. The walls of the castle would protect him as much as they would protect the students, and who knows! Perhaps he would reincarnate himself in Dumbledore's very center of power should it be needed!
With Tom Riddle's rejection and subsequent disappearance, Lord Voldemort made his first public appearance during a raid in Diagon Alley, spilling over into central muggle London. Malfoy, Black, Lestrange, Fawley, Parkinson, and many more of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and others besides all fell before his might, his charms, and his Dark Mark.
Soon, Lord Voldermort's Troupe was born. Born out of a desire to reach a greater form of immortality, born out of a will to defy death and become a natural part of the world. The Death Eaters, they shall be, named after that dream, Lord Voldemort's greatest plan.
Tom Riddle had long pondered over that question. How to become immortal? Let the world sing your Song forever. But… What if there was another way? A better, more certain way?
What if one could… become part of the very stage?
He believed in the legends and tales of the magical world, or at least some of them. It wasn't very difficult to understand this viewpoint, especially after one takes into account the fact that the Elder Baton was very real, and once used by none other than Gellert Grindelwald himself, and currently by Albus Dumbledore.
But, Tom Riddle thought that, if the Deathly Hallows could exist, then Death, the tangible, real avatar of Death, must exist as well. And what exists falls under the purview of magic.
If Lord Voldemort could force Death itself to sing his Song, if he could bind and replace Death, then he truly would become eternal.
And Lord Voldemort longed for that moment. The moment he ate Death itself.
Albus Dumbledore POV
The war was going strong. Voldemort, Tom, had made sure that his efforts would be as useless as they were painful to take. To find himself fighting broken puppets he once called his students, to have to teach an entire generation how to survive without a professor lasting more than a year at a time, to support the whole of magical and muggle Britain in the constant attacks and failing morale…
It was hard. And today, it was also not the point.
Albus was sitting in a room in the Hog's Tread, his brother Aberforth's pub, a nice, quiet, and secretive enough place for a teacher's interview.
The new divination teacher, Sibylle Trelawney, was uninteresting, obviously too interested in the bottle, and not actually very good at expressing herself -a necessary skill for any teacher-. He was about to reject her, in fact, when she suddenly started breakdancing in the middle of the room -rather fluidly at that-, and with a rap, delivered a prophecy.
A. Bloody. Prophecy. A true one, at that.
And that sealed everything. Trelawney was hired, if only to keep her out of Tom's grasp. A Death Eater -one of the few still sane ones. Oh, Severus, why would you…- was chased off before he could hear it all, but the damage was done and Tom would soon be going after a family -the Potters, the future would reveal without a shadow of a doubt- in an attempt to stop his eventual demise.
Everything was going terribly badly.
Lord Voldemort POV
Lord Voldemort was angry.
Scratch that, he was bloody furious.
Finally, Tom Riddle had achieved immortality. Finally, Lord Voldemort was asserting his dominion upon this puny world. Finally, a God was born!
And mere Fate thought that it could stand in his way? That Destiny would be enough to stop his grand designs? That a newborn child would be the one to stop him in his tracks!?
This wasn't amusing, this wasn't funny, this wasn't even slightly threatening.
This was an insult. An insult from the World to Lord Voldemort. And Voldemort did not take insults. He did not suffer any mockery from anyone.
Truly, an example needed to be made.
He did spare a small smile for the incessant begging from Severus, one of his few still whole Troupe members, and to the knowledge that a Fidelius was being used as protection for the Potter family.
Ah, the Fidelius. A ward, an act of magic capable of hiding the existence of a Song within another, hiding it from the World and everything in it. Less known was, this was also based on the Killing Curse in its principles. One pushes a Song slightly to the side, hiding it in another. One simply pushed a Song away from the world, killing its singer instantly.
Trivia aside, the Potters just had to trust one of his servants as Secret Keeper. The rat, another one of the few that survived the Mark through sheer will, survival instinct, and fear.
Bad luck, that. Or perhaps it was… fate?
With a scoff and a sneer, Lord Voldemort picked ten of his puppets, and marched on towards the Potter home.
He would end this tonight.
???, That Halloween night.
??? POV
He ReAlLy PiSseS mE oFf…
You are not the only one, [C], I assure you. Not for much longer, fortunately.InDeEd… WhAt HaPpEnEd?
Does that pique your interest, oh great critic?YeS.
Well, at first glance, I would say that it happened in four parts. A Song-hearing ritual powered by death, a Song-protecting ritual powered by love, a Song-removing curse, and a Song-hiding ward. They all reacted to each other quite… explosively.aT fIrSt GlAnCe, HuH?
Don't sound so amused. Yes, I might have had something to do with it. Helped push things along a bit. Might.mIgHt, I aM sUrE…
Well, it's not like he wasn't getting annoying, screaming his Song out for decades on end, through multiple Tracks and voices, stealing beautiful melodies from Us…nO nEeD tO jUsTiFy YoUrSeLf To Me… I wAs ThInKiNg ThE sAmE…
Indeed. In any case, this doesn't count as breaking the rules since a prophecy has been given. The warning covers these kinds of acts. It won't rid us of him so soon, of course, but silence is golden indeed.iNdEeD… wHaT oF tHe MaRk? ThE sCaR?
The music note, yes. A gift from my mother. No spoilers, but the next few decades are bound to be… interesting.oMiNoUs… AnD uNeXpEcTeD…
As you say, darling, "the unexpected makes for the greatest performances". Now then, I will be going back to sleep. My role here is done. Yours as well, I imagine.yEs… SoOn… I cAn'T wAiT tO cRiTiQuE tHiS oNe… HeHeHe…
Fuhuhu~ I'll leave you to it, then. Sweet anticipation, darling.SwEeT dReAmS…
Lord Voldemort POV
He awoke, not far from Godric's Hollow. A wraith, disembodied, unalive.
What had gone wrong? The magic should not have reacted like that. The prophecy should not have been enough of a protection. His Musicalis network was supposed to have reincarnated him already!
Something was undoubtedly very wrong, but he had no time to ponder over what. He was losing magic at an alarming rate, his very Song seeping out of him, even from his wide Musicalis network. He would need replacements for those he had lost, and a host.
He went after animals, and from there, muggles. The filth would have a use, yet. Still, his power was such that muggle hosts, weak and filthy as they were, broke into meaty pieces of flesh and mushed organs only after a couple weeks. On top of that, he was wandless on top of being bodiless, which made applying the Dark Mark over new subjects so much more difficult. He could only manage it once every two months, these days. He mostly managed to create a string of unexplained murders and an increase in the population of mental hospitals wherever he went, which was mostly on the continent, if only for the greater chances of escape should it be needed.
He did not know how much time had passed since his… disincorporation. Not until a wizard managed to find his way to him. Quirinus Quirrell, a coward, a selfish man who would sell his own soul for power, and an idiot who believed the "powerful wraith" when he offered him power "freely".
One Dark Mark readily placed, and Quirrell was now Voldemort's to control. His Song would last a while, of course, but would eventually disappear, crushed under his might. This body would last for at least half a year, on the more positive side.
On the even more positive side, this was also Hogwarts' past muggle studies and newest Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. It looked like Lord Voldemort would have his position after all, decades out of date.
Amused at the irony of fate in this case, Voldemort started noting down his future goals in his mind. Mostly, he would need to grow closer to the divination teacher and attempt to get the full version of the blasted prophecy out of her, to understand what went wrong with his attack. Then, he would get access to one of his less-hidden Musicalis to see what went wrong with the network's reincarnation process.
The knowledge that the Philosopher's Tune would be housed in Hogwarts this school year that he received upon arrival was the cherry on top of the cake. Everything he had found about the object marked it as an extremely potent and plentiful source of Life energy, something he sorely lacked at the moment. Perhaps he could even use it to supplement his method to immortality?
It wouldn't hurt to try taking it in advance, now that he knew the vault number. And if that failed, he would always know where it was kept, as well as one of the defences for it. He had made it himself, after all. Trolls that attacked their opponent with ballet dancing. Barnabas would be proud.
The Sorting was a tense affair. Not only did he have to suffer the presence of that child who vanquished him, the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, without being able to destroy him, he also had to stay still and observe as yet another dozen idiotic, useless magicals were added to the roster of failures of this school.
None were like himself. None except him. Because of course Harry Potter would be sorted in every house, ever. Something even he had not achieved!
And it grated at his nerves.
More than that, when he focused on the child, to get a taste of his Song… He got nothing. Nothing at all, as if Harry Potter did not exist, or was hidden by the world itself.
And it pissed him off.
Obviously, Fate and Destiny were playing favourites, again. But it would not be enough. He, the Dread Lord Voldemort, would see to that.
The first day had passed, the students were welcomed, and most of the staff and students were now in class. Except him. Except the first years.
He thought this afternoon would be the perfect opportunity to test out these defences over the Philosopher's Tune. And so, he went in the direction of the third floor corridor on the left.
And he stopped rather abruptly, hidden behind his magic, as he observed the Headmaster dancing along with some students -including a Potter, of course-, and… All of the suits of armour in the corridor?
Ah. That made sense. Curse Hagrid and his love of mediaeval songs and dances. Of course he would make it a requirement to invite the armours to dance as a group to unlock the way forward. It would require participants, or -ugh- friends.
Voldemort, now Quirrell, supposed that he could use realistic illusions instead to simulate a troupe. Though it would be rather difficult to maintain that and open the way forward at the same time, while still defending himself if necessary. If only he could use inferi, or even just an Imperius curse… Alas, the wards in this place would make such an endeavour quite difficult.
Or, he could find an actual partner. He had felt the presence of another Dark Mark from the network in the castle, besides Severus'. He could always go check it out, and perhaps earn himself a dancing partner out of it. There were only a few sane Marked, after all. Severus, Wormtail, Rookwood…
Well, no time like the present.
DADA Class, morning of September 6th (Friday)
Finding Wormtail was a pleasant surprise. Getting ahold of his wand once again was great. Gaining himself a talented spy and useful servant within the castle was wonderful.
Things were looking up for the Dread Lord Voldemort.
It was no trouble to replace the rat with an actual rat transfigured with Wormtail's likeness. It was even less trouble to convince the coward to follow him once again. It would be downright easy to get the Philosopher's Tune at this rate.
But, for now, Professor Quirrell was teaching a class of first years. A very special class, housing a very special student.
So, of course, Lord Voldemort proceeded to teach the Tickling Hex to a bunch of children. And well, at that. Lord Voldemort's teachings would never be substandard, after all. No one would ever dare to call him mediocre.
And if he sometimes fired random hexes to "keep them on their toes" -especially at Potter-, and never warned them that this could actually kill someone of laughter if overused, well, it's not like they would ever know.
???,???
??? POV
Morning luv. Awake already?
M'be -zzzz- not.
Moment's coming *yawn* soon. Goin' back t'sleep -zzzz-
…Aaaaaand he's gone. *sigh* Screw my not-life.
…Hell if those aren't interesting times, though.
Harry Potter POV
It was official. This Professor's Song just felt wrong.
Two Songs, one choking the other. Two Songs, one being crushed into near disappearance. Two Songs, one seemingly glaring at him, and at everyone else, and spewing lava -metaphorically- at the entire room and everything in it.
Two Songs, and one of them was just Evil.
As such, Harry made up his mind to go talk to Headmaster Dumbledore about this right after lunch today, and explain everything to him like he did with Professor Snape, about the Song of the World. Perhaps he would get them both in the same room? It could only help with… Whatever that was, he imagined.
…Still, that tickling hex was interesting, if nothing else. Who knew that you could make someone laugh with a well-placed vibrato?
Author's note:
That felt longer than it actually is. Oh well.
(What was that about not seeing Voldie for a while? Shhhh... The author does not lie. Ever.)
Wool's Orphanage, Sometimes near the 1940s
Tom Riddle POV
Strange child, demon kid, abomination. Tom Riddle had been called many such names, and plenty more besides.
His life at the orphanage was rough, especially as a magical born in the muggle world, in a time where the unknown was to be terrified of, the unfamiliar was to be hurt, and the different was to be hunted to extinction.
His bouts of accidental magic, though at first frequent, he had quickly tamed and brought under his heel, his will, as his magic turned from being a Sword of Damocles to becoming a Sword of Victory.
The child who would sometimes dance and sing out of nowhere and make weird things happen was a demon that should be banished, but the child who could make you hurt and set your things on fire with a finger snap, a whistle, or a well-placed step was a demon that should be feared.
And feared, Tom endeavoured to become. After all, fear was power, and he craved power most of all after getting a taste of it. Or rather, almost most of all.
He had a greater goal yet, more important even than the accumulation of power, or the mastery of his specialness. Tom wanted to prevent the end of his own story. He wanted to avoid the fate his mother met.
Tom… Didn't want to die. He wanted to live forever.
And that chance finally came, one day, when an old man performed a squat dance in his room and set his belongings on fire.
Tom's early life at Hogwarts was a dream come true. He learned more about his power, his magic. He, unlike others of his age, mastered his own Song quite quickly and graduated from using puny spells by his second year.
Tom was talented, he was charming, he was loved by all, and his friends in Slyther-scene brought him knowledge.
This knowledge gifted from the Malfoy and Lestrange libraries, later supplemented by the Black's, helped him master, use, and later create his own rituals. Through rituals, he lost his useless emotions and feelings, such as guilt and taste, and he gained the ability to feel magic itself in exchange. Through this magical sense, he discovered the legendary Chamber of Secrets and Room of Requirements. Through the knowledge stashed in there, by the start of his fourth year, Tom had learned how to sacrifice muggle and animal lives to grant himself the very same enchantments present in the Sorting Crown, the ability to listen to the Songs of others. His magic helped him stay under the Ministry's attention as he completed his work during the summer.
This Song-sense, he used to understand others and magic itself, push his connections and knowledge of music to greater heights than ever before, until he became the uncrowned King of Slyther-scene. The best actor, the most powerful wizard of his age, the greatest dancer and singer Hogwarts had seen in a hundred years.
Dumbledore might still suspect his character and be wary of him, but it didn't matter. Tom was great, Tom was powerful, Tom was in line to become the new God of this world!
And Tom had finally gotten started on his plans to reach immortality. The Black library had so many interesting subjects to talk about… Now, what was that about a Horcrux?
Graduating from Hogwarts -with O* on everything, of course- marked the beginning of Tom Riddle's rebirth as the Dread Lord Voldemort. Not immediately officially or publicly, of course.
But, by that time, Voldemort already had created three Musicalis for his network of immortality, each a soul bound into an item forever singing a Song of Tom Riddle, of Lord Voldemort. A journal, a ring from the Gaunt family -taken off his grandfather's corpse-, and a precious diadem that he finally found after much work and research.
Yes, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem of Ravin'flow was truly his greatest discovery so far, an object that allowed one to completely immerse themselves into their own emotions and that of others, nothing of value to him, but a great way to stroke his ego and pride.
Soon, he would find all of the Founder's artefacts, and turn them into pieces of Lord Voldemort, too.
He soon recognized a problem in the logic of his Musicalis network. After all, a dance of life would be needed to recreate a body from a Song of his Musicalis. The objects themselves would not be enough, although a great way to prevent instantaneous death or passing away to the next realm. As such, he would proceed with his original plan and use the Mark on as many people as he could, adding their lives and souls to the network, providing himself with a stockpile to take from when he needed it, to recreate himself a body.
He wondered, in the process of Marking a few muggles as a test, if adding them to the network would make them, too, immortal as he was. The answer was a resounding yes. The souls he reaped from his own Musicalis network were sealed within it, ready to be recalled and reincarnated, although they did seem to take on the appearance and mind of Tom Riddle when pulled out. Of course, all of these tests he destroyed. Lord Voldemort would not accept duplicates of himself running around.
Regardless, he now had a working path to immortality, as well as the proof that it worked. And for the first time in his life, Tom Riddle felt safe, he felt free.
And Lord Voldemort could finally start working on his grand designs.
With immortality achieved, Lord Voldemort would now aim to rule this world. To become its true God. After all, why not? Why not rule? Why not assert his greatness and dominance over everyone else? Why not rid this world of the filthy muggles that made his youth hell? These… things with Songs lesser than even beasts, removed from nature and magic as they were? Why not gain access to the power and knowledge of an entire world?
And so, he got started.
Tom Riddle applied for the post of Defense against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. He did not expect Dumbledore to accept him, despite his credentials, given their relationship. But that wasn't the goal, oh no. He took the opportunity to curse the position itself through one of his self-made rituals, ensuring that the next generations would be powerless to fight against him effectively. Then, he decided to leave one of his Musicalis here, at Hogwarts, in the Room of Requirements, in a wonderful turn of irony. The walls of the castle would protect him as much as they would protect the students, and who knows! Perhaps he would reincarnate himself in Dumbledore's very center of power should it be needed!
With Tom Riddle's rejection and subsequent disappearance, Lord Voldemort made his first public appearance during a raid in Diagon Alley, spilling over into central muggle London. Malfoy, Black, Lestrange, Fawley, Parkinson, and many more of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and others besides all fell before his might, his charms, and his Dark Mark.
Soon, Lord Voldermort's Troupe was born. Born out of a desire to reach a greater form of immortality, born out of a will to defy death and become a natural part of the world. The Death Eaters, they shall be, named after that dream, Lord Voldemort's greatest plan.
Tom Riddle had long pondered over that question. How to become immortal? Let the world sing your Song forever. But… What if there was another way? A better, more certain way?
What if one could… become part of the very stage?
He believed in the legends and tales of the magical world, or at least some of them. It wasn't very difficult to understand this viewpoint, especially after one takes into account the fact that the Elder Baton was very real, and once used by none other than Gellert Grindelwald himself, and currently by Albus Dumbledore.
But, Tom Riddle thought that, if the Deathly Hallows could exist, then Death, the tangible, real avatar of Death, must exist as well. And what exists falls under the purview of magic.
If Lord Voldemort could force Death itself to sing his Song, if he could bind and replace Death, then he truly would become eternal.
And Lord Voldemort longed for that moment. The moment he ate Death itself.
Albus Dumbledore POV
The war was going strong. Voldemort, Tom, had made sure that his efforts would be as useless as they were painful to take. To find himself fighting broken puppets he once called his students, to have to teach an entire generation how to survive without a professor lasting more than a year at a time, to support the whole of magical and muggle Britain in the constant attacks and failing morale…
It was hard. And today, it was also not the point.
Albus was sitting in a room in the Hog's Tread, his brother Aberforth's pub, a nice, quiet, and secretive enough place for a teacher's interview.
The new divination teacher, Sibylle Trelawney, was uninteresting, obviously too interested in the bottle, and not actually very good at expressing herself -a necessary skill for any teacher-. He was about to reject her, in fact, when she suddenly started breakdancing in the middle of the room -rather fluidly at that-, and with a rap, delivered a prophecy.
A. Bloody. Prophecy. A true one, at that.
And that sealed everything. Trelawney was hired, if only to keep her out of Tom's grasp. A Death Eater -one of the few still sane ones. Oh, Severus, why would you…- was chased off before he could hear it all, but the damage was done and Tom would soon be going after a family -the Potters, the future would reveal without a shadow of a doubt- in an attempt to stop his eventual demise.
Everything was going terribly badly.
Lord Voldemort POV
Lord Voldemort was angry.
Scratch that, he was bloody furious.
Finally, Tom Riddle had achieved immortality. Finally, Lord Voldemort was asserting his dominion upon this puny world. Finally, a God was born!
And mere Fate thought that it could stand in his way? That Destiny would be enough to stop his grand designs? That a newborn child would be the one to stop him in his tracks!?
This wasn't amusing, this wasn't funny, this wasn't even slightly threatening.
This was an insult. An insult from the World to Lord Voldemort. And Voldemort did not take insults. He did not suffer any mockery from anyone.
Truly, an example needed to be made.
He did spare a small smile for the incessant begging from Severus, one of his few still whole Troupe members, and to the knowledge that a Fidelius was being used as protection for the Potter family.
Ah, the Fidelius. A ward, an act of magic capable of hiding the existence of a Song within another, hiding it from the World and everything in it. Less known was, this was also based on the Killing Curse in its principles. One pushes a Song slightly to the side, hiding it in another. One simply pushed a Song away from the world, killing its singer instantly.
Trivia aside, the Potters just had to trust one of his servants as Secret Keeper. The rat, another one of the few that survived the Mark through sheer will, survival instinct, and fear.
Bad luck, that. Or perhaps it was… fate?
With a scoff and a sneer, Lord Voldemort picked ten of his puppets, and marched on towards the Potter home.
He would end this tonight.
???, That Halloween night.
??? POV
He ReAlLy PiSseS mE oFf…
Lord Voldemort POV
He awoke, not far from Godric's Hollow. A wraith, disembodied, unalive.
What had gone wrong? The magic should not have reacted like that. The prophecy should not have been enough of a protection. His Musicalis network was supposed to have reincarnated him already!
Something was undoubtedly very wrong, but he had no time to ponder over what. He was losing magic at an alarming rate, his very Song seeping out of him, even from his wide Musicalis network. He would need replacements for those he had lost, and a host.
He went after animals, and from there, muggles. The filth would have a use, yet. Still, his power was such that muggle hosts, weak and filthy as they were, broke into meaty pieces of flesh and mushed organs only after a couple weeks. On top of that, he was wandless on top of being bodiless, which made applying the Dark Mark over new subjects so much more difficult. He could only manage it once every two months, these days. He mostly managed to create a string of unexplained murders and an increase in the population of mental hospitals wherever he went, which was mostly on the continent, if only for the greater chances of escape should it be needed.
He did not know how much time had passed since his… disincorporation. Not until a wizard managed to find his way to him. Quirinus Quirrell, a coward, a selfish man who would sell his own soul for power, and an idiot who believed the "powerful wraith" when he offered him power "freely".
