Hey all! Sorry it took so long to put this together - I've been working on it on and off since May 2022, and finally decided to kick myself in the rear and finish it while some of my other fics were giving me trouble. Took the better part of the past two weeks to work out the kinks - it's been interesting, making an 11K word one-shot for the first time - but I think it's as good as it's gonna get!
If you are unaware: this fic is set within the Kryptonverse, a massive crossover series that combines elements from dozens of fandoms at this point in one big happy hodge podge of pop culture set in an MCU-based world. In particular, this fic contains elements from Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, the MCU, and Dani Phantom, though of course the series it's set in contains many others. If you'd like to give it a chance, you can check out my profile here or the series page over on my AO3 profile!
A disclaimer, since writing HP content requires it nowadays: JKR's attitude and actions against the trans community these past few years are unacceptable, and looking back at the novels, it's fairly clear that there are some unsavory ideas thrown in that most of us who grew up with the franchise wouldn't have caught as kids and teens. I personally have decided never to spend a cent in anything she's involved with going forward, and even writing this was much harder than it should've been because the author's terrible behavior have all but ruined my enjoyment of this fandom. As a result, I've elected to heavily curtail my original plans for HP content in the Kryptonverse - pretty much, what you see here is what you get, despite the open ending, as I have no plans to write more of it in the foreseeable future.
I apologize if this is a disappointing decision, but I'm simply not comfortable writing HP stuff with that hanging over my head. Even this is kind of going against my decision, but I hate leaving loose ends for this series, so I'll put this up and unless the situation improves, that'll likely be that.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, this fic features a FEMALE HARRY POTTER, and since FFN doesn't allow us tags the way AO3 does, this is your only warning. If, for some reason, this is an issue for you, I'd advise you not to read any further. There are reasons both in and out of universe for this change, explained below, but even if there weren't, the cool thing about writing my own crossover fanfic universe is that I'm not limited by canon! I can do whatever I want, and I definitely recommend giving it a try :P If you choose to read anyway, please don't comment that you hate the change, or question it, or whatever; I'm well past my years of arguing with strangers on the Internet and will likely just ignore you. Don't waste your time!
Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Don't expect many more lengthy one-shots like this in the future - I just had to do this one this way because I simply cannot afford to have another on-going multi-chapter fic at the moment xD
Nico wakes up to the feeling of getting constantly poked in the ribs.
"Oh, hey, you're awake!" –Ellie notices, somewhere beside him. Regardless, the poking does not stop. "Get up already, Doc says we have to go."
He turns, half of his face still buried in the supernaturally comfy pillow, courtesy of the Sanctum Sanctorum's hospitality. Despite the magical bed, and even days after the battle, every bone in his body aches still, courtesy of his battle with Hercules, Hecate, and those weird Egyptian zealots. Ellie must have a hell of a healing factor, to be as chipper as she is, considering she had it the hardest out of them. "Go where?" –he mutters, annoyed.
Danielle is already dressed and ready to go; Nico wouldn't have pegged her as an early riser, but given what he knows about her life as a ghost-hunting superhero, he supposes it's not all that surprising – she's probably a really light sleeper, used to having to wake up at a moment's notice to take down whatever ghost has decided to haunt Amity Park.
"Somewhere in the UK, I think?" –she says, then shrugs. "Strange said we're not allowed to know the exact location – something about secrecy laws that I, uh…didn't really pay attention to. I kinda tuned him out when he started droning on about magical borders and proper diplomatic etiquette."
It makes some sort of sense, he supposes; Ellie's activities as a ghost hunter have never been treated as a secret, despite their obscurity, and the only real 'borders' she had to worry about were the various ghost portals that allow ghosts to easily travel between this world and their messed up facsimile of the afterlife. Demigods, on the other hand, definitely have several factors to be concerned about when it comes to mixing with other magical spheres – as he learned when he first met the Egyptian god Anubis and his very much mortal host, and of course now that he's some sort of attaché to Strange's Masters of the Mystic Arts. As far as he can tell, the magical world that lays just beneath the mundane façade of modern human civilization is a convoluted mess of insular communities, too frightful and paranoid to accomplish any sort of unity in modern times.
Then again, he supposes, he's very glad that he didn't have to worry about any apocalyptic chaos serpents at all, since the Kanes had it covered. He imagines they're similarly relieved not to have ever faced Kronos and his Titans, or Gaia and her Giants. Maybe this separation has kept them all alive by denying their foes the opportunity to form any potentially insurmountable alliances.
Something to think about, that's for sure.
Nico sighs, kicking the covers off. "Yeah, fine. Tell Strange I'll be down in half an hour."
Ellie purses her lips. "I, uh…I don't think Strange wanted to wait…"
Suddenly, they're both in the middle of the Sanctum's atrium, Strange and Wong standing off to their side. "…that long." –Ellie finishes, offering an apologetic smile.
The Son of Hades glares at the Sorcerer Supreme. "You know I can quit at any time, right? My annoyance with you is starting to outweigh any deference I have for Olympus' or my Lord Father's wishes."
"Promises, promises." –Strange dismisses. "For once, Nico, I'm not being an ass just to annoy you – though that's certainly a welcome perk. We actually do need to leave in approximately…" –he says, turning to Wong.
"Four minutes, thirteen seconds." –the sorcerer says, checking his wristwatch.
Nico shakes his head, rising to his feet. Strange promptly tosses a portal that swallows the bed, presumably dumping it back in his room. The glaring intensifies. "Why the rush?"
Wong gestures at a pedestal between him and Strange, which appears to be holding a common leather wallet – one of those cheap ones you buy for your dad when it's about to be Father's Day and you forgot to pick a gift for him, not that he has any personal experience with that. "Portkey." –he says. "It'll take us to the place we need to be in an instant, but we all need to be touching it at a specific time."
"Why not just use one of your Sling Rings? Or my shadow travel?" –he asks. "Not that I feel up to jumping you all across the Atlantic, but this seems a lot more obtuse than our tried and true alternatives."
"Our destination is a hamlet of sorts named Hogsmeade, a stone's throw from Hogwarts castle, somewhere in the Scottish countryside." –Strange says. "The castle grounds are protected by extremely powerful wards, the likes of which even the Sorcerer Supreme would be wise to hesitate breaching without very good reason. Beyond that, however, this method of transportation is a courtesy from our hosts, and I see no reason not to employ it."
"I can think of at least one." –Nico says, annoyed, looking down and realizing he's in his pajamas – a frayed, purple SPQR shirt from Camp Jupiter and some old Mythomagic themed shorts. Strange notices too, forming a ball of white magic between his palms and tossing it at his chest. He's instantly changed into some semblance of his usual look, which consists of black combat boots, ripped black jeans, and his trademark aviator's jacket over a skull shirt so edgy it loops back to being hilarious, gifted by Annabeth. His Stygian Iron sword hangs from his hip, safely stored inside an ornate leather scabbard dipped in the Styx – a gift from his half-brother, Prince Zagreus, and one of the only ways to safely contain a Stygian Iron sword. "…did I just get a shower and my teeth brushed, too?" –he asks, nearly popping a vein.
"Dude, personal boundaries." –Ellie agrees, crossing her arms and sending Strange a disapproving look.
Strange rolls his eyes. "Oh, fine. I promise not to do it again. Even if you do always take way too long to gear up."
"Says the man that manually grooms his beard despite wielding some of the most powerful magic in the world." –Wong says, raising an eyebrow. Strange regales him with a disdainful sneer.
Nico pinches his nose. "Just…tell me why we're going to a place named Hogwarts."
"You read the dossiers, Nico." –Strange says, raising an eyebrow.
