A/N: Before anything else, I would like to say something. To all of you reading my story, I am so grateful to all of you. All of your reviews, favourites and follows give me a little more to go on towards my dream of being a well-known and published author. I would just like to thank all of you who read this, and especially the people who have left me reviews pointing out things which could be improved or polished, for helping me out. I take my hat off to you.
I'm sorry for the long wait since the last chapter. This one was quite difficult to get out, on top of Christmas and its aftermath.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise, nor do I own TYPE-MOON or the Nasuverse.
The sigil faded from a glowing emerald to black as Asharu let the magic slip away, the darkly-inked symbol being the last of the six which anchored the Bounded Field to the state quarters. The field should forewarn him of intruders and was connected to the mana-rich atmosphere of the castle, giving it more than enough power to repel all but the strongest of interlopers.
Compared to the protections he had erected on his own workshop, back in Fuyuki, this was a crude measure but it would suffice until more refined barriers could be erected. It hadn't helped, either, that there was something about the prana in the castle which seemed to passively reject his own, making it difficult to apply the Bounded Field.
Semiramis' homunculus-puppet had been placed in the storage compartment of his space-expanded suitcase the day before, after the meeting with the Headmaster, but not before a long conversation had been had behind anti-eavesdropping barriers about their current situation.
Dumbledore had quite clearly been omitting information from what he had told them, but the only part which had been an outright lie had been when he had said that he knew nothing of the contract before it was enacted. There was a likely motivation for the British wizards wanting him back - his fame and usefulness as a political symbol - but the headmaster did not seem like the sort of person to be overly concerned with that sort of thing. For one, he had a vast amount of political capital of his own and held two important positions in the government - Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot - in addition to being the headmaster of the most prominent English magical school. It was possible that he simply wanted to secure his power, but Semiramis had told him that she felt there was something more going on, something deeper than political greed.
Finding out what, exactly, would be a priority while he was stuck here, along with training, both for this Triwizard Tournament - and why did they keep that name anyway, with six champions? - and for the Grail War that would come hard on its heels.
He knew his mother well enough to know that she was furious at this turn of events, and that the perpetrators would be lucky to escape with the clothes on their backs. Semiramis never acted in haste, though, always taking time to consider, to plan and to measure her response. He remembered what had happened when the yakuza had kidnapped him back when he was seven, and he doubted that his mother would be much more merciful this time around. Perhaps it was a sign of how dissonant his morals were with 'modern' morality, but Asharu found himself rather anticipating the fate that was awaiting the ones who had bound him here.
Still, if he was going to be living in and around Hogwarts for the foreseeable future, the first thing to do ought to be getting a proper sense of the castle and the people there. Leaving the magic circle behind and clearing up the pigment and ink brush he had used to inscribe it - he hadn't yet gotten the hang of burning a magic circle onto a surface with only prana yet - he went to leave, intending to go up to one of the towers first, to get a general idea of the layout.
§Where do you think you're going?§
The hissing voice of his familiar interrupted Asharu's thoughts just as he was turning the handle to exit the room.
§I am going to investigate the castle. Do you want to come with me?§ he replied, turning his head to look at where the snake was visible on top of the canopy of the four-poster bed, sunning himself in the light from the windows.
§Go explore the cold-stone-nest.§ said Seru, tongue flickering at the mote of dust which floated in the air. §Bring back some of the small-furred-running-prey. I need to eat.§
Shaking his head at the familiar's demand and making a mental note to get some mice for him, Asharu entered the portrait-lined corridor outside. As he descended the tower, first one, then a pair and then more and more black-robed students appeared, holding book bags and bundles of papers. Whispers followed him, almost tangible in their quantity.
"Who's that? What's he wearing?"
"I don't know. Do you think he's a vampire or something? Look at his eyes."
Countless variations on the theme attended his heels as he made his way around the school. The dimensions were strange, here. Rooms were larger than their hallways ought to allow and the stairways shifted in the abyssal wells which contained them, the great columns of empty air stretching up out of sight and down to stone floors, a hundred metres below.
The magical architecture of the castle was just as eccentrically magnificent. Even to Asharu's most passive prana senses, the building sang out its magic to any who cared to listen. If he had to describe it in terms of the traditional five senses - always a difficult task, what with the inherently transcendental nature of prana and magic in general making it so that when one sensed it, the information generally registered as mismatched input to all senses,except in those who were truly excellent at prana-sensing - he would have had to say that it was like pillars of many-coloured light stretching up through the stones and playing against the ceilings like an aurora, accompanied by the taste of dust and iron. It was awe-inspiring, almost humbling, to be in the presence of such immense and powerful enchantments and yet there was something… else. A regularity throughout all of the eclectic magics of the castle, like an ever-present golden warmth or a vast heartbeat. It was both comforting and a little unnerving at once. The magus idly pondered whether the castle perhaps had perhaps birthed some kind of spirit over its lifetime.