One Dark Mark readily placed, and Quirrell was now Voldemort's to control. His Song would last a while, of course, but would eventually disappear, crushed under his might. This body would last for at least half a year, on the more positive side.
On the even more positive side, this was also Hogwarts' past muggle studies and newest Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. It looked like Lord Voldemort would have his position after all, decades out of date.
Amused at the irony of fate in this case, Voldemort started noting down his future goals in his mind. Mostly, he would need to grow closer to the divination teacher and attempt to get the full version of the blasted prophecy out of her, to understand what went wrong with his attack. Then, he would get access to one of his less-hidden Musicalis to see what went wrong with the network's reincarnation process.
The knowledge that the Philosopher's Tune would be housed in Hogwarts this school year that he received upon arrival was the cherry on top of the cake. Everything he had found about the object marked it as an extremely potent and plentiful source of Life energy, something he sorely lacked at the moment. Perhaps he could even use it to supplement his method to immortality?
It wouldn't hurt to try taking it in advance, now that he knew the vault number. And if that failed, he would always know where it was kept, as well as one of the defences for it. He had made it himself, after all. Trolls that attacked their opponent with ballet dancing. Barnabas would be proud.
The Sorting was a tense affair. Not only did he have to suffer the presence of that child who vanquished him, the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, without being able to destroy him, he also had to stay still and observe as yet another dozen idiotic, useless magicals were added to the roster of failures of this school.
None were like himself. None except him. Because of course Harry Potter would be sorted in every house, ever. Something even he had not achieved!
And it grated at his nerves.
More than that, when he focused on the child, to get a taste of his Song… He got nothing. Nothing at all, as if Harry Potter did not exist, or was hidden by the world itself.
And it pissed him off.
Obviously, Fate and Destiny were playing favourites, again. But it would not be enough. He, the Dread Lord Voldemort, would see to that.
The first day had passed, the students were welcomed, and most of the staff and students were now in class. Except him. Except the first years.
He thought this afternoon would be the perfect opportunity to test out these defences over the Philosopher's Tune. And so, he went in the direction of the third floor corridor on the left.
And he stopped rather abruptly, hidden behind his magic, as he observed the Headmaster dancing along with some students -including a Potter, of course-, and… All of the suits of armour in the corridor?
Ah. That made sense. Curse Hagrid and his love of mediaeval songs and dances. Of course he would make it a requirement to invite the armours to dance as a group to unlock the way forward. It would require participants, or -ugh- friends.
Voldemort, now Quirrell, supposed that he could use realistic illusions instead to simulate a troupe. Though it would be rather difficult to maintain that and open the way forward at the same time, while still defending himself if necessary. If only he could use inferi, or even just an Imperius curse… Alas, the wards in this place would make such an endeavour quite difficult.
Or, he could find an actual partner. He had felt the presence of another Dark Mark from the network in the castle, besides Severus'. He could always go check it out, and perhaps earn himself a dancing partner out of it. There were only a few sane Marked, after all. Severus, Wormtail, Rookwood…
Well, no time like the present.
DADA Class, morning of September 6th (Friday)
Finding Wormtail was a pleasant surprise. Getting ahold of his wand once again was great. Gaining himself a talented spy and useful servant within the castle was wonderful.
Things were looking up for the Dread Lord Voldemort.
It was no trouble to replace the rat with an actual rat transfigured with Wormtail's likeness. It was even less trouble to convince the coward to follow him once again. It would be downright easy to get the Philosopher's Tune at this rate.
But, for now, Professor Quirrell was teaching a class of first years. A very special class, housing a very special student.
So, of course, Lord Voldemort proceeded to teach the Tickling Hex to a bunch of children. And well, at that. Lord Voldemort's teachings would never be substandard, after all. No one would ever dare to call him mediocre.
And if he sometimes fired random hexes to "keep them on their toes" -especially at Potter-, and never warned them that this could actually kill someone of laughter if overused, well, it's not like they would ever know.
???,???
??? POV
…! (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)
Now sweetheart! None of that language, even if he deserves it!
!... (^-^*)/
Nggggh! Don't mind it sweetheart, mama forgives you [Ooooh! He called me "mama"!!!]
I mean, he is a dumbface. Try not to become like him when you grow up, okay kid?Now sweetheart! None of that language, even if he deserves it!
!... (^-^*)/
Nggggh! Don't mind it sweetheart, mama forgives you [Ooooh! He called me "mama"!!!]
Dummy! Watch your language around my sweet baby!
( ＾∇＾) …!
I respectfully refuse, dear. It's too much fun.( ＾∇＾) …!
(゜▽゜")...?
I will kick your non-existent ass.
I'll support that *yawn* action -zzzz-I will kick your non-existent ass.
＼(★ ∇ ★)／
Bestie!!!
Heeeey… *yawn* -zzzz-Bestie!!!
Morning luv. Awake already?
M'be -zzzz- not.
…I don't think she's quite there yet… But soon! Party with my bestie inbound!!
…? ੧(❛▿❛✿)੭
Of course you're invited too, sweetheart! Family party!
So, am I-…? ੧(❛▿❛✿)੭
Of course you're invited too, sweetheart! Family party!
No.
No.!... (●⌒∇⌒●)
Gah! Oh well. Awake soon then?Moment's coming *yawn* soon. Goin' back t'sleep -zzzz-
I'll be your pillow! Wait for meeee~
…! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°
…? ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ
Hm? Sure you can. Just have one be "mama" and the other "mum". There's also "mommy", "mami", "mom", or even-…! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°
…? ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ
…! (*⌒▽⌒*)θ～♪
-Geh! He-eeeck no! I'm not a "papa"! I'm a cool uncle!…Aaaaaand he's gone. *sigh* Screw my not-life.
…Hell if those aren't interesting times, though.
Harry Potter POV
It was official. This Professor's Song just felt wrong.
Two Songs, one choking the other. Two Songs, one being crushed into near disappearance. Two Songs, one seemingly glaring at him, and at everyone else, and spewing lava -metaphorically- at the entire room and everything in it.
Two Songs, and one of them was just Evil.
As such, Harry made up his mind to go talk to Headmaster Dumbledore about this right after lunch today, and explain everything to him like he did with Professor Snape, about the Song of the World. Perhaps he would get them both in the same room? It could only help with… Whatever that was, he imagined.
…Still, that tickling hex was interesting, if nothing else. Who knew that you could make someone laugh with a well-placed vibrato?
Author's note:
That felt longer than it actually is. Oh well.
(What was that about not seeing Voldie for a while? Shhhh... The author does not lie. Ever.)
Last edited:
Chapter 11 - The Beginning of the End
zellat451
Learning a foreign language with NF - Happy
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Chapter 11 - The Beginning of the End
Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts, right after lunch on September 6th
Albus Dumbledore POV
Albus was sitting in his office chair, a young boy sitting across from him, and a handsome man standing close to them both. There was potential for a good joke in there, but the time was not to laugh, but to think.
Harry Potter had just come to him and Severus, to tell him more in detail about his gifts, and warn him that something was wrong about their professor of defence against the dark arts.
This made Ablus realise that, after all, the Philosopher's Tune plan would no longer be needed. The confrontation was unnecessary. He only needed to tell everything to him, right here, right now, and the boy would already see Lord Voldemort as an enemy. He already had a reason to, given what he saw of him.
"Severus," he began. "Go to prepare for your fourth-year potions class. I will handle things here."
With a nod, Severus left, headed to the third-floor corridor. He had no class to give today, after all. This was merely code to send him as a lookout with Minerva, just in case.
As the door echoed shut, and silence fell over the room, Albus pushed himself to the back of his very comfortable chair, mulling over his thoughts. Then, having decided on where to begin, he opened his mouth.
"There was once a man." began the Headmaster. "A very handsome and charismatic wizard, named Gellert Grindelwald."
Harry Potter POV
Harry Potter admired the headmaster's office from the inside for the very first time. The entrance itself was a great prelude for what was to come. A gargoyle that only moved if you agreed to a dance-off against it? Brilliant!
The office itself was very… sparkly. Lots of light, lots of spinning trinkets making all kinds of chiming sounds in a beautiful symphony, and lots of colours everywhere. That room was undoubtedly very Albus Dumbleore.
Professor Snape was stalking silently and handsomely by his side, giving appreciative glances all around. It seemed that no one really got used to that office.
The pretty, flaming bird in the room was the cherry on top. He -the Song said so- was very bright in the World, and apparently very thrilled to see Harry as well. He couldn't help but smile at the symphony of wind instruments playing across the room, all originating from this one bird, and whistle along. The bird whistled back.
They stayed that way, supporting each other in their melodies, and eventually the Sorting Crown joined in while beatboxing. He was sitting on top of a shelf the whole time, apparently.
As such the three musicians spent their time, musicking along, silently observed by Severus -who had started to dance along to their song because why not-, until the Headmaster arrived.
Harry had explained a lot of things to the old man. About the Song of the World that he heard, about the feelings that he could hear in it, about the Tracks that he was beginning to observe as well…
About the demon in Quirrell's head.
And the Headmaster listened, feeling a bit tense in the Song, but also resigned. Then, he sent away professor Snape, and started speaking.
Harry Potter had learned a bit of Magical history in his off time, but not much. He learned a bit about the First Magical War, headed by Grindlewald, but he didn't know that the Headmaster was the one to end him. He hadn't known of the true horrors of the war after that one, though he had a good idea. He hadn't known that it had all started on the whims of a child named Tom Riddle, his seemingly common name hiding the horrors he would later unleash. And he hadn't known about the existence of-
"Prophecy?" he blurted out.
The Headmaster nodded, and continued. "A prophecy. A true prophecy, like there are few in this world. They are binding, Harry, down to the last word." he spoke, sounding resigned.
"But," followed Harry, "it's the future! No one can tell that. How would they know? Where do they even come from?" he insisted, confused and slightly worried about his free-will.
"Magic," answered the Headmaster with a sad smile, "the Song, the gods, the World. Whatever you wish to call it. Its words are final and true all the same."
After a moment of silence, Dumbledore continued, "The prophecy I received that day was as such. The one with the power to vanquish the Dread Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dread Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dread Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dread Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
His voice echoed a bit in the room, in the Song, and Harry could feel it. The words were not words, they were truth, a statement of Fact.
After a few seconds to let him process this, Harry spoke, "Then, that's why he went after…"
The Headmaster nodded. "Indeed. Although Tom had only learned of the first part of that prophecy, he still set out to destroy the danger to his life. And you were born on July 31st just a few months after, to a family who had thrice faced him in battle."
Harry nodded, dejected. He'd been the reason why his parents were dead, after all-
"Not to say, of course, that any of this was your fault, Harry." the Headmaster cut off his thoughts. "Tom would have gone after them all the same eventually. They did, after all, fight against him willingly."
With a gulp in his dry throat, and a not quite immediate acceptance of that fact despite the Song supporting the statement, Harry nodded his head and voiced out a point that confused him.
"But sir, isn't Voldemort dead already?" Because that was the point of his title as the Boy-Who-Lived, wasn't it? He lived, and Voldemort didn't.
The Headmaster shaking his head gravely brought him a slight sense of dread, "I'm afraid that it isn't quite simple, Harry. You see, Tom was ironically deathly afraid of death. He would have taken measures against it. And your warning from earlier ascertained things for me."
Harry already knew the answer to that, in truth. That the answer was a resounding no. He had felt the direction in which the discussion was going for a while already.
"Then, Professor Quirell, is he like Professor Snape?" he asked for confirmation "Is that feeling of hate the Dark Mark? Is it still there because Voldemort didn't die?"
Again, Albus Dumbledore shook his head and answered, "I'm afraid not, Harry. Quirinus has never been a Death Eater, or Marked indeed. I was suspecting he was an agent of Voldemort's at first, but…"
The old man trailed off, sending him a look of seriousness "I am certain now that he is possessed by Voldemort himself."
Harry could feel himself pale a bit. He had spent an entire class session with a Dread Lord in the room. His friends had spent an entire class session with a Dread Lord in the room. There was a Dread Lord in the bloody castle.
A cough from the old man snapped him out of his thoughts, as he spoke "Worry not, young Harry, I have already decided on what course to take. But first, I need to tell you quite a few more things."
As the Headmaster continued to speak, Harry realised that he had been preparing for the return of the Dread Lord Voldemort for a while. Namely, by sending Harry to an abusive environment in order to let him develop his magic further.
Yes, it was also the best possible place to protect him, but that thought was secondary in the Headmaster's mind at the time.
Harry tried, very hard, to be angry at that. But, honestly, it wasn't so bad. The Dursleys had stopped bothering him quickly after he got the reputation of being an insane child. They provided for him, however little, and though he didn't have friends before he did now.
Also, the genuine regret and shame in the old man's Song was enough to make one reevaluate their stance on him. So, he decided to, while not forgive him for it so soon, definitely understand and respect his past decisions to give them all the best chances of survival.
With a nod of acknowledgement on Harry's stance on the matter, and no small amount of relief, Albus continued on with his explanation on his preparations for Destiny. Mainly, he admitted that there was something very precious in the castle that Voldemort would want, and that he aimed to use it as a way to either fulfil the prophecy, or test out the waters.
"Does that have anything to do with that thing Hagrid picked up in Gringotts?" interrupted Harry, feeling a bit like Sherlock Holmes.
The headmaster's grin was all the answer he needed, but he gave out more anyway. "Indeed." he said "A gift from an old friend of mine. I think they'd rather remain anonymous for the time being, if you'll excuse me."
At Harry's nod, Dumbledore wrapped up the conversation. "Now then, before we do anything more, I must warn you about Tom." he said.
"We do not know how he escaped death that night, although we suspect that it had to do with that Dark Mark of his. As such, we cannot plan for Tom's defeat until we find out." Harry nodded in understanding. Though it might seem like the obvious explanation, it could be really stupid to make plans hinging on that and find out that it was all wrong from the start.
"On top of that, should the Dark Mark be implicated, it is close to twenty magicals that we would need to kill in order to rid the world of it, Severus included, as well as who knows how many more muggles across the world." the Headmaster said, gravely. "It simply isn't an option. We need to find a way to remove the Mark, not the Marked."
And Harry agreed with that. Killing victims was just wrong, he'd rather they didn't do that. Also, who would know if Voldemort had Marked someone in, like, Egypt? Would they have to wait until he came back, again, to find out?
That just wasn't practical. Nor a solution.
"Secondly," he continued "the power the Dread Lord knows not is obviously this ability of yours to listen to the Song of everything." Harry nodded. "It seems to be developing greatly, although you are not sure why. Simply try to find out more about it, as you have so far." he said with a smile.
"And lastly, I urge you to learn as many spells as you can." the Headmaster shook his head slowly, radiating amusement and irony. "I once thought they would be useless in the face of Magic, but it seems that, with the World supporting your spells as it has that Lumos of yours," he looked at Harry with a laugh in his eyes, a rainbow-coloured eyebrow quirking up, "even Tom's Magic may have a hard time matching your power."
Harry nodded furiously. That made sense, and he rather liked living. He promised to himself to hit the library soon, and learn from Hermione where he could in the near future.
"Now then," said the Headmaster, standing up. "Why don't you go back to your friends, Mister Potter? Since most of my plans are now useless, I have a situation to take care of."
They both went towards the exit, the Headmaster reaching the door before him, but he stopped for a moment longer, "Oh! And do try to keep away from the third-floor corridor. That one with the dancing armours. Yes, I expect a snake to be baited there later in the day. I wouldn't want my students getting caught up in that."
With a short nod as an answer, Harry followed the old man out, and then set off in the direction of the library, thinking all the while that he'd never realised that he had apparently already broken the school rules by accident.
Oh well, maybe the dancing armours would still be there after this debacle? He would love another mediaeval party.
Lord Voldemort POV
Quirinus Quirrell, A.K.A. the current incarnation of the Great and Powerful Dread Lord Voldemort, was currently sitting in a chair, at a round table, surrounded by his fellow Professors, and Wormtail tucked in his robes.
It was now the evening of the first Friday of the school year, and as for all Friday evenings, it was time for a weekly school staff gathering.
As Filius opened his mouth, probably because it was his turn to start off, he was cut off by Dumbledore raising his hand. "A moment, if you would. I have an announcement to make."
As most everyone showed frowns of worry on their faces, the Headmaster smiled and continued. "It is my pleasure to announce that the protections over the Philosopher's Tune are now unnecessary!"
What.
"Nicolas contacted me earlier today, and decided that he and Perenelle would rather see it destroyed, after all."
What.
"As such, before anything this evening, most of us will be descending down to the third floor corridor, taking down the traps, and destroying a pretty rock."
WHAT.
"Our students will be thus free to wander this part of the school freely once again, and will be all the safer for it."
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!?
Lord Voldemort could feel his blood boiling in rage as Albus goatfucker Dumbledore announced the abrupt end to one of his ingenious plans to support and better his resurrection system.
Sure, it wasn't his main reason to come to the castle, but this was far more important than a mere Prophecy! After all, he'd declared the Philosopher's Tune as his, and no one robbed the Dread Lord Voldemort of what was his!!
"As such, Severus, Filius, Minerva, Quirinus, Rubeus, Pomona, please follow me. We will be taking care of that first thing." he wrapped up with a nod, and stood from his chair.
Feeling an apoplectic level of anger that he simply wouldn't show upon his face, Lord Voldemort stood and followed along with the others, his mind speeding through plans to salvage the situation. To let the stone be destroyed, keep his cover, and later attempt to take the Prophecy from the seer? Or to attempt to steal the Tune and leave? And how?
They soon reached the corridor, armours standing on both sides in rows, covering the walls. They stood, as some pulled out instruments, and the party started. Hagrid led, joined by Dumbledore, Pomona, and Minerva, as Filius, Severus, and Voldemort himself simply stood by and watched.
As the song went on and on, as the party moved back and forth, the walls stretched, ever so slowly. Then, after a full ten minutes of dancing, the corridor was now a full room, a double-sided door standing proudly against the wall on the right, previously hidden inside of it.
Voldemort just kept on making and discarding plans at great speed as they walked through it into a large room.
Ah, Pomona's trial, given the door on the other side with a Devil's Snare laying on it. The particularities of this Magical plant? It held a great fondness for beating any kind of drum in its reach, and using anything as mallets to beat into them.
The plant was currently beating at all the walls, tentacles growing ever closer to them and threatening to capture them and use them all as beating implements.
The solution to this one would be simple, but once again require multiple participants. The Devil's Snare could be pushed back simply by singing with multiple people, all harmonising their voices with each other.
Pomona held a resounding Do, which was quickly joined by Filius' own an octave higher, and Hagrid's an octave lower. They quickly shuffled through the tentacles now trying to avoid them, and went through the door to the next room. Filius' trial.
Keys. Flying keys everywhere. As Lord Voldemort considered having Wormtail, still in his robes, ambush everyone in the last room as a distraction, he joined Severus and Dumbledore in making a shield at their request.
Severus sang a jolly refrain, creating the base of the shield. Dumbledore danced a quick and agile tap dance, as Lord Voldemort beat on his chest and stomped his feet on the ground, both acting as amplifiers. During this, Filius took up one of the flying surfboards on a wall, and set off after the keys, laughing as he performed a beautiful aerial dance around the flying attackers, and catching his target in the middle of an aerial triple axel.
They all quickly shuffled through the door to the next trial. Minerva had taken great care to set up a dance floor spanning the entire room, a large number of statues blocking the exit. They would need to defeat that troupe of stone in a dance-off to pass.
Lord Voldemort, quite annoyed with all of this and running out of possibilities for his plans, started singing and clapping his hands loudly, blasting the entire room to hell and back.
As the pieces of stone and dust settled on the ground, the room now empty and the way clear, everyone turned to stare at him.
"What?" he fired, annoyed. "We still have a gathering to finish after this, and some of us have class to prepare for in just a few hours, like Aurora."
With a sharp turn, he started walking towards the next room, the others following after a second. It was time for his trial now. The Ballet Dancing Trolls.
They barely entered before Severus copied his previous move, and they all were staring at battered and bloody trolls, crashed into the room's walls.
The handsome man merely curled an eyebrow, as the others stared at him. Dumbledore dejectedly put down the foot he'd raised in preparation of a dance-off, and Voldemort smirked in amusement. He always did enjoy Severus' sense of humour.
They proceeded to the next trial, Severus', and Lord Voldemort was still out of plans. There, potions laid on a table in order, separated only by sizes, shapes and colours, a sheet of paper sitting in front of each. Fire suddenly burned, cutting off both their exit and their way forward.
According to the paper sitting on the table, they would need to read the poem associated with each potion, and deduce their use from that.
Severus ignored all of that, walked up to a wall, and slid out a piece of it, uncovering a cache of potions. Many doses would allow a way back, only a few a way forward.
With a nod, Dumbledore approached, drank from a potion, and said "I will take care of the Tune myself. All of you walk back now." Then, he proceeded forward, to Voldemort's joy.
This was it. This was his chance! With only Dumbledore to deal with, he could actually get the Philosopher's Tune and rush out!
With a smirk, he watched as all of the others took their dose and walked out one by one. He lingered behind, setting himself up as the last to drink, and took the potion to go forward, before instructing still-transformed Wormtail to do the same.
Then, he rushed through the fire.
Lord Voldemort arrived in a large and empty room filled with pillars on the sides, Wormtail following him as a rat, hiding close to the walls. There, in the middle of the room, was Albus Dumbledore… seemingly waiting for him.
"Well, Quirinus." He started, smiling. "What brings you here? Shouldn't you be out with the others?"
He knew. He knew. Somehow, that damned old man knew from the start! This was a trap!
"Shut it, Dumbledore." Voldemort snarled. "I don't know how you realised it… But it doesn't matter. Give me the Philosopher's Tune! You cannot win against me!" He snapped his fingers and tapped his foot as preparation for a fight.
