Disclaimer: The rights to the Harry Potter series go to J.K. Rowling. All original ideas present in this belong to me.

Chapter Twenty-Four | If I Only Had a Brain

I trudge down the stairs towards the Chamber, Severus hot on my heels as we go to inspect the damage done. I haven't visited the Chamber since the battle, and I want to lay Magna to rest. Stupid, childish snake that she was, she was still my snake. I hiss at the great iron door in front of me, the massive carved serpents releasing the locks from their jaws and slithering backwards, the sharp squeal of metal on metal reverberating through the cavernous pipes and causing me to flinch, no thanks in part to my augmented senses. I really should oil that thing.

We head into the Chamber, removing wards, hexes and other assorted traps that we hadn't had a chance to remove before. Magna's broken body rests along the stone walk way, powdered marble from the destroyed statues lining the path scattered about, a thin dusting of rubble resting along her mass. I stride forward, cringing in sympathetic pain as I get a good look at her fatal injuries. Bloodied chunks of hide lay next to her from Dumbledore's ancient cutting curse, bones jut out from the open wound at odd angles, spiderweb fractures littering their pale surface. There's dried blood everywhere, a veritable flood of it congealed across the floor, a murky green pool of ooze running thick trails along the paved stone. I rest my hand on her brow, running it along the smoothed scales as I once did when I would visit her, when I would hide in the Chamber to have a moment to myself, a moment to get away from the constant stares and attention. When she was still alive.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my fingernails tracing slow lines across her jaw. I'm going to miss her, poor girl.

"A fantastic creature," Severus murmurs, getting a good look at her body for the first time. He pulls a roll of thin leather out of a bag and spreads it out across the ground, an assortment of glinting knives, hooks, what looks to be a hacksaw fashioned from gemstone, and some tools that I can't even begin to guess at the use of laid out neatly in front of him. "Are you sure you want to render her? Can you not bring her back?"

I shake my head sadly, removing my hand from Magna's massive frame. "No, it would take too much magic to bring her back. Even though she's dead, her hide is still magically resistant. I'd end up killing myself before I even got halfway done with the resurrection," I lament, sighing deeply. "No, I'm going to animate her bones after you've rendered her down, and I'm not about to hold out on you when it comes to rare ingredients. It's the least I can do after you helped me with Dumbledore."

"Thank you, and again, I'm sorry for your loss."

I wave my hands as I begin to set the Chamber back into place, repairing the dislodged chunks of stone. I remove the wall that I created to defend myself from Dumbledore's all out attack, moulding it back into the floor.

It takes about half an hour, but the Chamber looks like its old self, apart from a few missing statues that I don't have the artistic talent to repair.

Severus silently hands me a large knife that looks like a stretched-out cleaver, the blade curving oddly along its length. I begin my gory task, scoring and measuring out large sections of Magna's hide, before starting the arduous process of skinning a sixty-foot-long snake. Her hide is incredibly tough, and nearly seven inches thick on average, making this job difficult even with my enhanced strength. I turn my head to get a look at Severus, who's now wearing the wizarding equivalent of a hazmat suit as he milks the venom from Magna's fangs, the nearly glowing green liquid dripping into enchanted crystalline flasks. I focus on my own work, my arms already beginning to ache at the joints. This is going to take a while.

-:-

I fall back onto my arse, ignoring the sharp pain flashing through my tailbone and instead revelling in the fact that we're finally finished. After nearly seven hours, we've finally wrapped up the messiest fucking thing I've done in my entire life. I look down on my robes, drenched and spattered in basilisk blood, while bits of viscera and muscle cling to the sodden threads. Christ. Looks like these are getting burnt tonight. No amount of cleaning can get that mess out.

I tiredly throw my head back and stare at the ceiling, admiring the way the waters reflection dances across the stone of the Chamber, eerie, yet beautiful in its own creepy way. Severus lands unceremoniously on the ground beside me, peeling his leather gloves from his hands and grimacing as he shakes the perspiration off his now prune-like fingers. I glance down at my own gloves, having forgotten them. I curse under my breath as I remove them, almost retching as I turn them upside down, watching in morbid fascination as a small pool of sweat pours from the gore-soaked leather.

