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The Evil Soul
By : MaeNatura
Category: Harry Potter > General > General
Views: 759 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. - Chapter List
Harry Potter was a seventh year student at Hogwarts School like any other. His life held few events of great significance, perhaps the greatest of which was the murder of his parents when he was a child, though Harry considered that the contributing factor in their demise, their negligence, made the event significant on par with the mundane stupidity of muggle accidents. He had seen plenty of those growing up in his muggle relatives' house. Once he turned the age of eleven, Harry had been spirited away in a curious episode, long forgotten, to the magical world. Harry had never looked back. In any case, no one spoke much about it. After all, it would be excessively unkind to remind an orphan that their parents were dead.The headmaster of Hogwarts and a member of the Loyal Surgeons, Albus Dumbledore, was Harry's guardian. Being quite distant from each other personally and in years, Harry had never really made any effort to observe his guardian. Though, in one instance of conversation, something Harry said caused the old man to give a dispiriting look of simultaneous pity and revulsion. Harry supposed that was the last time they had spoken at length. It was three, no, four years ago. That fact didn't bother him much.
Harry was seated at his morning Charms lesson, where the miniscule Professor Flitwick was delivering his weekly oration.
"What is levitation?" the Professor asked. One of the students, an untamed-looking girl named Hermione Granger, raised her hand.
"Sir, levitation is the act of physically lifting a remote object."
The Professor chuckled. Hermione Granger looked affronted. Harry Potter grinned.
"Quite," said the Professor. "Up until this point in your education, that answer would be correct. The word 'physical' does not belong in any definition of a magical process, however."Hermione raised her hand again, "So, sir, does that mean that we metaphysically move the object?"
"In a way," the Professor said, "you could say that. The answer is that we do not move the object in any way that someone without magic, a muggle or a squib, could see. Let us review some muggle physics." The class groaned.
"Now, there are three dimensions of space. Think of these as the three directions. Vertical, horizontal, and, for the sake of it, we'll call the third 'perpendicular.' Now, it has been known by muggles for quite a while that there are more than these three dimensions. Another dimension is time. These muggles know there must be more. However, wizards know of a dimension undetectable to muggles.
"This we will call the magical dimension. When we levitate an object, we are moving it in the magical direction. Why, you may ask, do we perceive magic as operating in the three spatial dimensions?
"Take stock of your bodies. Do you wake up with aches in your backs? Do you sometimes bite your own tongue? Do you choke? These bodies are rudimentary instruments. Before the first wizards, we were all muggles. What use did we have to see the magical dimension? Our brains—and your brain, Ms. Granger, no matter how competent—must make use of the tools it has been given."
Flitwick raised his arms, his hands level with his eyes. "Look at my hands," he said reverently. "How miraculous. Hands are the tool of magic." He gazed at the silent class. "So basic and so simple. We are wizards because of our hands."
"Sir," said Harry, "wouldn't that mean muggles can perform magic?"
"No," said the Professor, "muggle hands are not wizard hands. Only those gifted with magic can make adjustments to magic. Only wizards can see the magical dimension, don't you understand? It is power, Mr. Potter. Some will never truly know just how powerful."
Harry nodded, but he wasn't sure if he understood. He looked down to his hands and gathered them close to his body. He could feel them beating in stoccato rhythm with his heart, swollen with endowed power and strength.
He did not, however, truly feel any of these things. They were only imagined.
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