The rainbow-bearded old man simply stayed in place, smiling, and thumbing the Elder Baton in his hand. "I'm afraid, Tom," Voldemort ground his teeth at the damned name. "That it isn't quite so simple. You see, the Philosopher's Tune, as of nearly seven hours ago, has ceased to exist."
The news, and the messenger that delivered it, caused his rage to reach unprecedented levels. His trinket had been robbed from him a while ago, and he never knew. His plans were put into jeopardy for nothing. And now, he would have to defeat Albus Dumbledore in a fight and leave Hogwarts with nothing to show for it.
With a murderous shout, the Dread Lord Voldemort stomped his foot on the ground, hard. A stream of fire shot out towards the Headmaster. The old man answered by grandly gesturing with an arm from left to right, turning half a turn on his heels, creating a large bubble of water as a shield.
"You have regressed, Tom." noted the old man, mocking him. "I see that your means of resurrection has its consequences."
"Enough!" he snarled. "I am the Dread Lord Voldemort! Greatest Wizard in history! I am powerful, I am great!" he raised his voice in rage. "I have discovered the Path to Immortality and controlled the Song of the World! And with my Dark Mark, I! AM! ETERNAL!" he shouted out to his enemy.
"Ha! Ha! Haaaa!" continued the Dread Lord, punching out two more streams of fire as a three-headed snake, and controlling them to coil around his enemy by holding the note. His repeated stomping became lighter and lighter, preparing for a switch in style.
Dumbledore merely kept spinning and spinning, each spin doing something different. His water shield was being sustained, the floor turned into ice, the fire snakes were being diverted away from him.
Voldemort switched over to a flamenco dance. Quickly clapping his hands and agilely stomping his feet on the ground to imitate a percussive instrument. As the Magic picked up the clapping for him and added a guitar, he started moving quickly across the room, singing in spanish all the while. Bursts of fire followed every step, cutting winds were launched by every arm movement, crushing shockwaves were fired by every word, shattering the ice below.
Dumbledore retaliated with a cheerleading dance. Summoning a drum to his waist, the Elder Baton began beating and spinning around. Lights of many colours flew around the room with every shouted letter of the word "Hogwarts", water shields appeared to deflect every attack away and back to the sender with every spin of the Baton, and order and stability were re-established with every coordinated stomp of a foot.
Dumbledore was defending, Voldemort was attacking. Dumbledore failed to put a single scratch on his enemy, Voldemort had already caused many cuts to the Headmaster, shedding his blood and ruining his colourful robes and hair.
And yet, Voldemort was losing. He was dripping blood all over the floor. He could feel his organs failing. His movements were slowing down by the second. The magic failed to support him any longer.
Because he failed to support the magic. Because Quirinus Quirrell was not Lord Voldemort's true body. Because using so much magic in so little time in his current state was killing him.
Albus Dumbledore wasn't fighting back, but Voldemort was losing anyway. And they both knew it.
As their dances trailed to a stop, both of them hurt and battered, Voldemort glared towards the old man as his body disintegrated, his soul flying freely once again. And, with an earth-shaking scream of rage, he flew away.
Or at least, so it seemed.
Using his connection to the Dark Mark network, Lord Voldemort directly took over Wormtail's mind, the rat still hiding in a corner of the room, and then silently waited.
He watched silently as Dumbledore verified his death and walked away, and then set off to do a few things.
Yes, that plan was ruined, and things went rather pear-shaped, but he was now in possession of vital components for one of his other plans.
The forcibly-taken blood of Dumbledore, his enemy, was laying on the ground. The bones of his muggle father were sitting in a grave somewhere in Little Hangleton. And he was now possessing the living body, the flesh, of his servant.
Yes… When the idiots finished clearing out the trials, when the way out was open and safe in just a few hours, Lord Voldemort would set off towards Little Hangleton, find himself a cauldron, and perform a ritual.
And then, and then, the world would know terror once again!
Author's note:
The author doesn't think it's going to go on for much longer.
Like, one more week in the timeline at this rate.
Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts, right after lunch on September 6th
Albus Dumbledore POV
Albus was sitting in his office chair, a young boy sitting across from him, and a handsome man standing close to them both. There was potential for a good joke in there, but the time was not to laugh, but to think.
Harry Potter had just come to him and Severus, to tell him more in detail about his gifts, and warn him that something was wrong about their professor of defence against the dark arts.
This made Ablus realise that, after all, the Philosopher's Tune plan would no longer be needed. The confrontation was unnecessary. He only needed to tell everything to him, right here, right now, and the boy would already see Lord Voldemort as an enemy. He already had a reason to, given what he saw of him.
"Severus," he began. "Go to prepare for your fourth-year potions class. I will handle things here."
With a nod, Severus left, headed to the third-floor corridor. He had no class to give today, after all. This was merely code to send him as a lookout with Minerva, just in case.
As the door echoed shut, and silence fell over the room, Albus pushed himself to the back of his very comfortable chair, mulling over his thoughts. Then, having decided on where to begin, he opened his mouth.
"There was once a man." began the Headmaster. "A very handsome and charismatic wizard, named Gellert Grindelwald."
Harry Potter POV
Harry Potter admired the headmaster's office from the inside for the very first time. The entrance itself was a great prelude for what was to come. A gargoyle that only moved if you agreed to a dance-off against it? Brilliant!
The office itself was very… sparkly. Lots of light, lots of spinning trinkets making all kinds of chiming sounds in a beautiful symphony, and lots of colours everywhere. That room was undoubtedly very Albus Dumbleore.
Professor Snape was stalking silently and handsomely by his side, giving appreciative glances all around. It seemed that no one really got used to that office.
The pretty, flaming bird in the room was the cherry on top. He -the Song said so- was very bright in the World, and apparently very thrilled to see Harry as well. He couldn't help but smile at the symphony of wind instruments playing across the room, all originating from this one bird, and whistle along. The bird whistled back.
They stayed that way, supporting each other in their melodies, and eventually the Sorting Crown joined in while beatboxing. He was sitting on top of a shelf the whole time, apparently.
As such the three musicians spent their time, musicking along, silently observed by Severus -who had started to dance along to their song because why not-, until the Headmaster arrived.
Harry had explained a lot of things to the old man. About the Song of the World that he heard, about the feelings that he could hear in it, about the Tracks that he was beginning to observe as well…
About the demon in Quirrell's head.
And the Headmaster listened, feeling a bit tense in the Song, but also resigned. Then, he sent away professor Snape, and started speaking.
Harry Potter had learned a bit of Magical history in his off time, but not much. He learned a bit about the First Magical War, headed by Grindlewald, but he didn't know that the Headmaster was the one to end him. He hadn't known of the true horrors of the war after that one, though he had a good idea. He hadn't known that it had all started on the whims of a child named Tom Riddle, his seemingly common name hiding the horrors he would later unleash. And he hadn't known about the existence of-
"Prophecy?" he blurted out.
The Headmaster nodded, and continued. "A prophecy. A true prophecy, like there are few in this world. They are binding, Harry, down to the last word." he spoke, sounding resigned.
"But," followed Harry, "it's the future! No one can tell that. How would they know? Where do they even come from?" he insisted, confused and slightly worried about his free-will.
"Magic," answered the Headmaster with a sad smile, "the Song, the gods, the World. Whatever you wish to call it. Its words are final and true all the same."
After a moment of silence, Dumbledore continued, "The prophecy I received that day was as such. The one with the power to vanquish the Dread Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dread Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dread Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dread Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
His voice echoed a bit in the room, in the Song, and Harry could feel it. The words were not words, they were truth, a statement of Fact.
After a few seconds to let him process this, Harry spoke, "Then, that's why he went after…"
The Headmaster nodded. "Indeed. Although Tom had only learned of the first part of that prophecy, he still set out to destroy the danger to his life. And you were born on July 31st just a few months after, to a family who had thrice faced him in battle."
Harry nodded, dejected. He'd been the reason why his parents were dead, after all-
"Not to say, of course, that any of this was your fault, Harry." the Headmaster cut off his thoughts. "Tom would have gone after them all the same eventually. They did, after all, fight against him willingly."
With a gulp in his dry throat, and a not quite immediate acceptance of that fact despite the Song supporting the statement, Harry nodded his head and voiced out a point that confused him.
"But sir, isn't Voldemort dead already?" Because that was the point of his title as the Boy-Who-Lived, wasn't it? He lived, and Voldemort didn't.
The Headmaster shaking his head gravely brought him a slight sense of dread, "I'm afraid that it isn't quite simple, Harry. You see, Tom was ironically deathly afraid of death. He would have taken measures against it. And your warning from earlier ascertained things for me."
Harry already knew the answer to that, in truth. That the answer was a resounding no. He had felt the direction in which the discussion was going for a while already.
"Then, Professor Quirell, is he like Professor Snape?" he asked for confirmation "Is that feeling of hate the Dark Mark? Is it still there because Voldemort didn't die?"
Again, Albus Dumbledore shook his head and answered, "I'm afraid not, Harry. Quirinus has never been a Death Eater, or Marked indeed. I was suspecting he was an agent of Voldemort's at first, but…"
The old man trailed off, sending him a look of seriousness "I am certain now that he is possessed by Voldemort himself."
Harry could feel himself pale a bit. He had spent an entire class session with a Dread Lord in the room. His friends had spent an entire class session with a Dread Lord in the room. There was a Dread Lord in the bloody castle.
A cough from the old man snapped him out of his thoughts, as he spoke "Worry not, young Harry, I have already decided on what course to take. But first, I need to tell you quite a few more things."
As the Headmaster continued to speak, Harry realised that he had been preparing for the return of the Dread Lord Voldemort for a while. Namely, by sending Harry to an abusive environment in order to let him develop his magic further.
Yes, it was also the best possible place to protect him, but that thought was secondary in the Headmaster's mind at the time.
Harry tried, very hard, to be angry at that. But, honestly, it wasn't so bad. The Dursleys had stopped bothering him quickly after he got the reputation of being an insane child. They provided for him, however little, and though he didn't have friends before he did now.
Also, the genuine regret and shame in the old man's Song was enough to make one reevaluate their stance on him. So, he decided to, while not forgive him for it so soon, definitely understand and respect his past decisions to give them all the best chances of survival.
With a nod of acknowledgement on Harry's stance on the matter, and no small amount of relief, Albus continued on with his explanation on his preparations for Destiny. Mainly, he admitted that there was something very precious in the castle that Voldemort would want, and that he aimed to use it as a way to either fulfil the prophecy, or test out the waters.
"Does that have anything to do with that thing Hagrid picked up in Gringotts?" interrupted Harry, feeling a bit like Sherlock Holmes.
The headmaster's grin was all the answer he needed, but he gave out more anyway. "Indeed." he said "A gift from an old friend of mine. I think they'd rather remain anonymous for the time being, if you'll excuse me."
At Harry's nod, Dumbledore wrapped up the conversation. "Now then, before we do anything more, I must warn you about Tom." he said.
"We do not know how he escaped death that night, although we suspect that it had to do with that Dark Mark of his. As such, we cannot plan for Tom's defeat until we find out." Harry nodded in understanding. Though it might seem like the obvious explanation, it could be really stupid to make plans hinging on that and find out that it was all wrong from the start.
"On top of that, should the Dark Mark be implicated, it is close to twenty magicals that we would need to kill in order to rid the world of it, Severus included, as well as who knows how many more muggles across the world." the Headmaster said, gravely. "It simply isn't an option. We need to find a way to remove the Mark, not the Marked."
And Harry agreed with that. Killing victims was just wrong, he'd rather they didn't do that. Also, who would know if Voldemort had Marked someone in, like, Egypt? Would they have to wait until he came back, again, to find out?
That just wasn't practical. Nor a solution.
"Secondly," he continued "the power the Dread Lord knows not is obviously this ability of yours to listen to the Song of everything." Harry nodded. "It seems to be developing greatly, although you are not sure why. Simply try to find out more about it, as you have so far." he said with a smile.
"And lastly, I urge you to learn as many spells as you can." the Headmaster shook his head slowly, radiating amusement and irony. "I once thought they would be useless in the face of Magic, but it seems that, with the World supporting your spells as it has that Lumos of yours," he looked at Harry with a laugh in his eyes, a rainbow-coloured eyebrow quirking up, "even Tom's Magic may have a hard time matching your power."
Harry nodded furiously. That made sense, and he rather liked living. He promised to himself to hit the library soon, and learn from Hermione where he could in the near future.
"Now then," said the Headmaster, standing up. "Why don't you go back to your friends, Mister Potter? Since most of my plans are now useless, I have a situation to take care of."
They both went towards the exit, the Headmaster reaching the door before him, but he stopped for a moment longer, "Oh! And do try to keep away from the third-floor corridor. That one with the dancing armours. Yes, I expect a snake to be baited there later in the day. I wouldn't want my students getting caught up in that."
With a short nod as an answer, Harry followed the old man out, and then set off in the direction of the library, thinking all the while that he'd never realised that he had apparently already broken the school rules by accident.
Oh well, maybe the dancing armours would still be there after this debacle? He would love another mediaeval party.
Lord Voldemort POV
Quirinus Quirrell, A.K.A. the current incarnation of the Great and Powerful Dread Lord Voldemort, was currently sitting in a chair, at a round table, surrounded by his fellow Professors, and Wormtail tucked in his robes.
It was now the evening of the first Friday of the school year, and as for all Friday evenings, it was time for a weekly school staff gathering.
As Filius opened his mouth, probably because it was his turn to start off, he was cut off by Dumbledore raising his hand. "A moment, if you would. I have an announcement to make."
As most everyone showed frowns of worry on their faces, the Headmaster smiled and continued. "It is my pleasure to announce that the protections over the Philosopher's Tune are now unnecessary!"
What.
"Nicolas contacted me earlier today, and decided that he and Perenelle would rather see it destroyed, after all."
What.
"As such, before anything this evening, most of us will be descending down to the third floor corridor, taking down the traps, and destroying a pretty rock."
WHAT.
"Our students will be thus free to wander this part of the school freely once again, and will be all the safer for it."
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!?
Lord Voldemort could feel his blood boiling in rage as Albus goatfucker Dumbledore announced the abrupt end to one of his ingenious plans to support and better his resurrection system.
Sure, it wasn't his main reason to come to the castle, but this was far more important than a mere Prophecy! After all, he'd declared the Philosopher's Tune as his, and no one robbed the Dread Lord Voldemort of what was his!!
"As such, Severus, Filius, Minerva, Quirinus, Rubeus, Pomona, please follow me. We will be taking care of that first thing." he wrapped up with a nod, and stood from his chair.
Feeling an apoplectic level of anger that he simply wouldn't show upon his face, Lord Voldemort stood and followed along with the others, his mind speeding through plans to salvage the situation. To let the stone be destroyed, keep his cover, and later attempt to take the Prophecy from the seer? Or to attempt to steal the Tune and leave? And how?
They soon reached the corridor, armours standing on both sides in rows, covering the walls. They stood, as some pulled out instruments, and the party started. Hagrid led, joined by Dumbledore, Pomona, and Minerva, as Filius, Severus, and Voldemort himself simply stood by and watched.
As the song went on and on, as the party moved back and forth, the walls stretched, ever so slowly. Then, after a full ten minutes of dancing, the corridor was now a full room, a double-sided door standing proudly against the wall on the right, previously hidden inside of it.
Voldemort just kept on making and discarding plans at great speed as they walked through it into a large room.
Ah, Pomona's trial, given the door on the other side with a Devil's Snare laying on it. The particularities of this Magical plant? It held a great fondness for beating any kind of drum in its reach, and using anything as mallets to beat into them.
The plant was currently beating at all the walls, tentacles growing ever closer to them and threatening to capture them and use them all as beating implements.
The solution to this one would be simple, but once again require multiple participants. The Devil's Snare could be pushed back simply by singing with multiple people, all harmonising their voices with each other.
Pomona held a resounding Do, which was quickly joined by Filius' own an octave higher, and Hagrid's an octave lower. They quickly shuffled through the tentacles now trying to avoid them, and went through the door to the next room. Filius' trial.
Keys. Flying keys everywhere. As Lord Voldemort considered having Wormtail, still in his robes, ambush everyone in the last room as a distraction, he joined Severus and Dumbledore in making a shield at their request.
Severus sang a jolly refrain, creating the base of the shield. Dumbledore danced a quick and agile tap dance, as Lord Voldemort beat on his chest and stomped his feet on the ground, both acting as amplifiers. During this, Filius took up one of the flying surfboards on a wall, and set off after the keys, laughing as he performed a beautiful aerial dance around the flying attackers, and catching his target in the middle of an aerial triple axel.
They all quickly shuffled through the door to the next trial. Minerva had taken great care to set up a dance floor spanning the entire room, a large number of statues blocking the exit. They would need to defeat that troupe of stone in a dance-off to pass.
Lord Voldemort, quite annoyed with all of this and running out of possibilities for his plans, started singing and clapping his hands loudly, blasting the entire room to hell and back.
As the pieces of stone and dust settled on the ground, the room now empty and the way clear, everyone turned to stare at him.
"What?" he fired, annoyed. "We still have a gathering to finish after this, and some of us have class to prepare for in just a few hours, like Aurora."
With a sharp turn, he started walking towards the next room, the others following after a second. It was time for his trial now. The Ballet Dancing Trolls.
They barely entered before Severus copied his previous move, and they all were staring at battered and bloody trolls, crashed into the room's walls.
The handsome man merely curled an eyebrow, as the others stared at him. Dumbledore dejectedly put down the foot he'd raised in preparation of a dance-off, and Voldemort smirked in amusement. He always did enjoy Severus' sense of humour.
They proceeded to the next trial, Severus', and Lord Voldemort was still out of plans. There, potions laid on a table in order, separated only by sizes, shapes and colours, a sheet of paper sitting in front of each. Fire suddenly burned, cutting off both their exit and their way forward.
According to the paper sitting on the table, they would need to read the poem associated with each potion, and deduce their use from that.
Severus ignored all of that, walked up to a wall, and slid out a piece of it, uncovering a cache of potions. Many doses would allow a way back, only a few a way forward.
With a nod, Dumbledore approached, drank from a potion, and said "I will take care of the Tune myself. All of you walk back now." Then, he proceeded forward, to Voldemort's joy.
This was it. This was his chance! With only Dumbledore to deal with, he could actually get the Philosopher's Tune and rush out!
With a smirk, he watched as all of the others took their dose and walked out one by one. He lingered behind, setting himself up as the last to drink, and took the potion to go forward, before instructing still-transformed Wormtail to do the same.
Then, he rushed through the fire.
Lord Voldemort arrived in a large and empty room filled with pillars on the sides, Wormtail following him as a rat, hiding close to the walls. There, in the middle of the room, was Albus Dumbledore… seemingly waiting for him.
"Well, Quirinus." He started, smiling. "What brings you here? Shouldn't you be out with the others?"
He knew. He knew. Somehow, that damned old man knew from the start! This was a trap!
"Shut it, Dumbledore." Voldemort snarled. "I don't know how you realised it… But it doesn't matter. Give me the Philosopher's Tune! You cannot win against me!" He snapped his fingers and tapped his foot as preparation for a fight.
The rainbow-bearded old man simply stayed in place, smiling, and thumbing the Elder Baton in his hand. "I'm afraid, Tom," Voldemort ground his teeth at the damned name. "That it isn't quite so simple. You see, the Philosopher's Tune, as of nearly seven hours ago, has ceased to exist."
The news, and the messenger that delivered it, caused his rage to reach unprecedented levels. His trinket had been robbed from him a while ago, and he never knew. His plans were put into jeopardy for nothing. And now, he would have to defeat Albus Dumbledore in a fight and leave Hogwarts with nothing to show for it.
With a murderous shout, the Dread Lord Voldemort stomped his foot on the ground, hard. A stream of fire shot out towards the Headmaster. The old man answered by grandly gesturing with an arm from left to right, turning half a turn on his heels, creating a large bubble of water as a shield.
"You have regressed, Tom." noted the old man, mocking him. "I see that your means of resurrection has its consequences."
"Enough!" he snarled. "I am the Dread Lord Voldemort! Greatest Wizard in history! I am powerful, I am great!" he raised his voice in rage. "I have discovered the Path to Immortality and controlled the Song of the World! And with my Dark Mark, I! AM! ETERNAL!" he shouted out to his enemy.
"Ha! Ha! Haaaa!" continued the Dread Lord, punching out two more streams of fire as a three-headed snake, and controlling them to coil around his enemy by holding the note. His repeated stomping became lighter and lighter, preparing for a switch in style.
Dumbledore merely kept spinning and spinning, each spin doing something different. His water shield was being sustained, the floor turned into ice, the fire snakes were being diverted away from him.
Voldemort switched over to a flamenco dance. Quickly clapping his hands and agilely stomping his feet on the ground to imitate a percussive instrument. As the Magic picked up the clapping for him and added a guitar, he started moving quickly across the room, singing in spanish all the while. Bursts of fire followed every step, cutting winds were launched by every arm movement, crushing shockwaves were fired by every word, shattering the ice below.
Dumbledore retaliated with a cheerleading dance. Summoning a drum to his waist, the Elder Baton began beating and spinning around. Lights of many colours flew around the room with every shouted letter of the word "Hogwarts", water shields appeared to deflect every attack away and back to the sender with every spin of the Baton, and order and stability were re-established with every coordinated stomp of a foot.
Dumbledore was defending, Voldemort was attacking. Dumbledore failed to put a single scratch on his enemy, Voldemort had already caused many cuts to the Headmaster, shedding his blood and ruining his colourful robes and hair.
And yet, Voldemort was losing. He was dripping blood all over the floor. He could feel his organs failing. His movements were slowing down by the second. The magic failed to support him any longer.
Because he failed to support the magic. Because Quirinus Quirrell was not Lord Voldemort's true body. Because using so much magic in so little time in his current state was killing him.
Albus Dumbledore wasn't fighting back, but Voldemort was losing anyway. And they both knew it.