"That's absolutely fucking disgusting, and I dabble with rotting curses on the weekends," I swear, casting a scourgify or twelve at the unpleasant articles, immediately tossing them across the Chamber in revulsion.

"No interest in being a potions mistress anymore?"

"Since when did I want to do that?" I ask incredulously.

"It was a joke," Severus huffs, simply incinerating his own gloves with a focused fiendfyre. I whistle in appreciation at his stellar handling of a very difficult magic. That's mighty impressive. Incredible overkill, but mighty impressive all the same. "Are you turning this heap of bones into something even more terrifying than it was when alive, or can I go to bed now?"

I nod my head in affirmation, groaning as I drag myself to my feet, knees squealing in protest. Time to add magical exhaustion on top of physical and mental.

I walk towards the great skeleton in front of me on shaking legs, placing my hands out in front of me, thumbs touching, and fingers splayed like wings. "Pulvis et cinis, cinis et os, os ad vitaes animam," I chant, repeating the incantation on a constant rhythm, the words flowing out in one strong breath. I feel the magic collecting in me as I connect my fingers one by one with each repetition, my hands held together almost in prayer after the fifth chant. I release my hands, holding them palm out towards Magna's empty bones, gasping loudly as the magic bursts out of me, a tangible wave of power rushing forward.

The magic impacts the bones heavily, causing them to shudder and clatter as they seek to contain the new source of life within. Like a sickening marionette, Magna's body raises its head and stares down at me with empty eyes, teeth chittering and clacking to some unknown beat. Somehow it hisses, with no lungs or tongue to project and form the sound.

:Greetings Master. What would you have of me?:

:Stay here and dormant until I have need of you. I will call for you when the time comes: I reply, almost laughing when I turn to see Severus quaking in his gore sodden boots as he stares with unbridled fear at the massive, skeletal monster in front of me. "You alright there Severus?" I call, distracting him from the now deactivating necromantic guardian.

"No matter how many times I see you… work, I'm still horrified by the display," he marvels, blinking slowly as whatever soul that is possessing Magna coils in on itself, resting its head lazily on top of bones tied together by invisible strings.

I smile appreciatively at my work. It wasn't more than four years ago that I was leading a suicide mission in the Department of Mysteries, finding it difficult to cast so much as an overpowered stunner or blasting curse. Now? Animation like this comes easily to me. My handle on the air and earth is as simple as lifting a barbell. I've got a long way to go when it comes to knowledge, having only lived a fraction of the time many greater witches and wizards have, but it makes me feel safe to know that I have enough control and power to go around.

"Thank you, Severus," I reply honestly, giggling at his (still) mildly horrified expression. "I've got another errand to run, so feel free to head out whenever you'd like," I add, helping him collect his tools.

After everything is cleaned, sanitized, and wrapped up nicely we head out, Severus leaving towards his quarters while I make my way towards the History of Magic classroom. I'm met by Professor Binns lecturing to an empty room, completely unaware of the world around him. How on Earth has he been allowed to stay here and teach? I clear my throat loudly, attempting to catch the ghost's attention. I curse when he doesn't notice me, instead carrying on with his recollection of the Goblin Rebellion of 1823, describing the harrowing tale of the legendary Commander Knifetooth's ambushes in painstakingly boring detail. How someone can make history of all subjects dull, I'll never know.

"Professor Binns, could I please have your attention?" I ask, rolling my eyes when he, again, does not notice my presence. "Cuthbert Binns, listen god-damnit!"

His translucent head slowly rolls over as he peers at me out of the corner of one eye. "Yes? Do you have a question, Miss…?"

"No, I don't have a question. What I do have is a letter of notice," I announce, conjuring an archaic looking pink slip and placing it on top of Binns desk. He looks down at it curiously, eyes widening to comical proportions as he reads it over once, then twice. His eyes flip up to me, and then back down to the sheet, before he lifts a hand and pokes curiously at the table in front of him, groaning pitifully when his finger passes through it.

