Author's Note: This story right here is a product of too much video games and Netflix and not much real life productivity. My Imagination is so fired up and this was so exciting to write I had to share it with you. This drabble of my wild imaginings of the HP world is still a WIP. If you guys find this interesting I'll continue it :3 Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: All Rights goes to the HP Franchise and JK Rowling.
Warning: Lots and lots of swearing.
Update: [10/9/20] Edited.
CHAPTER 1
Aren't I Lucky
He's following another Ministry employee into a series of ante-chamber he has no clue where it leads. He however heard, official citizen, testing, just drops of magic, you'll just hold a stone. He nods numbly dragging his heavy body across the marbled floors. His mind felt like goo, and he couldn't find it in him to concentrate even if he was at wand point under a curse.
He felt like cursing himself, his bloody fucking luck of being Harry Potter. Hermione did always say he has the devil's luck. No wonder she was always arse up motherly towards him, tormenting him with her over the top protectiveness and her awful cooking.
He wonders how in seven level of hell he ended up here. He was extremely sure, that situations like this only happen to him. Harry just wish he could have also brought Hermione with him. Try as he might to push that girl away, to keep her out of danger and drag him from his terrible luck, he's still extremely grateful her persistence always wins out. Her fighting alongside him, always there, never faltering. However, some battles have to be fought all alone. He reminds himself in dismay. His inner voice sounds so much like the witch.
Now he's stuck, truly and utterly alone. Alone like the time he faced of Voldie for the Philosopher's stone, or the time he slayed a basilisk, even that time during the tournament, not to mention all the countless other times he's been in front of danger. He couldn't help but huff angrily at the Ministry employee instructing him to pace up. "Keep up Mr. Potter, we don't want to dilly-dally along these halls." Oh heavens up above, he even sound like Hermione. Who even says dilly dally these days. Still, what Harry would give just to even be with her right now. Scratch that, not her, he didn't think he could take her perkiness over Ministry Regulations. Yep alone is better, just as alone as he was always.
"Name." Someone who looks awfully like Percy Weasley said. Could his day get any worse? Two uppity's and it's still morning.
"Ha… Harry James Potter." He squeaked.
"And your papers Mr. Harry James Potter?" The man behind the desk said imperiously, the clerk was just as pompous as Percy. Trust his luck. He wanted to sneer at the man, but thought twice when the other man, whom he forgot the name, glared at him to shut it. So much like Hermione's glare. How awfully convenient he's stuck with the two of the most aggravating people he met - and that's coming from someone who met Voldemort one too many times. Though for certain that man was just as aggravating. What with his villainous long monologues. If he looks back at those moments, he was positive that if Riddle was not one for the dramatics and just pointed his wand at him to cast any lethal curse his job would have been over and done in a flash.
Is it such a sick wish to ask for a short and maybe painless way to die. He looks at Percy 2.0 and agrees with himself, death was better than this. Where was Hermione when he needed her.
"Mr. Pot…"
"Becky! Come on mate! Give the guy a break. Didn't I tell you he fell from the veil and probably came from another world. The guy has literally just clothes on himself, nevermind the paperworks. Just type him in Becky please, so we can move on and he can go around with me. You know he can't step foot out the ministry without so much as the mark."
"It's Beckingston to you Clarke!"
"Okay, okay Beckii-Beckingston! That's actually worse." The man goaded and the two started arguing. Quite hilariously if Harry cares to look, but at the moment all Harry could think about, the only thing that was ringing over and over in his head. He has to get a Mark.
What in seven level of Hermio... I mean Hades' hell indeed.