"I skimmed the dossiers." –Nico corrects. "I also just woke up, so spill."
Strange purses his lips. "Very well. As you know, a handful of sizable communities of magic users settled around the world in ancient times, descended from various gods of magic – sons and daughters of Hecate's children, descendants of surviving witnesses of the Wild Hunt, some Slavic folks born on the spring equinox…the list goes on. The vast majority of them have taken residence throughout the European continent, centered around three academies where children have been taught to harness their magical abilities for over a thousand years; Durmstrang to the northeast, Beauxbatons somewhere in the French Pyrenees, and our current destination, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Just...somewhere on the Scottish countryside, you say." –Nico says. "Kind of infuriatingly vague, Strange."
"Indeed. As Sorcerer Supreme, I am one of the few people in the world who knows its precise location – these wizards are notoriously paranoid about keeping anyone outside of their own people from discovering their existence." –Strange explains. "Not too surprising, admittedly, given they were one of the hardest hit communities during the magical purges of the Dark Ages, in addition to their sharp population decline and civil wars in recent centuries. Between their dwindling numbers and the often questionable methods they've used to keep their so-called bloodlines 'pure', I personally doubt they'll last much longer – it's entirely possible that I may be the last Sorcerer Supreme to deal with them as any form of recognizable faction." –he muses. "Regardless, the fewer bridges we burn, the better."
Nico scowls at the mention of bloodlines – historically, it's never been a good thing when people obsess over them. "Anything else I should know?" –he asks pointedly, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword.
Strange sighs. "I know you're used to it, but we're not looking for a fight, Nico. There's hardly a reason to fight these people in the first place."
"Which is fine, but like you said, fights usually come looking for me." –he grouses. "You wanted a demigod on the team, so you should be prepared for the consequences."
The sorcerer shakes his head. "…I suppose you're right. Practically all wizards from age eleven wield magic wands – foot-long hollow sticks of certain kinds of wood, filled with a magical substance at their core, like unicorn hair or the heartstrings of a slain dragon. The vast majority of them have long since lost the ability to wield their magic without these instruments to focus it, so disarming a typical witch or wizard would render them harmless. They wear little to no armor, but they do have robust protective spells at their disposal, as well as mobility options in the form of flying brooms and a type of limited teleportation called Apparition."
Ellie snorts. "Flying brooms? Really?"
Strange raises an eyebrow. "Did you think the stereotype sprouted from thin air?"
Wong clears his throat. "Sixty seconds."
The Sorcerer Supreme purses his lips. "Just don't antagonize them, either of you; my predecessor seemed even more hesitant than usual to reach out to these people, so I can only imagine they're a pain in the ass to deal with."
Wong makes a face that clearly tells Nico that he knows more than he's let on, but he doesn't comment on this. "You mean you've never met with them?"
"…yes, well, the life of the Sorcerer Supreme is rather busy. I've yet to even repair the damage Kaecilius and his acolytes did to our Sanctum at London, so…no, I haven't met with them yet. I've only exchanged correspondence with a few of their leaders, which led me to arrange this meeting."
"Great. Going in blind. Love it." –Nico says, sarcastic.
"Fifteen seconds." –Wong says. "Place your fingertips on the wallet now."
All four of them do so, and a few moments later, the portkey activates; suddenly, the group feels like they're being pulled by their navels with incredible force, colors and sounds swirling around them as if the whole world were spinning around their axis. It only lasts a moment – a nauseatingly long moment – after which they reappear in a field of sorts, just to the side of an extremely worn stone path. The 'landing' kind of throws them off their feet, Strange's cape swishing around to stop him from falling, Wong balancing himself by blasting a few sparks backwards, and Nico rolling back to a half-kneel. The only one who appears largely unaffected is Ellie – probably very accustomed to sudden changes in gravity.
The midday sun hangs above them, warming up the otherwise chilly late summer day – bizarrely enough, there's a smattering of snow all over the area to their left, where the stone path leads to what must be the village Strange mentioned. It's incredibly small; one long, main street and maybe a dozen smaller paths and alleyways weaving around a number of stores that seem to offer all manner of magical goods – from cauldrons and potion ingredients to wizard robes and, of course, magic wands.
"Oh crud. That's a castle-castle." –Ellie says, looking to their right, putting on a wicked grin. "Eat your damn heart out, Plasmius."
Indeed, as Nico turns, he takes in the majesty of what's surely Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; he counts roughly nine main towers or spires, distributed on two main sections of the building, which sits atop a hill broken up by a chasm, bridged by a lengthy viaduct. The castle looks to be six or seven stories tall, and given it looks massive even in the distance, Nico would imagine it can fit thousands of people within its walls.
Wong picks up the discarded wallet, evaluating it for a second, then stuffing it in one of the hidden pockets of his sorcerer's robe. Strange raises an eyebrow at this. "What? I needed a replacement – and I'm not exactly getting one for Father's Day." –Wong shrugs.
A carriage approaches, pulled by pitch-black horses that look horribly malnourished until he realizes they're Thestrals, like his own Shadowmere, currently resting back on the roof of the Sanctum Sanctorum. "Jesus, what are those?" –Ellie wonders. "They look like the Fright Knight's horse got an eating disorder."
"They're called Thestrals." –Wong supplies. "Very gentle creatures, but they have a rather ominous reputation – they can only be seen by someone who's witnessed death."
"Oh. Yup, that checks out." –she says, almost amused.
"Indeed." –Strange says. Nico simply snorts.
The carriage stops ten feet away or so. Two figures climb down from it – both of them women, one looking to be in her late eighties while the other must be in her mid-twenties. The pale, elderly woman wears a black, pointed witch's hat and billowing burgundy robes trimmed in gold, her face wrinkled and stern, mostly gray and white hair with a few scant streaks of what must've been her original hair color, black or very dark brown, tightly combed back, he imagines, into a bun under the hat. Prominent blue eyes sweep over them, the way a teacher's might, suspicious that you're trying to copy the test answers from your desk neighbors. The younger witch, in turn, is dressed very sensibly in a two-piece suit, a cherry-red blouse under the jacket; she looks like a business executive, almost, or perhaps an up-and-coming politician, tan skinned and beautiful, oddly contrasting with the bushiest, frizziest head of brown hair he's ever seen, barely pulled back into a messy, puffed up ponytail. She seems a lot friendlier than her companion, but her sharp brown eyes remind Nico of Annabeth's – a person too smart for her own good, constantly evaluating everything and everyone around her and calculating her next steps, often to the detriment of their ability to experience the present.
"Welcome to Hogwarts." –the older woman says, a clear Scottish lilt to her tone. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts' Headmistress and instructor for the Transfiguration course."
"I'm Hermione Granger." –the younger one says. "I teach the Muggle Studies course and serve as the current Minister for Magic."
"Recently elected, I presume." –Strange says. "I believe my predecessor and I dealt with a Minister Shacklebolt."
"That's correct! I've only just been elected this year." –she nods.
"Then I suppose introductions are in order. Doctor Stephen Strange, Earth's Sorcerer Supreme and de facto leader of the Masters of the Mystic Arts."
"And I am Master Wong, Guardian of the New York Sanctum." –Wong supplies.
"Pleasure to meet you." –Minister Granger says. "I do apologize for not reaching out sooner; life at the Ministry has been a bit chaotic this year, between the old guard's hardliners attempting to undo nearly every progressive measure enacted in the past decade and the ongoing upheaval in the human world."
"No harm done. We've obviously been similarly occupied." –Strange says.
Professor McGonagall raises an eyebrow. "Speaking of Muggles…are you certain it's wise to bring these young ones along? Enforcement of the Statute of Secrecy is in shambles as it is."