"Oh my," he croaks, dropping his ghostly chalk. Wait, ghostly chalk? Does that mean he died in the middle of a lecture, if the chalk came along with him? Weird. "This says I'm dead," he continues, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"You've been dead for nearly thirty years, has no one ever told you that?"

"I'm afraid not," he balks, scratching his bald head. "Well, that explains a lot."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I haven't had to use the loo in nearly thirty years," he muses. If I had a mouthful of water I'd have done a spit take at that, so instead I chose to stifle an impressive snort, wondering if what he said was a joke or a simple observation. Knowing Binns? The guy probably hadn't figured out he was dead and was genuinely confused that he couldn't take a piss.

"So… do you want to carry on to the next world?" I ask tentatively.

"Of course! Always hated teaching," he grumbles, arms held out wide to emphasize how much he truly hates teaching. Judging by the wingspan on him, I'd say he hates it a lot. "Bloody boring gig. Regrettably, it was the only thing I was ever good at." He looks at me questioningly. "Do I follow the light, or what?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe just will yourself onto the next?"

Binns shrugs and shuts his eyes tightly, shoulders quivering, he holds his arms straight against his body, hands balled into fists as he attempts to carry on to the next life. Unfortunately, nothing happens.

"Oh, fuck off," he growls, my eyebrows shooting to my hairline at the elderly ghost's choice of language. "What am I supposed to do?"

I'm all shoulders, unsure myself. I could always try to get a hold of Death, couldn't I? I mean, I can't really do an exorcism as that would purge his spirit completely, removing any chance of him enjoying an afterlife. Those tend to be reserved for the more… interesting spirits, AKA the pricks who go around possessing people and causing general havoc. No, exorcism isn't an option.

"Did you need me for something, Helene?"

"Son of a bitch!" I shriek, falling over and smashing my back against a desk. "What the hell was that for?" I complain loudly, pulling myself up and rubbing my now bruised spine. Death tilts his head to the side, smirking slightly as he watches me grumble.

"It was for entertainment," he states, lips quirked in a facsimile of a smile. "If you'd like, Mr. Binns, I could send you on to the next. It is my job, you know."

"Well, come and get me ya' creepy git," Binns barks in return, eyes closed and arms spread wide, inviting Death to take him. I suck air through my teeth, expecting the worst to come from Binns insulting addressing of Death. Instead, Death laughs. Loudly. Very loudly.

I stare, mouth agape as Death proceeds to cackle like an utter maniac at Binns proclamation, bent over and gripping his knees tightly, his chest heaving. He gasps, small giggles sneaking through his lips as he attempts to pull himself back together, wiping an errant tear away. "Oh my, I haven't been spoken to like that in a very long time," he effuses, grinning unabashedly at my expression. "What? Did you think I didn't have a sense of humor?"

"Well, sort of, yeah."

"When you've been around as long as I have, it's rare to find something funny," he explains, lips drawn oddly as he does his best to hide a fleeting smirk that keeps attempting to appear on his face. "Really, it's probably been… three decades since I've last laughed like that," he continues, counting off the years on his fingers. "Yep, three decades, give or take a couple years."

"Huh."

"Are you going to kill me or what? Get to it!" Binns interrupts.

I grin at that, shaking my head at the ghost and the weight of the stones he must have once carried between his legs. Well, either that or he's a bloody idiot. Probably a little column A, a little column B. Death rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers, Binns disappearing in a puff of ethereal smoke.

"First time was funny, the second was quite rude," Death complains, placing his hands on his bony hips as he frowns at the empty space that Binns was just occupying.

"Did you damn him to Hell for it?"

"No, that's outside of my jurisdiction, but he is currently waiting in purgatory for me to arrive and drag him off to the Elysium Fields. I think I'm going to let him wait there for a day or two and think about what he's done."

