AN: this is a bit late, sorry. i came back from my vacation and jetlag was a bitch. sorry about that.
to The Amazing Grayson (my favorite of the batfamily, not gonna lie): i have considered it, actually! at the same time, i don't want romance to be a focus for this fic. its about the story and friendship and booker trying his best to make up for his past mistake in any way he can, while also learning to live a little.
maybe one day, romance will bloom. booker dewitt and poppy pomfrey. all those naughty nurse scenarios, am i right? *wink wink*
to RG: i think that there might be some canon typical romance. no shipping, maybe just crushes and drama as is expected of highschoolers, but no full on pairings unless they are set by canon (and make sense).
to DarthAvariss: thank you so much! i've really tried to stay true to booker's character: a blunt man who stumbles his way through everything by the skin on his back, and always has a witty retort. he's one of my favorite characters (i even have a pop figure of him! its on my printer). also he won't be playing quidditch, don't worry! after columbia he's a bit sick of being high up in the air.
Being friends with Hermione was something of an experience. If Booker had to describe the feeling, it would be like if Elizabeth were back, but with magic, being much more of a goody-two shoes, and they were in a boarding school.
It was nice.
It felt right.
Sort of.
Hermione wasn't exactly like Elizabeth, there were definitely key differences. Hermione had bushier hair, much larger and longer, and much darker. Her skin was darker, her eyes brown, not to mention the Oxford accent. She was shorter and younger (that one was a given though), and while an intellectual and curious girl, she was too shy to talk to people, unlike Elizabeth, who had no problem interacting with others. Yet, they both had the same passion for knowledge, and that made Hermione so endearing in Booker's eyes.
The first time he had joined her at the uh... red house table for lunch, she had been rather surprised - as had the rest of the table, and a few of the teachers. There was a small amount of uproar but then the headmaster quieted everyone, announced how proud he was for this 'house unity' and gave a grandfatherly smile to them all.
Booker resisted the urge to flip him off, and sat down with his friend. Some other people around the hall took his example, and sat at other tables.
Many people attempted to talk to him, but he shook them off. They weren't that interesting. A whole bunch of redheads tried their best to be interesting, but he finally snapped when someone interrupted Hermione and his conversation again.
"Listen you bunch of idiots. I'm not here for a meet and greet. I'm here to talk to my friend, and we will gladly move to the Hufflepuff table if you don't leave us alone."
One of the redheads, who Booker recognized as the boy who had been in his compartment back on the train, spoke up. "Why would you want to hang out with Granger though? She's a nightmare!"
Hermione stiffened next to Booker, and he gave the boy a dirty look before guiding Hermione out of the hall, ignoring any looks sent their way. He didn't care for them, only the girl at his side.
"You want to go to the library?" he asked her gently, and she nodded, sniffing.
After walking in companionable silence, she said, "He's the reason why I was in the bathroom that night, with the troll."
Booker's hand tightened around hers as she continued.
"He had been calling me a nag and a know-it-all for weeks because I tried to help him with a spell in Charms class and I just-"
Her voice cracked, and Booker pulled her into a hug.
"I couldn't handle it! I considered asking Professor McGonagall for help but it fled from my mind when the troll attacked and now I'm too scared! What if I tell her and she tells me to handle it myself? I'm a Gryffindor! I'm supposed to be brave and fierce and I can't even tell someone to leave me alone!"
She pulled away all of the sudden. "I-I'm sorry. We hardly know each other and here I am, spilling all my troubles on you."
He gave her a gentle smile. "I don't mind. That's what friends are for - being there for one another."
Hermione gave him a shy smile, and Booker smiled back.
"Thank you, Harry."
There were hardly any new developments in school. The duo made their way through classes, Hermione ranking at the top and Booker somewhere in the middle, as he wasn't very motivated. Far as he knew, once he got out of school he would become a P.I. again or something. Something he knew how to do.
Well, that was still seven or so years away. Why think about it this early?
There had been a debacle about a baby dragon at one point, and some annoying blond kid kept trying to pick fights with Booker, though that quickly came to an end when Booker had threatened the kid with a bit more force than necessary. He felt justified, of course, as the kid had just called Hermione a 'mudblood' whatever the hell that meant, but that didn't mean he had to call the kid a spoiled sack of shit. He felt bad, but only a little bit.