Strange shrugs. "They're not your typical Muggles. In fact, I wouldn't consider them Muggles at all." –he says. "May I introduce Nico di Angelo, demigod son of Hades, and Danielle Fenton, half-ghost superhero."
McGonagall's eyes widen. "Son of Hades, the Greek God of the Dead?"
"Yeah." –Nico sighs, used to that question. "It's a, uh…a whole thing."
"And you're…half-dead?" –Minister Granger asks, frowning. She really does look like Annabeth when she's trying to figure out a particularly obtuse floor plan. "How does that work?"
"Well, in my experience, you get cloned from someone who activated a portal between our world and the Ghost Zone and got fried by colossal amounts of ectoplasm." –Ellie says, smirking.
The witches look at each other in abject confusion. "Long stories, both." –Strange says, clearly trying to get past the awkward introductions. "We can discuss them later. For now, we should get to the subject of this meeting."
McGonagall purses her lips. "Agreed. Though I should warn you, Sorcerer: I'm afraid your chances of recruiting Harry Potter to your cause are rather minuscule."
The ride to the castle is short, and honestly, wholly unnecessary – at most, it would've been a short walk at a decently brisk pace. Nico gets the impression that their hosts are trying to impress them – and sure, the castle is majestic as hell, but past that first impression, Hogwarts has got nothing on Olympus or Hades.
"So, do most people think the carriages pull themselves?" –Ellie wonders.
"Oh, you know about Thestrals?" –Minister Granger wonders. There's a bit of sadness to her realization. "Yes, you'd be right. The vast majority of students can't see them. A good thing, I think – for a long time, most everyone could, on account of the war."
Nico hums, making sure to note the mention of war. "It's a little old-fashioned, isn't it?" –he asks. "Carriages weren't even in use anymore when I was a kid in the 30s."
"The 1930s? You don't look a day over twenty!" –Hermione balks. "Do demigods age dramatically slower than regular Muggles?"
"We don't. Well, maybe a little bit? But that's not what happened with me." –Nico says, then gets to reciting the important bits of his story. "I was born in 1932, but when I was ten, my Lord Father decided to stick me and my sister in the Lotus Hotel and Casino for over sixty years to protect us from his enemies. We didn't age at all while we were stuck in there, so while I'm physically seventeen, I'm technically eighty years old."
McGonagall tilts her head. "The Lotus Hotel? Like the Lotus Eaters of Odysseus' myth?"
"Well, yeah, but…the modern version, in America." –Nico says. Seeing their continued confusion, he frowns, turning to Strange. "Do they not know anything about us?"
"Did you know anything about them?" –Strange raises an eyebrow.
Granger pipes up. "We knew that some entities worshipped as gods existed once, of course. Some of our most prominent families claim to trace their lineage all the way back to Hecate herself, and the covens and priests that worshipped her in ancient times. We knew some of the mythological world survived the turn of the millennium, too." –Granger supplies. "There exist to this day powerful potions that call for the use of trophies obtained by slaying mythical entities, like Hydra blood or the bronze feathers of Stymphalian birds, and though rare, there are enough of these creatures left that it's profitable for adventurous wizards and witches to hunt them down. But we've not heard of any demigods, to be honest – or at least, no more than any Muggle with a copy of the Odyssey."
Nico purses his lips. "I guess we hadn't heard of anyone like you, so that's fair." –he admits.
"The insular nature of the magical world has a purpose, Nico – if perhaps an outdated one." –Strange says. "My predecessors believed the best way for magical folk to preserve their way of life was to sever the ties between them and isolate them from the mundane world."
"A noble idea, perhaps, in times of peace." –the minister says. "But I believe recent events have proven that our communities are not long for the modern world if we continue to try and go it alone."
McGonagall leads the way, the massive doors to the castle opening to let them inside. Suits of armor and statues of celebrated wizards and famous magical creatures stand guard along the corridors, and thousands of paintings line the ancient stone walls. Nico's eyebrow raises – all of the paintings are moving, their subjects doing everything from trying (and failing) to hold the pose they must've been originally immortalized in to chatting with the people milling about the castle's interior, or even their painted neighbors. Oddly enough, he can feel the faintest trace of life in these paintings – not nearly matching that of a regular, living human, but perhaps enough to emulate the people they were meant tp represent, even long dead.
Speaking of the dead, Nico balks as a disembodied soul floats by – a medieval nobleman of some sort, pale blue and transparent the way Ellie looks when she turns intangible, that yelps and jumps as soon as he spots him, his partially severed head falling to the side. Nico is far too fed up with the weird alternatives to the sort of death he knows to do anything about it, but Ellie cackles at his expression as the ghost books it through the nearest wall.
Judging by their ages, all the kids in black robes must be Hogwarts' students. The youngest of them look about ten or eleven, while the oldest ones look closer to his age. Their wardrobe choices are a bit odd; while most of them wear the flowing black robes emblazoned with the school's coat of arms – and he even spots a couple of stereotypical witch's hats – some others seem to be wearing more mundane, school-like uniforms, like button-up shirts, blouses, pants, and skirts.
"Our world is in a bit of a transition period." –Granger says, following Nico's gaze. "There are some things we'll likely never be able to replace, like quills and ink and flying brooms, but we're making a conscious effort to teach our wizarding youth about the mundane world – the truth as we who were Muggleborn know it, and not the twisted, falsehood-laden versions some of the older, Pureblood families insist on holding onto.
"I can't imagine that's made you very popular." –Strange notes, pointedly ignoring the none-too-subtle gossiping around them.
McGonagall sighs. "Like the Minister said, there are very ancient family lines in our world, and they tend to be on the stubborn side when it comes to cultural upheaval."
"That being said, our generation's status as war heroes does afford us some momentum." –Granger says. "Change is here, and it will continue if I have anything to say about it."
"War heroes, huh?" –Ellie wonders, raising an eyebrow.
They're passing by the entrance to a huge hall, dominated by four comically long tables lined with seats and packed to the brim with delicious looking food. There's a black plaque by the massive, wooden doors, and the Minister points to it. There's an inscription, and above it, the image of a thunderbolt shattering what appears to be an ornate magic wand.
The plaque reads, in scarlet letters trimmed with gold: 'On this site, on the 2nd of May of the year 2004, Harry Potter, the Order of the Phoenix, and the students and faculty of Hogwarts defeated Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, ending the Second Wizarding War'. Below that, it reads: 'Sit Tenebrae Numquam Rursus Ut Radix'; his Latin isn't anywhere as good as his Ancient Greek, of course, but he gets the gist of it – something about never letting darkness take root again.
Seems…a bit too optimistic, in his experience.
"This is the site of our last stand." –Granger admits. "The final battle of a conflict that spanned two decades of fear, uncertainty, and death. The person you're here for is the one who finally managed to personally put an end to Voldemort's evil, but the deed took its toll – on all of us, to be sure, but Harry first and foremost."
"That kinda sounds like something the Sorcerer Supreme should've helped with, Strange." –Nico points out.
"I happen to agree." –Strange says. "The Ancient One, obviously, did not."
"That's not entirely true." –Wong counters. "Yes, the Ancient One rarely sought to intervene in the conflicts of the various magical communities, but even she realized that this Voldemort figure posed a large enough threat, even beyond the European magical world. She reached out eventually, but her aid was rejected. There appeared to be some kind of plan in place already."