"Well, thanks for taking care of that for me. I wasn't too keen on exorcising him," I say.

"Understandable," he replies, inclining his head. "I don't believe being a dreadfully boring Professor warrants the destruction of one's soul."

"Agreed," I shudder. "So… how've you been?" I ask awkwardly, unsure of how to end the conversation and go on my way. I really need to get some rest. Death snaps his fingers again, magically pulling up a chair and table along with two steaming mugs of tea, steeped to perfection. He waves his hand, beckoning for me to take a seat.

Oh, for fucks sake, I am so bloody tired.

I plop down in my chair, ignoring my creeping exhaustion as I raise the mug to my lips and sip tentatively, sighing in appreciation as the bittersweet liquid runs down my throat. Death does conjure a fantastic cuppa'.

"I've been well, as usual. Although, it hasn't been so long since we last spoke," he considers, two spindly fingers gripping the handle of his own cup, a nearly skeletal pinky stands straight, held regally as he tips his mug back and drinks deeply. "How have things been with you?"

"Alright. I had a bit of a verbal fit with Dumbledore the other day. All my anger sort of... well, spilled out," I begin, holding my hand out and shrugging slightly as if to say, 'what can you do?' "Years and years of frustrations with the man all flooding out at once. I'm surprised I didn't accidentally kill him a second time, considering how frustrated I was with his holier-than-thou bullshit. I half expected to simply blow up his office with him inside it."

"He is the type of person that brings out the worst in others," Death comments, quietly clicking his tongue. "Dumbledore could even frustrate one such as me, and I get frustrated less often than I laugh. Being Death does give one thick skin."

"And how often would that be? You getting frustrated?"

"You've heard of the First World War, correct?"

"Ah... really?"

"Quite."

"What about before that?"

Death scratches his chin thoughtfully, looking off into the distance as he ponders what terrible events coincided with the last time he got well and truly mad. "French Revolution," he confirms. "Although I did get a bit bored towards the end of the 18th century and gave the Americans a little push."

"World changing revolutions happen when you get bored?"

"You do realize, I am Death,' he snidely replies, sticking his chin out childishly.

"I know, I know, but it's still different hearing it from the source," I acquiesce, shocked at the destruction the God can bring about simply because he's having a slow day. Makes me a bit more nervous that he's got his attention focused on me for the time being.

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport. You'll still be alive at the end of all your mayhem," Death complains flamboyantly, hands raised high above his head. "Really, you're so shocked to find that Death of all people being interested in you could cause your life to be a bit more… entertaining?"

"…by entertaining, do you mean full of war and suffering?"

"Not specifically, those just happen to coincide with people dying en masse. It's very rare that I see a peaceful mass death."

"That really doesn't make me feel much better about it. At all," I emphasize, taking another sip from my mug.

"Well, it doesn't matter to me how you feel about it. It's not like I'm changing anything," he admits, flicking some unseen debris off of his finger. "I brought you back because you died much too early. That's it. What happens in the future is on your shoulders, not mine. That's what I do. I change one thing," he exclaims, a single finger pointed rigidly towards the ceiling. "One thing, and I see what effect that has on the rest of the world. More often than not, nothing happens. But every once in a while, I get something, or someone like you. Someone who changes the whole path of things. Blazes their own trail."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" I deadpan.

"No, not particularly," Death opines, taking a bite from a sweat-meal biscuit that wasn't originally there, before offering one to me. I take it and bite into the small treat, enjoying the burst of creamy milk chocolate that covers the top of it, as well as the slightly grainy texture and mild sweetness of the pastry itself. I look inquisitively at Death, suddenly wondering why he's so incredibly English about everything. Actually, he's always been English about everything.

"Because I am deeply familiar with the United Kingdom, the English in particular," Death answers without any prompting, reading my thoughts again.

"You make it sound as if you were once English," I wonder.

"Indeed, I was."

I rear back in shock, mouth opening and closing rapidly as I try to figure out what to say. Death was alive? "You... you were alive once? A mortal? That's... that's... wow."

