Unknown Variables

A/N:

Oni: Hi All! Been making my rounds through all my other fics and got back to this one. Trying to figure out all the moving pieces and how they fit moving forward, so not much happens in this chapter… kinda?

Eridan: You still get to see me flounder wwith my sense of identity.

Oni: Well, I'll just let you get to the chapter, eh? Trying to update more frequently, at least. As always, if it sounds like it's from the books… its probably from the books.

Harry: Oni doesn't own my world or Eridan's world. She only has this amalgam to call her creation.

Oni: AAAAAND ONWARDS!

"Bloody hell."

Eridan had been watching Ron closely as he began to explain his situation, as much as he could without getting into the confusing details like Sgrub and Paradox Space. So he started small, simple, with the things he knew were mostly true. Like who he was and what he was, and who the people the Boggart took the form of were. Ron took it all like a champ. Perhaps it was because he didn't fully understand, but that was alright.

"So you had a past life where you were an alien on another planet?" The redhead reiterated, eyes wide. "And all this crazy shit happened and you got killed by the glowing screaming girl and you regained all of those memories during the Dementor attack?" The Observer shrugged.

"Pretty much."

"That's mental."

"There's like, the 'me' an the… old 'me'? In my head." The Observer added, "An they don't agree on a lot, especially Runes but that's another issue."

They talked for a while before they realized curfew was probably over by now and they should probably sneak back to the Gryffindor dorms. Just like old times they hunkered down beneath the Invisibility Cloak, making their way past Filch and Mrs. Norris unnoticed. It was nice to be back doing such things. He hadn't realized how much he missed being 'Harry' until that moment. Once again he felt the identity crisis of who and what he was surface, and he pushed it down to ponder another day.

"So that Not-Stutter you do, that's a part of it as well?" Ron asked curiously, whispering as they snuck through the dark and empty Gryffindor Common Room.

Luckily nobody seemed to be around, even as Eridan listened for footsteps other than their own (his quieter than Ron's but that was to be expected).

"It's called a 'quirk'." Eridan explained as they sat on one of the couches. "It's different for evvery troll, it's like a marked distinction betwween our identities. Like fingerprints." He held up his peachy, fleshy hand. Trolls had mostly carapace, and they didn't rely on fingerprints for identification much. The symbols and the quirk were usually enough for the most part — unless there was a crime. But that was Pyrope's thing. "My quirk has to do wwith doublin my 'ww's an 'vv's amongst other thins, but that's the most obvvious. It does sound like a stutter, doesn't it?"

"So that's why it's not always there, okay." The redhead began with a few nods, his tone indicating that he understood, "So when you don't have the 'quirk', you're more like 'Harry', and when you do you're more like you are now?" He started, before something else caught up to him. "Hold on, you're a troll? Like the mountain troll we fought in first year?"

"That's howw it seems to wwork in the basics of the psyche situation, though I'm still wworkin out the details myself." Eridan answered with a shrug before trying not to laugh at his best mate's gobsmacked expression. "Spelled that wway, yeah. No biological relation to the giant, stinky creature you knocked out wwith its owwn club. Wwe're more like… wwell, I'm sure you saww a feww examples wwith the Boggart. I'm a seadwweller so I suppose I havve a closer relation to mermaids?"

"Huh."

"I think… I think I might be turning more into a troll. Gradually." Harry admitted, flexing the hand in his lap. Fingernails. Not claws. Not yet. "My teeth are sharper. My stamina and my night vision's gotten better… and, well, you saw what happened to Snape."

"No quirk now." Ron mumbled to himself, though he still heard it. He took the reincarnated troll's hand, gripping it. His eyes (blue, with white sclera, like all humans) burned with resolve.

"It doesn't matter. No matter what you change into, no matter what you become. You'll still be our friend, Harry." He paused, blinking vacantly for a moment. "Do you still call yourself Harry? Is Harry a troll name too?"

