The Road to Home is Paved with Good Intentions

So… I died.

Well, probably at least. I'm not actually sure. I cannot remember for the life of me what happened. Ha. For the life of me. Oh god, if being dead brings an onset of bad puns, just kill me now…

At the very least, I have this feeling that I am dead, some unshakable belief that my life is over. And that is sad. Or it's supposed to be, I'm feeling rather ambivalent about it.

Presuming that I'm actually dead, this really screws up any theological non-belief that I had. Isn't that dandy. Oh well. Not much I can do about it, being dead and all that jazz.

Time seems to flow oddly here. Wherever here is. I feel no sensory inputs, only a distinct feeling that there is me and not-me. I don't think I like not-me very much. It's very empty.

Some time passes. Or maybe it doesn't. It is exceedingly hard to tell. But finally, I feel something. A call, specifically for me. I move towards it, my transcendent form drawn out into the infinite distance. I draw close, and see… is that an entire world? It's something great, a massive expanse of things inside of nothing. There is a word for this… it… it's a plane, isn't it? It feels like that.

Something is calling me from this plane. Someone. Basic details start to trickle into my mind, a contract of sorts. The exact specifics… I do something for somebody in exchange for something. Holy hell, how bloody vague.

I feel somebody else. I know that it's a being of unimaginable power. And… it is mediating the contract? The being specifically punted it my way. Why would it do that?

I feel that I have a choice in the matter. Either I can take the contract, or I could choose to stay floating in the void, forever. As much as the latter option does not appeal to me, the former is throwing up many red flags. What would I be doing? What would I get in return?

The answers come from the being. I would essentially be summoned by somebody, and they would propose a contract to me. Should I agree, I would be bound by the terms of the agreement. Once completed, or dismissed I would be able to return home. Home. My real home. I would be literally given my life back.

Now that I was reminded about it, I felt the ache in my metaphorical heart. I missed my mother, father and two little brothers. I missed home.

I turn to the being. The Contractor. It assures me that it could, and would return me home. After my contract had been concluded.

It was a no-brainer. And considering I had no brain… not quite sure where I was going with that. The point was I accepted the invitation for the contract.

And… nothing happens. I look up towards the Contractor and get an overwhelming feeling of second-hand embarrassment and schadenfreude from it. I've totally messed up something, haven't I? It gently pushes me towards the plane, and I contact the-

The world swirls into view, I'm standing- no, floating in the corner of a small room. Decrepit wooden floorboards, a dusty four poster bed, and faded gold and royal blue sixteenth century wallpaper adorn the chamber. Spooky. I can see a pale, bald man in a lovely suit with an odd purple sash and cloak combo. He seems to be wearing some sort of head covering. A turban? I also see a ghostly ball of light next to him, a manifestation of the Contractor, my newfound senses confirm.

"Considering just how limited your contribution was, this is the best I can offer you" the Contractor's brightness seems to fluctuate with every word, "it is essentially a blank slate, no existing power to speak of, but intelligent and knowledgeable. If anything, it appears perfect for what you wish."

I feel like I missed quite a large amount of their conversation. I also feel like I've been not so subtly insulted and complemented. I'm not sure how to feel about that.

"V-very well. It will do," the bald man turns to address me, "d-do you agree to serve my master until he vanquishes his foe?"

I stand- float there, a little stunned for a while. I had truly expected the contract to come with a certain level of rules lawyering, excessive defining and a level of specification. I mean, I still don't even know who I am serving and who this foe is. A quick mental consult with the Contractor assures me that this is okay, that the magic behind the contract would both accept his master and foe when he introduced them, and would force me to obey the spirit of the agreement, not the seriously poor wording.

Screw it. I could spend forever dithering over this or that, but in the end, I really want to go home, and I won't let anybody stand in my way.

"I accept," my voice is not too different from my old English accent, perhaps a little less gravely. I suppose that would have to do with not having a damaged voice box. Or not having a larynx at all.

"My work here is complete. I will return at the conclusion of the contract." The Contractor's light goes out, and the ghostly wisps of smoke dissipate.

I continue to float, unsure of what to do next, until I feel a stirring feeling deep within me. Suddenly I feel a pale clay like material begin to extrude itself from where I sto- goddammit, I really needed to get used to floating.

It keeps moving, becoming a large blob that continues to expand lengthwise towards the ground. I would try to explain its shape better, but a longish blob is pretty damn accurate. Wait, it isn't accurate anymore. It appears to be creating two appen- no four appendages off the main form… It's creating a body, isn't it? Just as I was getting used to floating too.

Over the course of a few moments the body forms. Small and undetailed, it resembled a scaled up doll. The only place anatomically correct was the face. I presume. It felt that way anyway. Looking out of the eyes of my new body, I make a show of examining my hands. They appeared to be smooth with no visible callouses or even veins under the surface. But as informative as that was, there was another reason. I have honestly no clue what to do next, and decided to punt the ball into his court, so to speak, studiously ignoring him until he did something.

It appears that my scheme worked, "take this," he stutters as he hands me his cloak. Ah, clothes, how have I missed you. Draping the huge cloak around my shoulders and tugging it closed around me, it pools around my feet.

"F-for n-now you can wear this. I-I'll acquire something more suitable later," his stuttering is something atrocious, perhaps a speech therapist is in order? "Let me adjust that," he says as he brandishes something at me.

What is he… he swishes a stick around and suddenly the cloak morphs into a robe of sorts.

