Commitment

I looked at the pitiful shape of a purple tortoise present on one desk while shaking my head: "How can you manage to figure out your pranks if you can't focus enough for a simple transfiguration?"

George Weasley groaned as he pitifully slammed his back into his armchair, the hand not busy holding his wand being dragged forcefully over his features: "We've been at this for hours! We could go for a pick-up game instead, eh?"

Flying was awesome, but I was really uncomfortable with the idea of Quidditch, and more importantly: "We sat down less than half an hour ago, and I thought you gave your word that you'd give it your all?"

One of the conditions I had put in place in order for me to give a hand with the prank-oriented experiments of the Twins was that each of them had to seriously try in either Transfiguration or Charms. This was for my own benefit in the long term, but for theirs too, given what future years were going to bring.

I haven't started to use the RoR to become a fighter yet. I reminded myself with a grimace, But for now I have to focus on Occlumency and the Animagus studies, this year should go without further fights. "If your word is worth only so much, of course, you can give up."

George Weasley shot me a scathing glare from under the fringe of red hair, but he immediately turned his attention back to the purple tortoise, which was slowly making its way towards the edge of the table, hoping to escape the wizard's attention.

When my 'student' brandished his wand once more, straightening in his seat with a renewed determination visible in his features, I let my eyes roam to the rest of the abandoned classroom that I had commandeered for the afternoon: the desks had been pushed to the sides, while what should have been the professor's desk had been enlarged and placed in the middle of the room.

Fred was huddled with an annoyed Penelope under the windows that let in the afternoon's sun, and his frown seemed to deepen with each word of the Ravenclaw prefect as she explained the theory behind what he needed to do. She's surprisingly sadistic when it comes to reforming a prankster into an actual student.

After hearing the correct incantation coming from the twin assigned to me, and looking at him for a couple of seconds as he practiced the wand movement, I returned to one of the tomes I had checked out on McGonagall's indications.

But while Fred and George had been working on Charms and Transfiguration for maybe thirty minutes, I had already spent at least three hours on the sheer theories and warnings about how the Animagus transformation could mess you up. And frankly, the information was starting to swim freely in my head, with each new line I read being jumbled by sheer exhaustion as if I was trying to pour water in an already full cup.

Realizing that I wasn't going to learn anything more until I gave my brain some time to settle, I exhaled gutsily while closing the tome in my hand and pulling out my personal bound notes disguised as an Onieromancy book. Opening those, I leafed randomly through the pages while I tried to slide back from the hyper-focused status needed to optimize studying.

Instead of being fully aware of every word in the pages, of each swirl of ink, I almost took a backseat in my own head: trying to empty my mind, accepting the white noise of the people surrounding me as nothing more than a slight buzz. I had practiced it every night ever since I could remember, and while the half-assed instruction of Snape that I could remember did allow me for some speed while falling asleep.

Occlumency was weird, there was no other way to put it. For all that someone could 'empty their mind', the human brain simply wasn't equipped to be inactive in any way: synapses flared, the information from the senses was translated and repurposed in a complete, congruous setting that each person perceived as reality.

I didn't suddenly find myself rolling through memories that carried emotional states with them, I didn't change my awareness of the world: everything was still there, from the attempts at transfiguration of my 'protege' to Penelope's huffs. Simply, all of that felt a bit further from me. And in that state of conscious but muted perception of reality, I managed to stop thinking.

And in that pseudo-meditative state that was neither mind-fullness nor sleep, I attempted to turn my awareness inwards, taking stock of my changed circumstances without conscious input on my part.

Finding myself with a sudden 'group', I had to regretfully adjust my schedule, since I really intended to keep the Room of Requirement for myself for as long as I could. Then again, the antics of the Twins coupled with the often scandalized faces of the two witches I had 'befriended' were entertaining.

Also, I could objectively say that where before my days were more or less all the same repetition consisting of a mixture of lessons, half-assed homework, and secretive, intense study in the RoR, now there was a new slice of my life that more or less belonged to my 'study group'. A slice that for me was basically 'self-imposed relaxation'. And I feel like a wimp because it's nice to have around other people that aren't your average obnoxious child.

After that first encounter in the Library, it took me a few days of actual quiet to figure out what I was going to do. I spent several hours in what a melodramatic cunt would define 'soul-searching meditation', but I figured out something about my personality that made me relieved and insult myself in equal measure.

But it was also a detail of my character that I could live with: ultimately, I didn't want the child-shaped Chosen One to be beaten like a drum from now until he'd need to walk to his doom, many years from now. And that was okay, I simply had to deal with it.

And the unbearably cute Hermione Granger that had taken to join the unlikely group formed by myself, Penelope Clearwater, and the Weasley Twins, had nothing to do with it. Instead, the fact that I wanted to see what she'd be able to come up with if she didn't have to worry for her life might have had something to do with my decision, if only marginally.

