AN: hello and welcome to another chapter of this god forsaken story that is slowly taking over my life. i dont wanna play video games bc i gotta work on this. i dont wanna do schoolwork bc i gotta work on this. i dont wanna eat dinner bc i gotta work on this. its terrible but pretty okay at the same time. dont care enough about myself, but im still getting showers in and stuff so im alright.
this chapter required me to actually look things up (augh). so. that was fun. just listened to diveo's 'fever dreams' on repeat. good song. got me through it. thanks to diveo, old science notes, and the internet for helping me through this. if i got anything wrong, let me know.
to answer "Guest" who asked if i will be including the lutece twins again:
yes! they've been shown to love meddling with booker. maybe they have something to do with his current predicament? ;)
to answer "ShulkXMelia23" who said that so far im just writing a harry potter fanfic and that booker and harry arent that different:
i don't quite see your point? this is booker reacting to harry potter's world. he's developing his powers and such. i'm going to include more bioshock stuff later on, but for now there really isnt that much of it because this is still the beginning of the story. i hardly have as many chapters as i expect this fic to take. hopefully in later chapters it will show that it's really booker and not harry. harry hardly exists in this fic. hope you aren't turned off of the fic!
hope you all are well, and having an okay 2017 so far!
on with the story!
Booker woke up to the glow of sunset and a small hand on his.
He was in the medical wing, Hermione at his side with his hand in hers, Neville seated on his other side. The tall windows were open, letting in a light summer breeze. Then he noticed he was being watched.
Swiveling his head to meet the one intruding on his peace, he narrowed his brow at the sight of the old man.
Dumbledore.
"Harry, my boy."
"I am not your boy," Booker replied. "And it's Potter to you."
With a sigh, Dumbledore restarted. "Mr. Potter, I would like to know what happened last night."
"I was coming back from the library late. Ran into Quirrell. Ran into McGonagall, told her I saw him. She told me to tell you, your gargoyle didn't budge, so I decided to go after her as backup."
"And you didn't consider that you were eleven, and not quite meant to be backup?"
"It's not like I could call for help. Don't know where any of the teachers sleep. Besides, eleven-year-old backup is better than none, and she'd have bled out without me. Only thing I did wrong was accidentally kill the only other witness."
Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "You say that so calmly."
"I got used to the idea that I killed a man at one," Booker replied. He wasn't gonna get a clean slate this lifetime either. "Snape mentioned he was back, now that I think about it. What's that about?"
"It's nothing, my boy. I think you should get back to rest, or Poppy will have my hide for keeping you up."
Grinding his teeth, Booker bit back, "You will give me answers sooner or later. Whether or not I force them from your lips is up to you."
Giving him a curious look, Dumbledore left, and Booker fell into a fitful rest fifteen minutes later.
He was let out the next day, and after a reunion and recap of the recent events with his friends, he was surprised with the lack of exams the next week. Hermione, of course, was pissed.
"We need these exams! They're highly important for our future, and to just... to just cancel them! Like it's nothing! I can't believe him! He really is a loon!"
They were on the train back to London and she was still ranting about it.
"How am I supposed to get a job like this? No test scores in first year!" She was practically frothing at the mouth in anger.
"Even worse, we didn't get any proper mathematical or literary education," Booker said. He definitely didn't pull those words from a dictionary.
Hermione gasped. "I completely forgot about that! Oh goodness, I have to catch up over summer, this is terrible, I can't believe I forgot, how stupid..."
The Dursleys were late to pick him up. He'd managed to take a long walk around the area (and get some shopping done!) before they arrived, and the car ride back to Surrey was awkward.
"So, how was, uh, school?" Dudley asked, only to be shushed by his father.
"It was fine," Booker replied, and he was also shushed.
"None of that! None of that nonsense in my car or in my house!"
Petunia sighed in the passenger seat. It was going to be a long ride.
"Dad, he can at least tell me about his classes or something. I want to know!"
"No!"
Dudley's imminent temper tantrum was only stopped by Booker leaning over and whispering, "I'll tell you later." What could he do, Dudley was a kid. He had a soft spot for kids.
When they arrived at the house, Booker was followed upstairs by an eager Dudley and he quickly recounted his encounter with the troll, his friends, and the debacle with Quirrell. He'd left some stuff out, as he didn't want to scare the boy, but it was all the truth.
"So you really have flying broomsticks?"
"Yep."
"And there was a talking hat?"
"Mhm."