The morning was spent idly for Asharu, flitting from classroom to classroom. The subjects were interesting - for the most part, History of Magic had been unutterably dull for the scant minutes that he had listened in and he could entirely understand why the majority of the room was snoring gently - but the green-eyed wizard was quite surprised at how few teachers there were. Only one teacher per subject for a school of almost three hundred students, and even then the subject choice was severely constrained.
Yes the disciplines of magic which wand-users generally employed were well-represented, but the magical practices of other countries seemed to have little to no representation while the entirety of the mundane world was gathered under the banner of 'Muggle Studies'. That class had had him torn between laughter and pity as the teacher strutted back and forth at the front of a classroom full of 15 year olds avidly listen to her pontificate on how telephones used anbaric currents to transform voice into vibrations in a wire. They were so far in error that it was barely even amusing anymore, and he wondered how it was possible for a society to be so utterly disconnected from their literal neighbours.
He had shaken his head and left that particular classroom with little fanfare, finally heading down to the kitchens - located via a simple divination spell he had worked with a drop of wet ink on the stone floor and a quick incantation - to see if he could find something resembling a lunch, hopefully a little lighter than the steak and gravy that had been dinner last night, delivered to him and his mother by the same house-elf as had directed them there.
Finding the kitchen had been easy, opening it far less so. It had taken almost twenty minutes of carefully inspecting the magical structure of the fruit-bowl painting that concealed the entrance to figure out that the pear had to be tickled, of all things, to open the door. The house-elves inside had been only too happy to accommodate his requests and had even promised to bring a couple of mice up to Seru.
It was after his kitchen-raid, as the sun got about as close to overhead as it ever did in Scottish September, that Asharu began making his way downwards towards the dungeons of the castle, as he head overheard a number of students talking about the Potions classroom being down there. He was curious as to whether the western wizards' potions were at all similar to the alchemy which his mother had taught him or Japanese suiyaku*.
The air was cold and clammy as the green-eyed magus descended below ground. The uneven stone of the walls was damp to the touch. The corridors were quiet, the only sounds the distant chatter of voices from the halls above and the steady tread of his own feet on the paving slabs of the floor.
It came as quite the surprise, then, when as he was turning a corner, Asharu caught a momentary glimpse of a brown-haired girl haring her way down the passage, before the two met abruptly and tumbled to the floor in a tangled mess of robes, limbs and a heavy book bag.
"Aarrgh! Sorry, sorry." she exclaimed, beginning to extrictate herself and climb to her feet again. "Are you alright?" Having regained her feet, the girl extended a hand own to him, a silent offer to help him up.
"Fine, thank you," replied Asharu, accepting the hand and being pulled to his feet with surprising strength. "Why were you running anyway?"
"I'm on my way to Snape's class and he'll gut me if I'm late." She paused and shot him a measuring look. "Why are you here anyway? I saw you wandering around earlier, but you're not wearing Hogwarts robes. Are those muggle clothes?"
"I'm just looking around. I'll be hanging around the school for a while yet, so I thought I'd have a look." Seeing the suspicious look she threw him, he quickly changed the subject. "Weren't you on your way to a class?"
"Oh, yeah." she gathered up the books which had spilled out of their bag and slung it back over her shoulder. "Well, see you!"
"I was on my way to the potions classroom as well. I don't suppose you could show me the way, could you. As I say, I'm new here, so I could do with someone to show me around." He omitted to mention that he could have easily located the classroom himself through the same method of divination that he had used to find the kitchens.
"Sure. I'm Katie, by the way. Katie Bell." So this was the other champion in the Tournament? It would behoove him to gather some information on her, at the least.
"Sharratu Asharu. Oh, no, wait, you do things the other way around, don't you? Asharu is my first name."
She gave him an odd look but seemed to shake it off before striking off down the corridor at a brisk pace.
It was little more than a minute later when the pair arrived at a heavy oak door through which the last of a class of black-robed students were filing. Katie let out a sigh of relief as she slipped through the door behind them. The room was split into two, the front half filled with evenly-spaced desks, while behind them there were two dozen or so cauldrons suspended over flickering flames. The students were each taking their places at one or another of the desks, extracting quills, books, ink and sheaves of parchment from their bags.