"Sometimes." The Observer (back to that again…) answered with a shrug that was more Harry-esque, "Depends on who I feel like at the time. Who's… piloting? It's hard to explain. But no, Harry's not a troll name. Troll names are pretty rigid. Six letters in the first name, six letters in the last. No deviations."

"So the word that the troll girl with the scary teeth machine-"

"Kan wwith the chainsaww?" Eridan corrected, though he seemed to pale at the memory.

"-Kanaya the chainsaw girl. That word she screamed at you." Ron corrected with a roll of his eyes, "What did that mean?"

"That's my name."

"Your name is Eridan?"

He paused, really considering the question. It seemed philosophical, even if it was a simple question. He was the Observer, a mix and union of all memories across both lives. Would saying he was Eridan deny his identity as Harry? Was he angsting way too hard over this?

"Yeah." Eridan sighed out eventually, "For noww. Until I figure more of this out."

The redheaded Gryffindor looked thoughtful, his eyebrows scrunched up. "Can I still call you Harry?"

"Don't see why not." The black-haired Gryffindor responded with a shrug, "That's my name too."

Eridan tramped into the Gryffindor Common Room, better than he had been in a while. Talking to Ron the night before had done wonders for his inner dilemma.

His troll half wouldn't stop crying for the rest of the night. And neither Harry nor the Observer could really blame him, though Harry certainly had the expression of holding onto this moment for later to rub it into the troll's face about what real friendship was supposed to look like.

But here he was, hearty and whole again for the time being, and wondering why the Common Room seemed more lively today than usual.

"Wwhat's happened?" he asked Ron and Hermione, who were sitting in two of the best chairs by the fireside and completing some star charts for Astronomy.

"First Hogsmeade weekend," explained Ron, pointing at a notice that had appeared on the battered old bulletin board. "End of October. Halloween."

"Excellent," said Fred, who had followed Eridan through the portrait hole. "I need to visit Zonko's. I'm nearly out of Stink Pellets."

"Ah." Eridan muttered, mood slightly dampened as he recalled that Vernon never signed his form before the whole Aunt Marge fiasco, "Forgot about that."

"Harry, I'm sure you'll be able to go next time," Hermione placated. "They're bound to catch Black soon. He's been sighted once already."

"Black's not fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade," added Ron, but was cut off with a shake of Eridan's head.

"Not the problem. Relativves didn't sign the permission form."

Ron's mouth dropped open and Hermione made a tutting noise.

"Regardless, it would be safer if you stayed in the castle since Black is still at large." The bushy-haired girl powered on as her logical way of comforting him. Eridan appreciated it. "I'm sure the hunt will be over soon."

"I hope the hunt's over soon." Grumbled Ron, "Damned dementors…"

Crookshank's chose this moment to reappear, jumping into Hermione's lap with a large, black spider clenched in his jaws. The arachnophobe shuddered in his seat, glaring at the cat.

"Does he have to eat that in front of us?"

"Clever Crookshanks!" Cooed Hermione at her hideous familiar, completely ignoring Ron, "Did you catch that all by yourself?"

Crookshanks slowly chewed up the spider, his yellow eyes fixed insolently on the indignant redhead. There was certainly a sort of intelligence in its eyes. Perhaps that's why Hermione liked the mangy thing so much.

"Just keep him over there, that's all," said Ron irritably, turning back to his star chart. "I've got Scabbers asleep in my bag."

"Do you need help wwith that?" Eridan asked curiously, poking his head over to glance at the chart. Ron shook his head as he labeled his last star with a flourish.

"Nah, I've got this. When did you get the time to do yours?"

Eridan shrugged. "Couldn't sleep much last night." The redhead gave him a look of understanding.

Suddenly, a wave of murderous intent washed over him. The troll wizard's head snapped towards the source, only to find that it was coming from Crookshanks. The squashed-face orange cat was still staring unblinkingly at Ron, flicking the end of his bushy tail. No, not at Ron…

Crookshanks pounced.