As their dances trailed to a stop, both of them hurt and battered, Voldemort glared towards the old man as his body disintegrated, his soul flying freely once again. And, with an earth-shaking scream of rage, he flew away.
Or at least, so it seemed.
Using his connection to the Dark Mark network, Lord Voldemort directly took over Wormtail's mind, the rat still hiding in a corner of the room, and then silently waited.
He watched silently as Dumbledore verified his death and walked away, and then set off to do a few things.
Yes, that plan was ruined, and things went rather pear-shaped, but he was now in possession of vital components for one of his other plans.
The forcibly-taken blood of Dumbledore, his enemy, was laying on the ground. The bones of his muggle father were sitting in a grave somewhere in Little Hangleton. And he was now possessing the living body, the flesh, of his servant.
Yes… When the idiots finished clearing out the trials, when the way out was open and safe in just a few hours, Lord Voldemort would set off towards Little Hangleton, find himself a cauldron, and perform a ritual.
And then, and then, the world would know terror once again!
Author's note:
The author doesn't think it's going to go on for much longer.
Like, one more week in the timeline at this rate.
Last edited:
Chapter 12 - Saturday Swinging
zellat451
Learning a foreign language with NF - Happy
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Chapter 12 - Saturday Swinging
Great Hall, Hogwarts, morning of September 7th (Saturday)
Harry Potter POV
Waking up on a Saturday, all children will tell you, is a torture not wished on one's worst enemy. At least, for children who aren't crazy piano freaks and wake up at 6:30 to practise.
Never change, Hermione. Crazy schedule aside, your rendition of The Circle of Life was nothing short of beautiful.
In fact, this morning could almost be called strange, and by Hogwarts standard at that. Not because of the discussion Harry had with the Headmaster the previous day, not because of the impending visit to the Huff'n'Puff and Ravin'flow Common Rooms just after breakfast, and not because of the missing Dread Lord at the staff table.
No, it was strange because Hedwig, the Owl-Who-Stole-Harry's-Bacon was nowhere to be found. Despite the abundance of eggs, pancakes, and deep-fried heavenly pig flesh on the table, the incarnation of Satan was missing. Somehow, someway, Harry would finally be enjoying a full, entire, non-stolen-from meal for the first time in his Hogwarts histor-
-nevermind, there she was.
Harry quickly saved his poor slice of bacon by shoving it down his throat, as a fluffy white bird descended towards him, a letter tied to her leg.
Who had even used Hedwig to deliver letters? How did they catch her and keep her down long enough to do so?
Taking the letter -letters, plural, actually- from her, and checking quickly for any blood or lonely fingers from unfortunate daredevils, Harry was relieved to find only two short pieces of paper and no pieces of human beings.
So she could be reasoned with, interesting.
Looking away from the owl staring at him, munching at a piece of pancake all the while, Harry turned his attention to the missives, and away from the resounding question of how an owl could munch on anything instead of pecking at it -didn't that require teeth?-.
The first was from Professor Dumbledore, asking to see him today after dinner, that the "password" this time would be to dance the French Cancan, and to bring Professor Snape if he didn't know how. Well, that explained how no fingers were lost on that side. Although he was still curious as to how Hedwig was caught at all. And didn't Fawkes send letters as well?
The second, arguably more importantly, was from his friend Hagrid, who invited him this afternoon after lunch for a showing of that picture book he had put together. Harry wouldn't miss it for anything, and he quickly looked up to smile at the giant, who was of course looking at him and answered with a wink.
Now, when did Hagrid and Hedwig become friends? And how?
Harry was walking alongside all of the Huff'n'Puff House, as they always did, Vincent Crabbe by his side, apparently in the direction of the… dungeons?
"So… the Huff'n'Puff Common Room is next to the Slyther-scene's?" he asked.
"Pretty much." answered Vincent, nonchalant as always. "Same floor, but opposing places I've gathered."
Harry nodded his head in understanding as they passed quite a few other students on their way. The whole of Huff'n'Puff leaving the Great Hall at once of course meant that they had taken quite a bit more time than everyone else.
Already, a few groups of Griff-on-the-floor could be seen trying stunts by backflipping with the aid of a wall, and some Ravin'flows were simply throwing down as they wished while others walked towards who-knows-where, probably searching for a quiet studying / partying place.
In fact, if Harry wasn't mistaken, that was his friend Gregory Goyle just up ahead who had suddenly shown a look of epiphany upon his face, before throwing down his school bag and starting to spin slowly on a heel, tapping his other heel on the ground periodically, grandly waving his arms, and singing in a rather high-pitched voice all the while.
Was that a form of flamenco, or perhaps an Irish tap dance? Regardless, Harry wished him good luck in developing that choreography to the end. He'd love to see it in its entirety, someday.
"We're here." Vincent pointed at Professor Sprout, who had just stopped in front of a set of barrels slotted in a wall, the gaggle of children stopping with her.
She turned around, towards him. "Well, Mister Potter. Since this is your first time here, would you care to give it a try?" she asked, kindly.
Walking forward towards the piled-up wooden containers, Harry answered. "Sure, Professor. What do I need to do?"
She merely grinned, waved a hand towards the barrels, and said, "Oh, whatever you wish! I'm sure you'll find out shortly."
Ominous! Harry loved it.
With a smile, and no small amount of trepidation, Harry walked up to the barrels, which were obviously to key to it all, and decided to lean a bit into the Song of Hogwarts.
Well, the feeling was rather clear. Harry raised a foot, and strongly kicked the lowest barrel in the center. Instead of the expected wooden knock, it is an echoing, bell-like musical note that clearly sounded across the corridor, as the barrels started singing the word "Play! Harmony!" to his senses, each in a different note.
Interesting, and rather obvious. Harry grinned with all his teeth, cracked his knuckles, bounced a bit on his feet, clenched his fists… and started banging with every limb he could spare.
With every knock, he learned a new note on this magical instrument. With every repetition, he got closer to playing an actual song. And eventually, Megalovania sounded clearly on the barrels for a straight minute or three.
With an end to the music, a huffing Harry, and an applause from the surrounding students, the barrels rolled over into each other and into the surrounding wall, disappearing and leaving a wide space for everyone to go through.
And through, Harry went.
Plenty more things happened during Harry's two hours in the Huff'n'Puff House's Common Room. The cathedral was a true wonder to observe, in fact, with its beautiful murals and stained-glass windows detailing the history of Hogwarts.
The kicker, however, was the weekly Huff'n'Puff Choir Practice. In fact, with it being the first week, it would be a first of all First Years, not just Harry!
And so, the Huff'n'Puff House, as one, was walked through the steps and music of their current House Chant, which they would show off during Christmas as per traditions, before preparing another for the end of terms.
The voices of hundreds of students crashed into the walls of the cathedral and linked their spirits together, as they often do. Their steps shook the ground and resounded with the music of their hearts, as they often do.
But Harry saw more. Heard more. Felt more.
He could feel the mass of cheering hearts and willing Songs supporting each other. He could hear words whispered in the wind, some shouted though hurricanes of feelings, none impeding each other, and all working as one. He could feel his own Song reaching out, much like the new arrivals, to support the present mass ever so little, every bit adding to each other.
Pomona Sprout led the dance, she led the song.
Her voice was more than an instrument, more than a tool. Harry could see the threads, the bonds to each and every member of her House. He could feel the loving and guiding hand in every falsetto, the power in every note, the feelings in every octave passed.
Pomona Sprout led the dance, she led the song, but under her guidance, Huff'n'Puff sang as One. And so, Harry made a wish.
The Ravin'flow House, Harry had found, was far quieter than the others. He didn't like the atmosphere.
Not to say that he disliked it, but he was rather a person to display his songs and dances, not hide them behind thick walls. Still, the display put on by that fifth year was impressive indeed. Penelope Clearwater was truly an emotional dancer of great talent.
He'd love to learn some steps from her, sometimes. Unfortunately, she seemed rather taken by her dance, so that would have to wait.
Lunch was a quick affair, with no surprise from a certain bird, and a nice impromptu contest with Ron and his twin brothers over who could limbo the lowest under the table. Strangely enough, it seemed that the table in question had decided to vary its own height accordingly, to the amusement and bother of everyone else eating at it.
Of course, this did not go unnoticed by the Headmaster, nor by their head of House. The former was quick to join in, while the latter accompanied their attempts with a steady and powerful beat.
They did lose 5 points each for disturbing lunch -the Headmaster included, somehow-, but gained 10 each for their dancing skills. All in all, it was a rather nice meal.
What would Professor Dumbledore do with House Points of his own, though?
Harry knocked on a door, which opened nearly immediately.
"Harry! Come in, come in!" greeted a jolly giant.
Harry was currently at Hagrid's hut on the castle grounds, as expected. He was feeling rather nervous at the upcoming discussion, but also very excited.
Hagrid had him sit at his table -Hedwig in tow-, and brought along a cup of tea, a "rock cake", and a large leather-bound book full of moving pictures.
This would be a rather tearful afternoon. Harry suffered as much in feelings as in body, as he nearly cracked his teeth during it. Rock cake indeed. Now if only he could understand how Hedwig could eat the bloody thing without trouble…
Harry learned more of James Potter, the Greatest Dancer in the Halls of Hogwarts in the last century. A title he gained, apparently, due to his position as a chaser in the Hogwarts' Gryff-on-the-floor Quidditch Team. During his games, Harry's father would apparently often perform beautiful and daring aerial dances on his flying surfboard, leaving the audience in awe each and every time. The photos of the multiple events were things to admire, truly.
Harry learned that his mother, Lily Evans, was herself titled the Smartest Witch of the century, being a deft hand at spell creation, Charms especially. Her crowning achievement, or rather the most beautiful one, was a variation of the Lumos charm that lit up ideas. It was still used in the Hogwarts library these days to search for specific books. Harry made up his mind to find it and learn it as soon as possible. Then, to introduce Hermione to it before she killed him for the affront of keeping it to himself for even a second.
One of the most impactful pictures in the photo album was a moving frame of his parent's wedding day. He could see a formal reception, flowers everywhere, his mother in a frilly white dress and his father in a fancy tuxedo, both of them smiling widely and tearing up. He never knew he looked so much like his father, nor that he had his mother's eyes. Both facts were so obvious in this one.
He recognized the Longbottom family rather easily, as Neville apparently looked very similar to his father. He saw quite a number of people in attendance, easily approaching a hundred. How many of them were still alive, Harry wondered.
The photo following this one, a beautiful waltz coming and going on repeat, seemed to have been taken right after they had exchanged their vows. The party was swinging in full. Harry felt the need to dance along.
With Hagrid's help, Harry learned to waltz and spent the rest of the afternoon doing just that, tearfully dancing with his giant friend, a confused dog, and a proud owl.
Truly, today was… A day.
Dinner was one of the few occasions that the entire Hogwarts population would be assembled during the weekend. That was probably also why Professor Dumbledore chose that moment to tap the side of his glass instead of that morning.
The crisp sound echoed clearly across the room, obviously aided by magic, as the old man stood up and waited for silence.
"Students, I must make two announcements for this evening," he started. "Firstly, the third-floor corridor is now free of use and travel once again. All previous dangers have been removed since this morning!"
Professor Dumbledore waited for a bit, ignoring the disappointed groans from the Gryff-on-the-floor table who may have wanted to try their luck at least once, before continuing.
"Additionally, It is my regret to announce that Professor Quirrell was forced to take an extended trip somewhere on the continent, and will as such be unavailable to teach for the remainder of the school year." he said, before following up with a bright smile. "These two events are, of course, completely unrelated."
Harry didn't know if the Headmaster was truly that naive of doing it on purpose, but it was very funny to see Professor McGonagall facepalm, hard, at the announcement. Even Professor Snape seemed to have let an eyebrow twitch out of control for a second, while the other staff members didn't bother hiding either a mouth opened in shock, or an amused snicker.
Still, rumours were now flying around the room about Quirrell's true status and what was hidden in that corridor before it was taken out. Harry had no doubt that they were related, given what he already knew, and was even more certain of what the Headmaster wanted to talk with him about after dinner.
All the while, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with the Headmaster's Song.
Albus Dumbledore POV
With Harry at his seat across his desk, he did not wait to begin.
"I have two good news, and two bad news." he started, fingers interlocked and elbows on his desk. "Which would you like to hear first, Harry?"
The young boy in question seemed to stare at his obviously unnaturally black hand for a second, before answering. "Perhaps we could alternate, sir? Starting with the bad?" he said, hesitantly.
With a grave nod, Albus began. "I am afraid, Mister Potter, that I am running out of Lemon Drops." he indicated the empty bowl on his desk. Truly, these were dark times.
Sparing a grin at his student face-planting on the desk, Albus continued. "More seriously, our fears that the Dark Mark is at the center of Voldermort's immortality were indeed true. He confirmed it himself during our battle." he said, a sigh in his voice.
Harry cringed, apparently expecting that. "So, no easy way out. We'll have to find something, or all these people…" he trailed off.
Albus shook his head, gravely. "I'm afraid this is not so simple anymore. If it ever was at all."
Harry sent him a questioning look, as he took out a pink choker from a desk drawer. A choker marked with a triangle, containing a circle, containing a line.
"This," Albus said, "was rather recently part of a belt. A magical belt, imprinted with none other than the Dark Mark."
The boy's eyes widened, as understanding filled his eyes. "Then, it's not just people… How do we know how many of those things he could have made? Or find them?"
"It is not hopeless," Albus cut in, "but very difficult indeed. Something to ponder over, I suppose."
Harry nodded his head slowly, staring deeply at the Tone of Resurrection, opening his mouth, before choosing to snap it shut and wait. He was apparently waiting for him to finish. Very well, then.
"It does give me a better understanding of how this curse that Tom put over the position of Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts is being maintained." he mused, thoughtful. "I don't suppose you could try and use Severus' Dark Mark as a reference within the Song of the World to try and track similar objects within Hogwarts itself?" he asked, looking at the boy, who nodded slowly. "Better not touch them, of course, but if we could get rid of that curse..." he shrugged. All the better on his school budget if that panned out. Otherwise, well, they had dealt with it for decades, now. They would last a few more.
"The good news is," Albus said a bit more jovially, "Tom now believes that very important object I spoke of to be destroyed. He will no longer be able to use it as a means to further his immortality, as he will not be searching for it anymore. Also, his last body, Quirinus, has been destroyed, making him temporarily host-less and unable to bother anyone."
He tilted his head to the side, before taking something else out of that drawer. "Also, I have recovered his wand after our fight. How he got his hands on it in the first place, I have no idea."
The white ring shaped like a phoenix in flight was put on his desk, as young Harry observed it intensely, thumbing his own.
Giving him a moment to gather his thoughts, Albus continued with the next subject. This would not be pleasant.
"As I am certain you have seen by now, I am rather damaged." he said. "In fact, I am currently dying."
The boy's eyes snapped to his in shock and denial, obviously reaching into that Song of his to both ascertain the veracity of his words, and find a way to fix him.
Albus merely nodded his head, and said. "I am afraid that the belt this choker was kept on was rather cursed. And, in my impatience to use it, I unfortunately fell prey to that curse."
Giving the tearful boy a tired smile, he continued. "Not that I am entirely bothered by the matter. I do have, after all, over four years left. And I have lived for a long time already, Harry."
He tilted his head on a side again, and followed with, "Also, I have been given the opportunity to address a great regret of mine in doing so. I do believe I would call that a fair exchange." he nodded to himself. A chance to make amends with his sister in his lifetime was truly priceless.
Harry sent him a weird look, before drying his eyes on his sleeves with a chuckle.
Albus nodded with a smile, content at his student's self control. "Now for the second piece of good news… Well, I believe you can already feel it?"
Harry nodded with a far-away look. "This feels like the cloak. Is it…?" he questioned, trailing off.
Once again, Albus nodded his head and spoke. "This is the Tone of Resurrection, second of the Deathly Hallows. And now, it is yours."
Ignoring the boy's shocked gaze, he lifted his special wand from under his sleeve and said, "I will bestow you the Elder Baton as well sometime later, to ascertain that there is no unforseen side effect to owning more than one Deathly Hallow. To warn you in advance, you will be required to disarm me, to truly take ownership of it. I would suggest checking out the Disarming Charm to that effect."
With the boy nodding dumbly still overwhelmed at the news, Albus continued. "Before you ask, of course, this is indeed meant to turn you into the Master of Death. Should any part of that old tale be true, you will benefit from any advantage you can get against Voldemort."
A moment of silence went by, as Harry gathered himself, then Ablus spoke with a serious, yet kind tone.
"Harry." he began, the boy looking straight at him. "I understand more than anyone the temptation of using the Tone to talk to a loved one. Truly, I do. It is what has landed me in this state." he shook his dead hand, then settled back with his elbows on his desk.
"Which is why I urge you to consider the warning given in the tale. Do not, under any circumstances, use the Tone in order to speak with a shade." he stated with utter seriousness.
He gave the sadly nodding child a kind smile, and softened his voice. "Sing with them, dance with them, tell them of your days if you so wish. But never, ever, initiate a conversation with any of them. Consider them illusions, paper drawings, portraits, but not people. It is far too dangerous otherwise. Your parents would not want that for you."
With one last nod, Albus stood from his chair and walked towards the side door to his quarters, speaking. "Do take all the time you need here, Harry. Just remember," he turned and gave a slight smile, "it is rather late, already."
Then Albus left. He never saw his student nod back, deep in thoughts. He never saw him pick up the Tone of Resurrection and put it around his neck. He never heard him sing in sorrow and hope. He never witnessed the dozens of shades of the dead appear, all dressed for a wedding party, a special couple among their number.
He never saw the waltz that took place in his office that night, a crying child, a flaming turkey trilling softly, and a bunch of dead people as joyful yet sad dancers.
???,???
??? POV
…Hello?
AnD lOnG aWaItEd.
Not so long, in the grand scheme of things.
…ThAt'S fAiR.
fIvE fOr SiX… cOmE, sOnOrOuS oNe…
*Hmmm* *Hmmm*
It breathes with me, with [ I ].
A beat is thumping.
Author's note:
The author still needs to think of the ending they want.
Or rather, of how the ending is brought.
Surprisingly easy to think of what you want to see, much more difficult to make it happen.
... That's kinda life, isn't it?
Great Hall, Hogwarts, morning of September 7th (Saturday)
Harry Potter POV
Waking up on a Saturday, all children will tell you, is a torture not wished on one's worst enemy. At least, for children who aren't crazy piano freaks and wake up at 6:30 to practise.
Never change, Hermione. Crazy schedule aside, your rendition of The Circle of Life was nothing short of beautiful.
In fact, this morning could almost be called strange, and by Hogwarts standard at that. Not because of the discussion Harry had with the Headmaster the previous day, not because of the impending visit to the Huff'n'Puff and Ravin'flow Common Rooms just after breakfast, and not because of the missing Dread Lord at the staff table.
No, it was strange because Hedwig, the Owl-Who-Stole-Harry's-Bacon was nowhere to be found. Despite the abundance of eggs, pancakes, and deep-fried heavenly pig flesh on the table, the incarnation of Satan was missing. Somehow, someway, Harry would finally be enjoying a full, entire, non-stolen-from meal for the first time in his Hogwarts histor-
-nevermind, there she was.
Harry quickly saved his poor slice of bacon by shoving it down his throat, as a fluffy white bird descended towards him, a letter tied to her leg.
Who had even used Hedwig to deliver letters? How did they catch her and keep her down long enough to do so?
Taking the letter -letters, plural, actually- from her, and checking quickly for any blood or lonely fingers from unfortunate daredevils, Harry was relieved to find only two short pieces of paper and no pieces of human beings.
So she could be reasoned with, interesting.
Looking away from the owl staring at him, munching at a piece of pancake all the while, Harry turned his attention to the missives, and away from the resounding question of how an owl could munch on anything instead of pecking at it -didn't that require teeth?-.
The first was from Professor Dumbledore, asking to see him today after dinner, that the "password" this time would be to dance the French Cancan, and to bring Professor Snape if he didn't know how. Well, that explained how no fingers were lost on that side. Although he was still curious as to how Hedwig was caught at all. And didn't Fawkes send letters as well?
The second, arguably more importantly, was from his friend Hagrid, who invited him this afternoon after lunch for a showing of that picture book he had put together. Harry wouldn't miss it for anything, and he quickly looked up to smile at the giant, who was of course looking at him and answered with a wink.
Now, when did Hagrid and Hedwig become friends? And how?
Harry was walking alongside all of the Huff'n'Puff House, as they always did, Vincent Crabbe by his side, apparently in the direction of the… dungeons?
"So… the Huff'n'Puff Common Room is next to the Slyther-scene's?" he asked.
"Pretty much." answered Vincent, nonchalant as always. "Same floor, but opposing places I've gathered."
Harry nodded his head in understanding as they passed quite a few other students on their way. The whole of Huff'n'Puff leaving the Great Hall at once of course meant that they had taken quite a bit more time than everyone else.
Already, a few groups of Griff-on-the-floor could be seen trying stunts by backflipping with the aid of a wall, and some Ravin'flows were simply throwing down as they wished while others walked towards who-knows-where, probably searching for a quiet studying / partying place.
In fact, if Harry wasn't mistaken, that was his friend Gregory Goyle just up ahead who had suddenly shown a look of epiphany upon his face, before throwing down his school bag and starting to spin slowly on a heel, tapping his other heel on the ground periodically, grandly waving his arms, and singing in a rather high-pitched voice all the while.
Was that a form of flamenco, or perhaps an Irish tap dance? Regardless, Harry wished him good luck in developing that choreography to the end. He'd love to see it in its entirety, someday.
"We're here." Vincent pointed at Professor Sprout, who had just stopped in front of a set of barrels slotted in a wall, the gaggle of children stopping with her.
She turned around, towards him. "Well, Mister Potter. Since this is your first time here, would you care to give it a try?" she asked, kindly.