Harry blames Hermione for all this supposed luck he has right now. He tries to think if Hermione was truly the devil incarnate playing master as he, the puppet, all too willingly dance to her tune. Or rather she was much her namesake, albeit the female one. Hermione, rather Hermes, the guide to his own version of underworld. He chokes back a sob. Wasn't Hermione the one who gave him Snape's potion and encouraged him with words about bravery and all that bullshit so he could walk pass the fucking flames and burn Quirrel's face, Hermione and her fucking tiny hands with a scrap of paper full of clues leading him to the pipes thus facing the Basilisk, her and that fucking annoying brain of hers that more often than not saves his sorry arse - which he will not admit to right now or ever if he's still stuck in the Ministry! He just can't seem to forgive her, her warm smile that makes him believe he is an actual good and proper Auror, Hermione and her annoyingly curly hair that smothers him after every bear hug, every fucking one of her sound advice and words of encouragement, and her summoned from hell cooking skills.
That's right this is all Hermione's fault!
If she didn't bother cooking breakfast again, he wouldn't have to force himself eating her saltier than the red sea eggs, he wouldn't have prolonged her damn bear hugs because that's how she is and her tentaculous appendages hugging the breath out of him. Damn it and his soft heart! How he love the girl with all his heart, she is his sister, his family, in magic and even in blood! Because damn Hermione and her stupid love for books! "Look Harry we can be family." How she got that book from the Malfoy's library he did not want to find out. Still DAMN YOU HERMIONE! If it weren't for her insisting he eats breakfast he wouldn't be late for work, he wouldn't get screamed at by Hawkins, he wouldn't be scrambling for his office still fucking thirsty, and he wouldn't, shouldn't, couldn't be bothered passing by the cafeteria to wash out his tongue and order the blackest coffee from Samantha.
Oh, oh, oh Samantha Wright. Everything that is right in his mornings. Samantha who has the fluffiest most mouthwatering buns he could just take, he means make! Or rather bake, yes, that's it, because she bakes the best buns in the world that he just wants to sink his teeth into and savor all that goodness just to right every wrong thing in his world.
Samantha and her buns.
Buuut because Hermione insisted he needs mothering, "Because Harry you're driving yourself nuts with work, and I can't believe I'm saying this but you need to take care of yourself too! And eating breakfast early in the morning will do you wonders!" Well,fuck you too Hermione! If he had just came earlier to work, he could have savored his mornings more with Samantha and her buns, he should have not been late for work and distracted all morning with said buns, and he would not be fucking transported to some parallel universe where he has to get the fucking mark. FUCK YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK HERMIONE!
And now he has to be a bloody Death Eater and take the Mark. Oh heavens up above. If he could get back to his own world he will kill Hermione! Fuck the consequence! She'd forgive him anyway. Right?
"Mr. Potter, please…" Oh right, those two. Gods they bicker worse than Hermione and Malfoy.
"Mr. Clarke, I can't (be a death eater is what he wanted to say)… I… What do you want me to do?" He's more articulate than this, but he's reminded how thirsty he still is from eating mashed-up salt for breakfast - a sorry excuse for scrambled eggs.
"Mr. Potter, you just have to fill out some forms and hopefully we could get you sorted out. I bet you'd be ecstatic to find out you'll be qualified for school this coming autumn. Also we have to enlist a proper magical guardian for you…"
"Wait, what?" A big W-H-A-T?
"Well Mr. Potter, surely you would want to continue your education. No matter the circumstance, and I bet it would be better than to just hang in the Ministry. We can't supervise you all the time boy. And quite frankly, the veil has never spout anything since its Creation. So you're quite the mystery case. Besides, it's better to stay among your peers at a trying time like this." Mr. Clarke said in sympathy. "Oh, you must miss your family dearly. No need to worry, there is the Institute, who can provide you a sort of make shift family. Even if it's just for the time being. So chin-up Harry my boy, we'll still solve your case of misplacement."
"Precisely." The Percy impostor added.
Misplacement. Boy. Institute. WHAT?
"Huh?"
"Oh dear boy. Were there no schools where you came from?"
"Well there is Hogwarts…"
"Hogwarts?" Both of them scoffed at him. Well it was true, how dare they mock him.
"You mean to tell me you're enrolled in Hogwarts?" Clarke asked disbelievingly. Was is it so hard to believe him? Maybe he'd be skeptical too, he's an old man after all, not an 11 year old boy.
