hello! so sorry this is late. i've been busy with school (senior year and all) and the holidays were busy (i was in a league tourney, my team won)

happy new years, by the way! i sipped some champagne and since im a lightweight i was a lil tipsy right off the bat

i would like to address a review i got saying that it wasnt interesting to read a fic where the main character had an iq less than 50.

sorry man, but booker isn't exactly a genius. money was hard to come by in the days he would've grown up and its a bit implied that he's never had much money (joined military at 16 to get money, managed to get a pinkerton job, then fell into debt). child labor laws weren't set until much later so he probably spent his childhood working and not learning. he's still learning. he's clever, yes, but he doesn't have all the puzzle pieces for a genius. im sorry my fic doesnt meet your expectations, but if you made your own version of this fic, where things went as you wanted them to, i'd be happy to read it!

also, for the part about the fundamental laws of magic, i used the fic Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling written by Fractured Artifact No. 248. should be chapter four. it will be the only part i'm using from that fic, as theres no mention of the fundamental laws of magic beyond the first law anywhere on the internet or in the books (which i kind of need to know for this fic!)

anyways, on with the fic!

Booker let out a loud groan as he bent his head, and was immediately shushed by Madam Pince, to his annoyance.

He'd been studying the principles of magic in terms of space and time to try and figure out his weird tears, but there was nothing! This may be a school library, but it was prized in having nearly every written magical book in existence! Did none of these fools look into how things worked?

All he could find was the fundamental laws of magic.

First law seemed to say that for everything you did, there was a consequence. He and Hermione had talked extensively about it (Neville ignored them in favor of an Herbology book) and she had compared it to one of Newton's laws, a view he easily shared - at least, once she had told him the law. He hadn't had the money for schooling in the past, so he certainly hadn't attended science class.

Second law was about life - not quite what he was looking for, but still interesting. He had never made life, and couldn't exactly try yet, but perhaps when he was out of the castle.

Third law - nothing can be created or destroyed. You can't make something new and you can't obliterate what already exists. Booker wished he could.

Fourth law - death, and its inevitability. Nothing new.

Fifth law - balance? Confusing principles, and nothing important.

Sixth law - Booker had almost kicked a desk in annoyance.

Seventh law - common sense. Don't use magic for everything.

And that was it.

"Hermione, help me," he mumbled, and the girl just shrugged.

"I would rather study for the upcoming end of year exams. As much as I approve of your sudden desire to learn, maybe you should focus on something else."

"Hermione, nooo..."

She gently whapped him on the head.

"At least I'm not some idiot trying to keep a dragon in a wooden hut," he grumbled, and Hermione shook her head in disapproval at the comparison and returned to her book.

"Mr. Potter! It is well past curfew!"

Booker looked up in surprise as Madam Pince peered down at him with a stern look.

"I-is it?"

"Yes, young man! I'd suggest you get to your dorms immediately. I'll give you a note, if you need it, but you best be off!"

With that, Booker left, quickly making his way towards the dorm.

Suddenly, he spotted Professor Quirrell, presumably on patrol. He reached for the note, only to realize he hadn't stuck around for it, and frowned.

"Mr. P-P-Potter? Is that y-you?" The man seemed ridiculously startled upon seeing him, and Booker almost groaned. How this man ever survived the so-called 'Dark Arts' was ridiculous and probably a fraud.

"Uh, yes, professor," he replied. "I was in the library and lost track of time."

"O-oh dear. Well, b-best be on your way, then," Quirrell stuttered, waving a hand at him.

"Good night, professor," Booker said, and he left, quietly wondering why the professor was wearing a travelling cloak in May.

As he neared the basement, he ran into Professor McGonagall and sighed.

"There's two teachers on patrol?" he asked.

"No, Mr. Potter, but that's hardly any concern of yours... wait, was someone else awake?"

"Yeah, I just ran into Quirrell in a travelling cloak, which was really weird, since it's May. Looked awfully surprised to see me."

"Where did you see him?" the woman demanded. "This is important!"

"I'll take you there," Booker replied nervously.

"It was here."

McGonagall frowned as she lifted her wand and cast a spell. A silver streak of magic left her wand and set off in the same direction as Quirrell.

"Mr. Potter, this could be very dangerous if my suspicions are correct. I need you to go to Dumbledore's office and warn him that Quirrell is headed to the third floor corridor. Hurry!"

Booker grimaced. He did not want to see that old man right now - he still got a shady vibe from him. Regardless, he took off, going as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Then he found himself in a stand-off with a griffin statue.

