Threadmarks Chapter 1 - You're a Wizard, Kenny!
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kenmadragon
kenmadragon
Mar 25, 2020
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#1
THE WIZARD ERRANT
You're a Wizard, Kenny!
Chapter 1
Floating.
Apparently, that was what death was like. Sure, there was pain before that, and a lot of complicated, scary emotions running through my head. I'm fairly certain I was terrified and angry and confused, and mayhaps even a little relieved. Overwhelmingly, I would say the experience was miserably depressing and confusing, but being enveloped in the warm embrace of light and drifting off into the ether seemed oddly relaxing...
I wasn't entirely sure how it had happened. I'm not entirely convinced I had died in the first place. Sure, I could barely contemplate my surroundings — or rather, the lack thereof — but I didn't seem to be doing anything besides float.
This floating business didn't seem much like Heaven or Hell. Nor did it seem much like any cycle of reincarnation that I understood. I ruminated on the possibility that I had somehow ended up in some non-denominational purgatory that consisted of floating. The thought was ridiculous, but that might have just been my ego talking.
And wasn't it strange that I still had an ego to begin with? Wasn't I supposed to be dead? I wasn't really doing anything besides float. It almost felt like a dream.
Wait a second…
Am I dreaming?
Of course, that's when I stopped floating, and instead started falling into the darkness that had appeared out of the nothingness below.
I woke up in a body that was not my own.
And yet, I had lived in this body my entire life. I felt both extreme unease and perfect comfort in those first few waking moments as I struggled with the blankets of my bed. It was an un/familiar four-poster bed, the sort you would see in old period films, or in anime about rich people for whom normal beds were too plebeian. The layers of cloth that enveloped me and the pillow that I had been bear-hugging in my sleep weren't unusual, but the texture and colors were. This unexpected bout of dysmorphia didn't help matters.
Eventually, I managed to disentangle myself from the bedsheets and rub the rheum from my eyes. With them clear, I blinked rapidly before taking in my strange/familiar surroundings. The canopy of my four-poster bed was the first sight to greet me. I took a moment to stare at the pattern of thread-work decorating it, and marveled at how I could actually see the stitching, even without my glasses.
Then I remembered I didn't wear glasses.
There was movement in the corner of my eye. Dizziness plagued me as I shot from the bed, panicked. My eyes settled on the painting near the window, depicting a unicorn mare and her foal grazing along a stream. The unicorns were moving, silently swishing their tails and shifting about. The mare was drinking from the stream while the golden-coated foal grazed on some grasses on the banks.
How are they moving? I couldn't help but wonder. Then I paused, puzzled. Soon my thought became, Why shouldn't they move? They've been moving ever since Mum bought the painting.
But since when did I call my mother 'Mum'?
The flood of memories surged in. The experiences and knowledge of an entire life was brought back into focus as I fought to answer the question and every new question that came with each perplexing answer. I felt like screaming, but it must have gotten stuck in my throat somehow.
Instead, I let out an ugly croak and fell back into bed, thoughts racing as my old life started to get acquainted with the new one.
It was in that state that my family's House Elf popped in to remind me that I was missing breakfast, panicked upon seeing me writhing in the sheets and promptly summoned my mother.
Bother.
So, good news and bad news.
The good news was that I now knew when and where I was. The bad news was I had no idea how I got here, but I could take a wild guess.
Turns out, I'm an eleven-year-old child living in the United Kingdom, and the year was 1991. I lived on a large-ish estate in the English countryside, had attended the local primary for a few years, but had few friends. The day was July 24th, and I was in excellent health. In fact, I was in astonishingly good health, all things considered. I didn't need spectacles anymore, was in marvelous shape for a bookworm, and didn't freak out when an owl delivered the post.
That last point was actually something of a shock. I remember being terrified of birds as a child, and it had never gone away, even as I grew older and slightly more capable of controlling my impulse to flee at the mere sight of an avian. I was never officially diagnosed, but the signs of ornithophobia were unmistakable, and haunted me even as an adult. At least, in my first life.
It was strange. I was pretty sure that wasn't how phobias were supposed to work. I could see the owl. It was alive. It was in the same room as I was… And I wasn't frozen in fear.
Sure, I still felt uncomfortable, but it wasn't the same spine-tingling sense of wrongness and swallowed terror that I normally ought to feel when confronted with a large, brown owl demanding a few Knuts from my father as payment for the newspaper. It seemed that the childhood traumas of my first life weren't affecting me in my new one.
Apparently, I hadn't been swarmed by countless murders of crows while stuck on a rooftop in India as a toddler in this life and never developed the phobia I once had. Whatever processes had occurred for my second life to inherit the memories of my first had… well, my irrational fear of all things avian wasn't quite wiped away, but apparently dulled the effects to the point of immateriality.
I thanked any god that was listening for that mercy. I don't know what I would have done if I'd been stuck with ornithophobia as a member of the Wizarding World.
Oh, yes. If it wasn't obvious already from the moving pictures, the House Elf sent to wake me, the owl delivering the newspaper, and all the other little magical bits and bobs about the house, but the sight of my mother using a wand to rearrange some rolls of parchment strewn across a drawing room table while escorting me to breakfast had really clinched it. I was living in Magical Britain in the world of Harry Potter.
Kenneth M. Godewyn, at your service.
Being eleven again, receiving my very own Hogwarts Acceptance Letter by Owl Post was exciting.
It had been the dream of my first life to receive one, and now I was living it. Of course, it was in a new life, but that was small potatoes. I may have danced a jig with my giddy mother and kissed a statue in my delight after reading the letter. Dad just patted me on the head, and promised to take me shopping over the weekend when he was free, but I pleaded with Mum to take me earlier.
I had eleven years of memories from growing up in a house of magic, but after recovering two decades-worth of memories from my first life, I needed to visit Diagon Alley and see the sights for myself. Again. I'd been there before, naturally, but this time would be different. This time, I'd be buying school robes and books and a wand.
Sadly, I had to wait a day. Mum had an appointment with an editor later today — she was a writer, I later remembered, and sold sordid novellas which I wasn't allowed to read. So, I had to wait patiently for a day before I could go and buy all the magical gear I would need for my lifetime as a wizard.
I would like to say I bore that news with grace. But, I was eleven, and eleven-year-olds aren't paragons of patience. I spent the day wavering between pouting and quivering with excitement. Atleast, when Mum or Smokey the elf were around.
Then when Ms. Weatherby arrived to discuss Mum's latest draft, I holed up in my room and set about plotting. If I was going to be a wizard, and knowing what I knew of the wizarding world at this point in time, then I was going to be in for a hell of a time.
And I wanted to be as ready as I could be in advance of all the nonsense that was going to be headed my way.
Staring at myself in the mirror, the resemblance to my first life was uncanny. Many details were unchanged. I still had brown-ish skin, as befitting my Indian heritage. Only, instead of being Indian-American, Ken was a mixed British-Indian. I still had thick, curly black hair, but it was much thicker than in my first life, and my thick eyebrows were far better trimmed. I still had dark eyes with love-spot right by the edge of my left eye. Sharp features too, but those were less chubby than I remembered my first life being at this age.
I also had the beginnings of muscle growing, which was something of a shock as all other indications and memories pointed to being a reclusive bookworm, both at school and at home. Apparently, I played tennis with other kids at my Muggle primary. Dad was apparently a fan of the sport, though that might be because his father had taught him Swivenhodge first (a similar, Wizarding game). Barely anyone played Swivenhodge in Britain these days, but tennis was all the rage, so I apparently (re-)learned how to play the Muggle game. Simple tests of flexibility and agility in my room confirmed that I had some level of athleticism I hadn't at eleven the first time around which I promised myself to maintain. A healthy body meant a healthy mind - a lesson I'd learned a bit too late in my first life. Plus, it'd help to stay fit if I was going to survive the plot.
Which reminded me that I would need to test my own skills. I had a sneaking suspicion that I wasn't simply transmigration, like in the genre of fiction I had read in my first-life. Sure, the similarities were there, but I had already noticed details that were concerning.
Before my first-life memories showed up, I'd apparently had a phenomenal memory and was much smarter than others my age at the Muggle primary I attended. Part of me thought that it was simply the bleed-over from my first life, but that couldn't explain how much faster I had gotten at doing basic arithmetic in my head, much less the clarity of my memory — it was almost eidetic, the way I was able to remember details of my life as Ken.
Then there was the fact that Ken apparently had an uncanny gift for languages that my first life lacked. English had been my native language in both lifetimes, but I'd learned smatterings of French and bits of various Indian languages in my first life. As Kenneth, I'd apparently taught myself to be fluent in a dozen different languages. Now, some might say this wasn't unusual; they say children are better able to learn multiple languages than adults, and I'd only started becoming multilingual in my teens during my first life, so maybe some of that rubbed off on my life as Ken. But in this life, I'd learned each language in only a couple of days. My family surmised it was just a magical knack for languages, but as far as I could tell, that was Barty Crouch Sr.'s schtick and my relation to the Crouch family was distant. I suspected my freakishly good memory might have been a contributing factor.
Plus, I had a knack for convincing small animals to do things for me that I wasn't sure was actually magical or not. I could recall playing with a bunch of alleycats as a toddler — Mum had dragged me to St. Mungo's for a check-up when she found out, sure that I'd caught some hideous disease from playing with the unwashed creatures — and there was also the time when I convinced the Faulkners' dog to let me ride it like a horse back when I was two.
But all that paled in comparison to the fact that I was now levitating a quill by swishing and flicking my finger at it while chanting, "Wingardium Leviosa".
Don't get me wrong, the Levitation Charm is the first charm we ever see kids learning at Hogwarts (at least, "on screen"), and it's a perennial classic for that reason. It's also supposed to be a dreadfully simple spell. But wizarding children aren't supposed to have this much control over their magic without a wand. Yet, based on my memories, I'd been playing with "accidental" magic for years now. I was some kind of wizarding wunderkind...
There were a few reasons for why all this might be, but for the sake of my sanity, I endeavored to ignore the thought and put off questioning my impossible existence for later. I had a few hours until supper, and I wanted to see what else I could do with the Levitation Charm.
Tomorrow I'd be visiting Diagon Alley, and that's when the fun would really start!
A/N: So, I've been frequenting the JumpChain reddit for a while now, and figured that it was beyond time that I started my own chain. I'm starting Harry Potter because I know the setting pretty well, and because it's an excellent foundation for surviving future jumps. I'm using the Essential Body Modifications supplement by swordchucks (with a couple house-rules). Haven't filled out the Warehouse supplement yet, but I'm thinking I might just swap to the Personal Reality supplement right off the bat instead, and go with the option that gives you incremental WP with each jump. I'll post the build for the Essential Body Mod and the HP Jump (with all the Perks/Items and drawbacks I'm getting) later once I've gotten my wand from Ollivander's.
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
Mar 25, 2020
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Threadmarks Chapter 2
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kenmadragon
kenmadragon
Mar 26, 2020
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#16
Chapter 2
Using the Floo is mildly terrifying.
The books and movies did not do the experience justice. Sure, they went over how badly things can go if you're not clear with your pronunciation — which is why I practiced saying "Diagon Alley" thrice under my breath before even touching the Floo Powder — and how dizzying the journey can be. But they seem to forget that moment of brief terror when you have to put your feet into a hearth of green flames, and then allow yourself to be consumed by fire.
Sure, it's perfectly harmless to do so long as the Floo Powder was used correctly and the flames were still green. You just had to be quick about it because the magic only lasted as long as the power still burned and made the flames viridian… if they turned back, you would be burned. But burns weren't severe injuries as far as the Wizarding World was concerned. The Flame-Freezing Charm was apparently "basic" enough for adult wizards to use, and actual burn-wounds were easily healed by any half-decent Healer with the right potions and charms.
Still, I couldn't help the start I gave when the flames consumed me, even if I knew Mum wasn't far behind. I did remember to keep my elbows tucked in, and allowed myself to be spun rapidly as I was whisked along the network. It was a bit fascinating, what little I could grasp of the inside of the Floo Network while being spun like a top so rapidly that my eyes seemed to roll in their sockets too. I was idly reminded of how the Muggle internet was connected together before WiFi had been invented in my first life, or perhaps more accurately, how phone lines were routed, but I was too dizzy to think much of it. Before I had the time to really contemplate the analogy, I was ejected from a fireplace and sprawled into a heap on a surprisingly soft rug in the Leaky Cauldron.
The Leaky had several fireplaces it seemed, and the one connected to the Floo was in an out-of-the-way corner of the pub, probably to keep people from popping onto someone's food if they tripped on the way out like I had. I barely had the time to get my bearings before Mum had appeared behind me in a rush of green flames and immediately started fussing over me. It seemed to be a universal trait for mothers, because she kept trying to brush my hair and straighten my collar, despite all protestations, in a familiar manner to both sets of memories.
Unsurprisingly, the Leaky Cauldron was a lot like its depiction in the early movies, only far warmer and much emptier this early in the day. Though, the description from the earlier books also reigned supreme - the pub was quite dark despite having multiple fireplaces and felt oddly shabby for such an important place. Most patrons seemed to be having breakfast or chatting among themselves over a pot of tea, though there was one odd fellow reading a book on theoretical physics by himself in a corner. Tom, the innkeeper, smiled graciously at Mum and I with his toothless smile. He looked much more like the actor from the first movie, I noted, rather than the hunchback from the second, though he was still quite old and bald. I gave him a wave as Mum shepherded me towards the back where the entrance to the Alley was.
From the trash can, three up, two across.
Diagon Alley was a lot less crowded than the Sorcerer's Stone film had made it out to be. Still very much a bustling center of Wizarding culture and peoples, and all the delightful and odd sights and sounds and smells that accompanied our varied populace. But it wasn't full to the brim like I had been expecting.