And then the blond moved on to a new target, another Gryffindor (Hermione had drilled the name into his head).
Hermione, who knew the boy and pitied him, asked Booker to maybe help him out.
And that was how Neville Longbottom was folded into their little group.
Neville was a shy one, that was for sure. Another Gryffindor in their little group, though that hardly mattered.
He liked plants, and excelled in Herbology, giving pointers to his new friends when asked.
Booker only really knew a few flowers by name, and with all these magical plants things got so much more complicated, but having a kid - a very enthusiastic kid - explaining drilled it into his head; and soon, with time, Hermione droning on and on about magical theory got into his head, and he finally managed that damn matchstick into a needle spell.
"It's still useless," he insisted, ignoring his friends celebratory whoops of joy, "and keep quiet or the librarian is gonna yell at us again."
They immediately hushed at that, quietly giggling as he shook his head in exasperation. He did had a bit of an easier time in class from then on.
When Christmas came, Booker found himself alone. Hermione wanted to see her parents - a life-threatening experience made her rather homesick.
Neville also went home, as he was required to be present for the Longbottom Yule Ball.
Booker, of course, did not go back. He spent his time first doing winter assignments, and then, upon finishing them, reading. Not much else to do, really. His past hobbies had been drinking and gambling, and he had no way to access either of those. There were children playing chess and other board games in the Great Hall, but Booker had never been one for games like those. He liked good music and a relaxed atmosphere - like a bar, or a casino. Of course, in the latter they were just trying to empty your pockets, but Booker still liked it.
He also chatted with the paintings a lot more. They were all rather unique. If based off of someone who existed or does exist already, they would take up the mantle of that person.
The lady who guided him to many of his classes (until he began to remember the way) finally introduced herself as Cassiopeia Malfoy. Apparently she knew the blond little shit who had been picking on Neville and Hermione - he was, after all, her descendent - but she surprised Booker in disapproving of his actions.
"A Malfoy does not stoop to petty insults. It is unbecoming of him, especially as the future Scion of the Malfoy Family," she sniffed, turning up her nose. Booker snorted in response.
Soon, Christmas came, and Booker awoke with a small pile of presents at the foot of his bed. It surprised him a bit, to get presents. He hadn't celebrated Christmas in... what, thirty years? He hadn't celebrated when Anna was gone, right? Hm... he couldn't remember, but it had at least been a decade, what with living with the Dursleys.
His first present was from Hermione. A planner. He knew she meant well but he wasn't sure it would be of much use to him.
A small note from the Dursleys was found. He threw it into the common room fire without opening it.
Neville sent a lovely scarf with matching gloves. Booker was sure he would wear it rather often, especially with all the snow around. He'd always wanted to explore the grounds. Now was his chance to check it out.
A fourth small package suddenly caught his eye.
Your Father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it Well.
The small note stuck out of the package, and Booker, though curious, was cautious. He opened it slowly, and found a strange cloth in it. He picked it up, a little bit confused.
It was a cloak. A silvery cloak that, while beautiful, definitely wasn't Booker's style.
He put it on and looked down to see the rest of his body had disappeared from sight.
He immediately threw the cloak off, balled it up, wrapped it back into its package, and shoved it to the bottom of his trunk.
Why did magic have to be so weird and alarming?
The snow was dense, going up to Booker's knees.
Curse his childish body, making things difficult. He supposed it wasn't that bad, as he was warm from a spell that Hermione had insisted he memorize, saying that the castle was too drafty and something about the ghosts making the whole place chillier. The former soldier was sure the bottom halves of his pants were soaked through, though, and the magic was preventing him from feeling it. He had forgone the robe since he knew it would drag in the snow, but now he was of the realization that he had no way to dry his damn pants.
Well, he would cross that bridge when he got to it. Or burn it. Who knows.
The grounds, as it turned out, were fairly boring. Trees. One weird moving tree, which he avoided. More trees. A weird little hut, where a large man invited him in for tea. Booker declined; coffee was more to his taste.
There was the lake, of course, but it was almost frozen over at this point and Booker didn't want to look at it. Terrible thing, that lake.
After a couple of hours of walking around in soaked pants, Booker went back in to get a new pair, searched desperately for a spell to keep them dry, stop for dinner, and then went out again, this time into the forest.