I sighed in the privacy of my thoughts as I refused to let go of the still unsettling meditative state I had managed to fall in.

Deciding to get involved with Harry Potter's business left me with an increased need to learn Occlumency, which coupled with the utterly insane amount of work McGonagall dumped on me, and the time I spent working with George on Transfiguration, forced me to clamp down on my natural curiosity, and to dedicate the entirety of my free time to the Animagus project and the Mind Arts only.

Ultimately, as Snape would one day say to the Chosen One, the mind wasn't like a book. Thoughts assumed shapes and forms that almost flowed one into another, memories being rewritten every time they were recalled, and new associations being forged with each breath one took.

And it was in that state of unconscious and unaware self-reflection, that a new thought bubbled to the forefront of my mind. Since I'm already getting involved, I might as well steal the Philosopher Stone for myself, can't I?

"I did it!" the sudden elation of George Weasley broke through my attempt at Occlumency, and I blinked while my focus shifted uncomfortably, returning me to 'direct contact' (for lack of a better term) with the unused classroom that my group was making use of. "We can do something else now, right? Like flying?"

In place of the oddly colored tortoise of before, sat an innocuous purple cup with a diamond-like pattern etched in black on the surface, while the inside was completely withed and smooth. "Uh." I narrowed my eyes as I hunched forward, looking at the recently transfigured object: "Well done!"

It'd be better if this wasn't second-year material that you should already be capable of, but at least you're not hopeless. I refrained from uttering out loud that thought, after all, I was a strong believer into a positive-reinforcement based teaching method.

"I don't like Quidditch much." I changed topic, turning my head towards the other tutor-Weasley couple in time to see them wrap up their belongings and walk towards us, "But I could be up for a pick-up game... Or..."

The twins' attention settled on me while Penelope's eyes narrowed almost threateningly: "Or what?"

"Or we could find Hermione and play cards." I rolled my shoulders for a couple of seconds as I observed the dejected expression of the Weasley twins' war with the increased mistrust of Clearwater.

How could I not deliver on her suspicion? "Has any of you heard of Poker? Or, as we are going to present it to the Gryffindor witch: Empirical Analysis of Casual Distributions?"

The Hogwarts train let out a last whistle as I left the carriage and started to wade through the masses of students going towards their parents for the Christmas holidays, my light-feather trunk following me quietly as I stepped to the side in order to look back in order to keep an eye on the bushy-haired Hermione.

Penelope had spotted her folks almost immediately our arrival at the station, and she had flung herself off the train, eager for some family time, which left me with the sole company of the precocious and unreasonably clever first year Gryffindor witch.

I spared her a smile before turning my attention back to the crowd, soon enough spotting the one and only Amos Diggory: tall, with slightly curly brown hair sticking to his temples, he had a ruddy face and an unkempt, short beard that didn't add to his charm.

I raised a hand like everyone else in the meaningless hope that it would somewhat make me more visible amidst the crowd, only to turn my attention towards Hermione when she spoke: "Is that your father? I don't see your mother..."

Ah, of course. Trust in Hermione Granger to point out one of the few things that still troubled me about my life: "You wouldn't, she died of childbirth."

I waved away the mortified expression of the eleven-year-old girl with a practiced, flat smile: "It's not like I knew her, just... don't mention it near my father, okay?"

For some reason, my appearance in the world of Harry Potter had caused not only an early birth, which made me go to Hogwarts sooner than my canon counterpart would have, but had also cost the life of the witch that would have been my mother. That event hadn't truly registered with me until I was seven, and I had intruded on the crying form of Amos Diggory, who was staring longingly at a picture.

"Okay." Hermione choked on her tongue as she tried to swallow the word-vomit that was her instinctive reaction whenever she made a faux-pas, "I'm sorry."

I shrugged as we finally approached Amos, who engulfed me in a ribs-crushing hug: "Ced! How are you? How was the travel?"

I uselessly tried to match the intensity of the man's affection with my younger frame, as I mumbled pleasantries: "Everything went well, I'll tell you the rest during the holidays, can I introduce you to Hermione Granger? Hermione, this is my father."

I lent only half a hear to the conversation while my eyes rolled over the crowd while the eleven years old fell back to the extensive politeness her parents had drilled into her when dealing with adults, sighing as I could almost feel a physical weight settle on my shoulders. I had decided to get involved, now I was in for years of excitement I could have done without. I need a smoke. I realized as my attention returned to my father, who had apparently asked something the girl didn't know how to answer to.

I frowned as I recalled the last words that left Amos' mouth only to grin when I focused on the question: 'How did you meet each other?'

Just a random troll almost killing her. "I've more or less set up a friendly study group," I answered while I barely held back from winking at Hermione, who had paled at the memory of the club-waving creature, "and Hermione here is bright enough to mostly understand fourth-year material."