And yet, I still marveled over each and every sight. Sure, I'd seen them before, but back then I'd been younger, not shopping for Hogwarts supplies, and I certainly didn't have the knowledge of the future I now possessed. I would, however, endeavour to contain my excitement.
...Obviously, I failed.
Mum chuckled and had to practically manhandle me towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions to be fitted for the school robes. I pouted but bore with the indignity of being poked and prodded by the seamstress, who apparently was a fan of Mum's books. I spotted the familiar title on a book spine under some rolls of cloth, but it was studiously shunted aside before I could actually get a good look at it. Annoying. I was never allowed to read any of Mum's work, and she wrote under a pseudonym so I couldn't just sneak listen to people talk to her about it either. Stupid silencing spells on the doors when her editor comes over…
Anyways, my time at Madam Malkin's was relatively quick and uneventful. Unlike countless fanfictions I had read in my first life, not everyone has a chance to interact with "The Great Harry Potter" at the seamstress'. I suppose my excitement and rush to buy things at Diagon Alley contributed to that - it was the 25th of July, and Harry only came to London on his birthday, the 31st. Unfortunate, but not unwelcome. I had no intention of mucking with Harry's first impressions of anything. There was plenty of time to do that at Hogwarts… depending on where I ended up. I wasn't entirely sure myself. Ravenclaw, I suspected. I certainly felt smart enough, and having an entire life's worth of memories crammed into my noggin wouldn't hurt my chances of getting in there.
After we got robes, we ended up going all over the place. My eyes lingered on certain shops — Flourish and Blotts, Obscurus Books, Gringotts, Ollivanders — but despite all pleading, Mum dragged me to get "the essentials" first. Apparently, it was tradition in our family to get our wands last on a trip to Diagon, and I suppose she knew me well enough to realize that if we stopped at a bookshop, I'd never leave.
I bore with it stoically and exhibited great decorum when told this. Let no one tell you differently.
The shop was narrow, shabby, and felt positively ancient when we walked up to the door. The sign was painted in peeling golden lettering, and there was only a single wand in the display window. For the oldest wand shop in London, Ollivanders was terribly unassuming compared to the riotous oddity that was the rest of Diagon Alley during the summer.
A bell tinkled as I walked in, and I was struck with how tiny the shop was, as well as the quiet. Mum was waiting outside, having run into Mrs. Macmillan before we could enter and sent me on ahead with the 7 Galleons so she could gossip. I was perfectly fine on my own, and while I was a little concerned about facing the daunting prospect of receiving my wand all by myself, some part of me felt this was a private moment and didn't want her hovering to affect which wand I got.
Even so, I was awfully nervous, staring at the towering piles of wandboxes on narrow shelves that reached towards the ceiling. There was an odd prickling sensation, a feeling of ancient and secret magics. I idly wondered if it was the wands whispering to one another in an unknowable fashion, understood by none but perhaps their maker and the one they deigned to choose to wield them.
"Good afternoon," came the expected voice, appearing from apparently nowhere. Garrick Ollivander had no reason to raise his voice, but even so, his soft tones made me start. The wandmaker was visibly old with wild, wispy white hairs escaping from under his crooked Phrygian hat, skeletal hands clasped gently over frayed, faded robes. I met his eyes and was struck at how pale and silver they looked. The man had to have been half-blind, from how rheumy they seemed, and yet those pale orbs were focused upon me without error, vast and deep in sunken sockets. They didn't even blink.
"Good afternoon," I replied. "I've come for a wand."
"Yes, I've been expecting you, Mr. Godewyn," Ollivander nodded, moving closer. "Though part of me wondered if you would actually grace my shop. Your distant cousin doesn't plan to — I suspect he will be inheriting his father's wand — but as you have the blessing of parents to take care of you, I couldn't help but wonder if you would take your grandmother's or not. But then, it's the wand that chooses the wizard, and not the other way around."
I blinked. I certainly hadn't been expecting that.
"Of course, you knew that already." It wasn't a question, and I was caught even more off guard when Ollivander whipped out a tape measure marked in silver and began to take measurements. "Wand arm?"
I held out my right, mutely allowing the tape to measure my body and take note of the oddest of things while the wandmaker shuffled silently into the towering boxes.
"Yes, well, you've already started trying to master your magic, I see. Normally, most young wizards and witches prefer to wait. At least, the purebloods do - mimicking their parents as they grow up, seeing how they use their wands." Ollivander took a glance at me and then at some of the notes a quill had been jotting down while the tape continued to measure me. "But then, you're not that sort of wizard. Difficult customer then. Not dogwood, no, nor cypress."
"How did you know?" I couldn't help but wonder. As far as I knew, there was no way to tell that I'd been trying to learn magic on my own without telling anyone; all experimentation had been at home, where the Trace would never have caught me.
Ollivander didn't answer, instead drawing out several boxes from different shelves before selecting one to open and hand to me. I hadn't even noticed the tape had stopped measuring and rolled itself back up. "Here, Mr. Godewyn. Walnut and unicorn hair, nine inches, reasonably swishy. Give it a wave."
I took the wand, but didn't feel anything. It just felt like wood to me, but I still gave it a wave when I found that it had disappeared from my hand.
"Apparently not. Ebony and dragon heartstring, 13 and a quarter inches, fairly rigid. Try that."
I gave it another go, but it was out of my hands almost as soon as I had touched it.
"Thought so. Try—"
It went on for a while. Discarded wands were left to pile up on the only spindly chair in the store as Ollivander tried to get me to match with a wand. I was beginning to feel like Harry must have when he first got his own wand: a "tricky customer", as Ollivander put it. My mind inadvertently began to wander, wondering whether it was because I could remember my previous life, from before I was Ken, and knew things about this world that I shouldn't otherwise know. My musings were interrupted when Ollivander failed to hand me another wand in under thirty seconds and instead had head off to mutter to himself in a corner before approaching me slowly.
"Very tricky," he was muttering softly. "But maybe — but no, I would think not — and yet, it might actually fit — unusual combination — oh, why not give it a try." Ollivander extended another wand to me hesitantly. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
I froze at the description and started at the wand proffered to me. Holy shit. This was his wand. No way it would match with me… but I couldn't help it. I had to try. I gingerly reached out to take it and —
There was a quiet murmur and something flickered out of the corner of my vision.
—nothing.
I tried not to be visibly disappointed, but the wandmaker didn't seem to notice.
"Oh, I see," Ollivander grinned happily. "You were born in the winter, yes? The middle of January? Capricorn?"
I nodded.
"I see. Very close indeed. One moment. I don't think I've ever had to try this wand before, but maybe —" He disappeared into the shelves before returning with an old, dusty wandbox. "Here. English Oak and phoenix feather, thirteen inches, supple."
I reached out and took it gingerly, expecting nothing to happen. Instead, I couldn't help but feel the rush of magic tingling under my fingertips at the slightest touch of the wood.
What?
Then I gripped it, and the sensation of warmth and tinges of wonder surged through my heart and my hand. I raised it, and something felt…
Oh.
I gave the wand a simple wave and a rush of strength flowed through me, carrying with it a heat and certitude that filled the air with keen awareness. Sparks erupted in a riot of colors, like someone had taken Holi and Diwali and put them together to paint the world in vivacious, multi-hued brilliance, lingering as dancing lights flickering in the dusty shop. The grin on my face was infectious as I was filled with joy and overwhelming wonder at this display of magic. It was a dream come true.
"Oh, bravo! Well done, indeed, oh, quite a display," laughed Ollivander, taking the wand from my tingling fingers to put it back inside the old box and wrapping it with brown paper. "A little dramatic for an oak, but then, great expectations have a funny way of showing themselves."
"What?" I said dumbly, still a little overwhelmed by the sensation of the wand. Magic had been wonderous without it already, but I had been very much unprepared for how right the wand had felt.
"Indeed, yes, indeed. Of course, I expect you'll practice with your wand just as much as you do without, Mr. Godewyn. These things are clear to those who have studied wandlore — the wand chooses the wizard, but the connections are complex." Ollivander's hazy silver eyes glistened like a still lake reflecting the full moon. His words were soft, quiet, and yet echoed with some secret, ancient wisdom. "You've felt the initial attraction, a partnership struck, but now the quest of experience must be mutual. Phoenix feathers are like that; an English oak, even more so. The wand learns from the wizard, and the wizard their wand. Their loyalty is hard earned, so I expect you'll take good care of each other."
I nodded, feeling a little stupid. I could vaguely recall the qualities of a phoenix feather core from memories of my first life, but why English oak was particular escaped me. Though, it also felt strange for oak to be supple, so I imagined it was just the magic of the wand that made it that way; the strength of an oak, yet somehow, supple. Still, despite my experience telling me that I was capable of magic without it, I deeply wished to see how far I could go with it in hand.
Handing over the seven Galleons Mum had given me, I bowed in gratitude when Ollivander gave me the wand, and swallowed a gulp of nervousness. His pale eyes were still upon me, and I felt oddly like a butterfly under an aurelian's lens. Thanking the wandmaker profusely as I made my exit, Ollivanders spoke up just as I reached the door.
"Oh, and Mr. Godewyn. Do remember to use the Interface the next time you feel like experimenting. I always find a brief tutorial quite illuminating."
What?
I turned, bewildered, about to ask what the old man had meant by that, but he had vanished into thin air. All I saw was a dusty old shop filled to the brim with countless wands, and the distinct sense that I had missed something very important.
I was still quite dazed when I rejoined my mother outside the wand shop, where she'd been gossiping with Mrs. Macmillan about some scandal or other. Based on her double-take just by looking at me, and the grip I had on the twine and brown-paper package, I must have been quite a sight. Apparently, this warranted a pick-me-up, so she wrapped me in a tight hug and whisked me to Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlor for a cone.
Despite the immense variety of curious flavors to choose from, I ended up taking the simple mint-and-chocolate-chip. It did make me feel better, somehow, and I quietly debated whether to mention what had worried me. I decided not to, then explained how I had had to try loads of wands before Ollivander found the right fit for me. Mum extracted a promise from me that I'd show her the wand at supper when Dad got home.
From there, we made our way to Flourish and Blotts, where I was once more drawn into the wonderful world of magical books. However, after the experience at Ollivanders, my enthusiasm was strangely muted, tinged by the worry I had regarding Ollivander's words after I'd found my wand. I still wanted nothing more than to read anything and everything I could get my hands on in this bookshop, no doubts about that.
But, despite my rekindled desire to devour knowledge and master the arts of magic, I felt oddly shy and restrained. Before today, I knew that in both my lives I would have likely begun to start reading some of the books in the store itself. Now, I simply wished to find as many books as I could and abscond with them to some secret place where I could learn in private without worrying about the pale eyes of a half-blind wandmaker who seemed to see right through me. Running my fingers along the spines (and dodging the ones that tried to bite back), a shiver ran down my spine. I fingered the paper package containing my wand and focused on the wonder I had felt. The memory gave me strength.
I ended up having to negotiate with Mum for permission to buy more books than were listed as course materials. She was all too familiar with my habit of hoarding books, and I suppose I may have gone a tad overboard in trying to buy three year's worth of course books all at once. But I managed to negotiate for at least several reference books besides the course materials, as well as books on various topics I thought might have been slightly interesting to read in my free time. Oh, and novels; plenty of novels. I even managed to get a copy of Hogwarts: A History, if only to see what was so darn great about it. I'd leafed through it while browsing the shelves and hadn't seen anything truly special.
All it took to get the books I wanted was to give up sweets and ice-cream and other unhealthy snacks until I left for Hogwarts and a promise that I would spend at least an hour outside each day doing something active, and my biweekly tennis lessons for the summer didn't count. My stomach grumbled in protest, but I thought it was more than a fair deal.
We stopped by Gringotts on our way back to the Leaky Cauldron as Mum needed to speak to a banker about something. I was left waiting in the atrium on a bench alongside my new school supplies, and busied myself with staring at the architecture and trying to puzzle how Gobbledegook worked as a language. The goblins tended to speak it among themselves when discussing business, and it was harsh, rasping, distinctly inhuman and astonishingly weird. I didn't make much progress in figuring out what the goblins were actually talking about before Mum had returned, and made a note to myself that I ought to learn the language if I had the free time.
After returning home via the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron (another dizzying experience), I absconded with my precious books and my new wand and plopped into a comfy armchair to begin reading. Adalbert Waffling's Magical Theory occupied my time until Dad came home and Smokey had finished preparing supper.
I ended up regaling my amused father about the details of the day and all the things that had happened — though I left out Ollivander's parting message — and showed them my wand. When prompted to give it a whirl, I ended up trying to cast the Levitation Charm again. I practiced it without a wand yesterday, after all. But instead of floating gently upwards at my command, the spoon I had flicked at shot upwards like a rocket, embedding itself into the ceiling. Whoops.
Embarrassed, I tried not to flush as my parents laughed and enveloped me in a hug, full of congratulations. My baby brother had giggled and clapped his hands, demanding, "Again, again!"
After my father retrieved the spoon from the ceiling and repaired the hole with a wave of his wand, I did end up trying the spell again, this time with much better results. I got more hugs and couldn't help the feeling of pride that surged through me.
Once supper was over, I ended up continuing to read in my room until late, idly practicing some of the wand movements detailed in my books to get a better feel for the motions. I also started reading The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) and tried a few of the spells therein too, but I was not always successful. By the time Smokey came in and reminded me I ought to have been in bed, I had moved onto levitating my pillows in an attempt to construct a pillow-pyramid.
Lying in bed, I ruminate over the events of the day, thinking back on the sights and sounds and smells, and couldn't help the gleeful smile that came to my face. But then I was reminded of my wand and Ollivander's last, curious words which ruined the mood. I frowned thoughtfully, puzzling over them.
There weren't many ways to take his words and I worried that, somehow, it had been a message that none of what I was experiencing was real. The thought terrified me. I shot up and reached for the wand on my bedside dresser. The wood was oddly comforting in my hand, so I clutched it like a lifeline. Summoning up bravado, I stabbed dramatically into the darkness, as if lunging at some imaginary opponent to dispel my doubts.