Holy hell. A magic wand. And magic. And… I'm not sure if I should be surprised at this point, but I really am. Between death and now, a few unbelievable things have happened. Magic, sure why not.

I suppose the next step is to figure out what the hell is going on.

"Uh…," great start, "what-who am, I mean…" I sigh. This was going nowhere fast, "I suppose I should ask who you are, and who your master is." That's probably a good point as any to start from.

"My name is Quirinus Quirrell," good to know- wait, what, "and my master is the Dark Lord Voldemort."

On one hand, his stutter seems to have completely disappeared. On the other, holy shit I just entered into a contract with Tom Riddle to kill Harry Potter.

Alright, calm down. What do I know at this point? I've been contracted by Quirinus Quirrell to help 'vanquish' Harry Potter on behalf of Lord Voldemort. Beyond that? All of my knowledge beyond that is suspect and probably should not be relied upon.

What is going to happen next? I'm not sure, and to be perfectly honest, I don't think Quirrell knows what to do next either. Considering his stuttering before, I think he was rather nervous about everything. As such, I think it might be best to capitalize upon my foreknowledge and try to repair his image of me after my less than graceful opening question.

"I presume that makes my foe one Harry James Potter?" My god, I sound like a pretentious cunt.

"Indeed he is." Perhaps a little less verbose a response than I would like. In fact, I would rather that he steer the conversation. Oh well, might as well get to the meat of the situation

"What would your master have me do?"

He pauses for a few moments, as if collecting his thoughts "My- Our Lord would have you join Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry so that you may ingrain yourself amongst his enemies."

"A double agent of sorts?"

"Quite." Huh. That's surprisingly doable. Considering that I have no skills nor assets it's probably the only thing I can do.

"Alright, what do I need to do now?"

"Nothing. I will be going to Hogwarts soon, where I will be able to bewitch your name into the attendance list."

"What about my backstory? And what will I do in the meantime?"

"That can be determined this afternoon, once I figure out what attendance details I will be able to confound into the list." Interesting. That implies that he may have difficulty with doing it. Then again, I have no actual clue what that entails. "As for now, you can wait here."

He must have seen the discontent on my face as he quickly added "I can give you one of the defence against the dark arts textbooks that you will be studying this year. I will be gone for a few hours at most."

"Alright, that will be fine," I acquiesced. I had to, really. What else could I do?

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. What a name for a textbook. I wish half of my textbooks back home were this interesting.

"What on Earth am I going to do with myself?" I mutter to nobody. Despite how fascinating the book was, I've constantly found myself staring into space, thinking in circles. Home. I've spent an eternity in the void beyond this world. Going home sounds really nice. If it means that I have to spend a few years learning magic and cosying up to Potter, so be it.

My situation is really odd. Like, really, really odd. There is no precedent for anything like this in Harry Potter canon, nor is there any real reason I can think of as to why this happened. Why would Quirrelmort need to arrange a contract? Why me? And now that I think about it, why would he feel confident in just leaving me here with little more than a school textbook?

Judging by the way that he ordered me just to wait, I bet he expected me to be a simpleminded construct, or something along those lines. The Contractor said 'a blank slate' after all. I wonder how accurate this train of thought is…

Speaking of constructs, what the hell am I? When I was first 'summoned' to this plane, I felt formless and I'd bet that I looked just like the Contractor did; an ethereal ball of lights. Now I have this… this homunculus body. Running my fingers over myself, I find that my previous remarks about my body's form were fairly accurate. There appears to be no details on the vast majority of the body. No fold lines in the skin, no blotches, no discolorations of any kind. Completely genderless. Hell, there are no tactile or visible details below my neck.

My face feels smooth, but not quite to the same extent as the rest of my body. Every feature feels fully formed, from the small nose to the full complement of teeth. Including wisdom teeth. Huh.

"So…" I articulate insightfully, "I have two possible situations, either this world is close to canon, which should go smoothly, or a world which is, uh… different."

Regardless of which, I really should try to ingrain myself to Harry on the first train ride to Hogwarts. There is no real point in planning for the myriad of possibilities of a noncanon world, so I should plan around canon themes and adapt from that.

So, 'How to Engineer Friendships and Inevitable Betrayals; The Speedrun Edition': Meet Harry on train, do something, also Hermione, don't be a cunt, don't drown on the boat ride, do sorting, force hat to put me in the same house as Harry, the end of plan.

Not bad, if I do say so myself.

My friends and I used to make fun of each other all the time. If one of us was about to have a hard assignment or a crappy work shift, we ritually would tell them 'to have a shit one'.

I think I can hear them hollering it to me in the void between the worlds.

A/N: Hello everybody. This is my first real attempt at writing, at least in this style. I'll probably crosspost this on Spacebattles and Sufficient Velocity in the next month or two once I've reached a desired level of quality and length. As for now, the story is liable to change as I tinker with the plot.

As I mentioned in the summary, this story is meant to be an experiment in first person unreliable narration. I really want this story to give justice to the characters of Harry Potter, and as such, I intend to do a faithful rendition of their personality. But, I do intend for them to grow dynamically, so they will not be just caricatures of their canon counterparts.

As for the setting itself, it will be a minor AU, but one that is darker than the original. Not to the same level that we sometimes see in the 'Voldemort wins' style fics, but to an extent that I would see as more reasonable for a mild civil war.

Beyond that, enjoy and comment.