Walking forward towards the piled-up wooden containers, Harry answered. "Sure, Professor. What do I need to do?"
She merely grinned, waved a hand towards the barrels, and said, "Oh, whatever you wish! I'm sure you'll find out shortly."
Ominous! Harry loved it.
With a smile, and no small amount of trepidation, Harry walked up to the barrels, which were obviously to key to it all, and decided to lean a bit into the Song of Hogwarts.
Well, the feeling was rather clear. Harry raised a foot, and strongly kicked the lowest barrel in the center. Instead of the expected wooden knock, it is an echoing, bell-like musical note that clearly sounded across the corridor, as the barrels started singing the word "Play! Harmony!" to his senses, each in a different note.
Interesting, and rather obvious. Harry grinned with all his teeth, cracked his knuckles, bounced a bit on his feet, clenched his fists… and started banging with every limb he could spare.
With every knock, he learned a new note on this magical instrument. With every repetition, he got closer to playing an actual song. And eventually, Megalovania sounded clearly on the barrels for a straight minute or three.
With an end to the music, a huffing Harry, and an applause from the surrounding students, the barrels rolled over into each other and into the surrounding wall, disappearing and leaving a wide space for everyone to go through.
And through, Harry went.
Plenty more things happened during Harry's two hours in the Huff'n'Puff House's Common Room. The cathedral was a true wonder to observe, in fact, with its beautiful murals and stained-glass windows detailing the history of Hogwarts.
The kicker, however, was the weekly Huff'n'Puff Choir Practice. In fact, with it being the first week, it would be a first of all First Years, not just Harry!
And so, the Huff'n'Puff House, as one, was walked through the steps and music of their current House Chant, which they would show off during Christmas as per traditions, before preparing another for the end of terms.
The voices of hundreds of students crashed into the walls of the cathedral and linked their spirits together, as they often do. Their steps shook the ground and resounded with the music of their hearts, as they often do.
But Harry saw more. Heard more. Felt more.
He could feel the mass of cheering hearts and willing Songs supporting each other. He could hear words whispered in the wind, some shouted though hurricanes of feelings, none impeding each other, and all working as one. He could feel his own Song reaching out, much like the new arrivals, to support the present mass ever so little, every bit adding to each other.
Pomona Sprout led the dance, she led the song.
Her voice was more than an instrument, more than a tool. Harry could see the threads, the bonds to each and every member of her House. He could feel the loving and guiding hand in every falsetto, the power in every note, the feelings in every octave passed.
Pomona Sprout led the dance, she led the song, but under her guidance, Huff'n'Puff sang as One. And so, Harry made a wish.
He wished that, one day, Harry Potter would be as great a singer as Pomona Sprout. That he would lead a chorus with as much love and trust as she did, that each of his notes would surpass the power in her voice. One day, Harry Potter would be the greatest singer in the world.
The Ravin'flow House, Harry had found, was far quieter than the others. He didn't like the atmosphere.
Not to say that he disliked it, but he was rather a person to display his songs and dances, not hide them behind thick walls. Still, the display put on by that fifth year was impressive indeed. Penelope Clearwater was truly an emotional dancer of great talent.
He'd love to learn some steps from her, sometimes. Unfortunately, she seemed rather taken by her dance, so that would have to wait.
Lunch was a quick affair, with no surprise from a certain bird, and a nice impromptu contest with Ron and his twin brothers over who could limbo the lowest under the table. Strangely enough, it seemed that the table in question had decided to vary its own height accordingly, to the amusement and bother of everyone else eating at it.
Of course, this did not go unnoticed by the Headmaster, nor by their head of House. The former was quick to join in, while the latter accompanied their attempts with a steady and powerful beat.
They did lose 5 points each for disturbing lunch -the Headmaster included, somehow-, but gained 10 each for their dancing skills. All in all, it was a rather nice meal.
What would Professor Dumbledore do with House Points of his own, though?
Harry knocked on a door, which opened nearly immediately.
"Harry! Come in, come in!" greeted a jolly giant.
Harry was currently at Hagrid's hut on the castle grounds, as expected. He was feeling rather nervous at the upcoming discussion, but also very excited.
Hagrid had him sit at his table -Hedwig in tow-, and brought along a cup of tea, a "rock cake", and a large leather-bound book full of moving pictures.
This would be a rather tearful afternoon. Harry suffered as much in feelings as in body, as he nearly cracked his teeth during it. Rock cake indeed. Now if only he could understand how Hedwig could eat the bloody thing without trouble…
Harry learned more of James Potter, the Greatest Dancer in the Halls of Hogwarts in the last century. A title he gained, apparently, due to his position as a chaser in the Hogwarts' Gryff-on-the-floor Quidditch Team. During his games, Harry's father would apparently often perform beautiful and daring aerial dances on his flying surfboard, leaving the audience in awe each and every time. The photos of the multiple events were things to admire, truly.
Harry learned that his mother, Lily Evans, was herself titled the Smartest Witch of the century, being a deft hand at spell creation, Charms especially. Her crowning achievement, or rather the most beautiful one, was a variation of the Lumos charm that lit up ideas. It was still used in the Hogwarts library these days to search for specific books. Harry made up his mind to find it and learn it as soon as possible. Then, to introduce Hermione to it before she killed him for the affront of keeping it to himself for even a second.
One of the most impactful pictures in the photo album was a moving frame of his parent's wedding day. He could see a formal reception, flowers everywhere, his mother in a frilly white dress and his father in a fancy tuxedo, both of them smiling widely and tearing up. He never knew he looked so much like his father, nor that he had his mother's eyes. Both facts were so obvious in this one.
He recognized the Longbottom family rather easily, as Neville apparently looked very similar to his father. He saw quite a number of people in attendance, easily approaching a hundred. How many of them were still alive, Harry wondered.
The photo following this one, a beautiful waltz coming and going on repeat, seemed to have been taken right after they had exchanged their vows. The party was swinging in full. Harry felt the need to dance along.
With Hagrid's help, Harry learned to waltz and spent the rest of the afternoon doing just that, tearfully dancing with his giant friend, a confused dog, and a proud owl.
Truly, today was… A day.
Dinner was one of the few occasions that the entire Hogwarts population would be assembled during the weekend. That was probably also why Professor Dumbledore chose that moment to tap the side of his glass instead of that morning.
The crisp sound echoed clearly across the room, obviously aided by magic, as the old man stood up and waited for silence.
"Students, I must make two announcements for this evening," he started. "Firstly, the third-floor corridor is now free of use and travel once again. All previous dangers have been removed since this morning!"
Professor Dumbledore waited for a bit, ignoring the disappointed groans from the Gryff-on-the-floor table who may have wanted to try their luck at least once, before continuing.
"Additionally, It is my regret to announce that Professor Quirrell was forced to take an extended trip somewhere on the continent, and will as such be unavailable to teach for the remainder of the school year." he said, before following up with a bright smile. "These two events are, of course, completely unrelated."
Harry didn't know if the Headmaster was truly that naive of doing it on purpose, but it was very funny to see Professor McGonagall facepalm, hard, at the announcement. Even Professor Snape seemed to have let an eyebrow twitch out of control for a second, while the other staff members didn't bother hiding either a mouth opened in shock, or an amused snicker.
Still, rumours were now flying around the room about Quirrell's true status and what was hidden in that corridor before it was taken out. Harry had no doubt that they were related, given what he already knew, and was even more certain of what the Headmaster wanted to talk with him about after dinner.
All the while, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with the Headmaster's Song.
Albus Dumbledore POV
With Harry at his seat across his desk, he did not wait to begin.
"I have two good news, and two bad news." he started, fingers interlocked and elbows on his desk. "Which would you like to hear first, Harry?"
The young boy in question seemed to stare at his obviously unnaturally black hand for a second, before answering. "Perhaps we could alternate, sir? Starting with the bad?" he said, hesitantly.
With a grave nod, Albus began. "I am afraid, Mister Potter, that I am running out of Lemon Drops." he indicated the empty bowl on his desk. Truly, these were dark times.
Sparing a grin at his student face-planting on the desk, Albus continued. "More seriously, our fears that the Dark Mark is at the center of Voldermort's immortality were indeed true. He confirmed it himself during our battle." he said, a sigh in his voice.
Harry cringed, apparently expecting that. "So, no easy way out. We'll have to find something, or all these people…" he trailed off.
Albus shook his head, gravely. "I'm afraid this is not so simple anymore. If it ever was at all."
Harry sent him a questioning look, as he took out a pink choker from a desk drawer. A choker marked with a triangle, containing a circle, containing a line.
"This," Albus said, "was rather recently part of a belt. A magical belt, imprinted with none other than the Dark Mark."
The boy's eyes widened, as understanding filled his eyes. "Then, it's not just people… How do we know how many of those things he could have made? Or find them?"
"It is not hopeless," Albus cut in, "but very difficult indeed. Something to ponder over, I suppose."
Harry nodded his head slowly, staring deeply at the Tone of Resurrection, opening his mouth, before choosing to snap it shut and wait. He was apparently waiting for him to finish. Very well, then.
"It does give me a better understanding of how this curse that Tom put over the position of Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts is being maintained." he mused, thoughtful. "I don't suppose you could try and use Severus' Dark Mark as a reference within the Song of the World to try and track similar objects within Hogwarts itself?" he asked, looking at the boy, who nodded slowly. "Better not touch them, of course, but if we could get rid of that curse..." he shrugged. All the better on his school budget if that panned out. Otherwise, well, they had dealt with it for decades, now. They would last a few more.
"The good news is," Albus said a bit more jovially, "Tom now believes that very important object I spoke of to be destroyed. He will no longer be able to use it as a means to further his immortality, as he will not be searching for it anymore. Also, his last body, Quirinus, has been destroyed, making him temporarily host-less and unable to bother anyone."
He tilted his head to the side, before taking something else out of that drawer. "Also, I have recovered his wand after our fight. How he got his hands on it in the first place, I have no idea."
The white ring shaped like a phoenix in flight was put on his desk, as young Harry observed it intensely, thumbing his own.
Giving him a moment to gather his thoughts, Albus continued with the next subject. This would not be pleasant.
"As I am certain you have seen by now, I am rather damaged." he said. "In fact, I am currently dying."
The boy's eyes snapped to his in shock and denial, obviously reaching into that Song of his to both ascertain the veracity of his words, and find a way to fix him.
Albus merely nodded his head, and said. "I am afraid that the belt this choker was kept on was rather cursed. And, in my impatience to use it, I unfortunately fell prey to that curse."
Giving the tearful boy a tired smile, he continued. "Not that I am entirely bothered by the matter. I do have, after all, over four years left. And I have lived for a long time already, Harry."
He tilted his head on a side again, and followed with, "Also, I have been given the opportunity to address a great regret of mine in doing so. I do believe I would call that a fair exchange." he nodded to himself. A chance to make amends with his sister in his lifetime was truly priceless.
Harry sent him a weird look, before drying his eyes on his sleeves with a chuckle.
Albus nodded with a smile, content at his student's self control. "Now for the second piece of good news… Well, I believe you can already feel it?"
Harry nodded with a far-away look. "This feels like the cloak. Is it…?" he questioned, trailing off.
Once again, Albus nodded his head and spoke. "This is the Tone of Resurrection, second of the Deathly Hallows. And now, it is yours."
Ignoring the boy's shocked gaze, he lifted his special wand from under his sleeve and said, "I will bestow you the Elder Baton as well sometime later, to ascertain that there is no unforseen side effect to owning more than one Deathly Hallow. To warn you in advance, you will be required to disarm me, to truly take ownership of it. I would suggest checking out the Disarming Charm to that effect."
With the boy nodding dumbly still overwhelmed at the news, Albus continued. "Before you ask, of course, this is indeed meant to turn you into the Master of Death. Should any part of that old tale be true, you will benefit from any advantage you can get against Voldemort."
A moment of silence went by, as Harry gathered himself, then Ablus spoke with a serious, yet kind tone.
"Harry." he began, the boy looking straight at him. "I understand more than anyone the temptation of using the Tone to talk to a loved one. Truly, I do. It is what has landed me in this state." he shook his dead hand, then settled back with his elbows on his desk.
"Which is why I urge you to consider the warning given in the tale. Do not, under any circumstances, use the Tone in order to speak with a shade." he stated with utter seriousness.
He gave the sadly nodding child a kind smile, and softened his voice. "Sing with them, dance with them, tell them of your days if you so wish. But never, ever, initiate a conversation with any of them. Consider them illusions, paper drawings, portraits, but not people. It is far too dangerous otherwise. Your parents would not want that for you."
With one last nod, Albus stood from his chair and walked towards the side door to his quarters, speaking. "Do take all the time you need here, Harry. Just remember," he turned and gave a slight smile, "it is rather late, already."
Then Albus left. He never saw his student nod back, deep in thoughts. He never saw him pick up the Tone of Resurrection and put it around his neck. He never heard him sing in sorrow and hope. He never witnessed the dozens of shades of the dead appear, all dressed for a wedding party, a special couple among their number.
He never saw the waltz that took place in his office that night, a crying child, a flaming turkey trilling softly, and a bunch of dead people as joyful yet sad dancers.
???,???
??? POV
…Hello?
Hi! It's happening, it's really happening!!
…! \ (•◡•) /
So I see. Wondrous news.…! \ (•◡•) /
AnD lOnG aWaItEd.
Not so long, in the grand scheme of things.
…ThAt'S fAiR.
And besides the point! Now… WAKE UP BESTIE!!!
!! ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
!! ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
A choir, spires in the wind.
✧ﾟ･: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)
Sshhh, sweetie. Enjoy the moment.
And what a moment it is.Sshhh, sweetie. Enjoy the moment.
fIvE fOr SiX… cOmE, sOnOrOuS oNe…
A whisper under the moon, a praise for the sun.
I AM [ I ]
I am [A].I AM [ I ]
I am [G].
I aM [c].!... Am… [K]. (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ
*Hmmm* *Hmmm*
It breathes with me, with [ I ].
A beat is thumping.
A dance is moving.
A gAzE iS hElD.…Story… Sharing…!! (◕‿◕✿)
A voice is echoing.-Magnificent-
-Two-thirds-
-Growing-
-Choosing-
-Wanting-
-…-
Something is…-Two-thirds-
-Growing-
-Choosing-
-Wanting-
-…-
Something is…
sOmEtHiNg Is…! …
Something is…<...Changing.>
Author's note:
The author still needs to think of the ending they want.
Or rather, of how the ending is brought.
Surprisingly easy to think of what you want to see, much more difficult to make it happen.
... That's kinda life, isn't it?
Last edited:
Chapter 13 - History of Nightmares and Dreams
zellat451
Learning a foreign language with NF - Happy
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Chapter 13 - History of Nightmares and Dreams
Greece, Around 2,100 BC
??? POV
"It worked…", a breath in the silence, "It worked! I have succeeded!"
*Sigh* Yet another one defiles Creation.
The Beast growled softly at the interruption to its sleep. The shrill tone breaking its dreams, the maniacal laughter preventing it from going back to sleep, the smell rousing its stomach.
"HAHAHAhahaha! HA!", the Prey echoed out, its joy blinding it to the predator slowly awakening, anger burning deep inside of it. "Insanity, they said! Useless witch, they called me! Well, you will all suffer the might and hunger of my lupine army! The fruit of my research! The greatness in me! HAHAHAHA-"
The hare revels in her success, uncaring of the predator she unleashed upon herself.
The Beast opened an eye, its fur bristling in the coldness of the wind, the full moon hanging overhead. It was laid in a circle drawn in blood, cadavers all around. It was surrounded by fresh food. It was hungry.
But that did not matter. What mattered was the hate burning deep inside of itself. What mattered was the Prey standing there, fresh, living, beating, ready to be bloodied, devoured. What mattered was the Beast's next meal.
"I command you, my slave! Rush to the village down the hill! Bite them, devour them, make them of your own kind! Give me an army!", the Prey babbled, its instincts obviously defective, as the Beast stood upon its hind legs, sharp claws shooting out, pointy teeth showing in its dripping maw, feral eyes turning towards the source of the incessant noise as a growl rumbled its way out of its throat.
Then, the Beast walked, slowly.
"What! No, the other way, moron beast! Turn around and rip them to shreds!", the Prey shrieked in outrage at the Beast slowly prowling towards it, uncaring of its current situation. The Beast grew ever closer, revelling in the smell of fear starting to pour off its next meal.
"Wh- What are you doing!? Obey me! I am your creator, your maker, your Goddess!", it babbled without end, slowly jerking backwards, unsteady on its feet.
Reap what you have sown, child. The Song will forever enjoy your new… animalistic addition to our chorus.
With a snarl and a pounce, the Beast landed on the Prey and tore off a limb. Then two. Then, it clawed at its body, its face, and revelled in its shouts and cries of pain and terror.
After playing for a bit longer, the Beast finally tore off the Prey's head and devoured it whole, before attacking the still-beating heart. The rest of the body would soon follow.
In the morning, a naked man would confusedly wake up in the ruins of a village, a trail of blood and corpses behind him, the signs of an animal attack evident all around. In the years after, these would only become more frequent, as the werewolves spread across the world, one bite at a time.
One more story among many in this world. Welcome to the party, children of the moon.
British Isles, 9th Century
Salazar Slytherin POV
Godric was mad. Infuriatingly smart at times, brilliant with people, and ambitious certainly, but also utterly mad.
A school. He wanted to found a school for magic.
It hadn't been so long, in the grand scheme of things, since the Musicality of Magic was established for the first time in history. Barely over a thousand years, maybe two, all things told. It had been around as much time since the Muggles started seeing Magic as a whole as a thing of evil to be destroyed. Since Magicals were being hunted by non-magicals for their particularities. Since those Songless beasts started tearing apart defenceless children over the pretence of exorcism…
Sadly, not all can nor wish to listen. But that is what makes you all the more special.
…Perhaps Godric wasn't so mad after all. A place where all would be gathered as soon as they exhibited signs of Magic, a place where they could learn of their gifts and teach others in turn, a Magical place for all Magicals. Yes, Salazar could see it now.
So can we, child. So can we.
And given the looks in the eyes of Rowena and Helga, he wasn't the only one. Fine then. Finding a place where to build a school was easy. Shaping it after a muggle castle was even easier, with Magic at their disposal.
Helga started, her voice echoing across the landscape and stirring waves in the lake, as they all joined her chorus as support singers, her drums beaten hard and seemingly shaking the foundations of the very World. The earth moved, and duplicated, and was reshaped, as the surrounding forest made place for the new building.
A song of home, for the restless.
Godric followed suit in an elaborate dance, all of them joining the moving circle. His steps were light and swift, and his luth rang across the newly shaped walls, inscribing them with elaborate designs. Helga had laid the foundation, and he was now building upon it, with a history of Magic.
A past to show, in hopes of a better future.
As the finishing touches stopped, Rowena then stood straight, looking at the thoroughly muggle structure before them, and closed her eyes. All of them sat down on the grass, waiting for the show.
Then, she moved, slowly. She opened her mouth and sang along with her movements, with no lyrics to speak of. Notes of sadness echoed over the landscape, a history of pain and hopelessness and fear washing over the World with every movement, leaving them all and praising their hopes for the future. As she sang and danced, pink brightness and motes of light flew over and through the castle, life awakening within it. It was young yet, but it would grow with their students. The castle breathed, the walls moved ever so slightly, and the halls resounded with a hint of bell-like laughter.
A friend for life, an eternal steward and loving mother.
It was his turn, then.
Salazar Slytherin was not an especially good man. He, especially, knew that.
He took a single step forward, and opened his mouth with purpose as his friends sat down and listened.
"I hereby declare the beginning of a new age.", he said with a powerful tone. Emotions were pouring out of him, his eyes prickling slightly from the tears being held back. After all, to truly perform, you must immerse yourself in the performance, and the memories that come with it.
He hated the Muggles, he despised the monsters that haunted his dreams beyond any claim of rationality. He hated the beasts that took his family from him.
"Upon the foundation we rest, upon the future we look.", he continued, assured of himself and his decision. This was for the best. Magicals needed a place of learning, and that was taken care of already.
But, most of all, Salazar Slytherin was a loving man. A man who loved all Magical beings unconditionally.
"By the will of Four Founders and the hopes of all Songs in the World, I announce!", he shouted, his robes swaying in a sudden wind picking up around him. More than anything, Magicals needed a place of safety, a home. And they were going to provide.
And though he was not a good man, he could be a Great one. And he would be, for them. All of them.
His arms spread wide in praise of the castle, Salazar intoned, "This is a place of learning, a place of understanding, a place of hope."
His voice kept getting louder and louder, as the unseen wind shook the World around once more, and the feeling of pink permeated the land.
"This is a place of Magic and Songs, a home, for us, for all like us!"
A bubble grew over the castle, encompassing all of its greatness, the forest around, the lake itself, and seemingly sang out to the rest of the world.
"The Four Founders so declare: You who seek life, this is your home! You who seek death, face our wrath!"
Patterns appeared over the bubble. The ward was in place, the castle would last forever, the spirit within had already reached out and sang along, connecting to the wide network of information that appeared within itself. It now knew who would seek to harm those inside the castle, and who would need its protection. The ward would let the former in, and keep the latter out and ignorant of their existence.
But, most importantly…
"And to you who sing along to the Song!-", his voice cut off, unsure of how to conclude the performance. They would need a name…
He spared a glance at Godric in askance, who gained a look of realisation and smirked. But not just any smirk, no. That one insufferable smirk he always got when he talked about his childhood pet pig that-
-Oh. -Really, Godric?- And it seems that the women of the group had realised where he was going with this as well.
Oh, well. It was his idea, after all. And Salazar didn't have a better one. Very well, then.
And so, as one, the Four Founders finished. "Welcome to Hogwarts!"
A hand reaching out, a grand welcome to all friends you have never met.