"OY!" Ron roared, seizing his bag as the hissing cat sank four sets of claws deep inside it and began tearing ferociously. "GET OFF, YOU STUPID ANIMAL!" He tried to pull the bag away from Crookshanks, but the cat clung on, spitting and slashing.

"Ron, don't hurt him!" squealed Hermione.

The whole common room was watching by this point. Ron whirled the bag around, Crookshanks still clinging to it. Scabbers came flying out of the top-

Quicker than the human eye could follow, Eridan's arm lashed out and caught the rat, holding it up in the air so Crookshanks couldn't reach it. He could feel the crippling fear emanating from the elderly rodent, the same kind he felt when he'd been asked to fetch Scabbers a while ago. Could the rat sense his inhuman nature?

Crookshanks jumped off a howling Ron and landed on the couch, glaring at the troll with the squirming rodent. Predator acknowledged Predator as their eyes met.

Neville, who was right in front of him, froze as he saw Harry's pupils turn to narrow slits. Like a cat's, or a snake's. Or something much worse. As the whites of his eyes began to discolor into an orange-yellow.

For a moment, all was silent.

A couple of blinks, and Harry Potter's eyes were normal again. Ron was the first to recover from his stupor, having already expected this. Eridan passed the shaking rat over to him without hesitation, the redhead holding frightened familiar to his chest.

"Look at him!" he said furiously to Hermione, glaring at her. "He's skin and bone! You keep that cat away from him!"

"Crookshanks doesn't understand it's wrong!" Argued Hermione, her voice shaking, "All cats chase rats, Ron!"

"There's something funny about that animal!" Hissed Ron, who was trying to persuade a shivering Scabbers back into his pocket, "It heard me say that Scabbers was in my bag!"

"The cat kneww wwhat it wwas doin." Eridan spoke up to their surprise, having already sat back down with his fingers folded and touching his lips, "It wwas definitely starin right at Ron's bag before it pounced."

"Oh, what rubbish," grumbled Hermione impatiently, "Crookshanks could smell him, how else d'you think-"

"Havve you considered that the cat might be an animagus? Like Professor McGonagall?"

Hermione paused, then looked towards Crookshanks, who was cleaning his paws.

"I'll ask Professor McGonagall." was all she had to say on it, though her tone indicated that she doubted his words.

True to her word, Hermione did put her hand up the next day in Transfiguration during McGonagall's lecture on animagi. That was after the fiasco with Lavender's rabbit, and also the problem of Eridan's permission form. Nothing could be done about either of those things, but everyone was in a sour mood by the time the question was actually asked. Despite this, the Transfiguration Professor provided a description of the spell that could be used on an animal to force them back into a human form.

"Now, I will demonstrate the charm on your familiar." McGonagall said to Hermione, who begrudgingly put Crookshanks on her desk. Ron watched the cat intently, as did Eridan. "Homorphus!"

A bright blue spell hit Crookshanks dead on.

Crookshanks glared indignantly, and licked his paw.

"Well, it appears your cat is not an animagus, Miss Granger." The usually stern teacher's lips twitched up at Ron and Eridan's shocked expressions. "But felines are also incredibly intelligent creatures, if I do say so myself."

Hermione's triumphant expression remained on her face for quite some time — as did Ron's stormy one.

Halloween couldn't have come fast enough.

Sure, he wasn't able to go to Hogsmeade. The Harry part of him mourned a day of fun and relaxation, but the Eridan part had been stressing out over the Ancient Runes Class (which was still on the topic of the Runes of Creation) as the Observer's curiosity of how the humans viewed them was greater than Eridan's aversion to his past.