McGonagall sighs as they climb a staircase, which suddenly turns on the base's axis and connects to a different wing of the castle. "Dumbledore's decision, no doubt." –she says, leading them up. Noticing their confused expressions, she explains. "Albus Dumbledore was my predecessor. Headmaster of Hogwarts and one of the most powerful wizards who ever lived, perhaps even greater than Merlin himself. He was a good man, truly brilliant, but…"
"He knew how to defeat Voldemort, planned it out…and kept almost everyone in the dark." –Hermione says, pursing her lips. "In hindsight, perhaps, a necessary evil – at the time, Voldemort and his goons seemed to be hiding around every corner, so caution and secrecy became our imperative – but Dumbledore died before he could enact most of his plan, and left us all grasping for anything we could do beyond surviving till the next day. It's honestly a miracle that we lived long enough to figure it out and, eventually, kill the bastard."
"Language, Miss Granger." –McGonagall says, apparently on reflex, as she catches herself and winces. Hermione merely snorts.
"Those accomplishments are exactly the reason your friend is being considered." –Strange says. "It's not just the European magical community that's going through a period of change and upheaval – the entire human race is currently on a path that will either make or break us as a civilization. I foresee threats in the horizon that we won't be able to address if we remain divided."
Granger sighs. "I understand, trust me. And you're free to make the request, of course, but…" –she trails off, shaking her head. "Harry's whole life revolved around this sort of thing for the longest time. It robbed them of their parents, the chance at a normal childhood, friends and loved ones…don't you think that's a rest well earned?"
"I do." –Strange admits. "But that sort of heroic drive doesn't simply vanish. And if we are to preserve our way of life, we're going to need people like him."
Granger makes an odd face at that. "If you say so, doctor."
The Headmistress has led them six floors up in the meantime, and now they're standing before a pretty ugly stone gargoyle. "Parkin's Pincer." –McGonagall announces, and the gargoyle comes to life, standing up from its hunched position and moving aside to reveal a spiral staircase, which they all file into. As it's becoming a trend, the staircase seemingly rises on its own, delivering them at a door that opens into a cramped office of sorts, filled with all sorts of magical doodads and crowned with even more paintings, which Nico quickly deduces to depict all of Hogwarts' previous headmasters, considering the small plaque on the latest one has Dumbledore's name. The man looks ancient, every bit the stereotypical ancient wizard, currently sleeping like most of the other headmasters.
There's someone inside already. A sort of gangly woman around Hermione's age sits on the corner of what must be the headmistress' desk, petting a six foot tall predatory bird with bright, scarlet feathers perched beside it. Unlike most of the other witches, her clothes are perfectly normal for non-magical people – a simple black sweater vest over a very wrinkly white dress shirt, the bottom of it messily draped over her hips, complimented by black slacks and black and white Chucks. She wears perfectly round glasses, framing vibrant green eyes that seem to avoid them, even if her tense posture makes it clear that she knows they're there. Nico's eyes are drawn to her forehead; peeking behind a few locks of an untamed, messy bob cut, is a thin but deep scar parting her light brown skin in the shape of a very simplified lightning bolt, like the Norse rune sowilo.
"Off the desk if you please, professor." –McGonagall chides, clearly not for the first time.
"Apologies, Headmistress." –she says, airily, not at all sorry, and failing to comply. "Fawkes was a bit lonely and I'm knackered – just spent half the morning chasing a baby Horntail around the Castle grounds."
"I should probably remind you that the ban on dragon keeping hasn't been repealed yet." –the Minister says. "It's still rather illegal to raise a dragon as a private citizen, Harry."
The woman snorts. "I don't think I've ever been a private citizen, Hermione." –she says, then turns to Hogwarts' guests. "Don't think we've met, either." – she surmises.
"We have not." –Doctor Strange confirms. "But I've heard much about you."
"You and half the people in Britain." –she says, chagrined. "I don't sign autographs, if that's what you're after."
Strange chortles, amused at the notion. "We're not here because you're a celebrity in this community." –he reassures her. "To be quite honest, I didn't even know you were a woman. Though scant, my predecessor's records led me to believe you were a man."
Nico half expects her to yell at Strange or something for being so blunt, but she doesn't. "Oh, I'm not surprised. I was raised as one, actually. Half out of an abundance of caution, half out of outright cruelty." –she says. "Professor Dumbledore conspired to convince the wizarding world that I was 'the boy who lived' – a simple measure, but one of many taken to throw any lingering Death Eaters off my trail after Voldemort unintentionally committed suicide by attempted infant murder. The infant in question being me, of course." –she explains, so nonchalantly, pointing at her prominent scar. "And my aunt and uncle, who rather begrudgingly took me in after my parents died, took advantage of that – my cousin was a, uh, rapidly growing boy, and they made me wear all his discarded clothes till I finally managed to buy some for myself."
"Harry was so used to being a boy in everyone's eyes that the magic that keeps the boys' and girls' dormitories separate never spit him out of the boys' side." –Hermione recalls, amused. "Fairly sure no one would've ever noticed if you hadn't had to wear a bathing suit for that underwater challenge in the Tri-Wizard Cup."
She shrugs, though the memory brought up is clearly not a pleasant one. "Either way, it's been a long time since I paid that sort of thing any mind, so no harm done on your part. You're welcome to think of me however you like." –she says. "My name's Harry Potter, so I'll answer to that."
The newcomers introduce themselves – the sorcerers, the demigod, and the half-ghost superhero. Harry's interest seems piqued, especially when it comes to Nico and Ellie, but her interest wanes as soon as Strange reveals the purpose of their visit.
"I'm gonna stop you right there." –she says, as Strange describes their plan in forming this team. "I'm afraid I won't be joining this club of yours today. Or ever, really."
"You could've let me finish." –Strange notes, his tone carefully neutral.
"I hardly need to." –she counters. "You say you don't know much about me – and it shows – so I won't hold this against you, but simply put, I have zero desire to pick up my wand and chase bad blokes around the globe with you or anyone else."
"That's not all we do." –Nico meekly defends. "There's a bunch of magical communities out there – the idea is that we'd be working to bridge them, make sure we can all keep each other safe."
She crosses her arms. "And while that's a noble goal, it's entirely beyond the scope of the life I've finally managed to choose for myself." –she says. "Everyone and their mother have wanted me to be something since I was eleven – everything from some kind of messiah to the star player of the Quidditch team. They wanted me to be an Auror after the war, after spending years hunting down Voldemort's leftover lackeys – do you think I want anything to do with law enforcement after spending months on the run, knowing anyone with a badge would probably be working for Voldemort?"
Harry shakes her head. "Look, mate, I get it. I really do. These things need doing, and I've sure as hell done my fair share of them. I don't regret the road that led me to take Voldemort down one bit." –she allows. "It's the road after that I'm concerned about now. I'm not the damn 'boy who lived' anymore. I'm just Harry, these days. Professor Potter, if you're feeling fancy."
"I have to warn you – these things will eventually affect your community." –Strange says. "I understand your apprehension, Professor, but your 'road after' will, in all likelihood, eventually intersect with ours."
"So you claim, but I've gotten very good at avoiding that sort of life since I left it. You have your answer, Doctor." –Harry says, looking down at her wristwatch. "And I have class soon. Let's take this rejection on the road."
McGonagall and Granger stay behind with Wong to talk about the state of the UK's magical community in the Masters' apparent absence, seeing as their point of contact in the London Sanctum remains damaged and abandoned in the wake of Kaecilius' attack – though Nico also gets the distinct impression, having seen the two interact for a few weeks now, that Wong prefers to handle the day-to-day business of protecting humanity from magical threats by himself, and preferably with as little of Strange's usual grandstanding involved as possible.
He totally gets it.
