A/N: Wassup guys. I've lost interest in writing A Tale of Self-Inserts, simply because too much time has passed, and also me and most of my classmates that I've written in don't really care about it anymore. Therefore, I've decided to write another self-insert story, this time with just me.

Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

-Cygus

Chapter 1

You'd think that as a seventeen year-old, I'd get used to random shit getting handed my way by the clusterfuck that was life.

That doesn't seem to be the case.

Out of all the things I could have been doing, when I could have been doing my AP homework, it was playing around with my replica of Dumbledore's wand from Harry Potter.

If I so chose, I'd try to write a fanfiction story, but I was just too damn lazy to do it. I had better things to do, anyway.

I had my "wand" aggressively pointed at the ground, as if there was a downed enemy there. "I'm going to kill you Harry Potter..." I whispered, trying to mimic the exact same pose from Voldemort's monologue in the Goblet of Fire movie. For some reason I was obsessed with performing that over and over again, even after doing so in front of my drama class two years prior.

Not long soon after, I was sitting at my desk, writing down properties for the spell that I really hoped was original. I called it the Exidius, derived from "exidium", which means "havoc" in Latin. I wanted the spell's properties to be similar to that of the Wabbajack, from The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, meaning the effects of the spell were unpredictable.

For example, were you to cast Exidius during a fight (which I don't recommend, you could transfigure your enemy into a chicken, or even a giant whale.

Hell, maybe even a pencil to signify my undying hatred for writing essays in English class. I swear, typing is so much easier, and the words look much better, too.

I stopped what I was doing and pulled out my phone, smiling at my friends' posts on the social media apps I had installed. I checked the messages that were sent to me, and my eyes stared a bit too long at one person's name in particular.

Hermione Jean Granger

That looked...pretty strange, to say the least. Nowhere, could I recall, had I was friends with someone named after a Harry Potter character on Snapchat. Curiously, I selected it, wanting to see who it was that suddenly shown up in my friends list.

Hello?, was what I saw on my screen. I was about to ask who it was I was speaking to, when a Snapchat avatar (which looked very similar to Emma Watson) popped up, indicating that the person on the other side of the conversation was currently typing, causing me to delete my question and wait for whatever it was that they had to say.

Is anyone there?, was what I received. I immediately moved my thumbs to write out my response.

Who the hell names themselves after a Harry Potter character on Snapchat? I asked. I didn't get a response until five minutes later, only to be asked just how I knew about Harry Potter.

I immediately facepalmed. Have you not even seen, read, or heard of the Harry Potter series? I was about to press send, when I received another message, but not from "Hermione Granger". Nope, this new one seems to have come from an "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore". "Not another one," I said to myself. With a resigned sigh, I opened the notification, only for my face to take a confused expression at the message "he" had sent me.

I'm sorry to do this to you. I do hope you forgive me, but alas, I can't take any chances of you refusing.

What? What in the Hell could that mean? What's going on here? Why would these people be contacting me?

That was when the bullshit struck.

Everything that ran on electricity in my room, from my lights to my computer, started flickering on and off, before short-circuiting and turning off. I then turned on the flashlight on my phone, wondering what could have caused such an event. A few seconds passed before I noticed one of the light bulbs shaking. A quick glance around the room confirmed that the other lights, along with my computer, were shaking as well. I attempted to exit my room, desperate to get away from the increasing danger.

No such luck.

The door handle was red hot, almost as if it just came out of a blacksmith forge. I could also see that it was starting to turn yellow, as well. I made for the door leading to my shared bathroom with my cousin, but it too was superheated. I then ran for my windows with the hope of jumping out, but I couldn't get either one out, even unlocked.

And then the unthinkable happened.

The windows, light bulbs, and even my computer broke open, sending out a myriad of colors not towards me, but around me.

Only then I realized that something else was at play here, as all the lights started to swirl around me with increasing speed, until I could no longer see the individual colors, only white. Curiously, I reached out a hand to touch the edge of the "tube" surrounding me, but I felt nothing. I reached out with my other hand, wanting to see if I would meet resistance.

I met it, but not in the way I expected.

Two very large hands grabbed hold my wrists, then yanked me forward. I yelped as I hit the ground. I stayed there for a second to recover my thoughts, but upon realizing I was in a foreign area, I immediately stood up.

I had to do a double take at what I was looking at.

The faces of Gary Oldman, Rupert Grint, Emma Watson, and Michael Gambon were staring at me in shock. I blinked, giving myself a second to recover, then quickly assessed my surroundings. Okay, I'm in a foreign area, with people I don't know (in person, at least). In my "all-rational" train-of-thought, I concluded that there was no way they could have been responsible for whatever happened not even a minute ago.