"Really? You believed that? That was a joke," Death intones, his voice completely flat.

"Fuck off," I groan. "You had me going for a second there."

Death just smiles in his creepy way, waving his hand and causing the tea and biscuits to disappear, the Sorting Hat suddenly appearing between the two of us, the indentations on the leather that mark its eyes blinking in surprise. "I brought the rest of your errand. Have fun Helene!"

"What the hell am I doing here? Who the hell are you?" the Hat barks, twisting to and fro as it attempts to get a look at its surroundings. "Potter? Is that you? Who the hell was that behind me?"

"Er, yeah. It's me," I reply sheepishly. "And that was Death."

"Death? Sod that, three bloody years you forget about me. Three. Bloody. Years," the Hat fumes, shadows suddenly deepening across its frame as its anger builds. "How dare you get my hopes up like that and then just fucking disappear."

I look up at Death hoping for him to back me up, but to my dismay he's done a runner and has vanished from the room. I swear I can hear him laughing at me. Immortal prick. What was that he said the last time we met about not messing with people? No, he's not like Loki, or Zeus, or any of those other Gods. 'No deceit, no tricks, no misleading you.' Bloody liar.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, girl!"

"Jesus! Alright, alright!" I swear, holding my hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry, alright? I was trying to stay alive, if you haven't noticed, I had to kill the Headmaster a few weeks ago. Am I not allowed to be busy?"

"Really? One day? You couldn't take one measly day to drop by and just say hello? Selfish brat," it huffs, and would have crossed its arms if it had any to cross with. "So, why have I been woken up and dragged to this classroom?"

"Uh… well, Death here- wherever Death is, just helped me get rid of Binns," I explain, licking my lips nervously. Christ, I'm intimidated by a damned hat. "So, uh, I was hoping to follow up on that promise I made a couple years ago and get you appointed as the History Professor."

"About time," it barks. "I'll need some way to get to and from class, you know?"

Shit. I completely forgot about that. Of course, the hat would need to get around, how else would it get to the Great Hall to eat? ...Wait, eat? Jesus, I'm tired. "Where would you go? What would you do? Can't you just, you know, stay here instead of in the Headmasters office?"

"Are you insane? Do you know how quickly I would be defaced and turned into some sort of elaborate speaking codpiece? This is a school, and in turn it is full of teenagers," the Hat sasses, leather crinkling into a distasteful frown. "Teenagers are well known to destroy everything they get their hands on. Trust me, I've been watching them for the last millennium. Teenagers are terrible, terrible creatures. I need a way to get around."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, wondering how the hell I keep getting myself into situations like this. God damn you Death. This is your fault.

"I need it done tonight if you want to have a History Professor by tomorrow."

"Shite," I whisper. What to do, what to do… make a golem? No, that'd be ridiculous. Yes, welcome to History of Magic, taught by the Sorting Hat that has been thrown on top of a terribly intimidating stone construct. Not going to fucking happen. It's not like I can turn the hat into a huma-

"That's it!" I exclaim, pulling Et Necromantium out of my bag and shuffling through it, scanning over the pages until I come across the section I need. I tap the page excitedly.

"Well, out with it! What have you found?"

"I'm going to make you a body," I explain, bringing the book over and showing it to the Hat. "Any preferences on gender, age, etcetera?" I ask as it reads it over, looking at the process of creating an artificial body that can be controlled by an outside soul or mind, possession free. "You're also going to need a name. I don't think it'll work being called 'Professor Hat.'"

"Well of course not. Make me look like Godric then, my voice is his after all," the Hat says, bristling with anticipation. "About… mid thirties, I'd say?"

"Well, I have to know what he looked like."

"Just put me on while you make the body, I can show you what the man looked like."

I nod, placing the Hat on my head, grabbing the book, and blinking to the seventh floor. The Hat, not being a real living object doesn't object to that form of travel.

"I do object to being called 'not real.'"

Whoops.

"Sorry about that. Should have said 'organic' instead."