Harry leads them to a spacious classroom, empty at the moment; she mentions off-handedly that this is where the Defense Against the Dark Arts course is taught, which she's currently the instructor for. Shelves around the room are lined with books on various creatures and curses, as well as an assortment of obviously magical devices that seem to stir to life as he curiously approaches them. The skeleton of what appears to be a small or young dragon hangs above them, its maw open and ready to devour the children that sit beneath.
"Stay for a class with the tots." –Harry suggests. "And then we'll talk."
Said children seem to be fast approaching, judging by the increasingly loud chatter outside. "You don't think we'll disrupt the class?" –Nico raises an eyebrow.
"Oh, you definitely will. Don't be surprised if the little terrors demand to see you all fight each other as soon as they realize you're basically superheroes." –she says, sardonically. "I have something else in mind, though."
She takes her wand from the back of her hip, where a sort of leather holster kept it secured. With a wave, some kind of furniture gets summoned from a side room, waddling over to them, covered by an old quilt.
"You're in luck." –Harry says, with a cheeky smirk. "Today's lesson ought to be a fun one."
A horde of kids arrive then, maybe thirty or forty in total, and roughly twelve or thirteen years old. Upon closer inspection, their uniforms are trimmed in one of four colors: red, green, yellow, or blue. Each color, in turn, seems to be matched with an embroidered coat of arms, featuring a roaring lion, a coiled snake, a curious badger, and a soaring raven, respectively. Some of the little friend groups keep within the matched color/animal system, but most of them seem to be fairly mixed. Maybe it's some kind of school club thing, or related to the housing arrangements in the Castle.
Harry introduces them to the class, which has evidently become tiring for Strange and Ellie – he's used to it, of course, living on Camp Half-Blood and being a child of the Big Three. The kids are bustling with questions, but Harry only allows five minutes for rapid-fire queries, which brings such gems as:
"Are you more powerful than the Professor?"
Strange snorts. "Yes."
"Do you think you'd be more powerful than Dumbledore if he was still alive?"
"Oh, almost certainly."
"Whoa, you're a ghost? Wicked! How come you're not see-through? Do you know Nearly-Headless Nick?"
Ellie winces, turning intangible to prove that she can. "…not all ghosts know each other, kid."
"How did you die?"
"That's kind of a rude question for most ghosts, buddy. Anyway, I was born this way. Or, er, made. Long story, moving on!"
"Do you have to wear that edgy getup as the Prince of Hell?"
Nico sighs. "It's Hades – the Greek Underworld, not the Christian Hell. That's kind of…a different jurisdiction. And no, I just happened to crash in a Hot Topic when I was your age and homeless, and the aesthetic kinda stuck with me. My boyfriend likes it for some reason."
"Is Cerberus fluffy?"
"…y'know, considering he bathes in the River Styx, he's surprisingly fluffy, yes."
The time for questions ends – to much protest, of course – and Harry brings the class to order. She walks up to and unveils the hidden piece of furniture, which seems to be an ancient-looking dresser, maybe two or three centuries old. The front of it is covered by a mirror, darkened and pock-marked with age.
Strange narrows his eyes. "I sense a spirit trapped in there." –he says.
"Correct you are, O Sorcerer Supreme." –she says, sardonically. "This here's an old friend, of sorts – a Boggart, trapped by one of my predecessors over a decade back."
"What's a 'Boggart'?" –Ellie asks.
"It's a kind of house spirit." –Strange says, nodding along as he apparently understands what's going on. "Not unlike a Poltergeist, or a Nisse. They're nefarious entities drawn to old homes with tormented inhabitants, feeding on their fear and dread."
"Right again. I'm almost impressed; you know a lot, despite technically being a Muggle." –Harry recognizes. "A Boggart will turn into your worst fear as soon as you spot it. They like to hide in tight, dark spaces and jump out at you, feasting on your terror."
"So it's a walking jump-scare." –Danielle muses.
"Indeed." –Harry nods. "It's more of a roaming spirit than other household entities – they can only really get the one good meal out of people, usually. Anyone have any inkling why?"
A nerdy looking boy in yellow trim raises his hand. "Most people are only truly scared the first time a Boggart gets them. The more they do it, the more people get used to its presence."
"Or the more likely they are to have it banished or captured by the Ministry. Yes, indeed, 5 points to Hufflepuff." –Harry nods. "Now, the big question, where this class is concerned: is a Boggart deadly?"
"I doubt it. It can't feed if its food source is dead." –Nico reasons. "Plus, this thing doesn't have any lingering death attached to it that I can sense."
"Well deduced." –Harry tilts her head. "A Boggart's scare can kill, but it's never its intent. Rather, the unfortunate victim would've likely had some health issue like a bad heart, or perhaps jumped back in terror, and tumbled down a flight of stairs to their death. Five points to the Greek demigod."
Nico snorts, but five tiny black stone skulls fall on his head from thin air and clatter down to the floor. He picks them up and makes a mental note to plan some sort of petty revenge later.
"Now, Boggarts may not be particularly dangerous, but they are decidedly a nuisance. Fortunately, they can be easily defeated; while immortal and indestructible, these creatures have a single major weakness."
"They're easily embarrassed." –Strange says, sarcastically.
Harry tips her wand at Strange. "Boggarts bring out and embody everyone's worst fear, but theirs is universal to their kind, and ought to be quite familiar to teenagers like yourselves: being ridiculed. Laugh in a Boggart's face, and it'll bolt to the nearest cubby hole in shame." –she smirks. "Now, books open to page 117, if you please."
The classroom rustles with the sound of dozens of textbooks opening. It's strange, how mundane this seems – the lesson being taught, if not the contents of it. He expected magical education to be a bit more…whimsical, perhaps; drinking a potion to learn a new language, or maybe dancing around a bonfire to manifest a good exam score. Instead, these kids are reading a boring old textbook with what appears to be hand-drawn diagrams (probably magically reproduced) of how to swing and flick their magic stick to banish a magical house pest.
Then again, Camp Half-Blood really is just a magical year-long summer camp, isn't it? Barring the weapons training, assorted mythical beings, and the lava wall, it's not all that different from what the average kid whose parents don't want them at home all summer would expect.
Once the students are finished practicing the wand motion and repeating the incantation, Harry has them stand up from their desks. She waves her wand, and they all dutifully bound to the sides, like prancing ponies, leaving the room open for the practical portion of the lesson. Harry has them all queue up in front of the dresser, which shakes a bit, almost in anticipation. "Now, this spell only works after the Boggart has turned into the thing you fear the most, so this does mean facing said fear is unavoidable, if you want to banish this sort of spirit. I'm required to teach you all how to defeat a Boggart, of course, but I am just about the furthest thing from a licensed mental professional – meaning I'm rather unqualified to put you all through exposure therapy. If you have a personally embarrassing or even dangerous fear, or perhaps one associated with past trauma, you are excused from the practical portion of this lesson. You needn't force yourselves to be brave just to get a passing grade – at least, not in my class."
Of the near three dozen tweens, only three choose to step out of the queue and stand back from the 'splash zone', so to speak. Nico expects some snickers, maybe a snide comment – kids can be cruel, purposefully or otherwise – but Harry must have the class very well cautioned against it, because no one says a peep.
"Mr. Bain, first in line, are you ready?" –Harry asks. The pudgy kid in front nervously nods.
The Professor waves her wand, and the dresser slowly opens. Out steps what appears to be a shadow man, a solid humanoid figure with a wispy, toxic aura wafting off its form, its eyes burning like the River Phlegethon. It has no mouth, but it still seems to emit a sort of deafening not-sound, quieting the room and changing the air pressure.
The kid suffers from sleep paralysis, basically.