"Unless..." I thought to myself, but I quickly shook the thought away as soon as it popped up. No there no way that one of my secret fantasies had just come true. This is the kind of thing I should be writing about, not actually happening to me.

After calming down and assessing the situation, I cleared my throat and looked at the group of people staring me.

"So uh, ya'll mind telling me what the fuck just happened there?"

Silence was my response. The damn silence was beginning to grate on my nerves and I sure would like to figure out why I was no longer in my room, and how I could possibly go back.

"Summoning ritual," said the voices of two people in the back. I looked over to see a familiar pair of twins.

It's about damn time.

"Well there's an answer," I said, motioning over to them. "Thank you, twins Fred and George." I chuckled at the shock that appeared on their faces. I looked over to the surprised faces of the others. I looked over at the old man wearing the gray robes. "I assume you're Dumbledore then?" I asked, reaching my hand out for a handshake.

"I am he. I do say, you are taking this quite well. But I must ask, young man, how is it that you know who we are? I don't recall either myself or Ms. Granger ever giving you our names," the man replied as he shook the proffered hand.

I debated on whether or not I should tell him everything I knew. It would really give them the advantage and Voldemort could be taken out as soon as the end of the year.

"I'd need to speak with you privately on that." I stepped back and looked around. "I'd like to know how I was-what was it that you said-summoned here,"

Dumbledore sighed and adjusted his glasses. "I do hope you'll forgive me for this, but I used a combination of dark and chaos magic to call forth a wizard who had the knowledge of how to defeat Voldemort."

Of all the fucking clichés.

I rubbed my eyes. "So you're telling me, that you found and used a ritual to give you an advantage, and the magic gave you me: a random seventeen year-old from the 21st Century. Do you know of any way to send me back after all this is done?"

"I'm sorry, but there is no known way of doing so."

MOTHER-

I put my hands on my hips and looked down at the floor, my tongue pushing on my inner cheek. What am I supposed to do now?

What do I do, Lord? While I wasn't a hardcore Catholic, my faith had been renewed over the years, as a result of research, so I looked to God for anything that was truly out of my control.

While my life wasn't as optimal as I wanted it to be, it was the life I was just living. My mother, oh God, my mother. What is she doing right now, frantically searching for and never being able to find me? After losing my brother to leukemia, there's a high chance she wouldn't be able to go on. My friends. They'd be wondering on why I was no longer responding. They'd think that I actually committed suicide after the first attempt last August.

Oh no.

Hell, I was even in a damn musical! We open in two weeks damn it! How are they gonna go on without me?! I HAVE ONE OF THE IMPORTANT ROLES AND I'M JUST GONE!

I'm so sorry, Ms. White.

Suddenly my thoughts went to her.

Well, fuck.

If I was to be stuck here indefinitely, in 19-fucking-95, then that meant that I was never going to be able to see anyone I knew again. I'd never get the chance to try and-

I immediately dispelled the thought. There's no point in bringing that up anymore. One time, I had the chance, and I blew it. There's no going back. I have to move on from my failures.

I fell to my knees and began to breathe faster. My hands started to ball into fists, and quickly started drawing blood from how hard I was digging my nails into my palms.

My entire being just wanted to scream in rage and break every single thing around me, but I tried to control the rage and pain and hopelessness.

"Young man, if you would please calm down!" cried a voice from somewhere in the room. I suddenly became aware of my surroundings again, and noticed that that the dining table had been broken in half.

I looked up at the Order of the Phoenix with a befallen expression, and bowed deeply. "I apologize for the damage I did to your home, Sirius Black, and to everyone else who I may have potentially hurt." I looked up and saw the man who wore Gary Oldman's face walk up to me and put a hand on my shoulder.

"It's all right, lad," he replied calmly. He then pulled out a stick (wand, actually), and pointed it at the table. "Reparo," he said.

I watched the table repair itself to its condition when I first arrived with a sense of awe and admiration. It finally dawned on me that I actually had magic. I was a wizard, who could cast spells! I realized that one of my greatest fantasies had come true.

But at the cost of losing everyone I had ever known in my life.

I looked back to Sirius, who held out his hand. He gave me a grin. "After that whole mess, it'd be nice if we got a name out of you."

It didn't take me long to give him one. I didn't want to be known as I was before. This was my chance at a new identity, and I wasn't going to let it go to waste. Part of me wanted to use Cygus Lorman, the pseudonym I used for almost everything involving the Internet. After all, that was the name I came up with to blend in with the populace, had this sort of situation came to be.

But no, I wanted to use a name that would serve as a reminder and an homage to the life I had once lived.

I accepted and firmly shook the offered hand. "My name is Michael MacGyver."

Reviews would be nice.