"Ah, I am glad that you saw fit to join us, Ms. Bell," drawled a dry voice from the front of the classroom. There, behind a heavy desk, stood a tall man with pale skin made almost yellow by the shifting light in the room. His hair was as dark as his eyes, which shone like polished onyx above a hooked nose.
"Um, yes, sir."
"And we have a visitor today, as well. As Ms. Bell seems to be the last here without a partner, would you please find a seat next to her, Mr. Potter. I presume that you are at least adequately educated in the art of potion-brewing?"
A stir passed through the classroom, heads swivelling and the whispers which had already been present since his appearance in the room multiplied. Inwardly, Asharu was furious. He had intended for his identity to remain unknown to the general student body until at least the first Task of the Tournament, with the possible exception of the other Champion, in case they needed to discuss strategy. Still, there was no use in crying over spilt milk. The best he could do now would be to ride it out.
"Yes, thank you professor. Although the form of potion-making that I learned was quite different to yours." As he said this, Asharu made his way over to the desk next to Katie and sat, studiously ignoring the smouldering glare she was directing at him.
"Which discipline did you learn?" inquired the potion master, an edge of curiosity making it into his voice.
"Suiyaku, the Japanese style of brewing. I am a third-degree Gokon.**"
"Hmm. Better than many, then. Do you know how to compensate for not using stabilising seals on the brewing vessel and how to use non-aqueous bases?"
"The lack of stabilising seals can be countered by the use of exacting timing and ingredients of less than optimal potency, while non-aqueous bases require the brewer to consider the magical alignment and qualities in relation to the desired potion."
"Well, it seems that there will be at least one component brewer in my class today." He turned away, addressing the class as a whole. His voice, although quiet, fell with the force of a hammerblow on the chattering teens, smothering their conversation to near-silence.
"Today we shall be brewing the Clarity's Breath potion. As those of you who remember last lesson - few indeed, I suspect - will recall, Clarity's Breath is a brew belonging to the classification of 'essences' and is intended to be utilised via the inhalation of its vapours, which induce clarity and speed of thought. If drunk, the potion will cause the imbiber to suffer a sensory overload, inflicting mental damage which is difficult to reverse even for a skilled Legilimens. Thus, it would behoove you to do your best to avoid drinking it.
"In addition, I would suggest that you refrain from inhaling the fumes between the sixth and seventh steps of its preparation, as their effects will make it even more likely than usual for one of you dunderheads to bungle the making of the brew." He waved his wand at the blackboard at the front of the class and a list of instructions appeared. "You have one and a half hours. Begin."
As soon as Snape had averted his gaze, going to hover like a pall of ill-omen over one of the other tables, Katie gave Asharu a sharp jab in the arm.
"What was that for?"
"That was for not telling me that you're Harry Potter," she whispered furiously.
"Well I told you the truth. I don't go by Harry Potter anymore. I was adopted."
"That's no excuse. Now, go and get the ingredients. I'll need to go over the recipe again, and if you're good enough at potions that you can impress Snape of all people, then you'll be fine."
The lesson passed swiftly for the green-eyed magus as he lost himself in the motions of brewing the potion and in quiet conversation with Katie, once she had forgiven him for his deception. It turned out that Katie Bell's anger was quick to arise and quick to subside.
He could tell that she was desperate to ask him about what had happened after his disappearance, but thankfully managed to contain her curiosity, only asking where he had learned to be so good at potions. He had replied that he had had excellent tutors and that his mother was a master brewer as well. Besides potions, the conversation had wandered to the upcoming Tasks in the tournament, and that neither of them had any idea what the first one would be, barring the information which katie had been given that each school's two champions would be working together. Ideas were tossed back and forth and by the time that Snape called the class to bring him samples of their potions a meeting had been planned in the library to research previous Tasks. Privately, Asharu had resolved that he would have to make a few of his origami spy-familiars and set them to eavesdrop on the organisers of the Tournament in hopes of getting some idea of what the first Task would entail.
As the class filed out of the dungeons, the magus and the witch lagged behind, still talking, until a dark-skinned girl who was introduced as Angelina Johnson pulled Katie away, citing quidditch practice. Asharu wandered back up to his rooms in the Astronomy Tower. Seru would be getting grumpy, by now.