"Well.. was enrolled. Not really now that I'm an Auror." His pout might not helped from stopping the two fucktards from laughing out loud, but he's truly offended, still thirsty, and now dead tired. He'd kindly want that Avada from Voldemort now.
"Oh, I'm so sorry Mr. Potter." Clarke said between laughs, and Harry was not amused at all. "You see it's just hard to believe that you're an Auror, let alone a graduate of Hogwarts."
"What? Why the hell not?!" Okay, he may not have graduated from Hogwarts. But they needn't find that out.
"Well, for starters you could not be older than twelve or thirteen."
Well… Didn't he say fuck you too Hermione!
Thirteen.
He was bloody thirteen years old. Oh such a fucking lucky number to be in. Apparently, not only was he ricocheted into a different universe, he was also de-aged. Not to mention, he was very much an orphan here like in his original world. Not even James Potter could claim him, because the man was a traveler, and his last known location was the Jungles of Borneo. Never mind Sirius Black, because the Sirius Black here only talks to people who came from Hogwarts, which would have enlightened him, but he only talks to his own Caste of Hogwarts alumni. And never mind Remus, in this life the man embraced the wolf so much that he only associates with his pack. Not only were the Marauders separated from each other, the three have never even met. Sirius was the only Hogwarts alumni, and Remus and his dad James went to their own institute. Schools that best fit them. And to top it all, his mom, or rather Alder Evans was born male and is 100% muggle. He's sure, Mr. Clarke triple checked it.
And there was also his case of being Casteless. Well of course he didn't belong to any Caste, he was fucking transported from a different universe! But still, Percy 2.0 and he-devil II laughed at him when he wanted to go to Hogwarts. At least that was familiar, right?
Nope it was not. He now understand this Caste system the Magical Britain, and the rest of the world, follow. Witches and Wizards are sorted not by blood, (which Mr. Clarke said was beyond ridiculous - he agrees of course) but by the first magic they possessed. Harry could not remember what he had for yesterday's lunch let alone his very first magic. But there was mention of ritual, and stones for his sorting.
"You were sorted by a hat?" Clarke asked disbelievingly.
"Well it's a sentient hat…"
"But still a hat."
"Ye.. Yes! As I said it's sentient. And we were sorted by what exemplify us best. For example I went into Gryffindor for showing bravery and courage. Then there's Hufflepuff…"
"Hufflepuff, what the fuck is a Hufflepuff. Like Leah Hufflepuff?"
"Who?"
"Nevermind Mr. Potter do go on."
"Uh, right. Well, where was I. There's Hufflepuff, who's values are hard work and patience." Harry ignored the disbelieving scoff Mr. Clarke emitted. "And Ravenclaw for their intelligence and wisdom. And.. uhm Slytherin, for cunning and ambition."
"Mhmm, and you call them as Houses?" Clarke asked. Still dubious about the Hogwart's houses and their values. The two moved on deeper into the Ministry, their footsteps echoing the marbled interior.
"Well I say that's a load of bull Mr. Potter. Sorry for my language. But people can be all those things at the same time. It takes courage to go after your ambitions and hard work pays off with intelligence. People are complex, they can't be one and not the other. That's just absurd. All the more I think you'd be good for the Institute, rather than Hogwarts."
"I'm still quite confused Mr. Clarke, isn't Hogwarts the place for magical students?"
"Oh yes it is Harry, but Hogwarts only accept Mages not ordinary witches and wizards."
"Mages huh? How is that different."
"You'll soon find out dear boy! First, we must get you into the system and know your Caste." Clarke stops from his brisk walk and faces Harry. Come to think of it, he should have realized sooner he was rather short compared to every body else, but it was hard to notice that when your brain has turned into mush.
"Perhaps Mr. Potter you are fit for Hogwarts. Let's go find out then!" He spins on the spot and straightens himself as he announce, " Here we are Harry. Welcome to our very own Sorting."
Clarke dramatically push open a heavy set of doors and the two then steps inside another marble-filled atrium with towering pillars surrounding the room and a stark white pedestal right in the middle.