It floats towards him, his head lolling a bit like a hanged man, and the boy just stands there, numb, before he summons his courage and waves his wand. "Riddikulus!" –he yells.
The sound of a cracking whip fills the room, and the shadow man suddenly turns into a wacky arm-waving inflatable tube man on the spot, causing the room to burst into laughter. Even Strange musters an amused smirk. Harry cheers the successful spell, motions for the next in line to take their place, and the class goes on, with all its horrors and amusements.
Strange's team waits as the last few kids trickle out of the room, the class done for the day. Nico walks over to the knickknacks lining the walls, one of which comes to life as soon as he comes in range. "Having any ill thoughts, Nico?" –Harry asks, amused.
"Usually." –he shrugs, twisting his skull ring. "Comes with the territory."
"And after such a fun class, too…bit of a shame." –she says, then nods to the device. "That right there's a Sneakoscope."
He snorts at the name. It's a sort of spinning top-looking contraption, which has stood and started spinning on its own, lighting up and whistling in a low but still annoying volume. "It's meant to detect dark thoughts in the user's vicinity – to signal a nearby foe, or someone with ill intent. I haven't found them all that useful myself, to be quite honest; a great deal of misunderstandings have taken place because a wizard just happened to have an intrusive thought or two around one of these. Some well-groomed common sense is a far more accurate tool, in my experience."
Strange hums. "I'd have to agree." –he says. "How long have you been a teacher?"
"This is only my second year with the job – which, to be fair, is a year longer than I thought I'd survive with it. Voldemort cursed the position decades ago." –she says, rather off-puttingly. "I guess the curse died with him. Still, I've been teaching this sort of magic in one form or another since I was fifteen."
"You were definitely in the age range, then." –Ellie drawls.
"What, to qualify as a child soldier, like you lot? S'pose I was." –she smirks, a little bitter. "What about you, Strange? Were you fighting ghoulies in the 70s?"
"Studying medicine, actually. I was a world-class neurosurgeon – perhaps the best on the planet – before I ever boarded this particular crazy train."
Harry hums. "I guess I can't blame you for not getting it, then." –she shrugs, turning to the younger members of the team. "I am confused as to why you two would go along with his nonsense, though. From what little I let Strange tell me, it didn't sound like you had it much easier than I did."
"We didn't." –Nico says, darkly. "Which is exactly why we're trying to make it so future kids like us don't have to go through crap like that."
"Mmm. Admirable, as expected, but you do know there's loads of better, safer ways to do that than toss yourselves back in the fray, yeah? I might no longer be the one actually fighting the monsters lurking out there, for example, but as you saw, I can teach children how to one day defend themselves against such things."
"No offense, but your lesson was kind of toothless." –Nico says. "Don't get me wrong, it was very entertaining, but…what if those kids you let off easy are part of the unlucky few that might die facing the creature? I get trying to keep them safe from unnecessary harm, but in our kind of life, there's really no substitute for practical experience."
"Like I said, I'm not qualified to put them through something potentially harrowing. Most of the children I'm currently teaching have normal fears, as you saw, but I know for a fact that the ones who refused have seen horrifying things. Merlin, how many more traumatized kids do you think I'd have at day's end if that Boggart turned into a father blown to bits, or a mother being tortured?" –Harry says, soberly. "At the end of the day, they learned something they didn't know before, and that's valuable. You shouldn't underestimate the value of knowledge, even without practice. It might not have helped me defeat Voldemort earlier, but if I'd known even half of the things I've taught this year alone at their age, I would've had a much easier time navigating our weird little corner of the world."
Nico crosses his arms. "I don't know. Maybe life as a demigod isn't the right metric, as dangerous as it is, but it just doesn't feel like it's enough to me. I've had to teach before, too, and sometimes that means putting the kids through difficult things – maybe even things they just won't be able to do. That's the only way to know what you can do, and what you one day might be able to."
"Sure, but there's a bit of a difference between a bloody tough lesson and public humiliation." –Harry argues, subconsciously rubbing at a faded scar on the back of her hand. "This school has sponsored a lot of the latter in the past; the way I see it, our job is to break those sorts of cycles, so even if it's not quite the most complete education, I refuse to teach these children in a way that leaves them scarred for life, like many of us were. I can only recommend it."
Harry's attitude towards their proposal had struck Nico as, perhaps, a little selfish, especially for someone who's done the kinds of things she has. He understands a bit better now; even though he really only knows the broad strokes of her story, unaware of details that may explain her refusal further, it seems to him that, like too many demigods, Harry was thrust into a situation that would either kill her or turn her into a hero, however unwillingly. Given her age, the date on the plaque, and what little she's revealed of her life before Hogwarts, he can only conclude that she was robbed of her childhood, and any chance at a normal life, until she was able to defeat her archenemy and forcibly wrest control of her future from the Fates – or whatever the regional equivalent might be for these witches and wizards. Even if her attitude was a little selfish, begrudging her for stepping away from the limelight while still doing something to prepare the next generation and keep them from suffering like she did would be like criticizing Percy for not wanting to be the Olympians' punching bag anymore, moving out of camp, and getting ready to start a family with Annabeth – even if he does still go out and save young demigods from monsters.
He's pretty sure that the witch feels the same sense of responsibility for the future of her little corner of the world that they all do; she's just been burned by it one too many times to actively participate.
Ellie snorts, perhaps trying to diffuse the bit of tension building. "Sorry, but…I don't exactly see myself in academia."
Harry shrugs, deflating a bit. "Well, that's my take on it, but the point is there are alternatives to fighting. Take what Hermione's doing – actually looking at the root causes behind the bastards and their horrors and trying to address them, no blood spilled? Politics, social maneuvering, and whatnot? I think that's the way to go. A much better way than trading hexes and hoping for the best – or, er, swinging a sword around and…I guess scaring blokes to death, in your case?"
Ellie snorts, ignoring the wrong assumption about her powers. "Yeah, that only works if the enemy's even willing to talk to you, Professor."
Nico crosses his arms. He thinks back to Kronos. To Gaia. Heck, all the way back to Doctor-freakin'-Thorn and the Talos prototype that killed his sister. "Exactly. How do you reach a compromise with someone whose entire reason for living is killing you?"
She sits atop her desk. "I understand, trust me. If I tried to debate Voldemort out of eradicating all muggles and 'blood traitors', I might've taken an extra Killing Curse or two. There are some foes that will need to be destroyed, one way or another." –she allows. "Here's the thing, though: children should not be the ones doing it."
Nico winces at the obvious rancor coloring her tone. It'd be impossible for him not to get it; he, too, was forced to grow up way too soon, into the role of a savior, a leader, and of course, a hero – a role which he's begrudgingly accepted and made his own over the years, but that Harry evidently despises. He can almost picture her walking along, trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone because she knows that, chances are, as soon as people see her scar or those distinctive glasses, they're gonna make a damn show about it.
Hell, Percy, Annabeth, and the others would probably get it even more – they're the popular ones, after all. To their 'fans', heroes are glamorous and enticing. They're cool. And sure, there's some perks to it, but most people either willfully ignore or simply don't know about the bloody in-betweens – the constant agony and nigh on herculean effort of trying to keep your head just above the surface, drowning in an ocean of people that want you dead, dragged to the depths.
It's not just a grudge that Harry's holding, though. There's much about her he doesn't know, of course, but he thinks he recognizes that look in her eyes – it's fear, he thinks, that's the main motivation behind her refusal. Of what, he's not sure; surviving all her childhood troubles only to get killed when she thought she'd put them behind her? Finding herself unable to escape a life she clearly wants nothing to do with anymore? Hades, maybe even realizing that deep, deep down she misses being a hero, even with all its drawbacks?