"I need to get into Bumblerore's office," Booker said. "It's an emergency."

The statue did nothing.

"McGonagall sent me. Quirrell was being suspicious in the third floor corridor and she may need back up!"

The statue stayed still as stone.

"Do you even care about your staff, old man?"

Again, nothing happened.

With a bitter expression, Booker took off back to where McGonagall was. If Gummylore wasn't going to help, he would!

Booker showed up on the third floor corridor out of breath and ready to fight. He arrived to an open door and the sound of three snoring dogs, as well as a harp playing quietly in the background.

Peeking his head in, he spotted an open trapdoor at the feet of something out of legends. A three-headed dog lay in the room, happily sleeping to the tune of Gymnopedie No. 1 on harp. Booker only barely remembered that music because Elizabeth had insisted on listening to it many times when they had taken a rest in their quest to get out of Columbia.

He quickly dropped down the trapdoor, tumbled about on a few weird vines, and then fell and landed in a strange underground corridor. Rubbing the small of his back as he got up, he listened for any other people. All he could hear was a faint whisper of wings, like several hummingbirds. He could remember seeing those for the first time, up in Columbia, around those rose bushes and...

Booker shook his head. He was getting caught up in memory at a time he couldn't afford to lose focus.

Follow McGonagall. That was his goal.

Wand at the ready, he entered the next room, astonished at the sight. Never in his life would he have thought of something like flying keys.

Three brooms lined the wall, their purpose obvious were it not for the fact that the next door was already open. Still, this was a pretty easy looking puzzle. Whatever was being hidden was obviously not too important.

The next room was a chess board, though the game was completed.

Booker continued onward. There was a knocked out troll on the way to the next puzzle, which he ignored.

In the next room, there was a line of potions, and a piece of paper with a riddle. It seemed that one of the potions was required to cross the line of purple fire.

With a sigh, Booker considered just opening a tear to get through.

He could, really, but there was that little part of him that wanted to be smart that just dared him to solve it.

... He pocketed the riddle, intending on solving it later, and willed a tear open.

The first thing he saw was McGonagall, lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath her.

Then he saw Quirrell, facing a mirror.

Then he was dodging to the left as a green light went whizzing by him.

"You set me ablaze that night, Potter," the teacher spat at him, no sign of a stutter in his voice. "I should have killed you in your sleep."

"Tough luck, jackass," Booker responded, wand at the ready. He didn't want to reveal all his cards just yet.

"What, no lightning this time?"

"Last time was an accident," he replied. It wasn't at all. Sort of. It's complicated.

"Last time won't be happening! Avada Kedavra!"

Booker rolled out of the way, a plan formulating in his head. He rushed his enemy head on and tackled him into the mirror, breaking the glass.

Seven years bad luck. Damn. His luck was shit as it was.

Then Quirrell was screaming, his skin burning under Booker's touch. He wondered if this was a new vigor or something, and punched the man right across the face, bewildered when Quirrell's jaw disintegrated.

Backing away, he watched as Quirrell slowly turned to dusty pieces, and a wraith rose from the corpse.

"You could have joined me, Harry," the ghostly figure said.

"I'm on no side but my own," Booker replied, and the wraith ran straight at him, going through his chest and leaving a sense of dread and nothing more.

He was a step away from passing out, he could feel it, but he forced himself to stay awake and crawled over to McGonagall.

Ripping open her cloak and dress, he took a look at the wound. He had knowledge of first aid, of course, being in the army and taking care of himself more than a few times. Using the cloth from her cloak, he wrapped the wound and applied pressure, hoping dearly some teacher would arrive soon.

It was half an hour before Dimplebore arrived, the school nurse and the staff at his heels.

"Mr. Potter! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, take care of her," he replied, nodding his head towards McGonagall. The nurse immediately came over and began to take care of her.

"Where is Lord Voldemort?" Snape inquired. "Dumbledore said he was here."

"There was only Quirrell. He's dead."

"Dead?" Professor Sprout asked, a look of horror crossing her plump face.

"He tried to kill me, so I retaliated. A wraith of some sort come from his body, though."

"Oh goodness," she cried, coming over to hug Booker. He let her, and with McGonagall safe, he felt the adrenaline leave him and passed out.

i am not happy with this chapter but it needed to be made and published so i could move on with the story (i rly cant wait to write the next years). might revisit it later on.

also, 10.3k views! 178 faves! 229 follows! thats a lot and im so glad that people are enjoying my fic! thank you all so much, and i hope you enjoyed this chapter.