When Harry was placed just before the pedestal he saw swirls of translucent light dancing languidly like some form of a mini Aurora Borealis above it. There were darker-than-black stones that seems to be absorbing all light that pass through it and some sort of metallic circular spindle pivoting on its axis floating above, right in the middle. It was eerie but calming. The magic was potent in the room and as if by a sudden call he knew what to do.
He didn't need prompting from Mr. Clarke, nor instructions. He used his gut and inserted his left arm inside the metallic circle, his wrist laying flat downwards, his palm open. His breathing was so loud, his heartbeat too and for a moment, he thought maybe he won't get sorted and he'd live the remainder of his days with Mr. Clarke in the Ministry awaiting getting shipped off back into his world. But some part of him, the adventurous reckless boy inside of him, wanted to see what lays outside the marbled interiors of Ministry. And before he knows it, one of the stones float onto his palm and the metallic circle was closing in on his wrist burning a sign, a mark, onto him.
His symbol was much like the Peverell's crest, or rather the infamous Deathly Hallows, only instead of a circle inside the upright triangle, there was a similar, albeit smaller triangle inside. Two triangles, he had the mark of two triangles.
The magical world was sorted based on their first magic. There were the Arcanians, whose magic specializes in channeling their core as weapons for battle, making them effective fighters. Technically they were what Harry was used to as Duel Masters or those good at Defense. Those that end up like Aurors like him. But the Arcanians or formally known as Arcane Warriors are rather good at both offense and defense. If a little wizard has used force field or shock to protect himself from harm then most likely he is classed as one.
Then there are the Shifters, who has the uncanny ability to change properties of an object. Apart from learning Transfiguration back in his own world, Harry learned that Shifters has the ability to change themselves not only with one form as Animagus but at least a minimum of two by the time they graduate the institute or at least five after Hogwarts. And these transformations extend to magical creatures as well, which in whole was super neat.
After that there are also the Healers, whose healing touch can manipulate their magic into healing, rejuvenation and regeneration. They practice the arts of Glyph and Runecrafting for better and more efficient healing. Apparently, wand-waving is a restricted form of magic that not many value. Healers use their touch, their hands and some more dramatically even their tears to heal. Apparently people can be Phoenixes too.
But those who do value their wands, and in some cases a staff or magical accoutrements are called the Alchemist. Their very specialty was to use their choice of magical instrument and mold it as aid to perform magic. Those specializing in Alchemy has higher level of skill to make their own spells and craft their own instruments. They tend to be mostly travelers who scour the ends of the world for the best ingredients and materials for their crafts. Aside from wandlore, they master the art of spell crafting and later on in life become today's publishers or inventors. Harry was pleased to find out that the James Potter of this world was a Crafter a lower lever of Alchemist, who is currently looking into magical gem stones that can only be found in the deep Jungles of Borneo. An Alchemist has a wide range of archetypes, from wandlore to items like the Philosopher's stone, and even Masters of Potioneering, so it was given that Harry would wonder how one can be under the Caste of Alchemy. Clarke said those with talents of ingenuity are most likely Alchemist. Propelling their crafts with magic for it to work.
It was amusing to know his not-so-father is still somewhat a Marauder at heart. Alchemist usually use their ingenuity to construct or invent tools as makeshift magical device. Isn't that a bit deviant? He could just imagine the twins of his world creating a tiny magical gizmo that could just create mayhem. Ahhh, tiny little inventors. He sighs in delight.
Much like the Alchemist, there are also those who are called the Guardians. Despite their name, the Guardians specializes in Wards and Runecrafting. They can create and dismantle wards in an instant, and usually employed by most as Ward Masters to create wards for their homes, families, and even oneself. Guardians not only create wards, but they invent unique wards and spells which can be keyed into ones magical core. Unlike the Arcanians, Guardians avoid battles and fighting but are great creating shielding spells, magical wards, and such to protect or enhance rather than to disarm or attack. And because Alchemist has more inventions and properties to protect, they usually work well with Guardians than go into battle with the Arcanians.