He could be wrong, of course. But she wouldn't be the first one.
"Children are the ones doing it, whether we like it or not." –he finds himself saying, after some reflection. "I get it, y'know. And I totally agree – I would've much rather grown up playing colorful card games and daydreaming about the monsters in those cards as fun, fictional characters instead of the very real, bloodthirsty creatures I fight to the death a couple times a week. But I didn't have a choice, and most of the time, people like us are just as shit out of luck as we were. I just figure that, if by doing this, I keep a kid from having to live through even a fraction of the stuff I've gone through, it'll have been worth taking on the extra fight."
"Yeah. I mean, I don't wanna do what I do forever, but I can, so…I feel like it's on me to make sure it gets done, y'know?" –Ellie says, awkwardly. Nico gets the feeling it's not a topic she likes to think about much. "I know if I get hurt, nine times out of ten I'll get back up. Most people – even others with powers – don't really have that luxury. It's not exactly fair, but even if I was originally forced into this life, no one's keeping me here but me. Not Strange. Not Wong or Nico, or anyone else who knows I'm half-ghost. Me."
Strange holds a slightly trembling hand up before Harry can reply. "We're not here to change her mind, you two." –he chides, though Nico can tell that he doesn't really mean it. Rather, it's that they've said their piece, and Strange wants to leave the conversation hanging on their terms. He's kind of a manipulative bastard for doing it, but Nico understands the reasoning behind it. "We simply mean to make the invitation. The Professor has already given us her reply."
Harry seems to somewhat grasp this as well, which checks out given what they've been told about this Dumbledore character. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to find it offensive. "I do believe I have." –she says, a bit morose. "But…I s'pose I'm sorry that I'm not what you're looking for, now that I understand you a bit better."
Strange puts on a charming smile. "No need. We can't expect everyone to join, and we're not looking to build an army. Rest assured; others will take up the mantle."
"Right." –she says, narrowing her eyes. "Oodles, I'm sure."
"If there's nothing else, then…?"
Harry rolls her eyes. "Go on, get out of here. I'd say goodbye, but I can't imagine this is the last time you'll pester me to join the club."
Strange tilts his head, and nods at them to follow him out of the classroom. At the heavy wooden door, though, Harry calls out. "Oi!" -she barks, then crosses her arms, a competitive gleam in those bright green eyes. "Next time, whenever that is…I'd like to test that hypothesis of yours."
The Sorcerer Supreme merely smirks, the Cloak of Levitation billowing as he leaves the room.
"Well, that was a bust." –Ellie notes, sitting on one of the Castle's parapets as they wait for Wong to finish his meeting. From their vantage point, they can see the back of the Castle grounds – a sizable lake placidly sits to the east, while a vast forest stretches out to the north. Ellie seems to be interested in what seems to be a sports arena of some sort, currently occupied by a small team of students of various ages in green and silver cloaks, holding fancy looking broomsticks.
Strange hums, his gaze focused on the forest. Nico is better at sensing death than life, but he can tell that there's a lot of both beyond the ominous treeline. "Somewhat. This was my mistake, loathe as I am to admit it."
Nico gasps, dramatically. "No way, the Sorcerer Supreme? Making a mistake!? By Talos, this can't be happening!"
Ellie giggles, but the man in question just blinks, completely missing the Skyrim reference. "…yes, well. It's rare, but it does happen. And speaking of embarrassment, I must apologize to you, Nico."
"Okay, now I'm actually starting to worry about you." –he snorts, raising an eyebrow.
"I berated you for failing to acquaint yourself with the dossier on Miss Potter. Clearly, I lacked on that area myself." –he says, ignoring his snark. "One of many things I've neglected among my duties as Sorcerer Supreme. I will do my best to correct that, starting with finally repairing the London Sanctum."
"I'd say 'Hallelujah', but I'm not on the best of terms with those guys. Best not draw their attention." –Wong says, calmly walking over to them.
Ellie frowns. "What, like…Heaven?"
"Angels, specifically." –Wong shrugs. "They're not particularly fun to be around for anyone they might consider a heathen. Which…" –he trails off, then points at himself with a wink.
"Right. I keep forgetting everything is freakin' real in one way or another."
"Not everything. Just most things." –Strange corrects. "A few thousand nerds writing 'Jedi' in the religion field of a survey for shits and giggles doesn't make the Force or lightsabers real. Not in this universe, at least."
Ellie shrugs. "I stand by what I said."
"I take it the Professor passed on the offer?" –Wong asks.
"In no uncertain terms, yes." –Strange says. "There are other candidates, of course, but I won't deny that this is a complication."
"Well, then take me!"
The four of them turn to see a very thin, very lanky person, just climbing up the final step on the stairs, clearly having followed Wong and eavesdropped on them. The first thing Nico notes about them is their electric blue hair, and the fact that he can't tell at a glance whether he's looking at a young boy or girl, their features truly androgynous. Will would get on his case about trying, so he stops trying to assume. 'Ass', 'u', 'me', etcétera.
Strange raises an eyebrow. "We've not yet had the pleasure, I believe."
"It's Teddy. Teddy Lupin." –they say. "I'm Harry's godchild."
"And young. Very young." –Wong notes. "How old are you, kid?"
They shrug. "I'm eight. Well, eight-and-a-half, almost nine!"
Nico winces. "Shouldn't you be in pre-school? Does Hogwarts even have a pre-school?"
"Is that the same as kindergarten? That's a Muggle thing, right?" –they say, their eyes narrowed. "I don't go to school yet. You start Hogwarts when you turn eleven; I'm just visiting my godmother while Mum's at work."
Strange hums, his gaze softening. "Already have a House picked?"
"Oh, yeah, Hufflepuff! No offense to Harry and the others, but…Gryffindor sounds like a hassle. Plus, my mum's a Hufflepuff, and she turned out alright."
Something about the kid's words makes Strange frown a little. It's all gobbledygook to Nico, to be honest – if he had to guess, the Houses are related to the four distinct animals and colors on the school's coat of arms, but he couldn't pair them up with those silly names to save his life. He wonders if this is how it feels when a kid who doesn't know anything about Greek myth finds out they're a demigod, getting thrown Ancient Greek words at their face a mile a minute.
"Well, I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid you can't come with." –Ellie says. "I hate to say it, but you're way too young to do the kind of stuff we do."
The kid pouts. "Hey, I've been told I'm very precocious for my age." –they say. "My magic's already sparked, and Mum says I've all but mastered my Metamorphmagus powers."
Ellie blinks. "Your meta-what-now?"
Teddy grins, closing their eyes and scrunching their nose. In an instant, their hair is long and white, their skin is a bit more tan, and their eyes open up to a toxic neon green glow – in essence, looking exactly the same as Dani Phantom.
The half-ghost clone in question sucks in a breath. "T-that's…cool."
Strange must notice because he steps in, smoothly placing himself between Ellie and Teddy. The kid's concentration breaks, and they return to their original appearance – if that even is what they usually look like. "Your abilities could be very useful, young Master Lupin, but…"
There's an uncomfortably long pause, there. Like Strange is actually considering what those abilities could do for the team. There's a glint to the Sorcerer's eyes – not quite greed, but…potential, Nico wants to say. It only lasts half a moment, though, before he seemingly comes to his senses. "…unfortunately, Danielle is right. Our mission is far too dangerous to involve a child your age."
To be honest, it's a bit hypocritical of him to speak up – he wasn't much older than Teddy is now when he first realized he was a child of Hades, after all, and he's been fighting ever since. Still, he knows that this is an opportunity to save someone from a fate like his – and even though he agrees that the world will need heroes with this kind of drive, it's very clear that the kid doesn't quite know what they'd be getting into.