"You're goddamn right," the Hat huffs. "On with it then!"

I puff my cheeks out in complaint at being ordered around, opening the door to the Room of Requirement and walking in to its ritual room setting. I grab one of the knives off the wall and hang it near the dais, opening Et Necromantium again and leafing back to the page of the ritual. It's nothing too difficult, but it does require an adequate amount of magic and a small sacrifice. A small sacrifice being a chunk of skin, muscle and bone. I scroll through the book, looking for a particular healing spell that I'm going to require for this ritual, marking the page with a conjured slip of paper and turning back to the previous section.

"Alrighty," I murmur, setting the book aside and putting away my wand. I grab the ritual knife and place my left hand on the table, steeling myself for what is to come. This is going to be a doozy.

I slash down abruptly, severing my left hand at the wrist, crying out from the sudden blistering pain. I do my best to ignore the horrid burning at the end of my now naked arm, forgoing numbing charms and any other healing spells for the time being as they'll just interfere with the ritual. I extend my (only) hand, palm forward, facing the dismembered limb on the table.

"Give me that image of Godric now, Hat," I say, wincing dramatically as the Hat does just that. "I do not need that much detail," I complain, squinting mentally at the sight of the Sword of Godric Gryffindor, in all of its fleshy wonder. Eugh. Too much information.

"I'd like to get as much experience out of this body as I possibly can, Potter," the Hat chides. "And call me Iolaire."

I do my best to purge the idea of the Sorting Ha- no, Iolaire, whatever the hell he… er, it? He- is, getting up to the more instinctual human proclivities whilst wearing a conjured people suit that has been modeled after the late founder and all-around Wizarding legend, Godric Gryffindor. I can't. I just… no. This isn't just a weird day, it's a weird fucking week. Hell, it's a weird life. How do I go from ambushing one of the most powerful wizards to have ever lived to… this?

"Quit your bitching and get to it Potter."

I have to stop myself from blustering angrily as I begin to chant. "D'abbesra'a d'leh g'armea, ae'quom ei d'akhi'ye," I intone, pushing my magic towards my old hand and watching in morbid fascination as the skin bubbles, twisting like clay as it begins to form, slowly beginning to look like the very detailed image of Gryffindor that Iolaire has seared into my mind. He's tall and stocky, yet not completely made of muscle, sporting thick auburn hair with a few sparse curls to it. He has an unexpectedly narrow jaw, strong roman nose, and thin pursed lips framed by a trim beard, angled down into a sharp point. He looks like a goddamn Viking.

I continue chanting, cursing mentally as I feel the staggering pressure on my magic as the body continues to twist together. I've worked myself too hard today, what with the rendering and re-animation of Magna, having another conversation with Death (which was frankly exhausting, as well as got me into this mess), in addition to making a brand-new human suit for a goddamn sentient hat. I'd be amazed if I managed to even make it to my own bed tonight.

The magic begins to build, the immense weight off it pressing down on me, the stump of my wrist screaming in protest while I carry on with the ritual. "D'abbesra'a d'leh g'armea, ae'quom ei d'akhi'ye," I repeat, pushing more magic into the spell.

As soon as the magic feels as if its about to explode, I pull back, severing the steady stream of power. "B'khart'aa!" I cry, sighing audibly as I feel the ritual take hold, the body in front of me slowly coming to life. A beating heart, the rise and fall of the chest signifying functioning lungs, everything apart from the tell-tale sign of movement behind the eyelids. It looks remarkably like the victim of a dementors kiss. The lights are on, but nobody is home.

"Well Iolaire, looks like you've got a body," I pant, doing my best to catch my breath. I flick my wand and quickly conjure clothing for him, a standard set of plain robes settling onto the empty body in front of me. I look down at where my hand should be and shrug, I'll get that in the morning. I'm much too tired to make a new hand right now.