Another Caste are the Entropists, whose specialty are destructive and damaging spells. Their magic's main purpose is to debilitate and damage foes. He was appalled that there were such a Caste, it sounded too close to Dark Magic which made Mr. Clarke look at him funny. "Healers can stop the heart, Alchemist can create chaos, Guardians can trap you, whose to say which magic is dark and which is light. That's totally absurd." He was right of course, but still Harry was convinced that if magic's intent was to curse, to paralyze, to weaken, and inflict pain then it's still too dark for him.
"Would you not hurt a man overpowering a helpless victim? You say you are older than what you claim. How can you say a man does not deserve punishment if he is taking a young girl against her will? How can you determine if a person does not deserve to be cursed or hexed? Not everything is dark and light Mr. Potter." Merlin and Jesus, this guy sound so much like Sirius, which ironically the Sirius Black here is classed as an Entropist, and a high ranking one at that.
Moving away from that depressing fact, Mr. Clarke also explained two more Castes, one of which he belongs to.
Some witches wizards belong to the group of the Keepers, who makes use of the Elemental Magic around them and control it to their will. One could breathe fire upon villages and others can drown it like the Atlantis, so another point for Mr. Clarke there. Controlling nature is not entirely dark for Harry but Mr. Clarke said any magic can do more harm than good if the intent to do so was there. Harry thought it cool though to be a Keeper, and be one with the nature. Wouldn't it be neat to force trees to grow in an unnatural way, create his very own natural tree house and pretend like Tarzan. Then he can wreak havoc by setting it aflame - which funnily enough just proves Mr. Clarke more.
And finally, his Caste. Harry was classed under Psychokinesis. Whose abilities use the Mind Arts or Mind Magicke. Those who are exceptionally good at Legilimency, Occlumency, and curses such as the Imperious Cure and Mind induced pain - Cruciatus Curse anyone? Of course Harry would be under the Caste system that belonged to his worse nightmare, aka Voldemort's three most favoured spells. Yeah his and him.
As Harry was standing stock still on the dais, his hand grasping on one of the stone, he sees a glimpse of his four year old self, confunding 6 year old Mike who's specialty at that time was to be a big mean bully. Harry then realized he was classed as a Psychokinetic, along with the likes of Voldemort. Which made him ask Mr. Clarke about the man, which in turn made the man deny any knowledge of one Mr. Vold De Mort. Who Harry then clarifies as Tom Marvolo Gaunt Riddle instead. So yes. Yes of course Mr. Riddle was one of the Hogwart's student under the Caste system Psychokinetic. Which only made Harry cursed under his breath, "Psychotic prick maybe".
Well, just his luck. Right? He just thanks the heavens up above the man is not after him. Tom turned out to be an okay guy, a lawyer actually if that's any better. Running for the Ministry's Senator. Which in hindsight is probably not.
"Would you look at that two triangles Mr. Potter, that is quite the turn of events."
"Eh." Was he even surprised. With his luck, it could have been a 3d glowing pyramid, spinning, with lightning and all. It could have been the outline of a dick. Still, it was one more triangle than Clarke's or Becky's, who has the more common singular triangle. One like his not-so-Dad's mark. Who, like Clarke and the dour Becky, ended up in their specific Institute.
Upon learning more about the Caste system. He was well-informed by the effectiveness of diversifying witches and wizards. Efficiently maximizing once strengths and talents and further developing them (rather than learning how to turn cups into mice or something just as atrocious and be really awful at it, but amazing at Herbology. Case in Point his good friend Neville.) Who needs to know how to brew a very complicated Wolfsbane or Draught of Living Peace or learn 3 transformations for your Animagus or even invade so carelessly the inner workings of ones mind? Not Institute students of course. But as Clarke said, there are Mages who do apparently. Those whose magical prowess has extended beyond their first magic. Those who can master as many arts or at the least be attuned to more than one. People like Sirius Black, and yes even Tom Riddle, and now finally him too. People with two triangles. Yeah him, maybe?