Obviously nothing happened.
"Right," I muttered to myself, waving the wand like a sword. "As if I could just stab reality and prove it wasn't real. I can't even summon up an Interface or whatev—"
—and then something did happen.
A small roll of parchment appeared out of nowhere. It hovered in midair, and seemed to glow faintly in the darkness. Then it unrolled itself, blank and featureless before ink started appearing out of thin air, detailing elegant designs along the border and edges of the page. Then it began spelling out a message.
Greetings Jumper!
Welcome to the world of Harry Potter!
Hope you Survive the Experience!
I stared mutely at the parchment, partly in shock, partly in horror. Then I collapsed back into bed, laughing like a madman.
A/N: So, things actually start happening here. Unlike many other stories, Ken doesn't meet anyone worth mentioning at Diagon Alley because it's a trope that doesn't make sense to me - there's over a month between when the letters start arriving and when Hogwarts begins, and not everyone will buy their supplies at the same time. Even so, events progress, Ken has a perplexing experience in a wandshop, and a revelation is made. Things are beginning to get exciting.
Last edited: Mar 27, 2020
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
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kenmadragon
kenmadragon
Mar 27, 2020
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#28
Chapter 3
I was sad to say that I was not a Gamer.
No, that would have been patently ridiculous, as the main character of that particular webtoon could attest. I was not going to be living my life as if it were a video-game, and part of me was thankful for that. It sounded extremely annoying to have everything about your life and existence be quantified and assigned numerical values. I had had enough issues with confronting my shortcomings in my first life, and having numbers be assigned to everything would have aggravated me like you wouldn't believe.
Oddly, however, I wasn't freaking out about the revelation that I was a Jumper as much as I feel I ought to have. The concept was strange and actually quite frightening — in my first life, it was something people discussed as a fantasy. You made yourself (or some expy of yourself) a character in a story, having adventures across the multiverse at the behest of some extra-dimensional Benefactor. The Jumper journeyed from world to world, universe to universe, acquiring skills, powers, items and companions, and interacting with the universe they arrived in for a period of time before moving onto the next one in a quest to accrue enough merit to do… something. The end-goal was usually apotheosis after a fashion, and the ability to become an extra-dimensional being like the Benefactor was, but some liked to retire early, settling for more modest rewards. The entire process was called a "Jumpchain" and it seemed like my very first jump was right here, in the world of Harry Potter.
I, however, had absolutely no idea what my first-life's aspirations had been for becoming a part of this. Throwing away my first life and all the attachments I still had in it didn't sound like me. While I didn't have much to hold onto back there, what I did have was fairly strong, I thought, and I wasn't the sort to be brave or risk my life by embarking on this mad quest for power and glory. It seemed wrong that I couldn't remember what justified that decision.
And yet, according to the explanation given by the parchment, I had bartered that memory away for some reason, and I would never know why I started this journey in the first place. I had taken an extreme gamble and had had no guarantees that it would even pay off. But whatever interaction had been done between my previous self and whichever Benefactor was sponsoring my journey had been to afford me as great a chance as my previous self could manage. And I had absolutely no clue why I would do such a thing.
It had only been two days, and I was already feeling doubt. All I had was a message from my previous self:
Live, as best you can, and have fun along the way.
… I supposed that was a worthy enough goal.
I ended up going through all the documentation the Interface would provide as it detailed my greatest advantages in this world. The Interface itself was very informative, yet still quite limited in its functions and capabilities. It primarily served as a tool to keep me updated of things I needed to know but would have no memory of — most importantly, the result of my deals with my Benefactor.
Occasionally, I would chuckle quietly while reading through the various "Windows" the Interface parchment would provide, stifling the larger outbursts as my family was still asleep and I had no intention of waking anyone. Apparently, I had been uncharacteristically savvy about dealing with my Benefactor, and had managed to finagle my way into getting access to things that had memories of my first life crying out as "like, totally unbalanced".
Before arriving in this world, I had apparently filled out three documents to choose what I started off with in this world. This ranged from powers, skills, talents and aptitudes, gear, drawbacks, and other assorted necessities for survival and building a foundation of strength. Sadly, I didn't have full access to everything — certain aspects of my "Character Sheet" (to borrow a term from my days playing tabletop RPGs in my first life) were blotted out and redacted, but notes in the margin explained how they would become readable as and when I would be ready to know about them… Another aspect of the deal I had made, I presumed.
In short, each Jump Document is specific to a given universe the Jumper arrives in and grants the Jumper a certain amount of Points which they may use to purchase the things they wished access to from that universe. The three documents my first self had filled out were a Jumpchain compliant CYOA document for the Harry Potter setting and two supplemental documents to assist in making my way throughout my Jumpchain: the 'Essential Body Modification' Supplement and the 'Warehouse' Supplement.
Of the two supplements, the entirety of my Warehouse section was redacted. Apparently, I had access to an extra-dimensional storage facility, but it required a Key to open the door. Without the Key in-hand, I wasn't allowed to know what I had purchased in order to customize my Warehouse. Sadly, while I knew where the Key was, I had no idea how to retrieve it.
Perusing my selections from the other two documents was far more enlightening, and explained a lot about myself. For example, my uncanny skill at magic, particularly of the wandless variety, came from a purchase on the Harry Potter Jump-Doc. The rest of my oddities and superb capabilities mainly came from the bullshit I had gotten away in filling out the Essential Body-Mod supplement. In fact, I was quite flabbergasted by the temerity of my previous-self's decisions and choices, and couldn't help but marvel at how he'd somehow managed to convince my Benefactor to allow such unfair benefits.
Normally, the supplement should have only given me a single Essence — basically, access to the distilled powers of an Archetype — but somehow I'd managed to finagle my way into acquiring two: The Archmage and The Druid. The Archmage amplified my mental and supernatural capabilities, while The Druid boosted my body and natural instincts... along with some other benefits that I'd somehow managed to finagle myself into acquiring.
I couldn't help but giggle to myself as I read through everything, playing with the Interface and trying to figure out what all the redacted material might be until my body finally gave up the ghost and whisked me off the sleep.
The next morning, I set about trying to access the Dimensional Pouch that the Interface told me I had. As far as I could tell, the Key to my Warehouse was in it, as were all my other Jump-Item purchases besides my Wand — which I could only get from Ollivanders — and a Pet Owl, whose presence I had… mixed feelings about.
While I was no longer outright terrified of birds, I could not admit to being comfortable around them, even now. The memories of my irrational fright were still there, and I doubted they would ever disappear. While I no longer cringed nor fled from the presence of owls, mine still unnerved me a bit. He wasn't particularly striking, not any more than owls usually are, but I still found him mildly unsettling. Eventually, I decided that while I may never have the relationship with my owl that Harry had with Hedwig in the canon storyline, he was mine so I'd have to make the best of it.
I named him Damocles and promised myself I'd learn the spells to transfigure him into a kneazle, or better yet, a dragon as soon as possible. Damocles fixed me with a gimlet glare when I told him this. I got the distinct impression he didn't approve. Sadly for Damocles, I didn't care.
Anyways, I eventually deduced that the Dimensional Pouch I had been granted access to was not a physical bag that I had to locate in the physical world, but instead an "opening" I could create when necessary. After some experimentation, it turned out that it was actually quite simple to open up: I just had to focus on wanting to access my Inventory within the pocket-dimension, then put my hand into a pocket, a purse, satchel… any opening within reach, really. Then all I had to do was draw out the thing I wanted and could put it back just as easily. I ended up practicing how to use it with my hairbrush because I didn't want to accidentally drop my wand in there and lose it if I couldn't figure out how to get stuff back.
Turns out, there was already some stuff in there, but I waited till after lunch when Mum was busy working before bolting out for a copse of trees on the edge of the property where I'd have some privacy. The caution was well warranted because I apparently had a brand new Nimbus 2000 in that pouch and it only barely fit in the available space. Honestly, I was a little terrified of the Nimbus; I'd never given much thought to flying on a broomstick. Sure, I looked forward to learning how, but that fantasy had been limited to something a little more forgiving and pedestrian… and the Nimbus 2000 was a top-of-the-line racing broom and had phenomenal handling.
It would be like putting a Stradivarius in the hands of a child. I knew that I was in excellent shape, but I wasn't Harry with his preternatural gift for flying, nor did I have prior practice on a broom like other wizarding children did; Mum was a tad overprotective and thought little of brooms. She did lament constantly over how flying carpets were banned in the UK, but I wasn't sure how much safer a carpet would be over a broom. Either way, I was scared of the thought of myself on such an expensive and dangerous means of transportation. It was like the jitters I'd had for years when working my nerve up to learn how to drive a car in my first life all over again. All I could see were horrible accidents and images of myself mangled in a crash while my family wept at the funeral.
I also had a Dragon-Hide Jacket in the pocket, but it didn't fit me very well. Judging by the dark color of the snakeskin-esque leather hide, it either came from a Hebridean Black or a Hungarian Horntail. To my eyes, it looked very cool and felt incredibly durable and tough, but it was still a little big for me to wear. I assumed I would eventually grow into it, and that I might be able to learn resizing charms later on to help adjust the fit. Sadly, those weren't covered in my current textbooks; I suspected they were third-year material or something.
While outside, I also took the liberty of examining my physical perks. As I couldn't practice magic outside the house without breaking the Underage Magic Laws (and there was always the chance some Muggle might be traipsing through the woods who'd see me practice, thus breaking the Statute of Secrecy), I spent my time running around and leaping over hedges, taking full advantage of being in excellent shape. While I had no real skill with doing acrobatics, I was capable of climbing and vaulting over a wooden fence as I took to exploring the woods, much like I did when I was younger.
Beyond the physical benefits of the Druid Essence, I had apparently also gotten a perk called "Muggle Dueling" which gave me "excellent fighting abilities" according to the Interface. The description was very vague and didn't offer much in the way of explanation, so I had no idea how to determine the extent of it. "Excellent" wasn't much to go on, after all, but I supposed that it would at least put me a cut above the other children at Hogwarts in my year. The second part of the perk was far easier to test out — it granted me training in the use of muggle weaponry. While I didn't quite have a sword handy, much less an opponent, a fallen branch served as an imaginary stand-in once I'd trimmed it a tad with some nearby rocks. I ended up dueling imaginary foes as any child might, but the certainty in my swings and the way I began to instinctively correct my form to exhibit actual technique lended some credence to the perk's efficacy.
Similar things happened when I took up a larger branch and pretended it was a maple staff which I whirled and smacked into other trees. I found myself using movements and stances that I definitely knew but I certainly didn't remember training in. In my first life, I had received instruction in the martial arts as a child, but I hadn't gotten much further than basic knife-defense, and I later practiced saber fencing as a teenager, so I supposed that I might have been extrapolating that into knowing staff-fighting.
But that didn't explain how I could perfectly picture the steps needed to fieldstrip, clean and reassemble an M1911 firearm, despite never having touched a gun in either lifetime. Nor how I was perfectly confident that I could fire it without hurting myself in the process. That was a level of certainty that couldn't be explained as anything more than the power of my Muggle Dueling Perk.
I grinned to myself and continued to play outside. I needed to hammer these fighting instincts into myself till they were second nature. Half-remembered katas were practiced, and I ended up making new ones that leveraged my body's heightened prowess. If I ever got access to real-weapons, I knew I'd be practicing with them later on, just to be sure. I was eleven years old, and if I was going to survive in a world where lunatics like You-Know-Who and Grindelwald ran around, then I didn't want to freeze up or be caught off guard and die because I wasn't capable enough. And if that meant punching someone with my tiny fists, then so be it.
Whenever I wasn't running through the woods nor playing tennis with the Muggle children in town, I spent the majority of my hours studying my course textbooks for the upcoming school year. Mental enhancing perks from the Body-Mod allowed me to remember vast quantities of information, but I still needed to learn everything the old-fashioned way first. Thankfully, I also had the Determined perk, so I didn't get bored when flipping through texts that didn't really interest me — just based on their textbooks alone, I didn't expect I'd find Herbology compelling in the slightest, and while the text for a History of Magic was incredibly informative, it was awfully dry reading. The Potions text was also something of a snooze, though given what I knew of Professor Snape, I couldn't help but do my level best to focus on the material. I knew it was odd, but part of me wanted to impress the man, just to see if I could.
The Magical Theory book was the first I ended up finishing, but I forced myself to read it two more times over the month of August, just to be sure I really had it down pat. To my knowledge, it was perhaps the most fundamental of books for first-year spellcasting and would provide the foundation for all my studies in the future. So I made damned sure that my understanding of magical theory was solid before I got too crazy about trying out more spells.
And yes, I did practice spells while at home. I'd have been mad not to — my Perks ensured that I couldn't forget the knowledge I had acquired, and so long as Mum was in the house, then I was safe from the law when it came to experimenting with magic. Plus, I needed to get the hang of using my wand and doing more than just controlling manifestations of childish magic. Spell-casting was another beast entirely from what I'd been doing as a youngster, and with knowledge of the basic theory under my belt, I just had to practice to ensure my fundamentals were sound.
Naturally, this meant a lot of practice with all the different types of wand movements to become familiar with how my body had to move to get the right motions. It was only after I felt confident about my finesse with the wand that I actually tried out the spells detailed in The Standard Book of Spells. Then, once I felt confident I had gotten the spell right with my wand and practiced it for an hour or two, I swapped to doing them wandlessly.
The only spells I didn't feel confident in the slightest with practicing were the Transfigurations — too easy to mess up, and the ramifications for a faulty transfiguration could be disastrous. I promised myself that I would wait until I was at Hogwarts where there were older students and professors who could intervene should things go wrong. That didn't stop me from reading up on the theory aspects and learning the history, principles and methods involved with the discipline.