With a tired smile at Godric's antics, and pride towards their work, Salazar allowed himself to fall onto the grass in exhaustion.
Not only would his wards keep the students safe within the castle, as well as without to some extent, it would also allow the Spirit of Hogwarts to feel the Songs of Magicals across the entire British Isles. Of course, some enchanting work would be needed later for them to access that information, but they would never lack students, or a means of finding them if needed.
The Four Founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For some reason, Salazar had a feeling that this nickname would stick around, and the drama queen in him couldn't find a problem with it.
A new age begins. New stories will see the light of the sun, yet.
Hogwarts Castle, Middle 1970s
Severus Snape POV
Severus Snape was not having a good day.
Just a week ago, that bastard Black had tried to get him killed by his pet werewolf, and got away with it with barely a slap on the wrist. Just a few days ago, the self-styled Marauders had again ruined his transfiguration essay for shit and giggles. And just a few seconds ago, they had ambushed him in the corridors after class.
No, Severus Snape was definitely not having a good day.
Yes, he was friends with Lily Evans. Yes, there was a movement from a presumed new Dread Lord starting over in Slyther-scene. Yes, Severus was invited to join, even though he hadn't yet. Yes, Severus didn't like James bloody Potter and his jolly band of would-be murderers.
Still, that wasn't a reason to hate on him so hard. At least in his humble opinion. Though Potter apparently didn't see it the same way.
'Aren't you supposed to be a Prefect, wolf? Do something for once!', he glared with all his might at the murderous beast in human form standing just a few feet away, seemingly cringing in shame. Good.
Then, Severus made the greatest mistake of his life.
It was all going so fast. Potter, Black, and Pettigrew had started twerking their behinds at him in sync, which somehow caused him to float above the very hard and painful to land on floor, dangled by a leg. In front of everyone.
Severus had been hurt before, but never humiliated in that way. He shook in rage, he saw red, and then red actually came in his field of vision. Lily, sweet Lily barged in, angry and lashing out at Potter to defend him, even after all this time and tension.
But Severus couldn't think straight. And so, as he was let down, he lashed out at the closest thing he could see.
He pushed her away violently as she tried to help him up after his abrupt fall, and spoke with barely restrained anger, "Stop that! You think I need the help of a pitiful Mudsong?! Leave me alone!"
He ignored the look of shock and hurt on her face, as well as Potter reddening and opening his damned mouth, and clapped his hands before snapping them at the Marauders, shrinking their pants three sizes in a very painful way for all males.
Then, he ran. He ran back to the Slyther-scene Common Room, where all of his 'friends' congratulated him on finally cutting ties and standing up for himself.
Severus had gained that day more social support than he ever had. He gained respect, he gained companionship, he gained trust, he gained a place among 'the future of the Magical World'.
And yet, why did it feel like he had lost everything?
Malfoy Mansion, Late 1970s
Lucius Malfoy POV
That was him.
Lord Lucius Malfoy was asked by direct correspondence from their soon to be Lord and Master to invite all of the others to the mansion. A right he held since the 'sudden' death of his poor father Abraxas Malfoy right after he graduated from Hogwarts. Shame, that.
The Dread Lord Voldemort was going public. Soon, his army would be marching all over Britain, his power affirmed in the eyes of all as he changed the world to his liking. Such was the way of Dread Lords.
And he didn't disappoint.
The Dread Lord Voldemort was handsome, he was suave, he was smirking softly as he walked up to the center of the room, his power radiating off of him as a very visible and nearly tangible aura.
Excitement welled in his heart. He had made the right choice, following that man.
"Welcome," started the Dread Lord Voldemort, "to the very first gathering of the future of the Magical World."
Strong words, but he certainly had the right to use them.
"Lately, it seems that Hogwarts has suffered a string of bad luck when it comes to the teaching of magical combat." he smirked, letting all in the room know that he had something to do with it. He walked slowly around the circle made for him.
"Our movement reaches the highest levels of the Ministry and the most powerful families in Britain, our people have the knowledge needed to face off against the strongest of this world.", he continued. "Knowledge that others lack. We are in all respects the superior ruling body of Magical Britain."
Lucius nodded along with this, and could feel others in the room doing the same. They had access to libraries millenia old that others simply could not equate, they had heirs to the Hogwarts Founders on their roster, they had diplomats, Lords, Seats on the Wizengamot, money and magical artefacts, they had everything others wished they had. Including the current ruling body of Wizarding Britain.
"Additionally, as I am sure the information reached you," his Lord continued, his smile growing sharply, "I am the most powerful wizard in the world. Of course," he said in a mocking tone directed to a lot of people in the room who had heard these very words from plenty of wizards in the past, but Lucius knew what was to come. "We all know that you have heard the exact same things from others in the past. Well, be reassured!", Lord Voldemort's smile turned manic as he spread his arms wide.
"I also claim to be immortal, eternal, invincible! And I am prepared to prove it right here and right now!"
He snapped his head towards him, waving his arm indicatively.
"Lucius? As you were informed, if you please."
That was his cue. "Of course, my Lord", he said, before putting his hands behind the wooden crown on his head, bending his knees slightly, and shaking his hips from side to side.
The pink glow growing around him slowly turned a slickly green, as his friends fully understood what he was about to do. Some gave him a wide berth, some stared in awe and understanding, as the Killing Rave was prepped and aimed at the Dread Lord Voldemort.
Then, with a thrust of his chest, it launched towards him, striking him directly in the torso, ripping his soul from his body, as he crumbled down, obviously dead.
The others in the room stared at Lucius in shock and bewilderment, while some kept their focus on the corpse in the room… as it suddenly took a sharp breath and stood up, perfectly fine. Even Lucius, warned of this, couldn't believe his eyes.
With a lazy smile directed at the room, the Dread Lord Voldemort spread his arms once more. "Would anyone care to contest my claim?"
Lucius was the first to bend the knee, declaring with passion "We serve you, Lord Voldemort.". He was swiftly followed by the others under the appreciative gaze of his new Lord.
After all, no one could fight an immortal wizard. And they would rather be on the winning side. Truly, joining up the Knights of Walpurgis during school was the best decision of his life.
With a nod, Lord Voldemort continued his speech. "Now then, with my revelation and intention of going public, there are three things we need to address today.", he patted himself on the chest.
"First, our organisation, our new Troupe, will be named the Death Eaters, servants of the Dread Lord Voldemort!" Lucius' Lord spoke with resolution, and he felt himself nodding along with the idea. No better name for a group led by someone who defied death.
"Second, our goal is the supremacy of Magic! To establish an order of things where we are not the one being hunted by those Muggle beasts! Where this world is ours first, and there is no second!", he spoke with passion, rousing the spirits of all newly-minted Death Eaters.
"Yes! We will be the ones doing the hunting! We will be the ones to rid the world of these Songless things that took it over! We will be the ones to right the order of this world, and rule over it!"
As the Dread Lord's speech became louder and louder, the room became more and more inflamed. Who wouldn't want to rule the world, to live without the fear of muggles and their weapons that destroyed cities?
"And we will strive to establish a world where the Mudsongs, that filth born of Muggles who endanger us all, simply do not exist! A world of Magic and Songs that are pure and uncorrupted by Songless filth! I want to see such a world!"
And so did the Death Eaters, assumed Lucius, given his own reaction to the words and that of everyone else.
"As for the third point," The Dread Lord calmed down a bit, "To officially establish our new movement and organisation, I offer you this: My Dark Mark, symbol of my power and vision!"
With a snap of Lord Voldemort's fingers, a symbol appeared over his hand. A bright pink skull with an equally pink snake coming out of it. Fitting, for an organisation coming mostly out of Slyther-scene and named the Death Eaters.
"Let me Mark you, heroes of the new World, show me your arms and let us walk together towards a brighter future!"
With an excited smile, Lucius brandished his bare arm, ready to accept his Lord's gift. Everyone else in the room followed with just as much impatience.
The Dread Lord Voldemort spun in a circle, his foot stomping and his hands clapping all the while, as the pink of Magic latched onto all of them at once, slowly drawing upoN tHeIr L-
wHaT? wHaT iS hApPeN-
Another tale of a demon rising and waging war against the world.
Once more, a hero will be needed.
Muggle London, Summer 1990
Remus Lupin POV
Night life was good in the nightclub.
The spotlights were bright, yet everything looked quite dark. The dubstep rang out throughout the room and echoed within everyone on the dance floor, urging them to dance along.
Yes, DJ Moony was pretty good at his job. He was particularly proud of his personal rendition of "Monsters", by All Time Low. Muggles did know their music.
Working as a DJ in muggle nightclubs was the only thing Remus could really do. His… condition made it nearly impossible to hold full time jobs, and he had basically no muggle credentials anyway.
Also, the constant music was a good distraction from his shitty life.
Oh, he had gotten used to the werewolf thing years ago, his friends definitely helped with that… But that was exactly the problem. His friends.
James was dead. Plain and simple. His and Lily's corpses were discovered and buried. He was at the funeral himself, too busy crying his eyes out to say anything of substance to his departed nearly brother and his wife. What's more is, he was alone there. The very last of the Marauders. Peter was killed right at the end of the war, by none other than Sirius.
And, oh Merlin, Sirius. What have you done?!
DJ Moony's hand shook a bit over the turntable, before he caught himself and followed seamlessly into the next part of the song.
Sirius had betrayed the secret to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, leading him straight to James. It had to be him. All of them knew that he was the secret keeper, and even more damning, he was found laughing hysterically in the blasted street where nothing remained of Peter.
Laughing, like someone who had been Marked.
Why? Why did he take it? He knew the risks, he knew there was nothing to be gained, he knew…
Ah, who was he kidding? Of course the Mark had been forced on Sirius, and he had been too weak to resist it. Still, once Marked, there was nothing they could do to save him.
DJ Moony held back his tears, now was not the time.
Today was July 31st, Summer of 1990. Today, James' son, Harry, turned ten years old. In one year, he would be on his way to Hogwarts.
And Remus would never meet him, never even see him. That was for the best. After all, Headmaster Dumbledore had everything well in hand, he'd said, so 'Uncle Moony' would not be needed. And that was for the best.
Because, if there is one thing that life taught to Remus Lupin, it's that everyone he loves will end up dead. Or worse.
Riddle Mansion, Sunday night
Voldemort POV
Finally
Lord Voldemort had arrived at Riddle Manor just yesterday, bringing a cauldron along, but the time wasn't yet right. After all, it took time to draw the ritual circle and put everything in place in the graveyard. By the time he was done, midnight had already long passed, and he needed to wait nearly 24 more hours for his ritual.
But that was fine, he was ready now.
Standing up on his feet, his balance slightly disturbed by Wormtail's rotund body, Voldemort waved his new bracelet-wand towards the cauldron, filling it up with a specially prepared potion and starting up a fire underneath.
Then, with another wave of a hand and a whistle, Voldemort ripped a bone out of a nearby grave and threw it into the potion.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!", He intoned. Something inside of him burned in hate over calling that filth his father, but he would hold it in for now.
"Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master!", With a sharp movement, he cut off his left hand and let it fall into the cauldron. He didn't feel any pain or reluctance in the act, it wasn't his body after all.
"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!", Then, with a grand movement of his remaining hand, Voldemort took out a phial full of blood he had carefully stored after his fight against Dumbledore, letting it fly into the bubbling mixture, which had started turning bright pink.
Finally, as the clock hit midnight, Lord Voldemort threw the bracelet to the ground and jumped straight into the boiling potion.
He felt his spirit being torn away from his puppet body as it disintegrated around him. He felt the mixture solidify around him, and reshape itself into a new host body more suited to house his greatness. Then, physical sensations finally returned to Voldemort as he stood up, the content of the cauldron now thoroughly used up.
He was tall, he was slim, he was pale, he was intimidating. Voldemort liked intimidating, it made threatening people so much easier.
Now, then.
Voldemort bent down to pick Wormtail's wand back up, and used it to garb himself in shadows and smoke. A temporary fix, but it would do.
The next step would be to take back the greater part of his Death Eaters locked in Azkaban. Over twenty wizards and witches to direct, if he remembered right. That would give him a much-needed immediate power boost.
Then, he would take back his Musicalis that were left with his now dead minions. Like Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. He was certain that Narcissa would be agreeable to just let him take it back as soon as he arrived, as for Gringotts, he had already broken into it once so that would be no trouble.
Glaring at the bracelet on his right arm, Voldemort realised that the old goat probably was in possession of his true wand right now. That would not bode well for the future.
Ah, well. Thoughts for later. Right now, there was another Musicalis he could study to see where his network went wrong the first time, just over in the Gaunt shack, barely a couple miles away.
And so, his head clear, his body restored, and his ambition burning brightly, the Dread Lord Voldemort set off once more with confidence in himself.
…Right up until he arrived at the Gaunt Shack, or what remained of it.
WHY IN THE NAME OF MERLIN WAS THERE ONLY ASHES HERE??!!
???, Post-Resurrection
??? POV
…Fuuuh~OhO? hI tHeRe.
Good morning, darling. Or is it night?
DoEsN't MaTtEr MuCh, HeRe.
Guess not.
Mmmm… Hmmm?
The prophecy has just come into effect, again.
Yep.
Yes, I'm sure. Also, I'm not the one who forgot the kid in the room.
AmUsInG aS tHiS iS… a TiMeLiNe, DaRlInG?
Hmm… Wish… Needed…i SeE. wE cAn OnLy WaIt ThEn.
Oooor…
?
…DoAbLe.
StIlL, nOt UnTiL tHe PeRmIsSiOn Is GiVeN.
So it looks like.
Soon.uNtIl ThEn, In ThAt CaSe.
Author's note:
The Author is currently enjoying their vacation. It's a lot more boring than it sounds.
On the positive side, I have decided on how to end the story.
...Mostly.
Greece, Around 2,100 BC
??? POV
"It worked…", a breath in the silence, "It worked! I have succeeded!"
The Beast growled softly at the interruption to its sleep. The shrill tone breaking its dreams, the maniacal laughter preventing it from going back to sleep, the smell rousing its stomach.
"HAHAHAhahaha! HA!", the Prey echoed out, its joy blinding it to the predator slowly awakening, anger burning deep inside of it. "Insanity, they said! Useless witch, they called me! Well, you will all suffer the might and hunger of my lupine army! The fruit of my research! The greatness in me! HAHAHAHA-"
The Beast opened an eye, its fur bristling in the coldness of the wind, the full moon hanging overhead. It was laid in a circle drawn in blood, cadavers all around. It was surrounded by fresh food. It was hungry.
But that did not matter. What mattered was the hate burning deep inside of itself. What mattered was the Prey standing there, fresh, living, beating, ready to be bloodied, devoured. What mattered was the Beast's next meal.
"I command you, my slave! Rush to the village down the hill! Bite them, devour them, make them of your own kind! Give me an army!", the Prey babbled, its instincts obviously defective, as the Beast stood upon its hind legs, sharp claws shooting out, pointy teeth showing in its dripping maw, feral eyes turning towards the source of the incessant noise as a growl rumbled its way out of its throat.
Then, the Beast walked, slowly.
"What! No, the other way, moron beast! Turn around and rip them to shreds!", the Prey shrieked in outrage at the Beast slowly prowling towards it, uncaring of its current situation. The Beast grew ever closer, revelling in the smell of fear starting to pour off its next meal.
"Wh- What are you doing!? Obey me! I am your creator, your maker, your Goddess!", it babbled without end, slowly jerking backwards, unsteady on its feet.
With a snarl and a pounce, the Beast landed on the Prey and tore off a limb. Then two. Then, it clawed at its body, its face, and revelled in its shouts and cries of pain and terror.
After playing for a bit longer, the Beast finally tore off the Prey's head and devoured it whole, before attacking the still-beating heart. The rest of the body would soon follow.
In the morning, a naked man would confusedly wake up in the ruins of a village, a trail of blood and corpses behind him, the signs of an animal attack evident all around. In the years after, these would only become more frequent, as the werewolves spread across the world, one bite at a time.
British Isles, 9th Century
Salazar Slytherin POV
Godric was mad. Infuriatingly smart at times, brilliant with people, and ambitious certainly, but also utterly mad.
A school. He wanted to found a school for magic.
It hadn't been so long, in the grand scheme of things, since the Musicality of Magic was established for the first time in history. Barely over a thousand years, maybe two, all things told. It had been around as much time since the Muggles started seeing Magic as a whole as a thing of evil to be destroyed. Since Magicals were being hunted by non-magicals for their particularities. Since those Songless beasts started tearing apart defenceless children over the pretence of exorcism…
…Perhaps Godric wasn't so mad after all. A place where all would be gathered as soon as they exhibited signs of Magic, a place where they could learn of their gifts and teach others in turn, a Magical place for all Magicals. Yes, Salazar could see it now.
And given the looks in the eyes of Rowena and Helga, he wasn't the only one. Fine then. Finding a place where to build a school was easy. Shaping it after a muggle castle was even easier, with Magic at their disposal.
Helga started, her voice echoing across the landscape and stirring waves in the lake, as they all joined her chorus as support singers, her drums beaten hard and seemingly shaking the foundations of the very World. The earth moved, and duplicated, and was reshaped, as the surrounding forest made place for the new building.
Godric followed suit in an elaborate dance, all of them joining the moving circle. His steps were light and swift, and his luth rang across the newly shaped walls, inscribing them with elaborate designs. Helga had laid the foundation, and he was now building upon it, with a history of Magic.
As the finishing touches stopped, Rowena then stood straight, looking at the thoroughly muggle structure before them, and closed her eyes. All of them sat down on the grass, waiting for the show.
Then, she moved, slowly. She opened her mouth and sang along with her movements, with no lyrics to speak of. Notes of sadness echoed over the landscape, a history of pain and hopelessness and fear washing over the World with every movement, leaving them all and praising their hopes for the future. As she sang and danced, pink brightness and motes of light flew over and through the castle, life awakening within it. It was young yet, but it would grow with their students. The castle breathed, the walls moved ever so slightly, and the halls resounded with a hint of bell-like laughter.
It was his turn, then.
Salazar Slytherin was not an especially good man. He, especially, knew that.
He took a single step forward, and opened his mouth with purpose as his friends sat down and listened.
"I hereby declare the beginning of a new age.", he said with a powerful tone. Emotions were pouring out of him, his eyes prickling slightly from the tears being held back. After all, to truly perform, you must immerse yourself in the performance, and the memories that come with it.
He hated the Muggles, he despised the monsters that haunted his dreams beyond any claim of rationality. He hated the beasts that took his family from him.
"Upon the foundation we rest, upon the future we look.", he continued, assured of himself and his decision. This was for the best. Magicals needed a place of learning, and that was taken care of already.
But, most of all, Salazar Slytherin was a loving man. A man who loved all Magical beings unconditionally.
"By the will of Four Founders and the hopes of all Songs in the World, I announce!", he shouted, his robes swaying in a sudden wind picking up around him. More than anything, Magicals needed a place of safety, a home. And they were going to provide.
And though he was not a good man, he could be a Great one. And he would be, for them. All of them.
His arms spread wide in praise of the castle, Salazar intoned, "This is a place of learning, a place of understanding, a place of hope."
His voice kept getting louder and louder, as the unseen wind shook the World around once more, and the feeling of pink permeated the land.
"This is a place of Magic and Songs, a home, for us, for all like us!"
A bubble grew over the castle, encompassing all of its greatness, the forest around, the lake itself, and seemingly sang out to the rest of the world.
"The Four Founders so declare: You who seek life, this is your home! You who seek death, face our wrath!"
Patterns appeared over the bubble. The ward was in place, the castle would last forever, the spirit within had already reached out and sang along, connecting to the wide network of information that appeared within itself. It now knew who would seek to harm those inside the castle, and who would need its protection. The ward would let the former in, and keep the latter out and ignorant of their existence.
But, most importantly…
"And to you who sing along to the Song!-", his voice cut off, unsure of how to conclude the performance. They would need a name…
He spared a glance at Godric in askance, who gained a look of realisation and smirked. But not just any smirk, no. That one insufferable smirk he always got when he talked about his childhood pet pig that-
-Oh. -Really, Godric?- And it seems that the women of the group had realised where he was going with this as well.
Oh, well. It was his idea, after all. And Salazar didn't have a better one. Very well, then.
And so, as one, the Four Founders finished. "Welcome to Hogwarts!"
With a tired smile at Godric's antics, and pride towards their work, Salazar allowed himself to fall onto the grass in exhaustion.
Not only would his wards keep the students safe within the castle, as well as without to some extent, it would also allow the Spirit of Hogwarts to feel the Songs of Magicals across the entire British Isles. Of course, some enchanting work would be needed later for them to access that information, but they would never lack students, or a means of finding them if needed.
The Four Founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For some reason, Salazar had a feeling that this nickname would stick around, and the drama queen in him couldn't find a problem with it.
Hogwarts Castle, Middle 1970s
Severus Snape POV
Severus Snape was not having a good day.
Just a week ago, that bastard Black had tried to get him killed by his pet werewolf, and got away with it with barely a slap on the wrist. Just a few days ago, the self-styled Marauders had again ruined his transfiguration essay for shit and giggles. And just a few seconds ago, they had ambushed him in the corridors after class.
No, Severus Snape was definitely not having a good day.
Yes, he was friends with Lily Evans. Yes, there was a movement from a presumed new Dread Lord starting over in Slyther-scene. Yes, Severus was invited to join, even though he hadn't yet. Yes, Severus didn't like James bloody Potter and his jolly band of would-be murderers.
Still, that wasn't a reason to hate on him so hard. At least in his humble opinion. Though Potter apparently didn't see it the same way.
'Aren't you supposed to be a Prefect, wolf? Do something for once!', he glared with all his might at the murderous beast in human form standing just a few feet away, seemingly cringing in shame. Good.
Then, Severus made the greatest mistake of his life.
