Harry Potter and the Silent Dead: Book 1

Chapter 12: Lord Voldemort

Weeks had passed and Harry was starting to lose hope. It felt like he'd checked every book in the library looking for a way to move ghosts, but nothing had showed up! And he hadn't learnt anything else either! He was getting the classwork done in about ten minutes, and all the teachers had been letting him get a head start on homework. Now he was a full week ahead. He was so bored! He walked into potions, shoulders slumped over and sighed. Terry smiled, patting his shoulder. "There, there mate." Lisa laughed slightly. "Yeah, must be terrible being a genius!" The duo laughed and Harry shook his head amused. It wasn't his fault he was ahead. He stood up to gather the potion ingredients for the calming draught they were making when a pale hand at his shoulder stopped him. "Not you, Mr.Potter. Follow me." His friends and a few inquisitive Hufflepuffs watched as the Potions Master led him out of the classroom and into the teachers office, sitting him down at the desk. "Since you've excelled at remedial potions so far, I thought I'd move you onto second year material, if that would be acceptable?" Harry smiled, at least someone was helping him out. "Yeah, that's brilliant, thank you professor!" Snape nodded, pulling a book from the shelf. "Do not thank me yet Mr. Potter. I have spoken to your head of house, Filius was more than happy to expand your extra study, but for you to begin the practical section of potions we would need the headmaster's permission. Harry's face fell, as if the old coot would ever let get ahead in any subject, let alone potions! "You don't seem so enchanted with the headmaster?" Harry looked up and frowned. Snape's tone suggested it was a simple question, but Harry's instincts were telling him he was asking something more. He thought for a minute, how best to answer the question. "I know people like him. They have plans, believing they're doing the right thing, but if someone doesn't fit into those things.... I'm not too fond of people like that." Snape didn't react for a moment, before placing the book in front of Harry and walking to the classroom entrance. "At least you aren't blind...I didn't mean-" Harry laughed silently, amused to see the stoic man so flustered. "It's fine, I know what you meant. Generally when people are quiet, they observe more. I'm kind of lucky that way." The professor nodded, clearly still uncomfortable at the faux pas he had made. "Yes, well. I'll speak to the headmaster after this lesson is over." Harry nodded, and the Potions Master left, closing the door behind him.

Harry walked behind Lisa and Anthony, shoulders slumped. The second year theory wasn't any more interesting than first year's, and he wasn't even actually making potions now! He frowned, pissed off that Dumbledore was controlling his education too. It was bad enough pretending that casting spells was difficult, that wandless magic didn't come to him as naturally as breathing! He couldn't wait until he'd passed his exams and could leave. Not that leaving was any easier. He still had nowhere to go for summer, and no way to bring Elder. He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn behind his hand. "Harry?" He looked up at Lisa, blinking sluggishly. Anthony looked over frowning. "Yeah buddy, are you okay? You look exhausted." Harry just shrugged, looking at the door to DADA as Quirrel opened it. In truth, Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd slept for more than a few hours a week. He didn't really understand why, but sleep had never been necessary for him. He didn't really get tired, but the stress had been getting to him. He needed a break. Some time away. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes and took the last available seat in the classroom. Which happened to be directly in front of Quirrels desk. That was another thing about all this. The professor always seemed distracted in the lessons now, unless he was looking at Harry. The man would stare so intensely, as if he was trying to look through him. The man stuttered through a broken explanation of the work they were supposed to be doing, before sitting at his desk and reading through a crumpled pile of papers on his desk. Harry read through the instructions on the blackboard and opened his textbook, taking notes about the protection spell 'protego'. It was rather boring, and would also never work for him. It was a protection against dark magic specifically. A necromancer, born into dark magic, would only be fighting himself. He sighed, writing out the pronunciation and wand movement. He looked up, Lisa and Anthony concentrating on the book at either side of him. Quirrel was still reading through his papers, occasionally scribbling things down and murmuring to himself. He looked down, sighing at the unnecessary information about the origins of the spell. He sat back, and blinked in surprise to find Quirrel staring directly at him. Harry stared back, wondering if the man would look away. He looked into the man's brown eyes until he could see his own reflection, his blank expression staring back at him. What really confused him was the familiarity in the man's eyes. Like he recognised him. Quirrel smirked, and a red sheen crossed his eyes. Harry frowned, quirking an eyebrow at the man. He had the strangest feeling that Quirrel wasn't watching him.....