"I guess you really did go to Hogwarts Mr. Potter. Well when I was your age I have always wanted to go there, alas I was sent to the Institute of Alchemist. Still if not for the institute I won't be a junior Unspeakable, won't end up catching you from the veil. Ain't that just dandy Mr. Potter?" Mr. Clarke smiled wistfully.
What a Git.
"Sure thing Mr. Clarke. Where to next?"
So on to his next journey with Mr. Clarke, who took it upon himself to be his magical guardian and be the next Hagrid. The man then volunteered to bring him to Diagon Alley and sponsor his school needs. Mr. Clarke's enthusiasm is seriously contagious. Maybe, this inter-universe travelling thing isn't so bad.
Would you look at that. Diagon Alley, was not as crooked and diagonal unlike from his version. It is actually very, very different. Scratch that, it's like stepping into twilight. Diagon Alley was a modern cornucopia of shops, buildings, and more! It certainly was nothing like the mid-century alley he was used to. He could see aluminum framed curtain walls filling panels after panels in most buildings. Lights and holographic moving images and not of that old painted pictures. There were even hovering vehicles! It was like a different city rather than an alley. Was he still on Earth? And goodness him, he looked downright shabby with his robes. He might be wearing his now resized Auror robes but the citizens of Magical Britain has a flair for fashion. Modern, sleek, and stylish robes. All with clean lines, fine materials, some even have color changing fabric, others with elaborate but stylish designs that match their wand or staff. He very much felt and look like the same ol' Harry, whose scraggly arse first stepped into his version of Diagon Alley.
His original Diagon alley was a field of wonders and magical. Still, this was so much fucking better! Maybe even better than Samantha's buns! He wonders if Samantha was here somewhere, or a better tempered Ginevra Weasley. Scratch that, he fucking hopes and pray he doesn't run into her, or Ron and his pompous arse, or any of the Weasleys for that. And most especially not into one Hermione Granger, which he is sure enrolled in Hogwarts, being her swotty self. No doubt mothering some poor guy, maybe Malfoy, that guy has some mummy issues. Who probably finds it hot when Hermione nags at him all the time. He wouldn't be surprised if the two have already resolved their really, really obvious sexual tension. He could easily imagine them in the middle of a row, shouting, insulting and bickering then fucking her over his table. They work so closely now it's bound to happen. Oh yuck and eow! He cannot get that mental image out.
"Uhm… Mr. Clarke…"
"Call me Philippe, Harry. After all I am your magical guardian now." He smiled at him.
"Of course, Philippe. Do you have any idea who might be attending Hogwarts?"
"You mean students there apart from you?"
"Yes, yes those students. I might meet some of my friends, you know from my world."
"Well. Hogwarts students are really famous, they do have the double marks and usually before the school begins, their portfolios are printed out on the Prophet."
"What?! You mean we should print my face?"He asks in horror. He'd had enough of newsprint to last him a lifetime.
"Yes Harry. It is a tradition to print out the names of first time Hogwarts students. But I'm skipping that with you. Judging from your face you might not appreciate it." He smirked at him. "The families are quite proud of their children, and it is truly an honor to be gifted with more magic. To be proficient masters over many arts. So it is a tradition to announce it over the Prophet, or the Tribunal. Others even go over board and post it in Wizard's Witness for the whole world to see."
"Ugh. You mean purebloods get to display their heirs on the headlines? What if you're a muggleborn?"
"A whats-it now?"
"Muggleborn…" Harry said carefully, the two of them talking while walking to their destination, probably Gringotts like what Hagrid did before. "You know. Those born from non-magical parents." People like Hermione, he thought.
"Born from magical parents? Oh dear Harry, magic is not entirely inherited. Magic will where magic is. Born or not from magical parents, if one is a wizard or a witch, one will always be. But yes some magic does tend to be passed down to their offspring, like Veelas for example or Metamorphagus', Lycanthrops. However, that does not define your Caste. It is your first true magic where you will find your family. You could find a mother from your Caste Head, and be estranged with your birth ones. What is all this miggle this and that?"