It was all going so fast. Potter, Black, and Pettigrew had started twerking their behinds at him in sync, which somehow caused him to float above the very hard and painful to land on floor, dangled by a leg. In front of everyone.
Severus had been hurt before, but never humiliated in that way. He shook in rage, he saw red, and then red actually came in his field of vision. Lily, sweet Lily barged in, angry and lashing out at Potter to defend him, even after all this time and tension.
But Severus couldn't think straight. And so, as he was let down, he lashed out at the closest thing he could see.
He pushed her away violently as she tried to help him up after his abrupt fall, and spoke with barely restrained anger, "Stop that! You think I need the help of a pitiful Mudsong?! Leave me alone!"
He ignored the look of shock and hurt on her face, as well as Potter reddening and opening his damned mouth, and clapped his hands before snapping them at the Marauders, shrinking their pants three sizes in a very painful way for all males.
Then, he ran. He ran back to the Slyther-scene Common Room, where all of his 'friends' congratulated him on finally cutting ties and standing up for himself.
Severus had gained that day more social support than he ever had. He gained respect, he gained companionship, he gained trust, he gained a place among 'the future of the Magical World'.
And yet, why did it feel like he had lost everything?
Malfoy Mansion, Late 1970s
Lucius Malfoy POV
That was him.
Lord Lucius Malfoy was asked by direct correspondence from their soon to be Lord and Master to invite all of the others to the mansion. A right he held since the 'sudden' death of his poor father Abraxas Malfoy right after he graduated from Hogwarts. Shame, that.
The Dread Lord Voldemort was going public. Soon, his army would be marching all over Britain, his power affirmed in the eyes of all as he changed the world to his liking. Such was the way of Dread Lords.
And he didn't disappoint.
The Dread Lord Voldemort was handsome, he was suave, he was smirking softly as he walked up to the center of the room, his power radiating off of him as a very visible and nearly tangible aura.
Excitement welled in his heart. He had made the right choice, following that man.
"Welcome," started the Dread Lord Voldemort, "to the very first gathering of the future of the Magical World."
Strong words, but he certainly had the right to use them.
"Lately, it seems that Hogwarts has suffered a string of bad luck when it comes to the teaching of magical combat." he smirked, letting all in the room know that he had something to do with it. He walked slowly around the circle made for him.
"Our movement reaches the highest levels of the Ministry and the most powerful families in Britain, our people have the knowledge needed to face off against the strongest of this world.", he continued. "Knowledge that others lack. We are in all respects the superior ruling body of Magical Britain."
Lucius nodded along with this, and could feel others in the room doing the same. They had access to libraries millenia old that others simply could not equate, they had heirs to the Hogwarts Founders on their roster, they had diplomats, Lords, Seats on the Wizengamot, money and magical artefacts, they had everything others wished they had. Including the current ruling body of Wizarding Britain.
"Additionally, as I am sure the information reached you," his Lord continued, his smile growing sharply, "I am the most powerful wizard in the world. Of course," he said in a mocking tone directed to a lot of people in the room who had heard these very words from plenty of wizards in the past, but Lucius knew what was to come. "We all know that you have heard the exact same things from others in the past. Well, be reassured!", Lord Voldemort's smile turned manic as he spread his arms wide.
"I also claim to be immortal, eternal, invincible! And I am prepared to prove it right here and right now!"
He snapped his head towards him, waving his arm indicatively.
"Lucius? As you were informed, if you please."
That was his cue. "Of course, my Lord", he said, before putting his hands behind the wooden crown on his head, bending his knees slightly, and shaking his hips from side to side.
The pink glow growing around him slowly turned a slickly green, as his friends fully understood what he was about to do. Some gave him a wide berth, some stared in awe and understanding, as the Killing Rave was prepped and aimed at the Dread Lord Voldemort.
Then, with a thrust of his chest, it launched towards him, striking him directly in the torso, ripping his soul from his body, as he crumbled down, obviously dead.
The others in the room stared at Lucius in shock and bewilderment, while some kept their focus on the corpse in the room… as it suddenly took a sharp breath and stood up, perfectly fine. Even Lucius, warned of this, couldn't believe his eyes.
With a lazy smile directed at the room, the Dread Lord Voldemort spread his arms once more. "Would anyone care to contest my claim?"
Lucius was the first to bend the knee, declaring with passion "We serve you, Lord Voldemort.". He was swiftly followed by the others under the appreciative gaze of his new Lord.
After all, no one could fight an immortal wizard. And they would rather be on the winning side. Truly, joining up the Knights of Walpurgis during school was the best decision of his life.
With a nod, Lord Voldemort continued his speech. "Now then, with my revelation and intention of going public, there are three things we need to address today.", he patted himself on the chest.
"First, our organisation, our new Troupe, will be named the Death Eaters, servants of the Dread Lord Voldemort!" Lucius' Lord spoke with resolution, and he felt himself nodding along with the idea. No better name for a group led by someone who defied death.
"Second, our goal is the supremacy of Magic! To establish an order of things where we are not the one being hunted by those Muggle beasts! Where this world is ours first, and there is no second!", he spoke with passion, rousing the spirits of all newly-minted Death Eaters.
"Yes! We will be the ones doing the hunting! We will be the ones to rid the world of these Songless things that took it over! We will be the ones to right the order of this world, and rule over it!"
As the Dread Lord's speech became louder and louder, the room became more and more inflamed. Who wouldn't want to rule the world, to live without the fear of muggles and their weapons that destroyed cities?
"And we will strive to establish a world where the Mudsongs, that filth born of Muggles who endanger us all, simply do not exist! A world of Magic and Songs that are pure and uncorrupted by Songless filth! I want to see such a world!"
And so did the Death Eaters, assumed Lucius, given his own reaction to the words and that of everyone else.
"As for the third point," The Dread Lord calmed down a bit, "To officially establish our new movement and organisation, I offer you this: My Dark Mark, symbol of my power and vision!"
With a snap of Lord Voldemort's fingers, a symbol appeared over his hand. A bright pink skull with an equally pink snake coming out of it. Fitting, for an organisation coming mostly out of Slyther-scene and named the Death Eaters.
"Let me Mark you, heroes of the new World, show me your arms and let us walk together towards a brighter future!"
With an excited smile, Lucius brandished his bare arm, ready to accept his Lord's gift. Everyone else in the room followed with just as much impatience.
The Dread Lord Voldemort spun in a circle, his foot stomping and his hands clapping all the while, as the pink of Magic latched onto all of them at once, slowly drawing upoN tHeIr L-
wHaT? wHaT iS hApPeN-
Muggle London, Summer 1990
Remus Lupin POV
Night life was good in the nightclub.
The spotlights were bright, yet everything looked quite dark. The dubstep rang out throughout the room and echoed within everyone on the dance floor, urging them to dance along.
Yes, DJ Moony was pretty good at his job. He was particularly proud of his personal rendition of "Monsters", by All Time Low. Muggles did know their music.
Working as a DJ in muggle nightclubs was the only thing Remus could really do. His… condition made it nearly impossible to hold full time jobs, and he had basically no muggle credentials anyway.
Also, the constant music was a good distraction from his shitty life.
Oh, he had gotten used to the werewolf thing years ago, his friends definitely helped with that… But that was exactly the problem. His friends.
James was dead. Plain and simple. His and Lily's corpses were discovered and buried. He was at the funeral himself, too busy crying his eyes out to say anything of substance to his departed nearly brother and his wife. What's more is, he was alone there. The very last of the Marauders. Peter was killed right at the end of the war, by none other than Sirius.
And, oh Merlin, Sirius. What have you done?!
DJ Moony's hand shook a bit over the turntable, before he caught himself and followed seamlessly into the next part of the song.
Sirius had betrayed the secret to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, leading him straight to James. It had to be him. All of them knew that he was the secret keeper, and even more damning, he was found laughing hysterically in the blasted street where nothing remained of Peter.
Laughing, like someone who had been Marked.
Why? Why did he take it? He knew the risks, he knew there was nothing to be gained, he knew…
Ah, who was he kidding? Of course the Mark had been forced on Sirius, and he had been too weak to resist it. Still, once Marked, there was nothing they could do to save him.
DJ Moony held back his tears, now was not the time.
Today was July 31st, Summer of 1990. Today, James' son, Harry, turned ten years old. In one year, he would be on his way to Hogwarts.
And Remus would never meet him, never even see him. That was for the best. After all, Headmaster Dumbledore had everything well in hand, he'd said, so 'Uncle Moony' would not be needed. And that was for the best.
Because, if there is one thing that life taught to Remus Lupin, it's that everyone he loves will end up dead. Or worse.
Riddle Mansion, Sunday night
Voldemort POV
Finally
Lord Voldemort had arrived at Riddle Manor just yesterday, bringing a cauldron along, but the time wasn't yet right. After all, it took time to draw the ritual circle and put everything in place in the graveyard. By the time he was done, midnight had already long passed, and he needed to wait nearly 24 more hours for his ritual.
But that was fine, he was ready now.
Standing up on his feet, his balance slightly disturbed by Wormtail's rotund body, Voldemort waved his new bracelet-wand towards the cauldron, filling it up with a specially prepared potion and starting up a fire underneath.
Then, with another wave of a hand and a whistle, Voldemort ripped a bone out of a nearby grave and threw it into the potion.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!", He intoned. Something inside of him burned in hate over calling that filth his father, but he would hold it in for now.
"Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master!", With a sharp movement, he cut off his left hand and let it fall into the cauldron. He didn't feel any pain or reluctance in the act, it wasn't his body after all.
"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!", Then, with a grand movement of his remaining hand, Voldemort took out a phial full of blood he had carefully stored after his fight against Dumbledore, letting it fly into the bubbling mixture, which had started turning bright pink.
Finally, as the clock hit midnight, Lord Voldemort threw the bracelet to the ground and jumped straight into the boiling potion.
He felt his spirit being torn away from his puppet body as it disintegrated around him. He felt the mixture solidify around him, and reshape itself into a new host body more suited to house his greatness. Then, physical sensations finally returned to Voldemort as he stood up, the content of the cauldron now thoroughly used up.
He was tall, he was slim, he was pale, he was intimidating. Voldemort liked intimidating, it made threatening people so much easier.
Now, then.
Voldemort bent down to pick Wormtail's wand back up, and used it to garb himself in shadows and smoke. A temporary fix, but it would do.
The next step would be to take back the greater part of his Death Eaters locked in Azkaban. Over twenty wizards and witches to direct, if he remembered right. That would give him a much-needed immediate power boost.
Then, he would take back his Musicalis that were left with his now dead minions. Like Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. He was certain that Narcissa would be agreeable to just let him take it back as soon as he arrived, as for Gringotts, he had already broken into it once so that would be no trouble.
Glaring at the bracelet on his right arm, Voldemort realised that the old goat probably was in possession of his true wand right now. That would not bode well for the future.
Ah, well. Thoughts for later. Right now, there was another Musicalis he could study to see where his network went wrong the first time, just over in the Gaunt shack, barely a couple miles away.
And so, his head clear, his body restored, and his ambition burning brightly, the Dread Lord Voldemort set off once more with confidence in himself.
…Right up until he arrived at the Gaunt Shack, or what remained of it.
WHY IN THE NAME OF MERLIN WAS THERE ONLY ASHES HERE??!!
???, Post-Resurrection
??? POV
Oho! Good morning, lady! We thought it might take a bit longer. Sweetie! Come say hi!
…! ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪
Heeey.…! ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪
Good morning, darling. Or is it night?
DoEsN't MaTtEr MuCh, HeRe.
Guess not.
…Is she okay?
Doesn't sound so awake yet.…? ( ⚆ _ ⚆ )
ShE iSn'T. sO tHaT mEaNs…The prophecy has just come into effect, again.
Yep.
Yuppers.
InDeEd.…! (>ლ)
Right! That guy just doesn't give up!
We knew this would happen, dear.Right! That guy just doesn't give up!
Doesn't mean I can't bitch about it.
Let a lady bitch for a bit, [A]. It's important y'know.Yes, I'm sure. Also, I'm not the one who forgot the kid in the room.
… (ʘ‿ʘ)
Ah.Ah!
Hehe.AmUsInG aS tHiS iS… a TiMeLiNe, DaRlInG?
Oooor…
?
?
?…? ( ⚆ _ ⚆ )
We could push things along a bit. Just a small Oracle.…DoAbLe.
Oh! Smart of you, dummy!
Yeah, sure, why not.……?? ( ⚆ _ ⚆ )
Ah, basically forcing a realisation on someone. Feelings plus a vision.
Could be the push he needs to materialise you fully, kid.Ah, basically forcing a realisation on someone. Feelings plus a vision.
StIlL, nOt UnTiL tHe PeRmIsSiOn Is GiVeN.
Eh, two in three. It's only a matter of a few days.
Yep.So it looks like.
...! ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
Byeeee!
Hopefully at the next gathering.…! (｡◕‿‿◕｡)
Eh, best ride we've had in millenia, regardless.<Let Us wait in excitement>
Author's note:
The Author is currently enjoying their vacation. It's a lot more boring than it sounds.
On the positive side, I have decided on how to end the story.
...Mostly.
Last edited:
Chapter 14 - Flip The Table (End)
zellat451
Learning a foreign language with NF - Happy
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Chapter 14 - Flip The Table (End)
???, Present (?)
Harry Potter(?) POV
Blackness. A twitch of a finger. Why was he so tired?
His hand clenched with great effort, grogginess leaving him by the second, as if purposefully drained out of him, and Harry opened his eyes.
He saw nothing.
More than that, he heard nothing.
The Song was silent. For the first time, nothing was on the edge of his senses. No music to listen to, no dance to lead him along, no beat accompanying his own heart…
With rising panic, Harry shot up and realised further things. No, even his heart wasn't truly beating. He could feel neither the hotness of his own blood, nor the phantom sensation of his own legs he was standing on. And, no matter what, he could see nothing even with eyes wide open. Everything was… not even black, just void.
…Or was it?
Calming down slightly at the familiar… taste of the surroundings, Harry realised something: the Song was here after all. All around him, in that very nothingness. In fact, the nothingness was the Song of the World, and he was standing within. That was why he couldn't hear it, he was basking in it in the first place!
Although… Something seemed different, but Harry couldn't say what.
"Not creepy at all.", Harry muttered under his breath, somehow unable to feel his own mouth moving or hear his own words. That was sarcastic, by the way. Harry was definitely creeped out. Oh, he had gathered that it wasn't really him in here, as in he wasn't physically here and probably dreaming or something, but that didn't make the sensory deprivation any less scary.
The question remained, however: what happened?
Harry mulled over the question for a moment.
He remembered his dance with his parent's shades and their friends in the Headmaster's office, right after that discussion. He remembered trying to enjoy his Sunday, testing out the Cloak and the Tone together, and going to the library. He remembered a conversation with Hermione about that strange room they had found one day, that it felt really close to the Room of Requirements described in Hogwarts legends, and the following search to open it again.
He also remembered going to class as usual the Monday after, and the following Tuesday. He remembered finishing that play in the Slyther-scene Common Room, with him as the Dancing Cauldron, with the help of Professor Snape. He remembered looking up the Disarming Charm as requested by the Headmaster, and nearly uprooting a tree while testing it out.
Harry tilted his head. Things were getting more and more difficult to remember, yet the memories were clearer. He must be on the right path with that spell!
He remembered getting frustrated while trying to decrease the amount of power behind the spell, and accidentally shortening it from an elaborate staccato song without lyrics accompanied by a tap dance, to a simple "Ha!" accompanied by an arm thrust. Which did not decrease the power at all, but increased it instead, if the four uprooted trees were any indication.
He remembered going to Professor Flitwick for help, who was very impressed with him looking up third year stuff already, and receiving the suggestion of "messing up" the Charm by dancing more and singing less. He remembered it working very well.
Then… Harry had a bit of trouble remembering what happened next. It was on Wednesday? Yes! Wednesday morning! The paper… The Daily Prophet? Or something. It was being delivered… and there was a problem?
Harry's head was starting to hurt, and the world around him, unchanging void that it was, felt like it was rolling a bit in anticipation. He was so close to something!
"Disarming spell, practise, Flitwick, Wednesday, Prophet… Prison?", Harry muttered under his non-existent breath.
That was it! The paper reported a huge breakout at Azkaban! The Death Eaters held there were all freed, and that must have meant that Voldemort had gotten them back!
Then, logically speaking, Harry must have gone to the Headmaster, right? No, no, the Headmaster had wanted to speak with him, he remembered now. Whatever, same thing.
So, Harry was in Headmaster Dumbledore's office, again, and he was… being checked for side effects of owning the two Hallows at once? Right, that was it. But also… He already wanted to pass on the next?
Yes! Headmaster Dumbledore thought that they had time, that Voldemort would have needed time to recreate himself a body, but he was wrong! Things were moving too fast, so he wanted Harry to get the Baton immediately, just in case, if it was safe for him. And it was!
Harry nodded to himself, proud of his recollection of events, and his thoughts went to the natural, logical conclusion: he had used the underpowered Disarming spell on the Headmaster's Death Stick to get him for himself.
He remembered that he was already wearing the Cloak of Visibility, the bright and sparkly red robes snug upon his frame. The Tone of Resurrection, the completely black choker, was clasped on his neck as well. He remembered the Elder Baton sailing through the air, towards his open hand, and catching it beautifully at the handle, and then-
-then Harry woke up, here.
He felt the not-World swell, all around him, sending feelings clearer than Harry had ever felt, like it was a language. It knew that Harry had remembered what happened, it was happy, and it wanted to… show him something?
Then, there was light.
In the omnipresent nothingness, Harry saw a faint blue light far in the horizon. He could clearly see where the light began, and where it ended to make place for the Void, and yet he could always see it no matter where he looked, as if space had no meaning. Trippy.
With nothing better to do, Harry stared at the blue not-star.
It was faint, it was strong. It felt like a curious child that had just discovered a new blank space on the wall and wanted to paint on it.
Then, somehow, the blue light asked for permission to the… Void?
And the Void answered, with love.
Harry could feel it clearly. It was like the Void itself had just caressed the blue star lovingly, and told it to make its own choices. Then, the light nodded and chose.
AMelody rose from nowhere and nowhen. A gigantic, beautiful, unending symphony began for the first time in forever. Strings were brushed and plucked and tapped and played without stop, and notes laughed, reverberated, clashed, and danced together. The Void was painted blue.
A Song… no. A Track was born.
Harry understood what was happening to him much better. He was witnessing the creation of the Song of the World, of the stage that Magicals performed on. The Song was already there from the start, an empty sheet ready to be filled, and it was filled once the Magic, the Melody, made the choice to fill it.
'But then, what about the others?'
That question in his mind was interrupted as Harry could feel something else rolling in. He could feel threads of Blue being pulled on by something, that something using the threads as a climbing rope to access the Void, revealing itself to be a green blade of grass.
The Green felt curious, and slightly excited. It was joined deeply in the Blue, but didn't ignore the Void as it arrived, seemingly asking a question to both. It, too, wanted permission it seemed.
The Blue agreed wholeheartedly, linking with the Green and helping it feel the… limits(?) of the space they were in. As for the Void, it seemingly took a good look at the Green, before nodding deeply and lovingly touching it as well. And the Green laughed and nodded back, stretching.
Harry could faintly feel that a few of these "feeling-words" were being impressed in him far more deeply than the others, as if they were more important. Words that roughly translated to "Ask" and "Choose".
The thought was benched for later in favour of the show.
With permission granted and a choice made, the Green blade of grass grew, and grew, and grew. It became a large tree with immensely large branches, full of flowers and leaves, as an Aliveness spread from it throughout the Void. A beat started up, percussions supporting the present symphony and giving it more weight, varying in tempo and hardness to attempt something, though it didn't seem that it was very sure what.
Green and Blue were thus deeply intertwined with each other. And then, the human arrived.
A bright purple representation of an obvious human being showed up out of nowhere, shocking Harry quite deeply. He was also starting to get a very good and heavy suspicion of why he was brought here in the first place.
The purple human girl -a witch, maybe?- seemingly asked the Void, the Green, and the Blue for permission as well, after observing them for quite some time. Once more, judgement was rendered. Once more, permission was given. Once more, a choice was made and a colour added.
Purple stars and motes of light appeared throughout the Void, dancing with the colours, in formation, alone, in freestyle, in carefully crafted choreographies, all along with the beat and symphony. As the purple Groove spread throughout the not-space, colours intertwined and linked together, as a new Track was born.
And as Blue, Green, and Purple settled into their new harmony, a new human girl appeared within the Void, this one coloured orange. Yes, Harry was now quite certain of what was happening.
Permission asked, granted, and a choice made, the Orange girl sat in the middle of the performance, and sung. The feeling of Orange waves splashed all across the Void, a voice echoing with the beat and leading the dance, joining the symphony forever. The Intonation was varied, fast and slow, hard and soft, giving a wide range of vocals of all kinds for the Void to appreciate and enjoy. The Purple danced around the Orange most often, they seemed really close.
Then, to Harry's slight surprise, the next arrival came by.
By process of elimination, it would be the Track of the Critique, or Death, and so it couldn't have been a human, certainly. And yet, Death must have existed before, right? And yes, apparently, it did.
The next arrival did not appear within the Void. It was already there, from the start. It wasn't the Void itself, no, Harry could feel the difference. It definitely was in the Void, however, and so barely removed from it that it felt the same to the boy… right up until that part of it asked for permission.
Harry could feel the Void shaking slightly in shock and confusion equally. Apparently, it wasn't expecting a part of itself to go off on its own like that, but granted permission anyway.
And so, a Grey figure sat down in place, observing the performance, using thousands, millions, trillions of small hands to lead the Tracks to better fit with each other when it felt it was needed. The CrItIqUe would be given regularly, and the whole would be led on to the right path consistently.
Then, over time, which all went very fast from Harry's perspective, the five tracks melded into a single one, still somehow keeping themselves detached.