Interestingly enough, not a lot was known about 'the gods of creation' (as the wizards called them). There were drawings of what they may have looked like — with their carapace skin becoming 'silver armor' and their horns becoming 'gilded crowns' — but there were few mythological stories outside the basic 'The Maid of Time presides over all Time and Death' or other bullshit like that. And Eridan was certain it was bullshit because if that were true, then that meant he presided over all Hope and Magic and that was obviously a load of poppycock. So he compartmentalized. He mentally separated his past from these strange and mysterious 'gods of creation', which were called by their titles more often than not, so that he could focus on learning the use of the signs.

It was… easier said than done.

Regardless, what he did learn was that this was at least a version of the world inside Bilious Slick, the universe they made as the end goal of Sgrub. And if that was true, was the Chamber of Secrets an entrance to another version of LOWAA? The thought plagued him as the days passed in a dementor fog-like haze.

"We'll bring you lots of sweets back from Honeydukes!" said Hermione, bringing him out of his brooding and looking desperately sorry for him.

"Yeah, loads." added Ron, watching him with worry.

He and Hermione had put aside their argument over the murderous nature of Crookshanks after seeing that their friend had once again shrunk into a kind of shell. Ron may have learned more about his true nature, but they hadn't had time to really talk about it since that night. Things ended up getting busy on all fronts, with Quidditch practice and classes and calming down the two halves of his psyche… the Observer was also getting quite tired.

"Don't wworry about me," Eridan tried to placate, even while his stomach was apparently winning Olympic medals in his gut, "I'll see you at the feast. Havve a good time."

He accompanied them to the entrance hall, where Filch, the caretaker, was standing inside the front doors, checking off names against a long list, peering suspiciously into every face, and making sure that no one was sneaking out who shouldn't be going.

"Staying here, Potter?" shouted Malfoy, who was standing in line with Crabbe and Goyle. "Scared of passing the Dementors?"

Eridan ignored him and made his solitary way up the marble staircase, through the deserted corridors, to the abandoned second-floor girl's bathroom. He passed Moaning Myrtle, who sniffled and threw a 'Back again?' at him as he leapt into the pipe.

The pure white walls of the Chamber were a stark contrast to how it looked last year, when he fought the Basilisk with less preparation than Eridan had when facing his Denizen. White marble serpents seemed to judge him as he walked down the path, ruby eyes on the right of him and emerald eyes on the left. When he stopped at the giant door with the double Ouroboros, Eridan steeled himself.

He needed answers.

Echoing footsteps amidst the eerie silence, the trip up the marble staircase was as lonely of a march as it had always been. Dark stars hung in the pale white sky of the Land of Wrath and Angels, the spires and archways of the citadel a confusing myriad of black and white. Very little existed within shades of gray.

He made his way through the gothic (architecturally speaking) halls. It was just as he remembered. Hauntingly beautiful, deceptively horrifying. He could hear his heartbeat between his ears, the pounding ricocheting off the stone.

It had been far more terrifying when this place was plagued by the Angels. Beings that rotted, eyeless faces with gaping maw, serpentine bodies, and wings with eyes growing between flesh and feather. Screeching, singing, taunting, warning, chanting. They attacked imps and other Dersite-Requested Denizen Underlings with great prejudice, their very presence made the air grow cold. Where they flew, the feeling of death and despair followed.

Music. The sound of a church organ. He jolted at the sudden appearance of another sound. In his heart, he knew where it was coming from. He'd always known. With a destination now, he began his next lonely march.

Each planet had their own symphony that created a more thematic backdrop for their player.

Megido had singing quartz and tinkling music boxes. Nitram had the rustling sand, the sound of flutes as the wind moved through the windmills. Captor had weird psychedelic techno music spawning from the floating brains. Hell, even Fe- Peixes had the clinking of shells.

The sound of the organ grew louder, louder, as he made his way towards the center of the Citadel. Apprehension rose in his chest. He hadn't wanted to return there.

Eridan Ampora had gone to everyone else's planet at one point. His quests required it. As all their quests required cooperation at some point on another player's planet. Theirs were colorful, fantastical, filled with lore and whimsy, with cute and helpful consorts. He'd tried to find reasons to stay there, helping the others out. Most often he was rebuffed.