As the month went by, however, it became more and more grating that the only discipline of magic I could actually practice at home was Charms. Sure, the subject was at the core of over half of all spells in existence, but I knew for certain that knowledge and theory alone wouldn't help me do well in subjects like Transfiguration, Herbology or Potions. Merlin's beard, I found that even Astronomy was difficult to do without someone to double-check that, yes, the star I was trying to aim my telescope at was indeed Rigel, and that my amateur star chart was drawn accurately. I could memorize the moons of Jupiter all I liked, but the practical aspect of many vital subjects escaped me.
Whenever the frustration built up, I ended up delving more deeply into my books and practicing my spellwork, hoping that refinement of the simplest of spells would increase my confidence and ability to handle the more difficult spells I could learn at Hogwarts. That and reading books on subjects that I wouldn't be needing too much in the upcoming year, like reading Hogwarts: A History (which wasn't as interesting as Hermione made it sound in the original books) as well as the textbooks for The Study of Ancient Runes. Turns out, my knack for learning languages super-quickly also applied to dead languages like Ancient Runes. I had only spent maybe 16 hours over the course of a fortnight reading up on the subject, and already felt confident that I could take an O.W.L. on it… Though, I suppose that actually taking the subject in two years wouldn't hurt, just to see if there was a practical aspect to the subject that I was missing.
So totally absorbed in myself and in my studies, the weeks leading up to the end of August passed quickly, and on the 28th, I began packing my trunk in preparation for school. My parents and I would be traveling to London via a Portkey my father had arranged for the 31st and would then stay the night at the Leaky Cauldron while Smokey took care of my baby brother at home. Mum and Dad would Floo back once they'd seen me off at King's Cross, but I'd stopped caring much about the actual details of the plan half-way through their explanations.
Finally, I was going to Hogwarts.
A/N: Some last details and experimentation before the story actually starts picking up and we run into more canon characters. Things should be more interesting from here on out as Ken is forced to interact with his "peers" and deal with actually becoming a part of the plot. Naturally, nothing goes according to plan.
Last edited: Mar 27, 2020
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
Mar 27, 2020
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kenmadragon
kenmadragon
Mar 30, 2020
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#34
Chapter 4
The Hogwarts Express failed to live up to the hype.
Part of my disappointment might have had to do with how Platform Nine and Three-Quarters wasn't quite as busy as I expected when my parents and I rushed through the barrier. To be fair, we arrived fairly early: about 15 minutes to 10 o'clock in the morning, more than an hour before the scheduled departure. Given that we had loads of time before it left, I delayed boarding the train in favor of spending more time with my parents. Despite how excited I was to finally be going to Hogwarts, especially after the last month of doing little else besides preparing for the year ahead, I also felt ill at ease. I had gotten comfortable with my routine and home, and going to someplace new for months at a time was a big change. I didn't like change, and yet that was what I had to do in order to learn everything I would need and have access to the greatest school of magic in the world. I would have to get accustomed to the change and find my new home-away-from-home at Hogwarts.
I spent most of my time before boarding the train in my mothers' warm embrace, listening to her ramble about her own memories of going to school and how much she was going to miss me, how I would have to actually try and make new friends, to always wear clean clothes and wash my hands and face, to promise to try and eat healthy because she heard Hogwarts had little sense of proper food, to do well in my courses and never give the professors any trouble, and to always be helpful, and to write regularly, and on and on…
Dad was more stoic about his advice, though he kept a firm hand on my shoulder while we waited. His instructions were much along the same lines as Mum's were, though no less heart-felt. I was to make him proud and do my best and show the world what I could do. In Dad's view, while I would only truly make my mark upon graduation, Hogwarts was where I would get my start, so I had to make the most of it, and all that rot. I promised to be good and make him proud, but Dad just told me he was already proud — I swore I wouldn't let him down, and that just earned me a ruffling of my hair with his patting. That, naturally, set Mum off and she fished out a comb from her purse to straighten it again while I fidgeted under the attention. More and more people were filtering into the station, and their public fussing was embarrassing. I was 11, not a toddler like little Arnav.
Eventually, I realized that I'd need to board and find a compartment before the train got too full. We weren't scheduled to depart for a while still, but I begged off to find a compartment. Mum got a bit teary, and ended up kissing my cheeks and brows and strangling me with her hugs before fussing about my appearance again but I escaped her grasp and made my way onto the train and dragged by trunk down the corridor. I eventually found an empty compartment, thanked my lucky stars, and claimed it for myself. After taking out a book to read on the train-ride and stowing my trunk on the rack overhead, I caught a glimpse of raven-dark hair and cracked open the window; Mum had found me again and wasn't quite done saying goodbye.
I shut the window after my fellow compartment-mates and I had finished waving to our parents on the platform and King's Cross Station was but a blurry building in the distance. It was going to get windier if we left it open while the train picked up speed, and it was a long ride to Scotland. When I wiped my face with the edge of my sleeve, it was not to wipe away stray tears, and I will curse anyone who says otherwise.
My new friends were all first years, surprise surprise. It made sense, though, since none of us had been Sorted yet and thus didn't quite fit in with the older students. Of course, that didn't matter much because I was actually a tad familiar with at least two of the three girls that had decided to share my compartment.
The Patil twins, Padma and Parvati, were dark of hair and eyes. If one didn't know any better, you might mistake the three of us for relatives, but I think the twins would verbally lash anyone who made that insinuation; they were much prettier than I and would say so to anyone. Frankly, I quite agreed that that was true, though I silently felt they could always be nicer saying it. Still, the two were perfectly identical and even though I'd known them for years, I had trouble telling them apart. The most obvious way to tell the difference was by which of them did most of the talking — the talkative one was Parvati, and the quiet one was Padma. I supposed that's why I liked the twins; Parvati did enough talking for two, so she could do the talking for three just as easily, leaving Padma and I to quietly discuss our story books and stuff. Though, I hadn't seen the twins since the beginning of summer, so now that I had integrated the memories of my first life and had all those life-changing revelations followed by a month of study and practice, I felt awkward around them. They were still among the very few children my age that I had considered as friends while growing up in this life, even if we only saw each other rarely, but now that I knew what I knew, it was strange interacting with them.
Thankfully, the girl sitting to my left afforded me a decent enough reason to be awkward. Sue Li was another first year, and a new face for all three of us. She was a British-Chinese witch and a half-blood as it turned out, with a very long fringe that practically obscured her eyes. Part of me was astounded that she was even capable of vision with that curtain hanging in the way, but unlike me, Parvati had no compunctions about voicing her curiosity, much to Sue's panic. I found her a little timid at first glance, especially the way she flustered under Parvati's questioning. But Sue readily opened up when the twins began to discuss their family's trip to Lyon for the summer, as her father worked in the Department of Magical Transportation at the Ministry and she had been to plenty of places around the world as a child while accompanying him. World travel was very much something Sue knew plenty about and even I learned a thing or two just from listening in on her conversation with the twins.
When the witch came by pushing the snack trolley, I ended up buying several Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties and some Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. I had a weakness for sweets, something I got from Mum. I was actually quite proud of my restraint, but Parvati looked at me like I was going mad.
"Didn't you say you promised Auntie Maitri you'd give up snacks in exchange for all those books in your trunk? You were only whining about it an hour ago!" she accused as I was munching on the head of a Chocolate Frog. The candy kept squirming in my grasp, trying to escape while I turned the pages of Spellman's Syllabary.
I shrugged. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her. Besides, I was missing an Agrippa from my Chocolate Frog Card collection. Now I've got him."
Padma giggled as Parvati pouted at my response. "You know, we could always send her an owl once we get to Hogwarts. Just tell her all about how the second her back is turned, you're breaking all your promises," Padma threatened teasingly.
I momentarily panicked before remembering the exact words of my promise to Mum, shooting the quiet-twin an affronted look. "Our deal was only for a month, just until term began. As it is no longer August, I should be perfectly free to eat as much candy as I like."
"And what, eat until you get fat and as round as a Quaffle?"
"...Maybe," I smirked and the three girls giggled. I continued once they were done. "Course, if you did tattle to Mum, you realize I'd be forced to retaliate."
At this, Sue piped in curiously, "How so?"
I opened my mouth to answer, then paused, frustrated as I had absolutely no idea how I'd take revenge for being tattled on. Everything I could think up in that moment sounded stupid. They were only saying it to tease me, after all, and all my ideas were either disproportionate or beyond my meagre skills. I sat back with a huff. "I dunno. I imagine there's a book at Hogwarts with spells for turning someone's hair neon-pink or something…"
The three giggled at my expense. I pouted and studiously tried to ignore them in favor of finishing my half-eaten Chocolate Frog. When I opened up another, I was surprised when it slipped out of my fingers in a bid for escape. I was even more surprised when Sue shrieked in terror.
The frog had landed on the girl's face and was sitting on her nose, croaking. Sue whimpered, staring at it cross-eyed, and I lunged to snatch it off her but the frog leaped off just as my fingers skimmed Sue's fringe. Bowling over the poor girl, I lost sight of it when Parvati leaped over to our side of the compartment trying to catch it as well, inadvertently kneeing me in the stomach. Wheezing, I rolled off the bench as Parvati drew back and spotted it leaping for the window. But instead of the rolling English countryside, it landed on glass, so it leaped again.
"Getitoff, getitoff!" Padma shrilly screeched as it landed in her hair. Shaking her head vigorously, she tried to brush it off, but the frog wasn't having any of that and made to leap yet again. I had other ideas, and had had the time to whip out my wand.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" I cried, swishing and flicking while still lying on the ground. I had practiced the spell extensively and it showed.
The frog was frozen in mid-leap, caught by my spell and now hovering over my head. It croaked nervously as I finally got to my feet, smiling at it with vicious glee.
"A-Ha! Got you!" I exclaimed while the girls rearranged themselves and began patting down their hair and dresses. Sue took out a handkerchief to scrub at her face and Padma was looking for a comb in her satchel to fix her hair.
"Where on earth did you learn that, Kenny?" Parvati asked, staring at the floating piece of animated chocolate. "We haven't even started at Hogwarts yet!"
I shrugged. "Chapter 7 of The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1). I got bored waiting all month so I started reading the textbooks… and then I practiced when Mum wasn't looking."
It was at that terrible moment, all four of us mildly disheveled and disoriented, myself now levitating the Chocolate Frog, that the compartment door slid open and a bossy voice asked, "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."
All four of us glanced at each other, then at the floating Chocolate Frog, and then to the two first years standing in the corridor. The first had a lot of bushy brown hair in such a mane that it would have given Mum conniptions. Behind her, was a round-faced blond boy who I was much more familiar with. The boy was Neville Longbottom, and he looked both nervous, mildly miserable, and a tad bewildered. Judging by her appearance and authoritarian manner of speaking, the girl had to be Hermione Granger.
"Err, it wouldn't happen to have been made of chocolate, would it?" I joked uneasily.
Hermione and Neville also seemed to be taken aback by the scene, but Hermione had recovered much faster, albeit without much grace.
"No, Neville's missing his pet toad, Trevor. You look like first years, are you doing magic already too? That looks like a Levitation Charm, I've read about them, Chapter 7 of The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1), but I didn't realize we were supposed to have been practicing it already. Oh gosh, I must already be behind, aren't I? Nobody in my family is magic at all, so I didn't know we had to have been practicing Levitations before school started. I just learned all the course books by heart and practiced the simpler spells like the Wand-Lighting Charm, and had hoped it was enough. I must have a lot of catching up to do." I blinked as Hermione's words trailed off and her face grew more and more worried.
Strike that, no grace whatsoever.
Wow, she really said all that very fast, I thought. I don't think she even stopped to breathe.
"...Um, no, I don't think anyone else has actually opened our course books yet, much less practiced many spells," Parvati tried to soothe the quietly panicking Hermione. "I wasn't aware anyone was even allowed to practice actual spell-casting before we got on the train, and we grew up with magic."
Hermione blinked at that news, let out a soft, "Oh."
Padma shot me a snide look and pitched in. "Yes, students aren't supposed to use magic outside of Hogwarts, Kenny. We haven't even started yet, and you're already going to get in trouble."
I winced. She was technically right, I supposed, and her admonition did seem to make Hermione feel a little better, but now she looked less like she wanted to panic about being behind in studies and more like she intended to talk my ear off about perceived rule-breaking. The shift in her expression was very visible as Hermione seemed to have no capability for subtlety. Having experienced tirades about misbehavior only rarely from my mother — an experience I studiously aimed to avoid at all costs when possible, as I both disliked disappointing Mum as well as found her admonishments terrifying to suffer — and having no desire to be on the receiving end of Hermione's, I tried to come up with excuses, fast.
"Right, well, we're on the Hogwarts Express, so I don't believe it matters if we use magic on the train or not. And it's not like anyone here really cares whether we tried out a spell here and there while waiting to arrive at Hogwarts… I mean, it's magic! Who wouldn't want to try it out once they got their wands?" I tried deflecting blame, but I ended up babbling instead. Apparently, everyone looked a little guilty when I mentioned trying out spells when they got their wands (save Neville, who continued to look miserable) so I capitalized on that.
I was feeling oddly confident and much like Hermione, I could talk fast if I had to, so I made my flimsy excuses. "Besides, the only reason that rule's in place is so Muggles don't find out about magic, and so long as nothing bad happens, I think we're all in the clear as far as the rules are concerned, right?" There were some uneasy nods. I ran with it. "Right. Now, would someone please open the window for me because after where this little blighter's been, I doubt anyone's willing to have it."
"Here, let me," Sue said as she was closest. Once the window was open, I let the Chocolate Frog drop into my waiting hand then chucked it out into the English countryside before Sue shut the window again.
I tucked my wand back into my pocket and dusted my hands. "Well, that's settled then," I muttered before turning back to Hermione who had been standing behind me while I tossed out the frog. There was a moment of silence and I felt incredibly awkward now as she was still leaning over me to look out the window, very much in my personal space and totally oblivious to that fact. I didn't know what to do about that.