I place Iolaire on top of his new vessel, the hat squirming excitedly, like an anxious toddler. As soon as he connects with it, the body suddenly shoots up clumsily, eyes wide and arms flailing wildly. "Merlin!" Iolaire cries, his voice now projected from his new ride. "I have hands! Legs! A real mouth!" he continues, awkwardly rubbing his face and pinching himself in places to make sure that everything is quite real. "I have a body!"

"Looks like it," I reply tiredly, moving to wipe the sweat from my brow, confusedly holding out a dry hand in front of me. Looks like in addition to not bleeding, I don't sweat. Odd. Again, I'll worry about that another time. Iolaire jumps to his feet, stumbling slightly as he moves towards me and pulls me up into a great bear hug, crying out in laughter as I hiss at him. "Let me down!"

"Alright, alright!" he bubbles, setting me down and then dancing a little jig. "I can't believe this! Almost one thousand years, and you've finally given me everything I ever dreamed of! I'm alive, properly alive. If anyone ever gives you trouble about your powers, you show them what you did here today and ask them again if they think necromancy is all bad," he marvels, staring at the back of his hands with unbridled fascination.

"Yes, show them the affront to humanity that is the Sorting Hat come to life, here to burn our world to the ground and hear the lamentations of our women," I snort playfully, chuckling quietly as he turns to look at me in horror.

"Burn the world? There's so much of it to see! Why would I ever do that? Idiots, the whole lot of you," he denies, waving his arm in frustration. "Yes, of course the previously semi-inanimate object would immediately begin warring against humanity after being given life. Not like I'd want to travel outside the goddamn country and see the changes this world has gone through since I was last out of Hogwarts."

"Hey, I'm just being sarcastic," I say, rubbing tiredly at my eyes. "I'm going to get some sleep, alright? I've had a long day, but I'll be up tomorrow to see the fireworks when you come strolling into the Great Hall."

"Whatever you say, now shoo, I have some experiments I want to do," Iolaire replies idly, already peeking under his robes as he wanders aimlessly about the room.

I blink back to my own room, throwing my ruined robes out the open window and incinerating them in mid-air, watching as the softly glowing embers slowly drift downwards before disappearing. I take a quick shower, removing the grime and filth that has built up throughout the day before throwing myself into bed, still naked. I'm asleep before I hit the pillow, and the only thought running through my head is 'maybe giving the Sorting Hat a body wasn't my best idea.'

The Hat and Golem bit is a reference to jbern's fantastic fic, The Lie I've Lived. The Sorting Hat is fucking stellar in that. Additionally, Google Translate and sufficient searching have led me to these translations. Thank you, wonders of the internet. You make my life so much easier.

Pulvis et cinis, cinis et os, os ad vitaes animam: Dust and ash, ash and bone, bone to eternal life. (Latin)

D'abbesra'a d'leh g'armea, ae'quom ei d'akhi'ye: Flesh to bone, rise and live. (Aramaic)

B'khart'aa: End, Finish. (Aramaic)

Iolare: Eagle, pronounced 'Yeh-lar-eh.' (Gaelic)

frankieu: Tickets are free for everyone, Albus just has preferential seating.

magitech: In this fic? Yes, Dumbledore is arrogant, opinionated, smug, etc. etc. In canon I'd say he's just a bit of a dolt, and thinks that everything he's done is for the best. I've simply taken that to an even more unhealthy degree here, making this Dumbledore a caricature of canon in his self-assurance and idea that his world view is the only viable world view.

I haven't ever really had a problem with Hermione as a character, but maybe that's because I'm an annoying bushy haired nerd as well. Just glad I don't have the buck-teeth.

PascalDragon: The horcrux is a touchy plot point for me. This story will involve a horcrux hunt, but it won't take 150K words to get through it. Helene won't find out about it until later, and will probably have a bit of a fit when she discovers it.

Andromeda and Tonks may come into this later, but if they do make an appearance they'll be minor characters.

You'll have to continue reading to find out! No spoilers!

Mitchsen: No bitch slapping, at least not right now. I'm sure I'll manage to write one fantastic bitch slap in later down the line. Every good fic needs a bitch slap.

Edited, 13/06/18.