The other trolls never stayed long in LOWAA. Not many would, off-put by the crushing silence amidst the sound of organs, of whispered prayer, the chanting from the Angels. He'd even seen terror in Makara's eyes, the first time Eridan realized the clown troll was more lucid now than he'd been before the game.

There, at the center of the Citadel, stood the Cathedral. The haunting chords from the pipe organ floated from its arches and buttresses, from its unstained-stained glass which held the Hope symbol. It looked over him, judging him, a monument that held the secrets within close to its chest. Just like he had been.

Padding up to the triple archway, he felt so very, very far from the bright and magical halls of Hogwarts.

His heartbeat quickened as he passed the arches and the foyer, and stood at the foot of the colossal double doors. They opened without him even touching them, clanking black slabs that creaked outwards, the music growing so loud it shook the walls and he felt like he was drowning again-

Silence.

Silence as soon as his foot passed the threshold. Sudden, damning silence. As if he didn't belong here (as if they were waiting for him). The hall before him was silent, pews of marble on either side, leading further in. He resolutely stared straight ahead. Looking at the pews did no one any good. Looking at the pews was a bad idea. Don't look at the-

The curiosity firmly ingrained inside Harry Potter caused him to turn his head towards the benches.

Empty husks of Underlings sat still, their hands propped up in a mockery of prayer. Empty eye sockets could be seen in the bowed heads of the larger ones, all slumped like rejected dolls. Where they had once been a myriad of colors, like the blood colors of the Lusii that had been prototyped into Sprites, they all now sat devoid of color. And yet, as still as they seemed to be, they were not dead. Not really.

It was the signature execution of the Angels, to take the very force that binds a being to existing, to swallow that which could be called a 'soul'. Leaving only the husk of a breathing body behind. No grist came from them, no prize was given after they'd been rendered into that state. There had been only a single quest regarding them, and that had been to place them in the pews of the Cathedral. A monument for something, or perhaps a sacrifice.

Eridan hadn't been too sure of its purpose, only that after he'd done so, the husks all shifted into the positions they were in now. Sitting, head bowed, palms together. And after that…

"You have returned, Child of Hope."

Jolting, the Observer whipped his head around to where the voice emanated from (which wasn't easy, this damn place was a nacho chamber). On the altar now sat a snake the size of a thousand-year-old Basilisk, emerald scales the only color in this forsaken place, the corona of light behind its head so bright it was hard to see its face. Though smaller than the other denizens, Abraxas' presence was no less humbling to behold.

"You're alivve." Eridan replied, puzzled.

"Do I have a reason not to be?" The Denizen of Hope responded, humor in his echoing voice.

"I… Kar told me he killed you. Or… Jack Noir should havve killed you. He destroyed evverythin." The Prince of Hope spoke slowly, trying to understand how the being in front of him could be real. "Is… is this a neww session?"

A chuckle reverberated the walls of the Cathedral. It shook Eridan to his bones.

"I am not a being that can be slain with such permanence. You of all people should know that."

It took a moment for Eridan to piece together Abraxas' words into something more coherent before he shook his head. He was starting to get another headache.

"This is wwrong. This is all wwrong…" he grumbled, his palms clamping against the sides of his head.

"As to your previous remark — no, this is not a 'new' session in the way that you fear." Abraxas' tone was as calm as ever. Old yet mirthful, but not in the same way Dumbledore was. "Think of it more as a… continuation of where we left off before we were so rudely interrupted by that series of unfortunate events."

"So wwhat does this mean for me… for… us?" He floundered, unsure how to explain what was going on with his own personal brand of identity crisis.

"You are the Hope I have against the destruction of universes. But that may be too much for you to take in at this time. For now — know that your current state is not a mistake. As you well know, all things are intertwined in the machinations of Paradox Space."