Eventually, Parvati had enough of it and sat up, sticking out her hand to Hermione, "I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Parvati Patil. My sister over here is Padma." Padma waved.
Hermione blinked, and then flushed before shaking her hand. "Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you."
"Kenneth Godewyn," I introduced myself with an uncertain wave.
"Sue Li," said the timid girl who was still scrubbing her nose, who then glanced at Neville, who'd been quiet all this time. He was still staring at the window and the rushing scenery outside, a wistful expression on his face. Eventually, he seemed to feel everyone's eyes turning on him and softly mumbled, "Neville Longbottom."
The uneasy silence settled again, and awkwardness resumed, three of us standing around in the compartment awkwardly, and the others still seated. Realizing that something had to be done or we'd be standing in uncomfortable silence for an eternity, I clapped my hands softly. "So! Now that we're all properly introduced, I hope we can all be friends at Hogwarts."
"Hear, hear," cheered Parvati, slinging an arm around her quietly smiling sister. Sue nodded and Hermione gave me a thankful, toothy grin. "Sounds good."
"Great. And that goes double for you, Neville. Don't think you're getting out of this by being so quiet!" I noted, stepping past Hermione to clap a hand on Neville's shoulder. The boy jumped at the sudden attention. "Now sadly, I don't think we've seen your toad, but it's getting late and I'm gonna have to step out of the compartment anyways so the others can change, so how's about I help you look for Trevor for a bit, yeah?"
"Sure. Thanks Ken," Neville gave me a weak, grateful smile.
"Splendid." With that, Neville and I left the compartment.
"Hey, wait for me!" Hermione called out as she hurriedly followed.
We didn't find Trevor while searching the train. We did run into Draco Malfoy and his two thugs, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, who asked if we knew whether Harry Potter was really on the train or not. They didn't even bother introducing themselves nor asking who we were, and I thought that was a little rude. But Draco was just as prissy and arrogant as described in the books I had read in my first life, so I didn't say anything. Of course, Hermione, so eager to please, told them exactly where to find Harry. I supposed she'd run into him and Ron earlier before she visited our compartment, much like she had done in the canonical storyline. Well, now I knew how Draco knew where to find Harry on the train; thanks a lot, Hermione, you guaranteed that Harry would hate Slytherin with a burning passion. Neville, Hermione and I ended up being shoved aside by Crabbe and Goyle so Malfoy could pass us on his way to meet Potter.
Hermione huffed for a moment, gathered her bearings, then rushed after them — presumably to tell them off and chastise them for being rude — leaving Neville and I to continue our search. It didn't go very well.
Eventually we made our way up to the Prefects' compartments, but seemed to have interrupted at a bad time because they wouldn't help much. Apparently we were nearing Hogwarts, and would need to get back to our compartments so that I, in particular, could change into my robes before we arrived. I also learned from Percy Weasley that my suggestion that the Prefects simply use a Summoning Charm to summon Trevor for us wouldn't work as the charm doesn't work on living things. Even then, they didn't know what Trevor looked like, so they might accidentally summon someone else's toad, even if the charm did work on toads. And no, they didn't want to bother with modifying the Human-presence-revealing Spell to work on toads, who knew what would blow up if they experimented with it on a train. Though, a Ravenclaw Prefect, Robert Hilliard, looked both scandalized and intrigued by the thought.
Defeated, we took to searching as best we could the Muggle way before a roving seventh year told us that we weren't far from Hogwarts and that I really did need to get changed. Sighing, I reminded myself that I didn't have to worry too much about Trevor the toad, he'd turn up eventually… at least, he did in the canonical storyline, anyways.
Neville and I parted ways to go to our own compartments. Once there, I tossed my coat into my trunk and pulled my robes on before buttoning up. I wasn't sure I'd need my pointed hat, but none of the other first years seemed to be wearing them, and it'd probably be a hassle to deal with while sorting, so I tossed mine back in my trunk. It was a pity, that, as I rather liked wearing the hat, and all the older students were wearing theirs.
Eventually, the Hogwarts Express came to a halt and we disembarked at Hogsmeade Station. Much as I expected, Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys, was calling for first years to gather around him so he could shepherd us to the piers where all those small boats were waiting. Just as I had always imagined, Hagrid was enormous, and took up an entire boat, all by himself. He had this air about him, though, that smelled of earth and felt very friendly and warm — I decided that even if I knew that Hagrid was a good person because of the knowledge I had from my first life, I'd still have found the man likable despite his shortcomings.
Sue, Padma, Parvati and I shared a boat across the Great Lake and tried not to rock or fall over as it propelled itself over the dark waters below. The surface of the Great Lake reflected the shimmering stars above like a mirror, making our first glimpse of Hogwarts from the water absolutely breathtaking. I think my heart might have skipped a beat at the sight of the castle's awe-inspiring beauty and the wonder it inspired within me set my soul ablaze.
We ducked past the curtain of ivy and eventually docked under the castle. Trevor the toad was discovered to have already arrived ahead of us (somehow), after which Hagrid took us up the steps to the massive oak doors that barred the front entrance of Hogwarts. His fist slammed into the doors like thunder when he knocked and we were met by Professor Minerva McGonagall. Contrary to my expectations, she looked much like Dame Maggie Smith did in the Harry Potter movies, albeit a decade or two younger. I vaguely recalled that Smith must have been in her late 60s when the first Harry Potter film had been released in my first life, but Professor McGonagall was only in her mid-50s as far as I could tell by my second-life's memories, and she looked quite younger than she actually was.
Nevertheless, I kept my thoughts to myself and followed along with the rest of the first years through the massive entrance hall and into a small, side-chamber off to the side where we would wait to be called in for the Sorting Ceremony. Professor McGonagall gave her spiel, but I already knew all that she was going to say, so I mostly tuned her out while quivering in anticipation. I did straighten up when her eye passed over me, and idly brushed my hair to be a tad more presentable, though. Then she left us to wait. Some ghosts showed up, and I was very much fascinated to meet them, but I didn't have much time to observe nor ponder them before the Deputy Headmistress returned and began to escort us into the Great Hall.
As we formed into a line, I couldn't help but feel anxious about what the Sorting Ceremony would have in store me.
A/N: Finally at Hogwarts! Just need to be Sorted, and then the real fun begins. We've also begun interacting with more canon-characters, and things are starting to pick up. Sadly, not really much to say here in the Author's Note, but I'm quite looking forward to the next few chapters. Would have gotten this chapter out earlier, but the weekend had me surprisingly distracted.
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
Mar 30, 2020
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kenmadragon
kenmadragon
Apr 2, 2020
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Chapter 5
Stars twinkled in the Great Hall and I was absolutely enchanted.
While the sorting scene as depicted in my memory of the first film painted an impressive tableau for a student's entrance into a school of magic, it had nothing upon the sight I was beholden to. Once more, and not for the last time, I lamented the inability of filmmakers to be capable of capturing such transcendent beauty.
The Great Hall was massive in scale, housing hundreds of students and dozens of faculty with plenty of room for everyone. The entire hall was lit by thousands of bewitched candles that gave off light without burning wax and cast the Great Hall in dancing, flickering luminescence. The dark tables seemed longer than trees were tall and were festooned with plates and goblets made of gold and cutlery wrought of pure silver. The enchanted ceiling above was barely recognizable by how seamlessly the walls turned into the open night sky above. It was as if there was no ceiling whatsoever and I, like many of my other fellows, couldn't help but gape at the moon shining dreamily upon us amidst the twinkling of distant stars. Ghosts hovered and flitted through the hall, drifting like silvery mist, ephemeral as witchlights and wisps, looming and watching from the shifting shadows. Countless faces peered out at us, draped in their dark robes and pointed hats, and I got the distinct impression that the air of mystery and intrigue that emanated from the countless faces in the flickering candlelight might become familiar, but would never grow old.
It was here, in the majesty of the Great Hall, that I truly appreciated the mystique of wizardry, and the way magic's casual opulence and subtle enthrallment could become truly miraculous.
Then Professor McGonagall brought out a stool and placed that old, weatherbeaten, tattered, frayed, often-patched, dirty Sorting Hat upon it and I couldn't help but grin in delight and wonder as the Hat twitched. I resolved that I would have a hat just as wondrous (if not so shabby) of my own someday, when it opened a rip in its side and burst into song.
The lyrics echoed in my heart, a new tune to a familiar song, and all at once, I realized that soon I would be under its brim where it could peer in my head. Then it would take a look at all that I was and decide my fate. I didn't know what to think about that — until this point, I hadn't once considered what the Hat might see when I put it on.
Would it only see my life as Ken, or would it see memories of my first? Would it know the things I had done, in this life and in the one before? Would it know what I knew? Would it discover all those secrets I had of the future, learned from the books and films of my first life, only recently remembered? Would it know of my plans and aspirations? I knew it could see things about myself that even I didn't know were there, and I shuddered to think of what judgement it might pass on my unconscious thoughts and feelings. Fear gripped my heart, and I was momentarily shaken with doubt and hesitance.
Professor McGonagall continued to read out names, sending my fellow first years up to the stool. The Sorting Hat would take but moments to decide their fates and Sorted each one to thunderous applause and welcome. People had been sorted into every house in short order, and I was still trying to get over my apprehension when McGonagall called out my name.
"Godewyn, Kenneth!" I momentarily cursed my surname for starting so early in the alphabet. I didn't think I was ready.
I made my way up from my spot in line nervously, staring at the hat which seemed to grin without a face, sensing me somehow. I glanced at the Professor, but she only motioned for me to take a seat. I swept the Hat off the stool and plopped down. I held it gingerly, staring for a moment, before I closed my eyes.
Now or never, I told myself, and put it on, letting it fall over my eyes so all I could see was the black lining inside.
"Intriguing," came the small voice, like a whisper in my ear. "Oh, how difficult, how complex… An old soul, aren't you? That makes things difficult. Very difficult. I can see plenty of curiosity and a thrive to learn… but ambition aplenty as well. Your loyalties are hard-earned, but you stand by those precious few — you have such potential, don't you? Such fire and will, but I can see the doubt that plagues you. You already have some idea of what the future holds in store for you, don't you?"
Yes, I thought, unable to lie to the hat that was poking around in my head. I tried to organize my thoughts and keep it from learning my secrets. But, as I was unpracticed at Occlumency, my paltry efforts just made the Hat's chuckling echo through my skull.
"Oh, how amusing. Don't bother worrying about it, I won't tell anyone what delightful little secrets you have. Though, I do suppose the rest of tonight's Sorting has been a little spoiled for me. You already know where most of your fellows whom I have yet to see will end up, and now I do too." The Hat seemed to chide me for that, and I was a little perplexed, wondering how much it was capable of extracting from my head. Naturally, it sensed my worries easily, and assuaged them. "Don't worry, my boy, I can see less than you suspect, but more than you would expect. I am a Thinking Cap, after all, there's nothing I cannot detect!"
I frowned slightly while the Hat chuckled at its rhyme. Oh. So you know what I know of the future then?
"I do," confirmed the Hat in its small, soft whisper that only I could hear. "I see what you know might come to pass, as well as the countless variations of that future that you have observed as your previous self. I know how you came to observe them, and I know that your presence is an unforeseen wrinkle in the way things are meant to be. And yet, in this world, here you are, under my brim; and while you've seen many possible futures ahead, ours is yet to be written. Sadly, I fear that your wrinkle in what-may-be might make things difficult for you in the years ahead. I wish you the best of luck, dear boy. You'll certainly need it!"
What does that mean? I thought back, a little confused. I know how things would play out if I wasn't here. If I stick to the background, get placed in a house where I can't affect things too much, then events should still proceed just as I know they ought to.
"Not so," cautioned the Hat. "I can see who you are and I know what you know. I've been peeking around your head, and I know your heart just as I know your wonderful little mind. No matter where I put you, you'd make a fine mess of things, and the future will be unlike any you have dreamed of. Similar, yes, in the way that certain realities are inescapable, but you cannot escape who you are, and thus the future remains uncertain."
Well, that sucks, I pouted. Then place me where I'll do less damage to the way the story is supposed to go. It turned out alright for everyone when Kenneth Godewyn didn't exist.
The Sorting Hat laughed. "Too late for that, I'm afraid. I know what you know, see what you saw and hear what you heard. And while you're plenty sharp, dear boy, I can still think rings around you. The 'damage', as you say, is already done. It is better to accept that now than to cling to the notion that your presence hasn't already begun to warp what you know. Take my advice instead: rather than assume events will occur exactly as you remember them, do as you will and let your own actions serve to make your desires a reality. You have a gift — it would be a shame if you let that gift go to waste."
I pondered the Hat's words for a moment. Despite how much I hated to admit it, the thing had a point. I was not the type to commit myself to any course of action too easily — too reluctant to take on responsibilities I felt unready for and too stubborn to know when I was in over my head — but I realized that given my status as a Jumper, coupled with the capabilities I had, I was incapable of avoiding things entirely. Besides, my own ambitions and dreams would run into conflict with the canonical storyline eventually. I wanted to master magic and learn as much of it as I could. I wished to amass the power and skill necessary to rival the undisputed masters of wizardry — to succeed Dumbledore, and be spoken of in the same breath as Merlin. I wanted to have a life of magic and wonder, to make friends and have new life experiences which my first life had lacked. To see things and do things I wouldn't have thought possible otherwise. I could do none of those things if I did all I could to hide in the background of the plot, being unnoticed by all as I tried not to affect the world in any significant way — that was no way to live!
The Hat was right; I couldn't fault its words.