The sun had sunk below the horizon more than an hour before Severus Snape had finished the day's paperwork to a sufficient degree that he could answer the Headmaster's 'invitation' to come and talk to him in his office. The dour man sighed inwardly. There was no way that he would have a chance to work on some real potioneering that night. He doubted that he would have any real chance to work on his current thesis, Personalisation of Wolfsbane for Improved Effect, before the weekend. It would be hard enough to get the paper through the academic community if he got it out before the Purebloods began the Yule social season. At the current rate, though, he would miss that chance and would have to wait for the summer season.
Setting down his quill - flat, not in the inkpot like those imbeciles who he had to teach - Snape stood and left his office. The walk up to stand in front of the gargoyle which guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office was familiar to the potions professor. More familiar than he wished he was, if he was honest for himself. For all that the Headmaster had saved him from a lifetime in Azkaban and was always working to do the best he could for the world (in his eyes, at least), the man was far from the lily-white persona he displayed to the public at large.
"Jelly babies," he snarled at the stone guardian, prompting the construct to leap jauntily aside, revealing the staircase behind. Deciding that putting off the inevitable would serve no purpose, Snape started up the steps.
"Ah, Severus. Come in." The voice echoed through the door and once again Snape inwardly laughed at the old schemer. The elder wizard knew perfectly well that he knew of the enchantments on the door, but Dumbledore had always liked to present the appearance of omniscience. He opened the door and strode in.
"How were your classes today?"
The old goat was sat behind his desk and had a quill to a near-full piece of parchment. From the seal sitting ready next to it, he would hazard a guess that it was a letter to someone important, likely either a Pureblood or a high-ranked Ministry employee. To most others, the headmaster would have been the picture of a diligent worker, just looking for a conversation. To Snape's more jaundiced and cynical eyes, aided by long familiarity, the falseness of the facade was all too obvious. Still, if the headmaster wanted to play, he might as well.
"As good as could be expected, given the idiots who make up the majority of my classes."
"Only the majority? Why, Severus, you're mellowing out."
The black-haired wizard gritted his teeth at the elder's teasing tone. It would be better to distract him.
"The majority, I said. For the most part, they're still the same dunderheads as ever. Mr. Potter is an exception, however."
The teasing smile on Dumbledore's face vanished like a fox down a rabbithole.
"What did you think of him?" he asked in a serious voice.
Snape paused in thought for a moment. "He is… different to how I thought he would be. I admit that I expected him to be an imitation of his father, but I think that there is more of his mother in him than his father and, I suspect, more of his adoptive parent than Lily. He is skilled and precise, enough to perfectly brew the Clarity's Breath while having to compensate for differences between the system he has learned and the methods which we use."
"What system has he learned, then?"
"The Japanese one. They rely on magically charged seals to stabilise the brews, allowing them to focus on making sure that the ingredients blend properly."
"Japanese? His adoptive mother didn't look Asian. Perhaps a Japanese tutor, then?"
Snape remained silent, keeping his opinions to himself.
"How did he interact with the others in the class?"
"He seems to have struck up a friendship with Ms. Bell. I do not know whether that is simply over the Tournament or otherwise."
"Do you think that they met by chance or did he seek her out?"
"They entered the classroom together." Snape raised an eyebrow with meticulous irony. "Do you simply wish to interrogate me about Mr. Potter's social life."
"He goes by Asharu Sharratu since his adoption, apparently. Have you seen anything of his guardian? According to the wards, she has not left the grounds."
"No, I have not. What does she look like?"
Dumbledore picked up his wand from the desk and gave it a negligent flick. Purplish smoke spiralled out of the tip and gathered into a cloud between Snape and the desk, swirling in a column for a moment before stilling and taking on the colours and shape of a woman of middling height with floor-length black hair. Her eyes were amber and slitted while her pointed ears projected a number of inches from beneath her tresses. A frilled black dress with red highlights clung to her figure and cascading in ripples of midnight fabric to the floor.
Snape appraised the illusion before shaking his head. "I believe that I would have remembered such a unique individual. Now, may I go? I have a number of time-sensitive brews simmering at the moment."
"Of course, my boy," said Dumbledore with a genial smile, all hint of seriousness vanished behind his grandfatherly mask, "I'm sorry for keeping you."
The dour professor nodded sharply - the closest he would get to a bow - and turned on his heel, leaving Dumbledore to ponder tiredly over his letter.