"Muggle actually…"
"Hmm, such an odd word… Still, I say your way of beliefs is stupid. You keep saying people are grouped by their blood which is just equally as stupid as grouping people by the color of their skin. And mind you just as awful as that hat grouping you into houses. Anyone can be loyal, hardworking, brave, cunning and smart. Why let a silly old hat sort you. We let magic decide for us, it is our first that shows where we are the strongest and magic has never failed us."
They walk further down the street to Merlin know where, and Harry appreciated the moment's peace while admiring everything. Deep in thought about this too-idealistic world. A magical world group into the Caste System, where every one have their own contributions. Supported to grow into their own shell, harness and sharpen their very own talents. Would this have happened if not for the ideals of Pureblood supremacist? He thinks not. "It all started from fear Potter. Witches were hunted down by muggles, not even a war can remove that. If only it worsen it." Malfoy did have a point there. If not for the Statute of Secrecy, more and more witches and wizards might have been persecuted, killed or worse experimented by muggles. Because Harry was proof not all muggles are as loving and supportive as Mr. & Mrs. Granger.
"Do you have a Statute of Secrecy Mr. Cla… I mean Philippe?"
"Ah. The Statute of Secrecy. It is nice to know you are also familiar with that. Tell me, how does your world handle your secrets?"
"Basically we're not allowed to expose ourselves to muggles... wait what do you call non-magical people?"
"The anti-parallels."
"That's a mouthful."
"And this pureblood and muggleborn business is not?"
"Touche." Harry said with a small smile. "Why that though?"
Philippe Clarke looked at the boy with a knowing smirk. "You do not know do you? Non-magical beings have antiparallel DNA strands. Double strands that are physically parallel to one another but runs in opposite directions."
Harry was amazed. "That is so cool. And the difference with us?"
"Oh I never mentioned did I. We are called the Triandria, those with the third strand. Generally just same as men, only enhanced, more... magical." Philippe smiled, all humble and knowing. He was surely a better tour guide than Hagrid. But he will always love the big man more.
"That is sooo poetic. My Mione would have loved that!" He whispered excitedly to himself. "Anyway, as I was saying, only the closest relatives for those who are born from non-magical parents are informed of the magical world. Unfortunately, in most cases, they are terribly left out from the inner workings of the Wizarding world. They just entrust their child from age 11 to 17 to attend this magical boarding school, which is Hogwarts of course, the just goes back home every summer. That's just about it." He shrugged. "It was very obvious that there was (and sometimes still is, he thought) animosity between those who has lived all their life in the Wizarding world and those who don't. They think muggleborns are a threat to the Secrecy, thus the hateful scorn and injustice of it all. Purebloods have the upper hand in the magical world, they have fully established themselves, and muggleborns are hated because they're new, no connections, basically just a baby duck on the deep deep ocean." He admitted sadly. He was reminded of his bestfriend, his sister - Hermione. How he will do everything for that girl, even eat her salty disgusting eggs. It would be really great to see her again.
"Well I say, that's a load of bull." They both laugh, him more brokenly, and Philippe Clarke had to look twice at the boy beside him. Too small for his age, with dark circles underneath his eyes, and sagged shoulders as if the boy have been through so much and is just so, so tired and defeated. It's what made him take the boy under his wing, he was always such a sucker for the down and trodden.
"Do… would you happen to know if there's a Hermione Granger enrolled in Hogwarts? She'd probably ended up there, she's my best friend you know, super duper smart and…. Aack! What is it Philippe?!"
Philippe Clarke hauled the boy into an empty alley, and rounded him with crazed eyes his sausage finger digging one of his shoulder. Despite his mature age, Harry was a bit terrified of the guy. He didn't even have his wand to begin with!
"You.. you know a Hermione Granger?" Philippe said in a whisper. Woah what a reaction! Could Hermione be the Dark Lord of this time? He asks himself. Well possibly, of course! The girl could be the she devil if she wanted to.