Okay then, I'll do it. I promise that I won't stay on the sidelines too much, and will live my life regardless of what happens. I'll make my own destiny. I decided reluctantly, but committed myself to this resolution anyways. But don't expect everything to go all hunky-dory…
"I wouldn't count on it! Let the dice fall where they may!" laughed the Sorting Hat. "Now that we've finally gotten that pesky little obstruction out of the way, we can finally get down to properly Sorting you. The reluctance to do anything was making it difficult to delve that deeply, muddying the waters, so to speak. But now that it's gone, I can see that we're just as difficult as ever! What to do, what to do…"
Why? Am I stuck between two houses? Like Hermi—I mean, Professor McGonagall? I wondered.
"No, and don't even imagine that I have forgiven you for spoiling that little detail for myself - knowing I've got a second McGonagall to agonize over ruins the fun." I wasn't entirely sure if the Hat was pouting that I knew Hermione would be a tough cookie to sort or if it was complaining that it already knew where she would be Sorted in the original story-line, depriving the Hat of a four-and-a-half-minute debate.
Then, what? Am I not a good fit for any of the houses? I worried. That had been a constant worry back in my first life's childhood — that should I ever arrive at Hogwarts, there would be no place for me. That nightmare had terrified me more than I'd care to admit.
"No, no, you've got enough power-hungry ambition to suit a Slytherin, the loyalty and compassion of a Hufflepuff, the zest for learning and knowledge inherent to a Ravenclaw, and the stubbornness and pride of a Gryffindor. A little bit of all four, it seems, but not enough in a single one that would make the choice clear. The trick, as it always is, is figuring out which house would help you grow best. Difficult, difficult indeed."
I frowned at the description. That was...painfully honest. I told the Hat. I'm not sure I appreciate that blunt summation of my character, though I suppose it wasn't totally wrong…
"Yes, well, I'd be doing you no favors if I sorted you improperly, now would I? I take great pride in sorting everyone correctly — never made a mistake, not once, and I never will. Now, I think we can eliminate Slytherin; politics has never been your game, nor are you the sort to make allies who might play it for you. While your ambition and surprising willingness to learn about the Dark Arts would fit in there quite well, you would not thrive in Slytherin."
I breathed a sigh of relief. If I was a Slytherin and my talent for wandless magic was made public, I'd probably have been marked a nascent Dark Lord within a day.
How about Ravenclaw? I'm certainly clever enough, and to learn all I can about magic has been a life-long dream of mine.
"This is true, Ravenclaw would suit you well. Surrounded by like-minded peers, you would find yourself very comfortable there among Rowena's flock, and I am sorely tempted to put you there. However, there's still the matter of your ego to consider, and also your predilection for isolationism. You would indeed be surrounded by the books and learning you so deeply love in Ravenclaw, but would not find what you truly needed to grow, nor the drive to excel for any reason beyond the petty: to prove that you're just as smart, if not smarter, than your peers," explained the Hat. I was disappointed at this answer as I thought that the archetypical Ravenclaw suited me far better than any other House. To hear that my ego and introverted tendencies (which I thought would be normal among Ravenclaws) was a factor against sorting me there bothered me more than I cared to admit. "Besides, there's your history of ornithophobia, and your impatience when confronted with a riddle you're incapable of solving. You'd never make it into the Common Room alone, and you don't easily make friends."
I thought I was over that irrational fear of birds in this life! I protested.
"And yet the stain on the psyche never goes away, just as your owl, Damocles, can attest. Haven't given him much thought this last month, have you? No, I wouldn't surround you with reminders of the things which frightened you as a child in a home that should be comfortable to you. No, while you are otherwise an excellent fit for Ravenclaw, I will not sort you there," explained the Hat, who then continued to discuss what was best for me, regardless of my thoughts on the matter.
"Sadly, though I think you would certainly find a true home in Hufflepuff and the support you need to resolve your myriad flaws and fears, you've already promised that you would forge your own destiny. And while hardwork and fairplay would certainly take you far in that regard, I can see inside your head: you'd easily grow complacent in Hufflepuff, surrounded by those who would happily enable you to progress at your own pace if you wished them to, rather than push yourself to truly grow."
Really? That's the only reason I can't go to Hufflepuff? Because I'd get complacent? I complained once more. That doesn't sound like me… at least, not anymore…
"And yet, your argument there proves the point. I know you better than you do, boy, because I'm right here on your head and there's nothing you can hide from me. Without a kick in the pants every now and then, you'd get complacent in Hufflepuff, and you know it. Besides, you've done wonders about trying to keep in shape this time around, best not tempt you to ruin it with the ease of sneaking snacks and sweets from the Kitchens so close to the badger's den," chuckled the Hat.
My heart sank. Ravenclaw had been my first-choice of Hogwarts house in my first life, and Hufflepuff had been second. With Slytherin eliminated, that only left —
"—yes, where your hubris and ego would push you to do well, surrounded by those whose fates you know already and whose lives would be tied to yours. In the house of the brave, the chivalrous, and the astoundingly reckless, you would be truly challenged to play a delicate balancing game and be legitimately pushed to grow. Besides, with your selection of abilities, placing you there is guaranteed to have devastating consequences on the future you know — all the better to ensure that you act upon your knowledge and forge your own destiny. Yes, I think that once we've set the others aside, the choice is quite clear. Better be…" the soft whisper gave way as the Sorting Hat ripped open its mouth to roar:
"...GRYFFINDOR!"
There was a tentative pause before a roar of applause erupted from the house of the lions and polite clapping from the rest of the Great Hall. I stood up and took off the Sorting Hat, narrowing my eyes as I turned it around to stare into the fraying cloth.
"We'll have to chat again some other time," I promised in a whisper, very much annoyed. The Hat seemed to grin from the rip as I handed it to Professor McGonagall who gave me a soft, proud smile. Emboldened, I turned to the High Table where the professors offered me their own congratulations. Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling with delight.
I averted my gaze then made my way over to the Gryffindor table where I took a seat amongst my new house-mates, near where the other first years would all gather to sit amongst the older students. I was met with hearty greetings and slaps on the back and congratulations. In the commotion, I was surprised by only a single question offered as a greeting.
"So, how does it feel to be a Hatstall?" asked Percy Weasley, identifiable by his red hair, glasses and Prefect's badge.
"What?" I said stupidly, not having expected that.
"A Hatstall; when the Sorting Hat takes more than five minutes to decide where to sort a student. It's incredibly rare. You took far longer than that — some people were starting to get worried that something had gone wrong with the Hat… or with you." explained Percy, who shot a glare at some other Gryffindors down the table at the end. But I already knew what a Hatstall was; what I hadn't been aware of was exactly how long I'd been sitting under the Hat.
In retrospect, the fact that my silent discussion with the Hat had taken an inordinate amount of time wasn't very surprising, though it had certainly seemed exceedingly odd to the other Hogwarts students. Comparatively, Anthony Goldstein's sorting into Ravenclaw happened relatively quickly, allowing some to breathe a sigh of relief that things were continuing apace… though those turned into groans just as quickly when Hermione Granger sat under the hat and took a few minutes herself.
However, it seemed like the Hat made its decision quicker than I recalled it did in the original storyline, as it wasn't long before Hermione walked over to the Gryffindor table and took her seat right next to me. I supposed that having my memories of where my classmates were originally sorted meant that the Hat just had to confirm the decisions it had made in the original storyline, so the rest of the sorting proceeded quite quickly. The only other "more-than-a-minute, but less-than-a-Hatstall" sorting was Neville Longbottom, who I supposed would have still needed convincing on accepting that he was worthy of Gryffindor.
I actually had to stuff my fingers in my ears when Harry Potter was sorted into Gryffindor, but unlike the others in my house, I had been disabused of my notions regarding the Boy-Who-Lived over a month ago when my first life's memories had resurfaced and reasserted themselves. I just gave him a silent nod when he sat down, but the poor boy was too overwhelmed by everyone else's boisterous greetings that I went unnoticed. I didn't mind.
Eventually, the Sorting was completed, Ronald Weasley took his seat beside Harry, Dumbledore said a few mad words, and the feast appeared. I was a little surprised, yet very much grateful, that in addition to the dozens of different meat dishes there were several vegetarian options for those whose stomachs quailed at the thought of eating meat. Despite being raised in 20th century Britain, it seemed like I was still a vegetarian in this life just as I had been in the previous, so the thought of eating meat made me feel nauseous. In the weeks prior, I had idly dreaded the thought that the only meals at Hogwarts would be primarily meat-based, but was thankful that that was not the case. I half-suspected that there were charms in place that told the House Elves in the Hogwarts Kitchens what types of food we students liked to eat, and the astounding variety of dishes was well appreciated. While diving into the dishes presented to us, I resolved to figure out where that painting of a bowl of fruit was someday so I could thank them personally.
I ate heartily enough to rival Ron and discussed the matter of ghosts with the other first years, then hesitated when the main courses disappeared and desert took their place. I ended up succumbing to my weakness for sweets once more and joined in the discussion of brief family histories briefly when it came up in conversation, though most of my focus was on listening in on Hermione rambling about her expectations to Percy who ended up explaining the likely realities. I wasn't much for talking about myself, and I was actually quite interested in learning more about what Transfiguration classes would be like but didn't want to overwhelm Percy with even more questions. Listening in while Hermione talked to the Prefect gave me the best of both worlds.
I said nothing when Harry winced at the pain in his scar when looking at the professors at the High Table and thought quietly when Dumbledore gave his final words and warnings. I didn't want to reveal anything too early, but resolved to further plotting about how I would take advantage of my meta-knowledge at a later time. When the school song was sung, I joined in with my own take on the tune, like everyone else, and found it great fun, if very silly indeed. Unlike my first life, I hadn't much practice with singing, and might have been a little off-key. Plus, I was 11, so that was a big difference too.
Then we left the Great Hall, and I took great pains to try and memorize our path towards Gryffindor Tower, as well as the many halls and corridors and staircases and passageways that were along the winding route. I didn't want to get lost in the future. While my memory was prodigious and I had a knack for directions that transcended lifetimes, Hogwarts was famous for being a particularly challenging castle to navigate with all of its silly little oddities. I wanted to absorb as much of it as I could.
Sadly, our progress was temporarily stymied by Peeves the Poltergeist, who fled at Percy's threats to summon the Bloody Baron, and we made our way to the Tower. Percy gave the painting of the Fat Lady the password and we entered the Common Room before finding our beds at the very top of the boy's dormitory's spiral staircase. The other Gryffindor boys and I pulled on our pajamas and collapsed into bed, exhausted by our long day.
Of course, before sleep could claim me, I was met with another parchment from the Interface, floating over my head and visible only to me. It opened itself and scrawled out its message:
Congratulations on being Sorted into Gryffindor House!
Your Character Sheet has been updated.
I idly flicked my way to check the updates to my character sheet and noted that there were a few sections that were no longer blotted out nor redacted. After re-reading the new information and then the rest of my sheet, just to be certain, I chuckled at the cheek of my Benefactor.
Then I drifted off to sleep.
A/N: Woof, Sorting took a very long time to get done, but it was necessary for the plot. Besides, without that, being tossed directly into Gryffindor wouldn't have seemed right. But, given how surprised I was about when the quizzes would often waffle about where I was sorted, my last sorting-quiz tossed me into Gryffindor, then told me I was very close into getting Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff too. I figured I'd play into it - I know that I could personally have done well in any of the three, but Gryffindor is where the most chaos to the timeline can be wrought, so the Hat threw me in there— because if a butterfly is going to muck things up anyways, might as well toss in a bewildered dragon. In for a penny, in for a pound, and all that. Next couple chapters will be breezing through some of the earlier lessons of first-year, and time will pass us by quickly. I can't wait!
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
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kenmadragon
Apr 4, 2020
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Chapter 6
Life at Hogwarts was a lot of work.
Like any major life-change, it took some getting used to. I hadn't shared a room with anyone since I was in university in my first life and boarding school in Scotland was not much like that. For one, I had five roommates and all of us were pre-teens. Second, I didn't have a unique course schedule separate from my roommates to provide some variety and was stuck having to take all the same classes at the same time as every first-year Gryffindor. Thirdly, meal times were fairly fixed so I couldn't really hole up with a good book while eating like I was accustomed to because someone would try and rope me into some inane conversation instead; Ron was especially guilty of this and had the particularly awful habit of talking while stuffing his face.
In my defense, I had little interest in Quidditch nor in any of Ron's other interests (besides wizarding chess), and found the red-haired boy abrasive. I also had little in common with Dean and Seamus as I hadn't much interest in muggle pop-culture and sports like those two did; I followed tennis, but most of that was just osmosis from Dad and Dean knew nothing of the game. Despite having attended a Muggle primary — Ron and some of the older Gryffindor purebloods at the table seemed flummoxed by that detail when I explained this over a weekend luncheon — I hadn't really connected with the other children when I was younger and my knowledge of modern muggle entertainment was cursory at best.
Comparatively, Harry and Neville were tolerable, despite how much Harry hung around Ron all the time; both were reasonably quiet and didn't bother me much when I read books at the table. I made sure to keep at least one of them around as a buffer between myself and the other boys if I could help it — Ron especially. I knew that the boy would grow up… eventually. But in the first few weeks, I couldn't help but marvel at what a transformation that maturity would bring. If only it would happen now…
In other news, Hogwarts is also incredibly complicated to navigate. Even with a decent head for directions and mapping, on top of my Archmage Essence enhanced mind letting me memorize every route I took each time, I still got lost quite often. I needed a couple of weeks to actually map the majority of the castle's main thoroughfares in my head, especially as there were tons of "secret" passageways with ridiculous requirements that were commonly used by students and faculty alike. Any free time that wasn't spent reading as many books as I could check out from the library, practicing magic (with then without my wand) in any empty classroom I found convenient, or doing homework was spent trying to explore the castle in the first two weeks.