While the moon rose higher in the sky and teachers emerged from their offices to patrol the hallways, Asharu continued his exploration of the castle. The magic there was simply incredible, even simply 'looking' at the surface-level, but he was sure that there was something else, beneath the profusion of fortification-magic imbued into the stones and the obvious manifestations like the moving staircases and the doors-which-pretended-not-to-be. He had already discovered a number of fascinating enchantments, from dormant animation-spells on the suits of armour and the stone statues which adorned the walls to a classroom which, if you wrote the name of the hallway on the little blackboard on the back of the door, would move around to open on to that corridor.
The way that the castle seemed to violate the laws of space and geometry even more casually than wizards normally did - at least space-expanded charms had limitations and tended to be static. It bordered on a Marble Phantasm, and if such a Mystery could be replicated, either through magecraft or wizardry, it would be an incredible accomplishment. Maybe even enough to equal something like the Gardens of Babylon. He doubted that it would be that easy - the Gardens were a Noble Phantasm after all - but still, the castle was meant to be built by wizards. Surely there must be a way to imitate it somehow.
As the black-haired magus walked along yet another stone hallway (this particular one being on ground level, according to what eh could see out of the windows, despite the fact that he had climbed upwards from the second floor to get there) his eyes were drawn to an alcove that might have been unassuming, were it not for the fact that, to his magical senses, the wall was splashed with hues of swirling black-gold around the faint outline of the snake emblem which was worked into the grey stone, almost eradicated by the grind of years. A rustling reached his ears and there was iron and copper on his tongue as he focussed on the sensations.
Trusting to the talisman of concealment he had retrieved from his quarters after his identity had been revealed by the potions professor to keep him from the notice of wandering professors, Asharu ducked into the recess and trailed a finger over the length of the carving. He noted the phantom sensation of liquid stickiness he felt from the thing's magic. On some unknown impulse, he let his vocal chords undergo that odd switch to the snake-tongue - parseltongue, they called it here, for reasons he doubted he would ever know - and spoke to it.
§Open.§
It was a shot in the dark, fuelled by gut instinct and very little else, and Asharu was quite shocked when instead of remaining solid and unmoved the wall slid backwards with a grinding sound then sideways into the walls. Where the alcove had been, there was now the entrance to a narrow set of stairs leading down into darkness. The same black-gold power swirled in the void below.
Taking a moment to conjure a flickering light in his palm - a minor fire-aligned spell which any magus worth his salt ought to be able to manage - Asharu put a foot on the topmost step and began his descent.
As he made his way down into the blackness, the curious magus examined the power below. It seemed to permeate the air down here, thin like a faint mist at first, but stronger as he descended. He noticed the beginnings of faint patterns on the walls, row upon row of vertical lines at first, but gaining definition and detail as he continued on. First they gained a spray of branching lines at the top end, then 'leaves' further down and with a start Asharu realised that they were corn, row upon row of crops lining the walls of the passageway. In the flickering light, it seemed almost as if they moved, waving in an unfelt breeze.
The floor glistened darkly at the magus' feet, slick with some unknown liquid. He could not tell if it was water or something else, with the dim illumination and the dark colour of the stone. The air was heavy with the smell of iron and copper. Wariness rose within Asharu, warring with his curiosity even as he continued on down the stairway. Before him, in the pool of light cast by the flame in his hand, he could see the bottom of the stairs where they flattened out into a dirt floor, running with little pools and streams of a black liquid. As he descended the last step, the magic in the air shivered, seas of gold swaying gently. For a moment, Asharu could see a vaulted ceiling, stone serpents coiled around grey pillars, and then it was gone.
The world bent and impossibility unfolded.
*Potions.
**Brewer, literally 'concocter'.
A/N: Mwahahaha! I'm evil!
Please note that I've tweaked Katie's age in this. She's in sixth year, but due to an early birthday is seventeen at the time of the Goblet being used.
- Important notes relating to changes from the canon Harry Potter timeline due to the differences with the Chamber:
- Myrtle was not killed by the basilisk. She committed suicide and became a ghost, haunting the bathroom until she was twisted into a vengeful spirit - a spectre - by her misery and was banished.
- Hagrid was still expelled, but it was for possession of an XXXXX class dangerous magical beast - Aragog - on a school campus.
- Ginny was never possessed by the diary as, due to Tom Riddle never bringing the basilisk out into the school, Tom never left instructions to give the diary to a schoolchild to Lucius.
- Voldemort knows of the Chamber and its contents but considered the risk of dealing with it to great to outweigh the possible rewards.
- Dumbledore retained more political capital than in canon, what with not being booted from Hogwarts, but used most of that up in persuading the Ministry to let him use the Goblet to find Harry