"And the food? What was the food like?"
Booker rolled his eyes. Of course. "It was delicious, but nothing interesting. Most of it was the same food you would eat here. There were some interesting candies. I'll bring you some another time, since I don't have any. Now, don't you have summer schoolwork to do? I know I do. Better to get it done now than later, yeah?"
Dudley scuttered out of his room and he locked himself in. He had bought a whole lot of books while waiting for the Dursleys, and he intended on studying them.
The Beginner's Guide to Quantum Mechanics lay innocently on his bed, unaware of how abused it's spine would be very soon.
With making breakfast in the morning and the various chores set on him, Booker didn't always have time to study, but after threatening Vernon with a little bit of Devil's Kiss, he finally got a free enough schedule to study the sciences on his own.
It wasn't something he understood perfectly, of course. He was teaching himself, which was more error than trial. At least the Luteces seemed to be lurking, what with the sudden appearance of their book on quantum mechanics, plus another on trans-dimensional travel, appearing on his desk one morning.
A small note had been attached.
DeWitt -
Perhaps our books can help aid you in your search for answers. We are, after all, the ones who made tears.
- Lutece
With a raised brow, Booker pried open the book and began to read, taking notes on anything of interest.
Four hours later, he barely heard the call for dinner, and Petunia, not quite one to care, let him go hungry.
He finally put down the book sometime in the early morning and realized he was starving. He snuck downstairs and made himself a quick sandwich, before returning to his room. Quantum mechanics was some confusing stuff. Better not study on an empty stomach.
After a month of theorizing, barely remembering his basic needs, and hardly leaving his room (to the Dursleys delight), he finally put down his pen.
Quantum mechanics... well, to put it plainly, it explained the average everything. Everything was made of quanta, plural quantum, which was basically the smallest amount of physical entity that was involved in an interaction.
Next, how did tears work? Complicated. The act of a 'tear' is literally tearing apart quantum to see into another world with a similar yet slightly different set of quantum. It could be across the world, it could be two feet away, it could be in a different universe where Booker was in an apocalypse trying to save his psuedo daughter from killing herself to stop a disease.
Now, why couldn't Booker open tears into other worlds? He had always thought he could, but in reality, he could only open tears into worlds that had quantum he knew of. Every tear he opened, it opened out into the past or the present. He didn't have the powers that Elizabeth did - seeing any and all quantum, any and all space and time - and as a result, couldn't open out into quantum from an unknown space or time. It was strictly this universe for him... for now.
If he wanted trans-dimensional travel, he needed to make a tear, the old fashioned way.
Petunia was... well, to put it plainly, worried. Her nephew, the freak, had hardly left his room in the past month. He left for food, a shower every other day, and the bathroom. He paid them all no mind, and no yelling would get him to pay her attention. Too afraid to provoke him, she left him alone, and convinced Vernon and Dudley to do the same.
Then, finally, the month was over, and he came down, pale from lack of sunlight and graphite on his fingers.
"Harry," she said, too surprised at his appearance to realize she said his name for once.
"Hello," he replied. "I would say sorry about the lack of chores but I think you can handle not having an indentured servant for a while."
She grimaced. "That... that doesn't matter right now. Are you... alright? You hardly left your room!"
He glanced at her, suspicion in his eyes.
"I-I don't want those freaks coming knocking on our door, yelling at us for improper care when you're the one who locked himself up in his room!"
Harry laughed. "Relax. I was studying science. They don't teach it over there, so I needed to catch up a bit."
"S-science?!" No way...
"You want to look at my notes?"
"No, no. I-I'm good. Go on, then. Do what it was you were up to."
"Alright, I'm off to the park to get some sun." And with that, he left, the front door closing behind him with a soft noise.
Booker spent the next several weeks outside. He had gotten pale and a little weak with the lack of sunlight, and helped his aunt with the garden, earning him less chores.
He also finished up his homework for Hogwarts, and grabbed some math textbooks from the nearby library. Science had a lot of math in it as far as he could tell, and he figured it would be better to be prepared.
He was so busy with studying that he hardly noticed the lack of letters from his friends until a strange creature dressed in what looked like a pillow sack suddenly appeared in his bedroom.
"Uh, hello?" the veteran asked rather than said, completely confused. What fresh hell was this?
"Harry Potter!" It had a high-pitched voice that grated on his ears. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir... Such an honor it is... "
Suddenly he remembered Vernon's get-together or whatever happening downstairs and the man's promise of pain if anything went wrong. "Th-that's great. Please be quiet or I'll have to kick you out. My family is having an important meeting."