I did end up finding the Kitchens early in the second week. After confirming that I did tickle the right pear, I made sure to greet the castle's House Elves and thank them for the vegetarian options at mealtimes. They seemed surprised that a first-year Gryffindor had actually found the Kitchens so quickly but were mostly just happy for the company. I think they got lonely when the only ones who dropped by were Hufflepuffs looking for a midnight snack.
Eventually I had to beg off from being offered tons of snacks as "trial recipes" for improving the Hogwarts menu lest I be late for Charms, but I couldn't see anything but joy in the Kitchens. The House Elves at Hogwarts were simply delightful little beings and reminded me so greatly of Smokey that I almost felt homesick. The tea they served helped ameliorate that longing, though, so I supposed that their empathy and dedication to good service meant they expected such from first-years and knew exactly what we needed. I was supremely thankful for that.
Being near so much positivity must have been how Hufflepuff house kept its spirits up all the time — the Kitchens really weren't that far from the entrance of their Common Room after all. Found that one too, though I had the advantage of knowing exactly where to find it so it wasn't like Hufflepuffs' famed security and secrecy was broken. Not yet, at least. The 'Puffs prided themselves on having the most secure Common Rooms in the school, so knowing that I knew exactly where their entrance was, not to mention the method of entry, would have been an unnecessary blow to their pride.
I was still having trouble finding that painting on the seventh-floor corridor of the wizard trying to teach trolls the ballet, but I knew I would find it eventually. The problem was figuring out exactly which passage and staircase combination you needed to get to the correct seventh-floor landing for the correct wing of the castle, and then finding the right corridor starting from there. No matter, I would find the Room of Requirement eventually — I had to if I was going to accomplish my goals. The Room's power was simply too useful not to take advantage of.
In the meantime, I contented myself with constant practice and revisions of the first year material. I was doing aces in practically all my subjects over the first couple weeks, especially those where my memorization of the course books and previous attempts at spell-casting over the summer before term started helped earn me some house points for Gryffindor. Hermione seemed almost stunned at the revelation that someone else was stealing house points from her by memorizing everything just like she did; she always had her face screwed up with concentration whenever I saw her buried in a book in the library or in the Common Room. I think I had accidentally created a competitive monster by raising my hand to answer questions in our first week of classes… but I would have to admit that having Hermione nipping at my heels provided excellent motivation to keep up my studies.
Speaking of studies, I didn't actually do much to alter events in the first few weeks. I mostly acted on long-honed instincts from my first life of being a model student: I was quiet and attentive in all my classes — save History of Magic, where I divided my attention between idle note-talking about the relevant details and doing homework for other classes — and volunteered to answer questions every now and then. I would probably have to work on my handwriting at some point as my finesse with a quill was somewhat lacking, but found that my ability to memorize what the professors talked about made note-taking less stressful. It didn't really help that most classes were heavily theory-centric in the first few months of school as we learned the basics of all magic. I made a personal note to grab some fountain pens over the holidays.
Comparatively, Potions was something of a nightmare. The Archmage Essence granted me a moderate affinity for learning the art, but I didn't have any supernatural levels of talent in the field as I did with general spell-casting. Coupling that with Professor Snape being a right terror in the dungeons didn't help matters at all. Sure, the Professor clearly knew his stuff and he could tell exactly what was going on with our potions at any time, irregardless of which step we were at or what mistakes we had made along the way. All he had to do was hover over our shoulders and dissect us and our potions under his dark eyes and hooked nose and all would be revealed to him.
Still, I couldn't help but admire his style. He had dark robes which billowed whenever he moved (yet never got caught in anything nor created a safety hazard), a voice that captured my attention whenever he spoke (no matter the volume), and magnificent facial hair that I almost wanted to emulate one day when I was older. Though his demeanor and looming presence left much to be desired, Professor Snape was a master of his subject and was unparalleled in his ability to analyze our mistakes and inform us of how we could correct them, had we a lick of actual sense.
He just said all of that while insulting me, my family, my house, and my general intelligence all at the same time. I hated him for that, but memorized his instructions anyways. Professor Snape knew much more than I did about the subject, and despite his nasty reputation and demeanor I had to respect his masterful skill at potions. He was just awful at teaching pre-pubescent children (reminding me more of my old maths professor from university in my first life who hated teaching but thrived doing research) and blatantly favored the Slytherins. The man praised Malfoy's technique for stewing slugs, of all things… A master of his art, sure, but not the best teacher if you were a Gryffindor.
So I did my best to avoid dealing with Snape directly as much as possible while absorbing as much knowledge as I could from his "lessons". After trying and failing to be called to answer questions in Snape's class during our first lesson, I eventually gave it up for allowing Hermione to raise her hand every potions class instead; she had a thicker skin than I did when it came to being ignored by a professor. I resolved that I would only raise my hand to ask questions in Potions, and only if I was willing to be insulted while I got an answer. It wasn't ideal, but it was… manageable.
In fact, I ended up learning a lot more by helping to keep watch over Neville during Potions. After Neville had caused Seamus' cauldron to explode and got sent to the Hospital Wing while erupting in boils, no one was keen on being Neville's partner again in the class. His nerves always got the best of him, and Potions was simply a disaster waiting to happen. So when no one else plopped down next to him in our second Potions class, I decided to put my bag there instead.
Neville had looked at me with rather wide eyes when I sat beside him before staring at his desk, mumbling, "You don't have to do this… I almost hurt Seamus last week. Ruined his cauldron too."
"I know," I said. "I was there. And it was a simple mistake, anyone could have done it. You just lost track of things because you got nervous. Professor Snape has that effect on people, I'm told."
"I'm always nervous. And clumsy. You and Hermione seem to actually know what you're doing, and you seemed to do just fine last week, even with the professor watching. Why don't you work with her instead? I'll just make the cauldron explode again… or worse." Neville frowned in thought, but I just patted him on the back.
"Well, good thing I'm not that scared of Professor Snape then, am I? I can help you out if you get stuck somewhere and make sure you don't get too nervous then. Besides, you can learn a lot from observing how things go wrong. Even if you don't get it right the first time, figuring out how something went wrong can teach you a lot more about how things actually work." I idly noted, espousing a theory my Mums in both lives instilled in me. "And since you seem to have a gift for Herbology, it would be wrong if you found Potions a nightmare; the subjects are intrinsically linked, don't you know? I've read both textbooks (and then some) and there's plenty of overlap between the two."
Neville furrowed his brow dubiously. "Really?"
"Yeah, you need to be decent at Herbology to be any decent at Potions, and it's the same the other way around too. And I know for certain that you find Herbology a lot more interesting than I do, so it'd be a crying shame if you didn't learn Potions properly." I wasn't actually certain about how well Potions and Herbology would depend on the other, but at that point, I was just trying to convince Neville that he wasn't as totally useless at the subject as he had concluded the week before in our first Potions lesson. I figured he'd think better of himself if he realized that being good at Herbology might help him be good at Potions. If I was saying things that were only tangentially true, then it was merely to convince Neville to try things my way and nothing malicious, I swear.
Seeing Neville's will and self-loathing wavering, I decided to go in for the more risky argument. "Anyways, I heard a rumor that Professor Snape just wants Gryffindors to lose the House Cup so badly that he'll use any excuse to take off points from us. That's why he's always being mean and terrifying to us Gryffindors; when we're too busy being angry or scared of him, we're not watching our potions as carefully, and then he can take points off for messing them up. If we complain, he'll just escalate to detentions."
"What? That's why he's so mean and scary? Just because he wants us to lose the Cup?" said Neville incredulously.
I nodded. "Yeah. It's part of why Slytherin has won the Cup for so many years — Professor Snape is so good at making himself be miserably unlikable and terrifying that he makes us Gryffindors mess up, and then over-praises the Slytherins for being moderately competent because he's not breathing down their necks all the time. Professor Snape is all bark and no bite — he can't actually do anything to us besides say mean things, take points and maybe assign us detentions. No matter how scary he might be, he still answers to the Headmaster, and Dumbledore would never let him do anything really bad."
"Then… what do we do?" wondered Neville.
"Well, we've got to remember that the worst he can do to us is take points or assign us detention. And his words are just that — words. So if we're very, very careful and make no mistakes, then any points he takes off or detentions he gives us wouldn't be our fault, not really. They'd just be the professor making up flimsy excuses to take off points or assign us bogus punishments because he's petty and cruel." I explained.
There was no such rumor, but Neville didn't know that. If he asked anyone to confirm it, it'd make too much sense for anyone to ignore themselves. Snape was quite petty and very much cruel to Gryffindor house, even more so the boys and girls in our year, and it was no secret that he favored the Slytherins. The rumor would practically start itself if Neville ever bothered to ask anyone else for confirmation and ought to spread like wildfire.
Despite seeing the sense in my words, Neville was still uncertain. That unshakeable glimmer of self-doubt that still clung to him. Sadly, at that terrible moment, Professor Snape burst into the room, robes billowing, face set in a perpetual scowl. His gaze swept over all of us, saving a particularly dark expression for Harry a few tables over, and a sneer for Neville and I. Neville whimpered at the sight and I winced. He swooped across the room in an instant, looming over us menacingly.
"Ah, Godewyn. I see you're just as arrogant a gambler as the rest of your house. Your last potion was… mediocre, all things considered. I suppose you are laboring under the misconception that your modest luck at brewing a passable potion last week would be enough to protect you from Longbottom's… idiocy." Professor Snape's sneer was lethal and I shied away, blushing angrily. Neville fidgeted beside me. "Be sure to cry for help if your foolishness gets the better of you… though if Longbottom's last show was any indication, we might need to cart you to the Hospital Wing when you're both proven to be dunderheads and your grades will suffer accordingly."
I clenched my fists and stifled my angry retort, looking away as Professor Snape loomed over our table. Neville was looking at his shoes as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, hands fisting in his robes as we both flushed crimson in frustration. We said nothing. Neville was too ashamed that the professor might be right and I knew that any impulsive words on my part would just result in unnecessary punishment. I made a point not to meet the professor's eyes; I respected Snape greatly for the trials he endured, but at that moment, I kind of wanted to strangle him with my bare hands.
"Hmn… I look forward to being proven wrong… for once. Though, I doubt it will ever happen in my lifetime…" the potions master drawled with a scowl before turning to flick his wand at the chalkboard at the front. A piece of chalk leaped up and started scrawling instructions for today's potions as Professor Snape began to lecture.
When the professor was on the far side of the room, having glided over to instruct a pair of Slytherin girls — Bulstrode and Davis, I believed — on the proper way to hold a knife, I decided that I while I was already telling him half-truths, I might as well go for broke. I leaned over to the moist-eyed Neville and whispered, "Besides, you ought to know that the explosion last time might not have been your fault. I mean, sure, the porcupine quills being added first was a mistake, but that's a simple mistake if the professor's making you nervous — I would have made the same mistake too if I wasn't triple-checking the recipe at every step. I looked it up, and adding the porcupine quills early should have only caused the potion to become mildly toxic. But I don't think the explosion was your fault, Neville…"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Neville muttered back, a little hotly.
"You weren't the one working on that potion who has a history of making things go bang… Last lesson, we worked on potions in pairs, remember? Seamus was working on the potion with you, and if you haven't noticed, whenever he messes up with magic, things tend to go up in flames... Then when it exploded, Professor Snape must have assumed it was you because you were closest and blamed you so he could make you feel miserable. But that's not your fault, Neville."
Neville stilled, stiff as a statue. Then he whipped his head towards me, glistening eyes searching me, begging me to say I was speaking the truth. I shrugged. I didn't want to confirm that he'd inferred what I said correctly, but Neville took it as that anyways. Something darkened in his eyes and Neville straightened to stare at Seamus, who was busy whispering with Dean over the proper way to crush foxgloves. There was a sense of hurt in his gaze, as well as accusation, but no one else noticed. The only one who might have cared to see what Neville was up to was Hermione, the busy-body, and she was preoccupied with measuring out her ingredients.
Honestly, I wasn't entirely sure if what I was insinuating had any bearing on the truth or not, but Neville didn't know that. Did I want to throw Seamus under the bus like this? Not really, but I figured that Neville wouldn't just flip out and turn on a boy he's only known for two weeks over this. Seamus was just the most convenient target I could give Neville. Besides, we still had seven years at this school to work out any squabbles if Neville did react poorly.
But right now, Neville needed to believe that what had happened in his first Potions lesson wasn't his fault or he'd lose all confidence in his ability to brew potions entirely. If I could instill some doubt in Neville that his poor showing in that first lesson wasn't his fault, then I might be able to accomplish some good after all. Neville's ineptitude in potions was all Snape's fault, really, but I couldn't convince Neville not to be scared of the potions master. That much was impossible. What I did here was just a way of mitigating that and building up Neville's confidence.
I only wish I'd come up with this idea last week before our first Potions class, but I honestly hadn't remembered that Neville and Seamus' potion blew up that very fateful lesson. And the disaster at our first Flying Lessons yesterday really hadn't helped Neville's mood or self-confidence one whit. Until Neville had broken his arm then, I had been unsure of how exactly I could go about helping him out without throwing the canonical plotline completely off the rails. But at least I now had an idea and the opportunity to help Neville gain some of the confidence he sorely lacked in a way that wouldn't affect some of the larger points in canon too badly.
And my gamble had paid off. Neville was quietly thinking, and I could almost see the wheels turning in his head, questioning everything that had happened to him since our first Potions lesson. I could see how he started thinking about how his self-loathing from ruining the potion had made him feel terrible about himself, justifying every fear that he had about being barely more than squib. But now, there was doubt. His fears weren't as justified as he thought they were. That potion exploding… wasn't his fault.
In that moment, I saw the sparks of a nascent bonfire that would become Neville's determination — the sparks of an indomitable spirit that belonged to a true Gryffindor. They were the beginnings of a young man who would rally a school behind him and inherit Godric's sword to stand in righteous defiance against true evil.
Baby steps, I told myself. Baby steps.