The boy standing before Abraxas tried to process the denizen's words. This second chance was purposeful, given to him by whatever pulled the strings of fate beyond this demented play. And they expect him to perform accordingly. He was no stranger to this, in either life this was what he'd been given. A role to play in whatever divine comedy or tragedy encompassed this world.

Abraxas spoke of more things to the Observer as the child sat himself, resigned, in an empty pew. From what he could muster from the denizen's somewhat inscrutable words, this was indeed the same Land of Wrath and Angels that had (apparently) narrowly avoided being sliced up by Jack Noir due to Abraxas himself transporting it here, to this 'pocket dimension' hidden inside Earth, connected via the Chamber. Because of this, it existed outside of time still within the confines of Paradox Space.

It wasn't easy trying to understand the specifics, and the Observer was, for once, doing most of the driving.

"So wwhat does that make me then?" The Observer asked Abraxas, trying not to stare straight at the bright light that emanated from behind the serpent's head (like looking into Earth's sun, which he had on a couple of occasions and had stared in awe that he wasn't being burnt to a crisp or immediately going blind).

"You are the amalgam of two 'pasts' of the same soul." Abraxas rumbled, "A composite, a Unity. A truly beautiful thing. You are something that I had assumed would only come later, after many fights in your psyche. But to my surprise you opened your eyes the moment your memories combined. How marvelous."

"So I'm… neither Harry Potter nor Eridan Ampora?"

"And both. But you've already come to that conclusion already, haven't you? You are also something entirely different. And One and the same. You are you. It is up to you to figure out what that means to you."

He left the Cathedral with more questions than answers, but knowing full well that he could return again when there weren't a million monkeys slamming cymbals between his ears. Surprisingly, during their entire conversation, the Observer had been alone in his mind. He didn't know if that meant anything, but was too tired to try and figure it out now.

The reincarnated no-longer-a troll felt light and heavy at the same time as he emerged from the Chamber, returning back up to Hogwarts with troubled head and heart.

So many questions. So many uncertainties. LOWAA hid beneath the ground of Hogwarts. Abraxas lived to impart more riddles. And he… who was he? What was he now? What purpose does Paradox Space have for him? Could he handle the responsibility? He could barely stand being faced with his past in Ancient Runes and he doubted they were through with him yet. It was all becoming too much, far too much.

"Harry?"

His thoughts screeched to a halt as he heard a voice from one of the rooms he'd passed. Doubling back on his steps, he found Professor Lupin poking his head out from his office. The young boy blinked and stared at the Professor for a moment, which seemed to worry the man before him.

"What are you doing?" Asked Lupin, his tone full of concern. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"Hogsmeade." the not-troll responded flatly, too tired to really hide much of his frazzled nerves.

"Ah," answered Lupin, his eyes washing over the form of the boy before him. "Why don't you come in? I've just taken delivery of a Grindylow for our next lesson."

The Gryffindor said nothing, but followed the Professor into his office. In the corner stood a very large tank of water. A sickly green creature with sharp little horns had its face pressed against the glass, pulling faces and flexing its long, spindly fingers. His eyes noted the gills on its neck, and unconsciously his fingers brushed his pale, fleshy, bare neck. Nothing. Why did he think he'd have them?

"Water demon," explained Lupin, surveying the Grindylow thoughtfully. "We shouldn't have much difficulty with him, not after the Kappas. The trick is to break his grip. You notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle."

The Grindylow bared its green teeth and then buried itself in a tangle of weeds in a corner. Green eyes turned from the Grindylow to the older man again. There was something he couldn't put his finger on the man that very suddenly bothered him, as if his mind was desperately clawing at distractions from the revelations he'd just be privy to. He sniffed. Yes. Something odd that he hadn't smelled before, or at least had been too panicked to notice.

"Cup of tea?" Lupin asked, looking around for his kettle. "I was just thinking of making one."

A small nod. Lupin tapped the kettle with his wand and a blast of steam issued suddenly from the spout.

