Harry Potter and the Silent Dead: Book 1

Chapter 1:The dead are not gone

Very few can truly grasp the concept of one's own soul. It is a tiny flicker of life in the pit of our hearts that to many, is simply inaccessible. Those that can access it have magic, and the ability to see and commune with those not of this world. However, even wizards do not have the ability to see all souls. Only those trapped between the two plains of existence. Sometimes though, there are those that have the ability to see, speak to, and control souls of all three dimensions. These people, are necromancers. Long ago, in the times of Merlin, necromancy was common amongst magic folk, but with the Light renaissance, it was cast out by law, into the shadows it descended from. Many lost their power, and those who retained it feared to use it. In this story, we will be looking at an extraordinary young boy who has this ability. And is not afraid to use it.

Harry Potter was not ordinary by any means. He seemed normal enough. Average grades, too big glasses and clothes, not many friends. But he was not ordinary. Normal boys don't have dead parents. Normal boys aren't despised or feared by their family. Normal boys don't have magic, and normal boys can't talk to dead people. Harry, was not an ordinary boy. You see, every time the Dursleys had enough of the freak in their house, they would send him outside, not to come home until dinner. And everytime, he would walk down the road, across the path, take a left and sit in the old near-forgotten graveyard in Surrey. There, he would sit for hours talking to and learning from Sally Elderbridge. Or Elder for short. She never did like being called Sally. One such day, he sat on her gravestone chatting away about blood sacrifices, a topic of which it's ethics they discussed frequently. To any surprise visitor to the cemetary, they would see a sweet young boy, chatting away to thin air.

It was this scene that a small tawny owl arrived in on this very special day. You see today was Harry's birthday, not that anyone living had remembered. So his Hogwarts letter had arrived. "You have to remember the power of intent, young one. If you take an unwilling blood sacrifice, the magic will be tainted almost beyond use. Magic herself would curse you. Willing sacrifices are always the most......Harry!" He turned and looked up at the pale slightly translucent young women. Even with the pinched face and rotting flesh, you could see the pretty youth she had once been. "I'm sorry Elder. It would appear my letter has arrived." Slowly he pointed towards the tree, where an owl had been sitting patiently, waiting. Elder cackled suddenly, and the small bird hooted in alarm at the, distinctive, laugh. "Go on, my boy. You know the spell." Nodding Harry turned towards the tree, by now needing only to think the words for his intent to become known. Wingardium leviosa. Gently, the letter floated down towards him, and the owl left swiftly. He quickly opened it, and allowed a small smile to appear on his face at the words. In two months, he would be attending Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Elder watched her young protégé quiet for once. The talented young boy seldom spoke, too hurt by the living, too gentle with the dead. She knew he would not do well at Hogwarts. Of course, in lessons he would excel! She'd taught him everything she knew of potion crafting, arithmancy, runes and alchemy. Charms and transfiguration had never been her strong suit, but he would pick it up with time. What worried her was the students reaction to his muteness. It would keep him safe from dark magic. And would isolate him.

"Harrison." He looked over quickly, in worry. She never called him that. "What's wrong Elder?" She sighed sadly, looking almost as morose as when he'd first found her. "I understand you are looking forward to being amongst your own, but be careful. No one can know what you can do, and being a practitioner will draw the dead and the dark towards you. You must take care. Mask your core, avoid tricky situations. Please stay safe." The cruel and cold witch had softened her heart towards the young wizard before her. She'd been alone for too long. He was silent for a time, before walking forwards and hugging her around her middle. It surprised her every time he did this, for two reasons: one, Harry was not an affectionate boy, two, most necromancers were not powerful enough to touch the dead. This power would put the boy in danger. They could only hope that he could protect himself from those that would wish him harm. "It's getting dark Childe, go home. Tomorrow you will collect your things from the magical world." Harry stood back and nodded, though unwilling to return to the Muggles. "I'll write back tonight and visit you once I have the school supplies. Goodnight Elder." With that the small necromancer ran down the street to be home in time. He didn't want to be locked out again.