"O-oh! Of course, Mr. Potter, sir," the creature replied, lowering it's volume to almost a whisper.
"Now then, let's have a seat. Who are you, what are you, and why are you in my house?"
Not taking a seat, the creature replied, "Dobby, Dobby the house-elf, be coming here to tell you... where to begin..."
"At the beginning would be great, and please, take a seat."
Giving him the biggest doe eyes, Dobby suddenly burst into noisy tears.
"Shh! The meeting!"
Dobby hiccuped, but stopped his loud sobbing. "Dobby has never been asked to sit," he said between small sobs "Mr. Potter has treated Dobby like an equal... offering him a seat!"
"Uh." Booker put a small hand on Dobby's shoulder. "I hope I didn't offend you. You don't have to sit if you don't want to."
"Offend Dobby? Oh Merlin no, Mr. Potter sir has done nothing of the sort..."
Then suddenly Dobby was banging his head on the window, shouting, "Bad Dobby!"
Booker grabbed him by the nape and pulled him away. "Quiet!" he hissed. "Do you have any idea what my family will do to me if there's too much noise?"
Dobby suddenly burst into tears. "Dobby is being most sorry, sir!"
"Besides, it's got to hurt to do that, yeah? Take it easy."
"Dobby must be punishing himself, sir. He almost spoke ill of his family."
Booker frowned. "Your family?"
"The family Dobby serves. Oh, Mr. Potter called Dobby a guest, goodness!" He almost burst into tears again.
"Dobby, listen. I have no idea what's going on. Why did you come here?"
Dobby gulped. "Dobby is here to warn Mr. Potter of a terrible plot. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year. Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"
With a grimace, Booker replied, "Yeah. No can do, pal. Where else am I going to learn to control my magic?"
Dobby frowned. "Mr. Potter would go back even when his friends don't even write?"
"... and how do you know about that?"
"Dobby thought..." The house-elf shrunk under Booker's gaze. "Dobby thought that if Mr. Potter received no letters, he would not want to go back to Hogwarts!"
"Well, toss that out of the window. If you can convince me then I'll write the headmaster and he'll handle things."
"Dumbledore is being the greatest wizard of all time, but even he would not know of this... no decent wizard would know of this magic..."
"Then let me go to the school so I can help the other students. Whatever comes my way, I can handle it."
"No!" Dobby wailed, and Booker clamped a hand over the creature's mouth desperate for quiet.
"Listen. I'll let you in on a secret, okay?"
Dobby nodded, eager to hear.
"I'm immortal." No he wasn't, but Dobby didn't need to know that. "That's how I survived the Killing Curse. And whatever is coming this way, I can stop it. Got it?"
With awe, Dobby stepped away. "Mr. Potter is being incredible, sir! Dobby never would have guessed it."
"Thank you, but Dobby, what's more important is that you tell me this plot so I can see it coming."
Gasping, Dobby shook his head. "No! Dobby couldn't, he would get the cane for it, not the cane-!"
Booker felt a pang of guilt. "I won't force you, Dobby. But if something important is happening and you can give me information, please. Send me a message. Only you can help me with this."
Dobby, in true awe, nodded.
"Now, who do you work for, Dobby?"
"The Malfoys, sir. Dobby be working for the Malfoys."
"One last thing before you go?"
"Anything, Mr. Potter, sir."
"Give me my letters, and don't punish yourself for anything that happened tonight."
With a bow and pop, Dobby was away, and fourteen neatly stacked letters appeared on Booker's desk.
Dear Hermione,
Sorry for not responding to your letters. I do believe I've been pranked. Some house-elf appeared in my house and told me not to return to Hogwarts.
He's been stealing my letters for weeks now and tonight told me that a 'terrible plot' was going to happen and that I should not return. I told him I was immortal and that I could handle it (I can just imagine you rolling your eyes at that, but it worked).
He works for the Malfoys, apparently.
I'll send a second letter answering all your other letters in a bit - I need to let this whole evening sink in.
- Harry
When it finally came time to go get books, Booker arranged with Neville and Hermione to meet at the Leaky Cauldron and they set off together to get their books, leaving behind Hermione's parents and Neville's grandmother to get along.
"First stop, bookstore," Booker announced.
"The only things on the list were books. What's the second stop?" Neville asked.
"Ice cream, of course."