Obviously not wishing to retell the truth of Halloween's night, she nodded eagerly, supporting my bullshit while I held back a snort: "Da', can we walk her to her parents? They'll be on the muggle-side of the barrier."

Amos was quick to agree, ignoring Hermione's half-hearted protest while he boisterously landed an arm over my shoulders while he jabbed his wand at our trunks, levitating them after us as we waded through the crowd.

It was always odd, to refer to Amos as he was my father. But isn't he? The loss of my 'mother' had been a blow to the man, but he had pulled himself together, and it was impossible to ignore or dismiss just how much he cared for me. In my childhood, I might have enjoyed the independence that came with having a single parent busy at work for most of the day, but I wouldn't have tolerated constant fussing either way, so having time alone had likely kept me sane more than being constantly looked after. Thank the gods consciousness and awareness came only after my first year of life.

I followed my father as we crossed the barrier, and soon enough we found Hermione's parents, with expressions that beamed love and joy as soon as their eyes landed on their daughter.

I kept my bland smile in position as Hermione introduced us, and once again I smothered a snort when she avoided mentioning how we had met, and how she skirted around the fact that we had actually played poker together: "She has all the marks of an extraordinary witch." I simply commented when it was up to me to spend some effort in the otherwise meaningless interaction.

I could do people, but besides the exception of Amos, and my newfound amusement with my 'study group', interacting with humans I'd have little contact with in the future simply looked like a waste of time to me.

I was aware that it wasn't the healthies outlook to have, but if crowd-sickness was the only madness caused by my rebirth, I could consider myself lucky.

AN

Usually, I don't have my SI interact with canon unless with the specific purpose of taking advantage of it. And never before I have had an SI act to support the 'main hero' simply because he wanted to.

Personally, I tend to dislike those SI fics in which the MC gets involved with canon and finds it as difficult as it is for the normal characters. I mean, the MC already knows about what's about to go down, how difficult can it be to go into the fray ready for everything? And don't get me started with the fics in which somehow Voldemort returns to life early or more powerful because the MC forgot about the diary.

The one thing I always wanted to avoid is blatant 'plot railroading'.

Of course, in HP there is the ready justification of prophecy. But then why bother at all with writing a fic?

I'm not very good at flashing through the timeline: I always feel like I've left pieces behind, even when I know that those things I have glossed over have no bearing on the progression of the story.

So, we skipped ahead to the winter holidays, I gave a bit of more insight into the MC's thoughts and explored a bit how Hermione behaves now that she has other friends. Friends that can more than simply keep up with her, if only because of their respective ages. (And given that Rowling used Hermione as Deux-Ex-Machina to do impossible stuff since 'Lumos Solem' in first year, followed by having her brewing Polyjuice in a toilet, and casually stroll back and forth in time, I'm not nerfing her. Besides, I've already pointed out that even our dumb Harry Potter can learn the Patronus with no idea of how it works, so...)

In any case, this chapter wraps up the involvement of the MC with the plot (a calculated decision this time), and shines some light on Cedric's home-life.

And I had no idea canon-Cedric was one of those born in a date that allowed them to be seventeen during their 6th year: since this SI has a family, and I didn't want to maintain my standard isolationist policy from the 'new parents' but also didn't want to pull off a new character out of nowhere for the sake of picturing the perfect home life... I simply used this chapter to reveal the events of Cedric's birth.

So, he was born earlier, and the mother that nobody knows anything about in canon died of childbirth. I've been a bit brutal with the delivery, I know, but I hope that I managed to establish a solid connection between the MC and his father (who recently widowed) didn't notice the maybe odd behavior of the newborn Self Insert, and who we know from canon was already obnoxiously proud about canon Cedric.

Lore for this fic:

Since the MC isn't aware of it just yet, I couldn't have him explain every detail of how Magic as a system works, it is a bit too soon for that. In any case, I have mentioned in chapter 4 how a dedicated wizard can learn a single spell with enough effort (Potter-patronus everyone?).

Given the many PMs I received, I feel the need to clarify what I meant by 'the scientific method doesn't work': what I apparently failed to make the MC deliver is that when different people try the same spell, the results are inconsistent. That is what destroys the basis upon which the Scientific System is based: in the HP-verse, repeating stuff in the same conditions tends to get the same results, but only when the wizard is the same. Each person takes differently to each spell, which is something mandatory if we take the canon magical development of Magical-kind.

Given that I'm writing a Harry Potter fanfiction, I don't want to leave a basis upon which any random group of muggle-borns (aware of the scientific method) can start a magical revolution (it would have happened before the 1700 if that was the case). It is the same reason why I won't bother reconciling classical physics with Transfiguration, I simply can ill tolerate the fics in which, for example, an approximative knowledge of atoms is enough to make anyone a super genius at Transfiguration.

I tried to make sense of the original Occlumency lessons that Snape gives Potter, and this is the starting point, how did it go?