"Sit down," said Lupin, taking the lid off a dusty tin. "I've only got teabags, I'm afraid — but I daresay you've had enough of tea leaves?" His eyes twinkled.

Green eyes blinked in confusion.

"Professor McGonagall told me," Lupin chuckled, answering the unspoken question and passing over a chipped mug of tea. "You're not worried, are you?"

A small shake of the head. It seemed at this point that there was something deeply troubling the young man before him.

"Anything worrying you, Harry?"

For a moment, the boy sat in silence, contemplating which of the many things bothering him he would vocalize. He shrunk in on himself, nursing the cup close to him as he took small sips.

"Professor… havve….havvvvvve…" the child heaved a great sigh of frustration at his quirk. "I don't feel myself." The Observer finally settled on, speaking at a far slower pace than he usually would, sounding out every syllable as if he was speaking for the first time in his life. "I don't understand the person that is me. I look in the mirror and the person reflected is both a stranger and a friend."

It was Lupin's turn to blink, before his expression became sorrowful. The grindylow in the tank brandished its fist. He could snap its little hand if he were in the water. A troll was stronger than a human, and a seadweller was stronger than a normal landdwelling troll. But he was human. But not human. And not troll. If he bled right now what color would it be?

"Harry, this is a time where you're learning about yourself and who you are." Lupin finally said, his tone gentle. "It's natural to feel like a stranger to yourself sometimes. It's best to take the time to learn who you really are."

"Havve you evver felt scared that your wwere losin your humanity, but another part of you questions wwhat's so damn important about that anyway?" Eridan finally seethed out, frustrated that the adult with the weird smell wasn't getting the problem.

Lupin professor's nose twitched, and then he felt it. The palpitating fear, the growing horror. Something akin to understanding.

A knock at the door jolted them both from the sudden tension between them. Snape had come into the room, seen Eridan there, and raised his proverbial hackles. He'd ignored the teen entirely and had spent an entire conversation with Lupin glaring at either of them, handing the defense Professor a smoking goblet of a potion the reincarnated troll didn't recognize. But there wasn't any malicious intent at the moment, not the immediate kind anyways.

There was always a disgust and hatred pointed towards Lupin and Eridan wasn't sure why. It wasn't exactly like how he'd been with Captor. It was worse, somehow. Snape was afraid of Lupin.

"Professor Snape has very kindly concocted a potion for me," Lupin explained to Eridan once the potions Professor left. "I have never been much of a potion-brewer and this one is particularly complex." He picked up the goblet and sniffed it. "Pity sugar makes it useless," he added, taking a sip and shuddering.

"Wwhat does it do?" Eridan asked curiously, wondering what was in the goblet that Lupin was so trusting of to know it wasn't poisoned.

Lupin pulled another face as he downed the entire thing before looking at him with a wry expression.

"It makes me feel human."

And somehow, Eridan got the feeling that Lupin did understand him, just a little bit.

Eridan enjoyed the Halloween feast in a much lighter mood, listening to Ron and Hermione regale their trip to Hogsmeade. It sounded nice, and made him want to find a way to get the permission form signed so that he could join them. But he'd enjoyed the sweets they'd brought back for him, and they'd all lifted their spirits with the marvelous feast. There were just some things that were better on Earth than on Alternia. Plus there was magic here. That was a huge plus.

Things took a turn when they headed to bed. The Fat Lady had vanished from her portrait, which had been slashed so viciously that strips of canvas littered the floor; great chunks of it had been torn away completely. Students and teachers alike were panicking, especially when Peeves, who Eridan doubted was a reliable witness, revealed that her attacker was none other than Sirius Black.

And just like that, Professor Dumbledore sent all the Gryffindors back to the Great Hall, where they were joined ten minutes later by the students from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, who all looked extremely confused. This elevated the murmurings and panic and curiosity to new heights when Dumbledore told them all they were to sleep here while the professors searched the castle. The waves of emotion were giving Eridan a massive headache that he'd thought he'd shaken from his brief trip to LOWAA.