Melody, Aliveness, Groove, Intonation, and CrItIqUe came together to form -Magic-.
Harry observed the whole show, a strange calm coming over him. It was as if he was meant to be there, seeing all of this. Then, a crazy thought came over to him, as he tried to open his mouth and ask.
But it was closed. He couldn't open it, no matter what.
Instead, Harry felt a burning sensation in his chest, and looked down in confusion. He wasn't supposed to have a body in here!
What he saw was a small star. No, more like a ball of yarn. A ball of yarn that was spun using threads from all the present colours. Blue, Green, Purple, Orange, Grey, it had it all. The ball spun, and spun, and Harry knew that it was him. And he realised what was missing.
A Kaleidoscope of colours spun around, growing over the whole Void-now-filled, intertwining itself with the Song of the World, with the -Magic-, and spinning the Song into a Story, so that it would have a meaning, a purpose. But Harry couldn't speak, not yet.
Instead, he felt the Void approach, and stoke the ball of yarn, him, granting permission and searing it on his forehead, as the -Magic- spoke.
A feeling of a bright smile, a laugh, a hug, a smirk, and a nod of approval came through. Then, the ball of yarn inserted itself into the whole, and Harry felt himself grinning back.
And the world exploded in colours.
Harry Potter POV
"-ry! Harry!"
A voice echoed near Harry, who groggily opened his eyes and tried to rub away the headache with his hands.
"Harry! Thank Merlin, are you feeling quite alright?", said a panicked voice he recognized as Headmaster Dumbledore.
"Ah," began Harry airly, all of his previous memories still firmly etched in his mind, "yes, sir. Fine, just fine. Better than ever, really."
Harry had somehow fallen down on the floor of the Headmaster's office. He got up, feeling the Elder Baton which somehow hadn't left his hand during the fall, and dusted off his robes. Looking up, he realised that Professor Snape was also in the room.
"That bad?", asked Harry, still out of it due to recent revelations. If the Professor had been called in, then he must have looked in a pretty bad state. Why not the matron of the hospital wing, though? Oh, well, no matter. "It definitely worked, by the way. Weirdest dream I ever had."
He also only now realised the deep look of worry on the two men's faces as it faded away. Harry assumed he must have been down under for a while, given that reaction.
With only a slight hesitation in his feelings, the old man spoke, "Well, you seemingly fainted for about twenty minutes, Harry. Your magic was fluctuating wildly in the meantime, however.", he indicated to the rest of the room with his arms.
Oh. Harry hadn't paid attention to the utterly destroyed office. Hopefully the Headmaster didn't need that desk? Sneaking a wary and embarrassed glance toward the old man, who answered with an amused wink, apparently not. Good.
After a second of silence and a deep look at him, the Headmaster shook his head and said, "Perhaps it is time we all retire for the night, after this much excitement. I would like you to see me first thing in the morning however, just in case."
"Of course, Headmaster. I do feel pretty tired.", Harry nodded. "Goodnight to you, then, Headmaster, Professor."
Receiving similar answers, Harry walked down the stairs to the Headmaster's office and past the dancing gargoyle, towards the Gryff-on-the-floor tower, a lot on his mind. That feeling was still permeating his entire body, the memory clear in his mind, and it wouldn't leave.
As he laid down on his bed, Harry thought. 'Choose, huh?'
But he had already chosen, a long time ago. There was a Track for the Instrumentals. There was a Track for the Beat. There was a Track for the Dance. There was a Track for the Voice. And there was a Track for Critics.
Yet, there was no Track for Stories. For the beauty of giving music a purpose, a meaning. And as Harry fell asleep, he decided: that would be Harry's choice.
???, ???
??? POV
In the Great Void, colours danced.
Blue smiled and the symphony continued as she always did, theMelody going without stopping.
Green laughed and reverberated throughout his own branches, Aliveness beating steadily.
Purple hugged her friends as she moved from Track to Track, the Groove taking her here and there and everywhere.
Orange smirked then redoubled her efforts, her Intonation echoing within the Void, waves of sound as a brush over the colours.
Grey nodded in approval, the CrItIqUe constantly given in their observing gaze, leading hands helping others achieve the best results.
And a small ball of yarn, a Kaleidoscope of colours, made a choice. He grew, and grew, and shaped himself as the Dancing Diggities officially went from five to six in number.
A child of many colours stood in the Void, known yet unknown, as he reached out and spoke. The Void answered, and the -Magic- quieted down as <Magick> began performing in its place.
And things would never be the same.
Voldemort POV
Finally.
It wasn't easy, but he'd done it. As expected of the great and magnificent Dread Lord Voldemort.
His twenty-three remaining minions were freed, and back under his control. The Dementors were back firmly on his side. He'd gotten back two of his Musicalis even if he didn't know what had happened to one of them-
-No. No, calm. He could deal with the Gaunt family belt later. What mattered now was to find a way to leverage his army to take down the old goat once and for all-
-what?
He quickly stood up from his comfortable seat in Malfoy Manor, feeling everything snap.
The Dementors in the room writhed as they simply disappeared, seemingly torn into base components, he felt the Manor's wards pop like a balloon, the bracelet-wand on his forearm simply sputtered out and disappeared from his magical senses, as did the entirety of his Musicalis Network and the Dark Marks on his Troupe!
'An attack!', Lord Voldemort, now properly scared out of his mind, prepared to wandlessly cast every ward he knew before apparating away, and-
-Nothing. The magic didn't work. The magic didn't work.
He couldn't feel the magic, at all. This shouldn't happen, this can't possibly happen, what was happening??!!
He would never get the answer to that question, as the -Magic- that formed his current body and attached his soul to the mortal realm disassembled into its base component Tracks, taking away everything that was made of it.
And so, the Dread Lord Voldemort disappeared into nothingness as <Magick> was reformed from six Tracks instead of the five of -Magic-, like everything else magical in the world.
Narrator POV
It is hard to say what will happen next. With all things magical gone and the current magical theories useless, spells could not be used, magic would have to be relearned, and all wards that kept the Magical away from the Mundane failed at once.
Many a muggle were shocked at the sudden appearance of a certain pub in central London, many more at the entirely new train tracks, and such scenes of disbelief would repeat all over the world.
Still, that is not the centerpoint of this story, it never was.
This is the story of one Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived fated to defeat the Dread Lord Voldemort, turned Track-of-Stories and Kaleidoscope who defeated a Dread Lord by accident twice and destroyed magic temporarily all over the world in the process.
Well, prophecy fulfilled. Funny how these things happen, innit?
The End.
Author's note:
So, the Author was considering putting a slice-of-life chapter before that one to cover monday and tuesday in-story, but then, they realized something.
Muse-chan is on vacation!
So there you go, final chapter of Harry Potter and the Dancing Diggities. Hope you enjoyed it.
Bye~
???, Present (?)
Harry Potter(?) POV
Blackness. A twitch of a finger. Why was he so tired?
His hand clenched with great effort, grogginess leaving him by the second, as if purposefully drained out of him, and Harry opened his eyes.
He saw nothing.
More than that, he heard nothing.
The Song was silent. For the first time, nothing was on the edge of his senses. No music to listen to, no dance to lead him along, no beat accompanying his own heart…
With rising panic, Harry shot up and realised further things. No, even his heart wasn't truly beating. He could feel neither the hotness of his own blood, nor the phantom sensation of his own legs he was standing on. And, no matter what, he could see nothing even with eyes wide open. Everything was… not even black, just void.
…Or was it?
Calming down slightly at the familiar… taste of the surroundings, Harry realised something: the Song was here after all. All around him, in that very nothingness. In fact, the nothingness was the Song of the World, and he was standing within. That was why he couldn't hear it, he was basking in it in the first place!
Although… Something seemed different, but Harry couldn't say what.
"Not creepy at all.", Harry muttered under his breath, somehow unable to feel his own mouth moving or hear his own words. That was sarcastic, by the way. Harry was definitely creeped out. Oh, he had gathered that it wasn't really him in here, as in he wasn't physically here and probably dreaming or something, but that didn't make the sensory deprivation any less scary.
The question remained, however: what happened?
Harry mulled over the question for a moment.
He remembered his dance with his parent's shades and their friends in the Headmaster's office, right after that discussion. He remembered trying to enjoy his Sunday, testing out the Cloak and the Tone together, and going to the library. He remembered a conversation with Hermione about that strange room they had found one day, that it felt really close to the Room of Requirements described in Hogwarts legends, and the following search to open it again.
He also remembered going to class as usual the Monday after, and the following Tuesday. He remembered finishing that play in the Slyther-scene Common Room, with him as the Dancing Cauldron, with the help of Professor Snape. He remembered looking up the Disarming Charm as requested by the Headmaster, and nearly uprooting a tree while testing it out.
Harry tilted his head. Things were getting more and more difficult to remember, yet the memories were clearer. He must be on the right path with that spell!
He remembered getting frustrated while trying to decrease the amount of power behind the spell, and accidentally shortening it from an elaborate staccato song without lyrics accompanied by a tap dance, to a simple "Ha!" accompanied by an arm thrust. Which did not decrease the power at all, but increased it instead, if the four uprooted trees were any indication.
He remembered going to Professor Flitwick for help, who was very impressed with him looking up third year stuff already, and receiving the suggestion of "messing up" the Charm by dancing more and singing less. He remembered it working very well.
Then… Harry had a bit of trouble remembering what happened next. It was on Wednesday? Yes! Wednesday morning! The paper… The Daily Prophet? Or something. It was being delivered… and there was a problem?
Harry's head was starting to hurt, and the world around him, unchanging void that it was, felt like it was rolling a bit in anticipation. He was so close to something!
"Disarming spell, practise, Flitwick, Wednesday, Prophet… Prison?", Harry muttered under his non-existent breath.
That was it! The paper reported a huge breakout at Azkaban! The Death Eaters held there were all freed, and that must have meant that Voldemort had gotten them back!
Then, logically speaking, Harry must have gone to the Headmaster, right? No, no, the Headmaster had wanted to speak with him, he remembered now. Whatever, same thing.
So, Harry was in Headmaster Dumbledore's office, again, and he was… being checked for side effects of owning the two Hallows at once? Right, that was it. But also… He already wanted to pass on the next?
Yes! Headmaster Dumbledore thought that they had time, that Voldemort would have needed time to recreate himself a body, but he was wrong! Things were moving too fast, so he wanted Harry to get the Baton immediately, just in case, if it was safe for him. And it was!
Harry nodded to himself, proud of his recollection of events, and his thoughts went to the natural, logical conclusion: he had used the underpowered Disarming spell on the Headmaster's Death Stick to get him for himself.
He remembered that he was already wearing the Cloak of Visibility, the bright and sparkly red robes snug upon his frame. The Tone of Resurrection, the completely black choker, was clasped on his neck as well. He remembered the Elder Baton sailing through the air, towards his open hand, and catching it beautifully at the handle, and then-
-then Harry woke up, here.
He felt the not-World swell, all around him, sending feelings clearer than Harry had ever felt, like it was a language. It knew that Harry had remembered what happened, it was happy, and it wanted to… show him something?
Then, there was light.
In the omnipresent nothingness, Harry saw a faint blue light far in the horizon. He could clearly see where the light began, and where it ended to make place for the Void, and yet he could always see it no matter where he looked, as if space had no meaning. Trippy.
With nothing better to do, Harry stared at the blue not-star.
It was faint, it was strong. It felt like a curious child that had just discovered a new blank space on the wall and wanted to paint on it.
Then, somehow, the blue light asked for permission to the… Void?
And the Void answered, with love.
Harry could feel it clearly. It was like the Void itself had just caressed the blue star lovingly, and told it to make its own choices. Then, the light nodded and chose.
A
A Song… no. A Track was born.
Harry understood what was happening to him much better. He was witnessing the creation of the Song of the World, of the stage that Magicals performed on. The Song was already there from the start, an empty sheet ready to be filled, and it was filled once the Magic, the Melody, made the choice to fill it.
'But then, what about the others?'
That question in his mind was interrupted as Harry could feel something else rolling in. He could feel threads of Blue being pulled on by something, that something using the threads as a climbing rope to access the Void, revealing itself to be a green blade of grass.
The Green felt curious, and slightly excited. It was joined deeply in the Blue, but didn't ignore the Void as it arrived, seemingly asking a question to both. It, too, wanted permission it seemed.
The Blue agreed wholeheartedly, linking with the Green and helping it feel the… limits(?) of the space they were in. As for the Void, it seemingly took a good look at the Green, before nodding deeply and lovingly touching it as well. And the Green laughed and nodded back, stretching.
Harry could faintly feel that a few of these "feeling-words" were being impressed in him far more deeply than the others, as if they were more important. Words that roughly translated to "Ask" and "Choose".
The thought was benched for later in favour of the show.
With permission granted and a choice made, the Green blade of grass grew, and grew, and grew. It became a large tree with immensely large branches, full of flowers and leaves, as an Aliveness spread from it throughout the Void. A beat started up, percussions supporting the present symphony and giving it more weight, varying in tempo and hardness to attempt something, though it didn't seem that it was very sure what.
Green and Blue were thus deeply intertwined with each other. And then, the human arrived.
A bright purple representation of an obvious human being showed up out of nowhere, shocking Harry quite deeply. He was also starting to get a very good and heavy suspicion of why he was brought here in the first place.
The purple human girl -a witch, maybe?- seemingly asked the Void, the Green, and the Blue for permission as well, after observing them for quite some time. Once more, judgement was rendered. Once more, permission was given. Once more, a choice was made and a colour added.
Purple stars and motes of light appeared throughout the Void, dancing with the colours, in formation, alone, in freestyle, in carefully crafted choreographies, all along with the beat and symphony. As the purple Groove spread throughout the not-space, colours intertwined and linked together, as a new Track was born.
And as Blue, Green, and Purple settled into their new harmony, a new human girl appeared within the Void, this one coloured orange. Yes, Harry was now quite certain of what was happening.
Permission asked, granted, and a choice made, the Orange girl sat in the middle of the performance, and sung. The feeling of Orange waves splashed all across the Void, a voice echoing with the beat and leading the dance, joining the symphony forever. The Intonation was varied, fast and slow, hard and soft, giving a wide range of vocals of all kinds for the Void to appreciate and enjoy. The Purple danced around the Orange most often, they seemed really close.
Then, to Harry's slight surprise, the next arrival came by.
By process of elimination, it would be the Track of the Critique, or Death, and so it couldn't have been a human, certainly. And yet, Death must have existed before, right? And yes, apparently, it did.
The next arrival did not appear within the Void. It was already there, from the start. It wasn't the Void itself, no, Harry could feel the difference. It definitely was in the Void, however, and so barely removed from it that it felt the same to the boy… right up until that part of it asked for permission.
Harry could feel the Void shaking slightly in shock and confusion equally. Apparently, it wasn't expecting a part of itself to go off on its own like that, but granted permission anyway.
And so, a Grey figure sat down in place, observing the performance, using thousands, millions, trillions of small hands to lead the Tracks to better fit with each other when it felt it was needed. The CrItIqUe would be given regularly, and the whole would be led on to the right path consistently.
Then, over time, which all went very fast from Harry's perspective, the five tracks melded into a single one, still somehow keeping themselves detached.
Harry observed the whole show, a strange calm coming over him. It was as if he was meant to be there, seeing all of this. Then, a crazy thought came over to him, as he tried to open his mouth and ask.
But it was closed. He couldn't open it, no matter what.
Instead, Harry felt a burning sensation in his chest, and looked down in confusion. He wasn't supposed to have a body in here!
What he saw was a small star. No, more like a ball of yarn. A ball of yarn that was spun using threads from all the present colours. Blue, Green, Purple, Orange, Grey, it had it all. The ball spun, and spun, and Harry knew that it was him. And he realised what was missing.
A Kaleidoscope of colours spun around, growing over the whole Void-now-filled, intertwining itself with the Song of the World, with the -Magic-, and spinning the Song into a Story, so that it would have a meaning, a purpose. But Harry couldn't speak, not yet.
Instead, he felt the Void approach, and stoke the ball of yarn, him, granting permission and searing it on his forehead, as the -Magic- spoke.
-Ask, …-
A feeling of a bright smile, a laugh, a hug, a smirk, and a nod of approval came through. Then, the ball of yarn inserted itself into the whole, and Harry felt himself grinning back.
<...Then choose.>
And the world exploded in colours.
Harry Potter POV
"-ry! Harry!"
A voice echoed near Harry, who groggily opened his eyes and tried to rub away the headache with his hands.
"Harry! Thank Merlin, are you feeling quite alright?", said a panicked voice he recognized as Headmaster Dumbledore.
"Ah," began Harry airly, all of his previous memories still firmly etched in his mind, "yes, sir. Fine, just fine. Better than ever, really."
Harry had somehow fallen down on the floor of the Headmaster's office. He got up, feeling the Elder Baton which somehow hadn't left his hand during the fall, and dusted off his robes. Looking up, he realised that Professor Snape was also in the room.
"That bad?", asked Harry, still out of it due to recent revelations. If the Professor had been called in, then he must have looked in a pretty bad state. Why not the matron of the hospital wing, though? Oh, well, no matter. "It definitely worked, by the way. Weirdest dream I ever had."
He also only now realised the deep look of worry on the two men's faces as it faded away. Harry assumed he must have been down under for a while, given that reaction.
With only a slight hesitation in his feelings, the old man spoke, "Well, you seemingly fainted for about twenty minutes, Harry. Your magic was fluctuating wildly in the meantime, however.", he indicated to the rest of the room with his arms.
Oh. Harry hadn't paid attention to the utterly destroyed office. Hopefully the Headmaster didn't need that desk? Sneaking a wary and embarrassed glance toward the old man, who answered with an amused wink, apparently not. Good.
After a second of silence and a deep look at him, the Headmaster shook his head and said, "Perhaps it is time we all retire for the night, after this much excitement. I would like you to see me first thing in the morning however, just in case."
"Of course, Headmaster. I do feel pretty tired.", Harry nodded. "Goodnight to you, then, Headmaster, Professor."
Receiving similar answers, Harry walked down the stairs to the Headmaster's office and past the dancing gargoyle, towards the Gryff-on-the-floor tower, a lot on his mind. That feeling was still permeating his entire body, the memory clear in his mind, and it wouldn't leave.
As he laid down on his bed, Harry thought. 'Choose, huh?'
But he had already chosen, a long time ago. There was a Track for the Instrumentals. There was a Track for the Beat. There was a Track for the Dance. There was a Track for the Voice. And there was a Track for Critics.
Yet, there was no Track for Stories. For the beauty of giving music a purpose, a meaning. And as Harry fell asleep, he decided: that would be Harry's choice.
???, ???
??? POV
In the Great Void, colours danced.
Blue smiled and the symphony continued as she always did, the
Green laughed and reverberated throughout his own branches, Aliveness beating steadily.
Purple hugged her friends as she moved from Track to Track, the Groove taking her here and there and everywhere.
Orange smirked then redoubled her efforts, her Intonation echoing within the Void, waves of sound as a brush over the colours.
Grey nodded in approval, the CrItIqUe constantly given in their observing gaze, leading hands helping others achieve the best results.
And a small ball of yarn, a Kaleidoscope of colours, made a choice. He grew, and grew, and shaped himself as the Dancing Diggities officially went from five to six in number.
A child of many colours stood in the Void, known yet unknown, as he reached out and spoke. The Void answered, and the -Magic- quieted down as <Magick> began performing in its place.
<There was once a child named Harry Potter, who danced and sang all day long…>
And things would never be the same.
Voldemort POV
Finally.
It wasn't easy, but he'd done it. As expected of the great and magnificent Dread Lord Voldemort.
His twenty-three remaining minions were freed, and back under his control. The Dementors were back firmly on his side. He'd gotten back two of his Musicalis even if he didn't know what had happened to one of them-
-No. No, calm. He could deal with the Gaunt family belt later. What mattered now was to find a way to leverage his army to take down the old goat once and for all-
-what?
He quickly stood up from his comfortable seat in Malfoy Manor, feeling everything snap.
The Dementors in the room writhed as they simply disappeared, seemingly torn into base components, he felt the Manor's wards pop like a balloon, the bracelet-wand on his forearm simply sputtered out and disappeared from his magical senses, as did the entirety of his Musicalis Network and the Dark Marks on his Troupe!
'An attack!', Lord Voldemort, now properly scared out of his mind, prepared to wandlessly cast every ward he knew before apparating away, and-
-Nothing. The magic didn't work. The magic didn't work.
He couldn't feel the magic, at all. This shouldn't happen, this can't possibly happen, what was happening??!!
He would never get the answer to that question, as the -Magic- that formed his current body and attached his soul to the mortal realm disassembled into its base component Tracks, taking away everything that was made of it.
And so, the Dread Lord Voldemort disappeared into nothingness as <Magick> was reformed from six Tracks instead of the five of -Magic-, like everything else magical in the world.
Narrator POV
It is hard to say what will happen next. With all things magical gone and the current magical theories useless, spells could not be used, magic would have to be relearned, and all wards that kept the Magical away from the Mundane failed at once.
Many a muggle were shocked at the sudden appearance of a certain pub in central London, many more at the entirely new train tracks, and such scenes of disbelief would repeat all over the world.
Still, that is not the centerpoint of this story, it never was.
This is the story of one Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived fated to defeat the Dread Lord Voldemort, turned Track-of-Stories and Kaleidoscope who defeated a Dread Lord by accident twice and destroyed magic temporarily all over the world in the process.
Well, prophecy fulfilled. Funny how these things happen, innit?
The End.
Author's note:
So, the Author was considering putting a slice-of-life chapter before that one to cover monday and tuesday in-story, but then, they realized something.
Muse-chan is on vacation!
So there you go, final chapter of Harry Potter and the Dancing Diggities. Hope you enjoyed it.
Bye~
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