Mysterious? Absolutely. Dangerous? Probably. Did he have anything better to do? Nope. He slipped on his new cloak just in case, and set off.
Into the forest he went.
It was early evening by the time Booker made it to the forest. The atmosphere was eerie, but nothing he couldn't handle.
Maybe if he had that sword he had used to kill that giant ugly thing a while back he would feel a bit better, but McGonagall had confiscated it and every other sword in the school, mainly due to the story of Booker heroics spreading and inciting sudden sword fights in the hallways. He didn't even know how to wield a sword properly in the first place. A knife, maybe, a bayonet yes, but nothing more fancy than that.
Twigs snapped under Booker's shoes, but he just took his time to take in the sights. He was in no hurry to go anywhere, as there was still a few days of winter break remaining and if he went missing, someone would come looking for him. The trees loomed in a way that was unfamiliar - he had grown up among buildings and slums, never much nature around. Maybe during his stint as a soldier, at Wounded Knee, but he...
Booker shook his head. The blood on his hands would never be washed away.
He stepped in a strange, sticky pool, suddenly, and he lifted his foot in wonder. It was silvery, this substance, and the small puddle of it trailed off the path and into the woods.
A brief story of a girl in a hood straying off the path in the woods came to mind, but Booker brushed it off. There may be magic, but this wouldn't end up a fairytale, not if he was involved. Everything ended with blood when it came to him.
He set off to follow the liquid.
It trailed on, in an awkward fashion - a spill here, a puddle there, and a feeling of dread set on soon Booker came to a clearing. A dead horse lay in the middle, oozing with the silvery substance - blood, his mind supplied, and it couldn't have been anything else - and a hunched figure knelt next to it. In the darkness, he couldn't make out a thing, but he could swear there was a face on the back of this person's head.
Then the figure turned, alarmed, and launched itself at Booker.
He did the first thing that came to mind and shot some Shock Jockey, hitting the person, then spreading the electricity to the various trees along the clearing, igniting a small fire.
The figure screamed in pain, stunned for a moment, giving the soldier a moment to back away, before fleeing; he did not want to fight, especially at a large disadvantage.
Well, as Booker looked back at the small forest fire, who needs the power company indeed? Maybe a firefighter though.
AN: hello. pastry. now to address something only slightly serious.
i got my first hate review, which is to be expected! *pops one of those celebratory confetti things* i will be posting any guest review, no matter how terrible, provided it doesn't contain content that should really not be posted in a fanfiction review.
so, i won't be posting it here but feel free to read it if you want to know what it details.
so! to 'peon':
i can see we do not see things eye to eye. how we view booker as a character varies. to me, booker isn't the type to stick to being on the run all the time. if he can settle down, he will take it. assassinating 'mind r*pists' (good god i hate that term, r*pe makes me very uncomfortable) would put a spotlight on him, and he really isn't much of a stealth type character. how would he even get into their quarters? i'm sure there's countermeasures to assassins or students intending on putting hair dye in someone's shampoo.
i don't really see how putting the sorting hat's song in my fic makes it shitty, though. its a song. it's really not that big of a deal, and this is a creative outlet for me. i'm not going to tailor my fic to your wishes. booker will kill people, but i'm going for a slow story, not 'kill everyone, get the girl, get out'. this isn't the game. these characters are human and i will treat them as such, and do my best not to butcher their characters.
my readers are human, and i will treat them as such. some might enjoy the song, like i do. it gives me a feeling of nostalgia, and whether or not it is present in the story makes no difference to me. you don't like the song? don't read! not that bit of a deal.
you don't have to enjoy this work, so feel free to leave flames all you want, i don't mind and i won't censor you unless it turns to slurs or spam. so long as you leave the fans of my work alone, i don't mind.
and hey, if i ruined the premise, why not write it yourself? then i can leave a review on all my favorite parts of it! win-win situation!
now, onto more important things:
small fun fact: when first playing the game i got really lost really easily. i decided to stick that in the fic with booker getting lost in the castle. i am not good with directions, never ask me for them. if i ever went to hogwarts i would trip on a false step and break my neck (good riddance am i right, im sure 'peon' would agree)
also there is no denying. a lot of the words in the wizarding world of harry potter are complete gibberish, and booker is an old man. give him a break, gittinpor is a ridiculous name for a school house.