"Tell you what, Teddy Lupin." –he says, cutting off their protests. "If the gods will it, we'll still be doing what we do for years to come, and we'll still need the best of the best. I don't mean to be harsh, but…that's not you right now – do you even have a wand yet?"
Teddy looks down at the stone floor. They shake their head.
"So, get your wand. Learn all that you can in this oddball school of yours." –he shrugs. "…maybe ask your godmother to tell you exactly why she's not willing to join us."
"She'll just tell me to forget it." –they say. "Every time I say I'd like to hunt down dark wizards like mum and dad, she tries to talk me out of it."
"I'd wager there's a very good reason for that." –Wong points out.
Teddy sighs. "I guess. She just doesn't want me to end up like dad." –they admit. "But dad was a hero, even if he died for it! Mum says if it wasn't for people like him, I would've grown up in a terrible world. I just wanna make sure our world stays good."
"You'll get your chance eventually." –Strange says, a bit haunted. "When that day comes, I promise you that we will welcome your aid with open arms."
The kid nods, glum but determined. "Okay, okay…but only if you promise."
"We'll, uh…save you a spot." –Ellie says, still a bit shaken but putting on her usual smirk. "God knows the Sanctum's got enough room."
Teddy chuckles, and waves goodbye at them, heading right back down the stairs. "…we're just saying that, right? We're not actually desperate enough to recruit this kid?" –Ellie wonders.
"I don't know." –Strange says, honestly. "And I dare not gaze into the future to find out."
Nico gets it, but…at the same time, he's pretty sure he knows better. If Strange's cryptic warnings hold any water – and even if he does find the Sorcerer Supreme annoying, he truly believes they do – they'll need all the help they can get, sooner rather than later. And though she's refused the call to action for now, he's certain that the day will come when Harry Potter is forced to choose between the peace that she's rightfully earned…and the duty she's cursed with.
I couldn't fit this in the AO3 version, but this fic takes place in early fall of 2012 - kinda early October vibes, I wanna say. I don't do strict dates so that's the best you'll get from me.
I really wanted to convey that shift from seeming selfish to actually having a point for Harry; certainly, you could argue that having the ability to actively participate the way Strange's team do in the defense of innocent people, magical or otherwise, is selfish of Harry, but I think there's a balance to achieve there. Some people will wield the sword, some will teach the next generation how to swing one. One of the major threads running through the Kryptonverse is the idea of iteration - of the people and the world becoming better over time, generation after generation, learning from previous mistakes. Some characters in this series take that to an extreme (ahem, Victor von Doom says hi), but Harry's approach here is meant to represent one of the natural ways that progression can unfold. Regardless of victory and fame, the events of the Second Wizarding War were traumatic as hell, and I think it's very fair for her not to wanna risk getting anywhere near anything like that again.
Some trivia for y'all!
-There's a bunch of reasons for Harry being a girl here. The first HP fic I read – and one of the first overall – featured Harry as a girl, so I wanted to pay homage to that (don't ask me what it was, it was like a decade ago). I also think it'd be pretty poignant if the main character of the book series written by an author obsessed with gatekeeping gender and attacking trans people just…could not care less about it. Obviously, the alternative would've been to actually make her trans for the Kverse, but since I don't intend to actually write HP content in the near future, I wouldn't be able to explore that topic adequately, which I feel would be a disservice. The in-universe reason is kinda interesting; the HP universe was one of the first chosen by Doom and Reed for inclusion, before the process was perfected. The projected retcon differed in a few minor ways from reality, one of which being Harry being born a girl. Regardless, nothing really changes about Harry's life for the events of the books. If this change is an issue for you, a) why are you still reading the Kryptonverse, and b) feel free not to comment on it, as I have no time or patience to argue with strangers on the Internet and will likely ignore anything like that
-The HP series mocks the burning of witches; certainly, most of those burned at the stake were not actual witches, but the earlier magical purges of the Dark Ages were a lot more accurate. Many family lines were snuffed out before the wizarding world retreated away from non-magical people and their would-be hunters.
-The above, combined with elitist attitudes regarding bloodlines, led to a sharp population decline that has only continued to the present day. There are less than twelve-thousand wizards in the UK, with over a thousand of them enrolled at Hogwarts at any given time. Strange exaggerates a bit, especially since wizards have a significantly longer lifespan than regular humans, but it's very likely that they will, in fact, go extinct within the next couple centuries.
-I know it seems a bit off that Strange has yet to repair the London Sanctum, but the simple truth is that it was the hardest hit. The battle there left lasting damage that would require the full attention of the Sorcerer Supreme to repair, which is difficult for Strange to manage – there's always something scratching at the edges of our reality, trying to break in and cause chaos.
-If you've yet to catch on, a running gag of this series is that death refuses to stick to the well-defined rules of the Greek afterlife, summarily annoying Nico at every turn. In this case, though, it's not that complicated; the souls of wizards have a bit of an easier time holding on to the mortal world because it's a bit harder to place them in a given afterlife, given their wonky beliefs and chimeric origins, and the ambient magic in places like Hogwarts allows them to interact with the living in that limited fashion you see. Most wizard souls actually end up getting picked up by Death itself.
-I wanted a bit of irony left in that the Wizarding World has indeed made a lot of progress, but they still throw around the word "Muggle" (which can easily be a derogatory term) no problem.
-In that vein, I wanted to highlight a couple of changes, both in-universe and as a retcon of mine; owning house elves has been outlawed, with grief counseling available to those who need it. I've changed it so the whole "I want to be a slave!" thing was dark magic imposed on them by ancient wizards, and that curse was lifted once discovered. Goblins are replaced by a subspecies of their Tales of Arcadia version, larger, more civilized, and capable of human speech, which I think just makes them a lot funnier and not an offensive stereotype, hopefully. Just imagine Griphook as a surly TOA Goblin and tell me that's not kind of hilarious :P
-I'm not a very visually imaginative person, so I mostly picture the HP universe like the movies, especially those first three. I do like some of the headcanons, though, such as Harry having some Indian heritage, which I allude to here. I also picture Hermione as having mixed race traits, but I realize that a lot of people picture her as fully Black or straight up Emma Watson, so feel free to pick for yourself.
-Don't mistake this for Dumbledore bashing, I don't think he was a villain or anything like that. He was a flawed, but ultimately good person, and he genuinely believed Harry and the Order of the Phoenix could defeat Voldemort. He made some questionable calls, but at the end of the day he was obviously right.
-I actually forgot Fawkes left for good after Albus died! It's been a while, sorry. I think he just…returned for Harry once she figured out her path in life as the DADA teacher. She's sort of Hedwig's replacement, but not quite Harry's familiar, since he comes and goes as he pleases.
-In that vein, I like to think Harry picked some of Hagrid's tendencies with magical creatures. I like to think the baby Horntail she mentions is the offspring of the adult dragon in the Triwizard tournament.
-I think part of Harry does miss being a hero, but like Nico thinks, she's been burned by that life too many times. Harry wants more than anything to help Hagrid take care of magical creatures, she wants to teach DADA, and she wants to stay off the public eye as much as possible. She practically lives at Hogwarts! Joining the team goes against all of those, obviously, hence the refusal.
-Tonks is, obviously, still alive here! So is Fred, curiously enough. They did actually die in the Battle of Hogwarts, but no one remembers it that way. Anyone care to guess how they came back to life? It's a secret, but I'll tell you if you get it right!
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment here or leave an ask on my tumblr (darthkvznblogs), it's open to all! Until next time!