As he tried to stave off the throbbing migraine, he allowed the chatter of his friends to wash over him.

"Do you think Black's still in the castle?" Hermione whispered anxiously.

"Dumbledore obviously thinks he might be," murmured Ron.

"It's very lucky he picked tonight, you know," said Hermione as they climbed fully dressed into their sleeping bags and propped themselves on their elbows to talk (Eridan being the exception because he was at his limit with all the bullshit today). "The one night we weren't in the tower..."

"I reckon he's lost track of time, being on the run," muttered Ron. "Didn't realize it was Halloween. Otherwise he'd have come bursting in here."

Eridan felt the wave of fear from that statement and decided that now was a good time to tap out. He leveled his breathing and entered the mindspace, finding it empty. There was no dilemma, no fight for the psyche, just him. Whatever that meant now.

The warm flames crackled in the fireplace. He paced the room, feeling the soft carpet beneath padded feet. Predatory. Inhuman. Meticulously he sorted the books on the information he had learned, sighing as he noted the state of the books on Runes and LOWAA. The information was in different sections. He'd need to reorganize. Maybe it would help him come to terms with… whatever was going on. Between his changing nature, the fact that he hadn't completely escaped the Game, and the weird looming threat of Sirius Black, he felt like he wasn't going to get much proper rest anytime soon.

A flash in his periphery caught his eye, and he padded towards the source. A mirror. Gold, ornate. Like the kind he had in the warshiphive.

Emerald eyes stared back at him. Pale pink skin with a lightning bolt scar. Messy black hair and round glasses. The visage of Harry Potter. He blinked, and everything shifted. Violet eyes with slitted pupils and orange sclera. Grey carapace and lightning-shaped candy corn horns. Wavy black hair with a lock of violet amid hipster frames. His reflection as Eridan Ampora. He blinked again and was Harry, again and was Eridan. Switching over and over again until he was sick of it.

With a growl of frustration, he slammed his eyes shut. He couldn't feel the difference. His surroundings and senses were the same. Both those names and both those people. A stranger and a friend. A human and a (monster) troll. His existence was an affront to Paradox Space. And yet here he was.

He liked his green eyes. They were his mother's eyes. But he also liked his fins and gills and dammit he liked being a troll. There was something wonderfully wild and untamed about messy hair, more so if it were wavier. He liked his horns, ironically enough they held the same shape as his scar. His scar that also tied him to his ancestor, in a way.

When he opened his eyes, his reflection had changed. He still wore his Hogwarts robes and his Gryffindor scarf, but his carapace was a slightly paler shade of gray, like porcelain. Earfins flapped experimentally, the hues between the stems became a more muted violet. The gills on the side of his neck were the same way. His teeth were sharp, the same neat row that Eridan Ampora. A violet tongue poked his double set of teeth, razor sharp as they had been on Alternia. Lightning-bolt candy-corn horns bent back more and curved slightly inward. Clawed hands combed through his wavier, messier raven hair with a few locks of violet falling in front of the infamous lightning-bolt scar and large round frames.

And finally his eyes… his eyes. Glowing orange sclera that could see even in darker areas – the extra lid that could protect his eyes underwater while still allowing him to see – and round pupils that could narrow to slits at a moment's notice. One iris was emerald, the other violet. When he'd blink sometimes, they'd swap places. Curious.

A sharp toothed grin was reflected back at him. Yes, he could work with this. It was a good start to something that made sense. This is who he was. The Stranger and the Friend. The Prince of Hope and the Boy-Who-Lived. The Troll and the Human.

The Observer. The Amalgam. The Unity.

He decided he liked that.

A/N:

Oni: That's all for now, folks!

Harry: If you liked the story, consider following, favoriting, and reviewing.

Oni: And I'll see you next time, My Pretties!