"Oh," Neville replied, nodding in understanding.
And they set off to get their books.
"Whoever our teacher is this year really likes an author by the name of Gilderoy Lockhart," Hermione said. "I actually already have the books, read them all last year, and I found out that there's actually a lot of contradictory information in it."
"Wh-what are you implying?" Neville asked.
"I'm saying he might be a fraud."
A woman off to their left gasped. "A fraud?"
"Yes! He says he's in Transylvania for three months to deal with a banshee in early 1974, but is apparently in the Americas for two months during that duration when dealing with a ghoul!"
The woman frowned. "I will have to reread his books for myself. I would stay and chat but I really must go. Might I know your name?"
"Granger. Hermione Granger."
"I'm Narcissa Malfoy, and I do believe that I will be investigating this."
And the woman walked off into the alley, oblivious to to the jaws that dropped behind her.
"Holy shit. That's Malfoy's mother?"
"Language, Harry!"
"She seems... different from her son."
"Definitely."
After a few more moments of silence, Booker shook his head. "Let's just go get our books."
They arrived at Flourish and Blott's without any other interruptions to find that the one and only Gilderoy Lockhart was there, signing books and giving cheeky winks to any witch in the perimeters.
Hermione did her best to hide a blush.
Booker groaned.
"Yes of course, and if you have any questions, feel free to refer to my books - they're all on sale the rest of the summer!" The man was waving and laughing and flashing a brilliant smile when his eyes fell on Booker.
"Merlin's beard, is that Harry Potter?"
There was a collective gasp and many whispers of his name.
Then he was swarmed by witches, begging for an autograph, a photograph, a kiss, and he was overwhelmed.
"Ladies, ladies, let the lad take a breather," a smooth voice rang out, and the crowd of witches backed away.
Looking up in horror, Booker was face to face with Gilderoy Lockhart.
"Well, if it isn't the Boy Who Lived," the man said, smoothing back a stray hair and offering his hand to shake. "I'd introduce myself, but you already know me, of course."
"Unfortunately," Booker muttered under his breath, and begrudgingly took the man's hand and shook it as firmly as he could. Lockhart winced, and Booker smirked.
"Here for my autograph, young man?" he asked, giving a bright and well-faked smile.
"Nope. Just getting some books. For school."
"You'll be needing my books for the curriculum, aren't you!"
"Uh. Yes-"
"Here you go! On the house, all signed by me."
A large stack of books was dropped rather unceremoniously in Booker's arms, and he struggled not to drop them on the celebrity's feet.
"Thanks," he grit out. "A lot."
After the spectacle with the possible fraud, Neville's books were bought and the trio were on their way out the door when a standoff began.
"... what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?" a blond man was saying to a family of redheads. Among them was several familiar peers from Gryffindor, including that boy who made fun of Hermione. Roy? Ron? Draco Malfoy was there too, so the man was presumably his father.
Deciding not to do anything about their weird standoff, he led the way past the groups, only stopping when Malfoy the kid said, "If it isn't the mudblood and her blood traitor protectors. Can't go anywhere without your boyfriends, can you?"
Booker ground his teeth to bite back the inappropriate insult resting on the tip of his tongue.
"Hold my books, Hermione," he said. "I have to make Malfoy swallow his teeth."
Taking his books, she gave him a doubtful look, which dropped when he rolled up his sleeves and cracked his knuckles.
"Are you about to beat my son?" Malfoy senior asked, his former standoff forgotten.
"Yes. Yes I am."
Booker was a good four inches taller than Draco, and he was getting the same natural brawn he had in his last life, even if it didn't show very well. He wasn't working out yet so he wasn't a monster, but in a physical fight, he would win.
"And why would that be? For speaking the truth?"
"If that's the truth then you admit your son is a piece of-"
"Harry! Language!"
"... work. Piece of work."
Hermione gave him a Look, and he shrugged.
"I don't believe you're aware of this, being muggle-raised, but our family is of the highest regard."
"With a name like 'Malfoy', I really doubt that," Booker replied. "In French, your name means 'bad faith'. Untrustworthy sort, ain't ya?"
The blond has no response.
"Good day, sir."
And with that, they left.
"Harry?" Neville asked, "where did you learn French?"
In a city under the sea, to speak to a lonely young child. In World War I, to communicate with soldiers and citizens alike.
"Not a damn clue," was his reply.
"Language, Harry."
AN: welp. its official. i love writing this fic too much to play league of legends.