I don't know what's going on with my brain lately. I've been struggling to write stuff for my Pokémon story, so I decided to do this and clear the metaphorical run-way so to speak. Then I do some more of my other constantly piling-up selection of content. Whatever, I do these to have fun, and share that same passion with all of you, I'll do things as I do.

Anyway, this story came about from all the SI's who dedicate themselves to 'solving magic', 'fixing everything', 'trying to bring the wonder of magic to people who just waste it', and all those other weird-ass tropes. That's not what Harry Potter is about. Harry Potter is about under-achieving your way to success through nepotism and bloodlines damn it. Even if I was going for one of the former, I wouldn't. So I hope you enjoy this guy I'm writing. I know I do.

Chapter 1: Oh, You'll See Something Alright

OR

Pick A Card, Any Card. They're All The Same Card.

Living in what a 'modern' person considers the past fucking sucks. Like, sure, things aren't as different as, if say, I was living in the Dark Ages where I would have either become a holy figure of worship or swiftly burned at a stake for sorcery and obtaining 'forbidden' knowledge, but one had to consider the smaller things in life that all contribute towards the larger experiences.

For starters, information was on a whole just so much harder to contain or spread, often being locked to specific building or families, and even then the fun stuff tended to be set aside in favor of what people viewed as more 'useful' or 'pressing'. The second what the conformity. If you didn't fit into a neat little box of the time presently available, you tended to get excluded from things at best, or out-right sneered at at worst. Boy, did I not fit into any of those early 80's boxes, mostly because I just could not give a fuck.

I didn't really care about most kid things growing up, as the toys just seemed meh to me. The sports were a no-go because, while I was still an athletic kid who liked to run around and all that, I just didn't feel like spending some of my precious, precious money on sport supplies I would out-grow within the year. There was also the whole thing about being an orphan this time around, but that was more of a comfort to me than anything. I knew my role models, my old mum and adequate dad, and replacing them just because I got a face-lift felt...not cheap, but like an end to an era. It didn't help that I didn't really care too much about what the care-takers wanted or decided for us most of the time, I understood most of what she wanted, and how for some of the worse kids here, this really was just a paycheck keeping her here. It didn't help them with empathizing with me, and it didn't help the kids from labeling me the weird one who was constantly bored.

I think some of them honestly thought it was a relief when I turned 11 and a tall guy named Grubb came to pick me up. It certainly worked for me.

Yep. Turns out the strange child who people thought something was a bit off with was actually a wizard! To the shock of no-one. I still think Grubb was a bit put off when I just nodded and walked along with him, asking little bits here and there as I got supplies for a school I'd definitely never-before heard of or knew about. I got some nice gardening/punching gloves, a large variety of books I'd either love or loath, and a wand of Cherrywood with a Unicorn Hair core. That was neat.

After that, the next several years just...kind of went by. School was school no matter the subject, and kids were kids no matter how much mystical power you shoved down their throats. I watched petty pranks and stupid dramas that would probably evolve one day into murder attempts and adulteries galore, felt the pressings of war threaten to tear apart the world outside the 'safe' school, and I, the wonderfully helpful person I am, decided 'eh, fuck it, I don't want my favorite candy store burnt down. Carl is the only guy who knows how to make my Sour Punch Sticks just right.' Dredging up memories from about almost 2 decades ago, I told the stereotype masquerading as our headmaster all about a mysterious prophecy I had a bit ago, as well as a few possible plans and holes in things they could possibly be doing the year after I graduated. Bam, zoom, just like that I got a nice job teaching Divination to the illustrious students of Hogwarts, where I've stayed for the last...12? years. It sure was a living.

Some people even lived cause of my words! But more died, but hey, it was bound to happen. Maybe they're getting their own super-special adventure where they can shake up the world, I don't know how that works. What I did know though?

My class was right up there in the mind-fuck territory, making it recommended a person take in in their 5 year onward, though they still could try in their third year. I actually had one such class coming up soon...

Man, it's great being that weird drunk teacher in a school with zero actual teaching requirements.

END OF CHAPTER

Can you guess where I'm going with this story? It's not going to be a long one, more extended segments here or there till the muse dries up, but that could change with enough support or some added fuel to the fire. Got some scenes your mind jumps to? Something you want to see? Let me know, it's one of my favorite parts of being a writer. Now, back to every else.