"Yes my best friend. Do you know her here?" His excitement a contrast to Clarke's frowing face.
"She's… She's in Hogwarts too Harry." Ha! He knew it! Of course Ms. Know-it-all is there.
"Ms. Hermione Granger, she's…"
"So she has twin triangles too? Is she a mage like me?" He asked excitedly befitting his 13 year old self.
"Ms. Granger is no ordinary mage Harry. We do not speak of her name so lightly…" Holy cow! He knew it! Mione became the next You-know-who.
"Ms. Granger, along with her two other friends… " Wait what? That's depressing. Mione already has her own golden trio here? "They, they're what we call Primals."
"Wait you never mentioned a Primal among the Caste system." Philippe sighed, the boy sure has many questions. And surprisingly knows one of The Primals living in Wizarding Britain.
"You need not know it Harry. Those who are Triandrias can feel a Primal's presence. They are very different from Mages like you. Their magic is - different."
"How so?" Was Hermione an elf here maybe? He snickers at this thoughts.
"Primals are Mages who practice the art of blood and soul magic. They have the magic of the Creator. They not only have the three strands all of us Magicals do, but their Marks are that of the three. Three Triangles interlaced on each other."
"You're taking the mickey, right? Are you saying Mione is some kind of God?"
"Yes Mr. Potter. Ms. Hermione Granger is a Blood Witch whose very magic can create life." Well, what do you know. Hermione is still very much a mother in this life. Philippe relaxes his hold on him, but he must have shaken the poor man as the latter was still trying to catch his breath. Mione must be something here.
"And the other two?" Harry further asks.
"Come again Harry?"
"You know, her two other friends."
"Ah, well. There is Primal Neville Longbottom, his magic is destruction and extermination." Philippe said offhandedly with a touch of awe for his friend.
"NEVILLE?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"
"Shush now Mr. Potter! They are Primals you WILL not disrespect them that way!"
Harry mumbled his apologies and let Philippe continue.
"You will watch out for him Mr. Potter, he is a gentle boy and very, very sweet but he can extinguish your very existence, your very magic. You could conveniently become the next Dementor or Inferi. Anger him and he will not just destroy you, but your land, your life, your family and even your future. Do you understand Mr. Potter?" He squeaked Yes!
Philippe started dusting his ruffled robes, feeling more calm.
"And lastly, if you are not to anger Primal Longbottom, NEVER-EVER cross young Primal Draco Malfoy." Oh-bloody-fucking-course! Malfoy had to be a git here too. A git whose become this Primal shite! Woe is me truly.
"Mr. Malfoy is the most reticent among the group, yet he is deadly as his silence. Where Hermione Granger is life, he is the very death. And trust me Mr. Potter, death at his hands is the worse, it is too extreme, that even I won't wish it upon my enemy."
"Does that mean I can't punch him if he's being a git?"
"MR. POTTER!"
"Okay okay! I'll behave." Philippe searched his face once more before nodding swiftly. The two continue their way, where to again? Harry still haven't find out.
"How does one be classed as Primal anyway?"
Philippe looked at him sideways before saying. "At the very first drop of their blood, their magic reacted. One brought back life, one destroyed life, and the other drained life. The last know Primal was Merlin and Morgana. Merlin, who, by his blood can lead, and Morgana whose blood can control."
"We do not take lightly the existence of Primals. They are the reason magic is flourishing, their birth is a symbol of Hope, of Power and of the Future. It has been so long since we are blessed with Primals, and an even bigger miracle we have three of them. I am not even that surprised anymore to find that you are here. Maybe you are the reason the three has been born in this generation. Or perhaps... it could be just a coincidence." Philippe rests his arms on his shoulders as the older man guides them both to their destination.
"Well, with my luck, I highly doubt it."
And it has finally sunk in him. Harry Potter has been transported to a world where witches and wizards were grouped not by blood nor by a hat but by the first magic they possessed. And his best friend and supposed enemy are the king and queen of them all.