"Tell you what. I'll help keep a lookout to make sure you follow the recipe properly. And if you have any questions, just ask me, I've already read the chapter about this potion in the textbook. Here, let's just read the steps first so we know what we've got to do, and then we'll go through them one by one. Sounds good?" I offered.
Neville's head was turned to the board, but I could see that his mind was a thousand miles away. I didn't know where his mind was going at that point, and I momentarily worried that he'd turn me down. But then Neville turned to me and gave me a rare smile.
"Thank you, Ken. I'd like that," he mumbled quietly.
I grinned back. "Any time, Neville."
Our potions weren't perfect, but they were still presentable by the end of class. Snape had been breathing down our necks at random intervals and took off points here and there whenever he caught me visibly wrestling Neville's hands away from adding the wrong ingredient or stirring the wrong number of times while he quailed under Snape's scowl and unspoken threats of eternal misery. He also took off points for when I continued to help Neville after he told me to focus on my own work. Thankfully, my work wasn't affected too much by having to chip in and help Neville every now and then, but I did get an exceptional workout of my heightened senses.
As it turns out, that Druid Essence I had been infused with? It not only enhanced my body but also enhanced my senses and reflexes. While I wasn't quite on the level of a comic-book super-human, my vision and hearing were very sharp for someone who'd been near-sighted in his first-life. Plus, all my senses were heightened to the point that I was capable of keeping track of multiple things in my field of vision simultaneously rather than just one or two. I could also listen to multiple conversations at the same time and still parse everything in my head. With that, it didn't matter that I was still learning potions myself, I was perfectly able to keep track of both my potion as well as Neville's progress with his and intervene the instant I saw him doing something that ran counter to the listed instructions. Thank you Essence of the Druid!
I don't think I would ever forget the look on Professor Snape's face when Neville and I handed in our potions in their vials and nothing had exploded nor gone horribly wrong. He even deemed Neville's potion "passable"… Coming from Snape, a Gryffindor getting such a mark would have been the equivalent of any other professor giving us an Exceeds Expectations.
Though, he did take points off from Neville for accidentally spilling a little bit of his potion when ladeling it into the vial, despite the fact that our potions were harmless and the spill was easily cleaned. Professor Snape then returned in fine form when Harry and Ron presented their potions, lambasting the other boys for some minor errors which he blew out of proportion.
Neville had this look that blended detached wonder and confusion that I could only recognize from when he'd been given points in Herbology for answering Professor Sprout's questions. I patted him on the back reassuringly as we packed up and headed out of the dungeons. Neville was still dazed as we made our way up towards the moving staircases when Hermione hurriedly caught up with us.
"Well done, Neville!" she greeted, eliciting a mumbled thanks from the blond boy. "I knew you could do it."
"It's all thanks to Ken, really. Not me." Neville protested.
I frowned and cut-in. "Not true. You were perfectly capable of making that potion on your own. I just helped make sure you didn't succumb to your nerves, that's all. I didn't do much more than keep you from getting lost in your own head."
"He's right, Neville. Kenneth may have helped you stay focused, but you still made the potion. That's something to be proud of." affirmed Hermione.
Neville gave us a small smile and dithered, "I don't know… Sometimes during the lesson I thought I wasn't doing anything besides what Ken told me to do. I would have messed it up on my own."
I laughed a little. "Neville, 'following the instructions' is almost all of what making potions is like in our first year. The rest of it is in the theory for reasoning why the recipe is the way it is and all the practice that goes into following those instructions. You're not an idiot, Neville, no matter what any professor says about you. You've got a solid head on your shoulders, all you need is to be reminded every now and then that you're not the dunderhead you think you are."
Hermione nodded along and Neville frowned thoughtfully, "I suppose…"
"Suppose nothing, that's a fact. You earned us ten points from Professor Sprout on Wednesday, and that's because you knew things about Primping Pimpernels that we didn't. Not even Hermione and I knew that they tended to primp themselves more around red-heads but never around a new moon."
"What? I most certainly knew that!" said Hermione hotly, whirling on me. I gave her an arch look, and the girl huffed. "I'll be off, I need to finish the Transfiguration essay." Hermione stormed off, presumably to the library.
"I thought that wasn't due for two weeks," mumbled Neville and I shrugged. We were then joined by Parvati, who was accompanied by Lavender Brown.
"What's gotten to her?" wondered Parvati.
I shrugged again. "Transfiguration assignment due in two weeks, apparently." I explained, sighing.
"Really? But it's Friday!" Lavender whined.
"A stitch in time, saves nine," I opined, before wondering thoughtfully aloud. "Though... now that she mentions it, I do feel like I'd better get it out of the way, myself. It doesn't seem too difficult…"
"Ugh, it's almost the weekend. We shouldn't be thinking about studying, especially so close to lunchtime!" came an obnoxious voice from behind us. I turned to see Ron and Harry arrive, still a little steamed about Snape's vitriol.
I rolled my eyes and waved them off before telling Neville, "You remember what I said, though, yeah?"
Neville nodded, but didn't say anything. There was a shift in his eyes, though, and the round-faced boy stood a little straighter. Good enough, I supposed.
"Well, I'm off as well. That Transfiguration assignment isn't going to complete itself." Then I turned and headed for the library as well.
I did my best to ignore Ron as he muttered to the others about how Hermione and I were, "absolutely mad, the both of them." His words didn't hurt as much as I thought they would. Benefits of remembering two-lives, I supposed.
I did my best to put it out of my mind. Ron would mature in time. Unlike with Neville's confidence, there wasn't anything I could do to help with that. I sighed then decided to focus on thinking about the Transfiguration assignment. I finished it easily enough at the library, and later left to grab a quick bite at the Great Hall before lunch was truly over.
But… Hermione had been shooting me annoyed looks whenever she ran into me in the bookshelves and looked over my shoulder intermittently to critique my poor handwriting. I also noticed she had a Herbology book that detailed Primping Pimpernels with her when I left.
Whoops.
A/N: Yeah, I basically skipped all the canonical "first classes" that normally happen in pretty much every other fic about Harry Potter and went to "Second Potions lesson". To be fair, I wouldn't have done anything to actually change those early scenes - I'd have been too terrified of drawing attention to myself during the first potions lesson, and honestly, I didn't remember that Neville's cauldron had exploded in that lesson until I reread the first book a short while ago. I also did nothing of importance during the infamous flying lesson: for one, it's how Harry gets onto the Gryffindor team and Harry genuinely loves to fly. Secondly, Kenneth had about as much practice on a broom as Neville and Hermione did - he'd have been useless.
However, I do subscribe to the theory that First Years at Hogwarts have more-then-one Flying Lesson in their first year: Flying is taught bi-monthly throughout the first-year until all students achieve some modicum of mediocrity in the subject. It's just that since the canon plot follows Harry (who's preternaturally skilled and required no additional lessons), we never see these "extra/remedial" lessons for those who couldn't learn how to fly during their first lesson…This bi-monthly Flying lessons thing throughout a student's first year is also why First Years aren't allowed their own brooms: to ensure that whenever they fly, it's under supervision of Madame Hooch.
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
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kenmadragon
kenmadragon
Apr 11, 2020
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#42
Chapter 7
I ducked and narrowly avoided decapitation.
Whirling, I spun to the side, trying to circle around the suit of armor but it recovered from its swing remarkably quickly. I backpedaled, evading an overhead chop before leaping back into the fray, lunging for the armor's gorget. The armor batted my blade aside with its own sword, stepping into my space and shoved me back with the full weight of its animated body. Stumbling, I trusted my uncanny instinct for battle, recovering my footing just in time to receive the suit's charge. I parried the obvious lunge with all my strength as the blade the suit of armor wielded was heavy enough for an adult man and I was only eleven-and-a-half. In the moment where the suit's footwork was momentarily disrupted, I slid my sword down its blade and off, right into the crack between the gorget and the helmet.
The suit of armor froze, and I could feel the weight of the spar catch up to me. I was panting and my body ached but I didn't move until the armor slid off my blade, resettled itself, and stepped back. It swept up its blade in salute, and I returned the gesture. Formalities done, it turned and marched off to the side of the room and joined the other suits of armor, each wielding an assortment of medieval weaponry, before settling back into place, motionless. I sighed, hands on my knees as I tried to catch my breath.
So, I found the Room of Requirement last week. It took me a month and a half, but I finally found the right corridor. I almost wept at the sight of Barnabas the Barmy trying (and failing) to teach trolls the ballet. Nevertheless, once I had found the Room of Requirement, I moved all my personal experimentation and learning there. The enchantments of the Room made it the perfect arena for testing out spells and mastering the perks my previous self had obtained in my deal with the Benefactor.
As I had already learned all the first year spells that were covered in our basic textbooks, I had moved onto learning things beyond the classroom — spells in various books from the library, as well as from textbooks I had borrowed from my upperclassmen. Apparently, Lee Jordan still had most of his second-year books in his trunk and was willing to hand them over in exchange for a handful of Sickles. I also obtained some third year books that had several interesting spells from Genevieve Ramsey, a fourth year Gryffindor, in return for the location of the Hogwarts Kitchens and some Chocolate Frog cards I had extras of.
I ended up learning a lot more about magical theory from those books and had begun teaching myself all those nifty little spells from the three major spell-casting classes: Charms, Transfiguration and DADA. That is not to say that there weren't plenty of useful spells in the other subjects, but those three had the lion's share of knowledge about spells and magical theory.
Class-time was mostly just spent on brushing up on the material I'd already memorized and getting a better understanding of the myriad uses of various spells that weren't explicitly mentioned in the textbooks. But, I had a list of spells that I deemed as "essential" to learn, and I felt the urge to master them as quickly as I could before I started learning the more miscellaneous spells.
As I could learn esoteric, quality-of-life charms and transfigurations fairly quickly, I did so either in-class or in the Gryffindor Common Room where other students could offer input. Doing so cultivated the idea that I was mostly interested in obscure, utility-based magics; those which were alright for a first-year to be taught, irrespective of which year those spells were normally learned. It actually encouraged some of my upperclassmen to share their own insights into spell-casting, and I picked up a couple nifty tricks for making my life a little easier, but which weren't major spells themselves.
But the spells I knew would be useful for combat… those I now practiced in the Room of Requirement. Each time I entered, I configured the Room to facilitate my studies in the combative arts; both for martial magic and muggle dueling. In response to my request for a space to practice potentially-destructive magics, I was given a space that seemed to mix a medieval training yard for knights with a more eastern-style martial arts hall. There were suits of animated armor that stood at the ready for training in physical combat, as well as mannequins and targets for aiming practice with spells. The Room was somewhat padded, and there were tons of cushions littered along the edges of the room, but the center was bare and flat, where sparring practice could be done. Racks of weapons — all blunted or padded — stood along one wall, and the other had sturdy shelves containing books on martial magic and wizard-ly approaches to muggle dueling. The walls were also draped in banners of red and gold, and the armors bore tabards of the same colors, which felt appropriate given my house founder's martial reputation.
I idly wondered, back when I first met this configuration, if the Room of Requirement had conjured the books from the Hogwarts LIbrary or if it had pilfered the meager selection from the Room of Lost Things. I ended up setting the thought aside as those books afforded me good notes on how best to practice learning some of the simpler spells on my own. I didn't really care how they showed up in the Room, just that they were there for me to learn from.
Why bother with learning martial magics when I was in my first year, one might ask? Because I knew that my DADA professor (who is currently being possessed by a Dark Lord) will release a troll into the school in two days during the Hallowe'en Feast as a distraction. If things went according to the canonical storyline, it'd take blind luck for no-one to get killed in the process. But now that I had been introduced into the plot, I didn't know what would happen. Maybe my presence had created a butterfly effect which would result in Harry, Ron and Hermione not being incredibly lucky when facing the troll. McGonagall herself admitted that Ron knocking out the troll with the Levitation Charm was simply due to blind luck, and that wasn't something I could trust to happen anymore.
So I took it upon myself to practice and learn as much as I could in the short time I had. If I couldn't trust in blind luck, then I'd have to take matters into my own hands. And that meant being prepared for practically anything… and hoping that was enough to take on a fully grown mountain troll.
Fun fact about trolls: mountain trolls are the biggest, toughest, and meanest brand of troll there is, and that's saying something. They're particularly stupid, sure, but they're also incredibly strong (as befitting their size) and most spells barely affected them. However, there were a few that I thought might be useful.
I now had such a great deal of practice with the Severing Charm to the point that I felt I could viably weaponize the spell… but it would be very messy and slow-work on troll-hide. As a result, I now had extensive practice with the Mending Charm. Most of the first-year DADA spells were useless against a foe such as a troll, though they did give me ideas for use against more humanoid opponents. The Fire-Making spell was also ruled out as a means of subduing the troll, despite my growing proficiency with it after I'd chanced upon the Bluebell Flames variation (among many others). I had no intention of destroying the castle and my conjured fire was not puissant enough to do much more than irritate a troll. And while I doubted it'd be of much effect, considering the poor eyes of a troll, I was now a dab hand with light-conjuring spells like Lumos.
With regards to second-year spells from Lee Jordan's old textbooks, I noted that despite all my practice with the Engorging/Shrinking Charms, I couldn't reliably use them even on inanimate objects, making living creatures very much outside my level of skill. That was disappointing as it would have made short-work of the troll if I could just shrink it down to a more manageable size. Though, studying and attempting the spells did teach me a lot more about magical control than I had before, though.
Similarly, I put off the Disarming Charm (I didn't want a troll-sized club flying at me should the spell actually work) and the Dancing Feet Charm (a flailing troll unable to control its legs struck me as a bad idea). The Tickling Charm was similarly useless, but so dreadfully simple that I spent half an hour learning it anyways; I just thought it was hilarious. And it was so on and so forth with many, many other spells.
The few that I thought might be useful were the only ones I bothered practicing as I could only practice in the Room when no one else would notice me missing; mostly in the early hours before everyone else woke up or between classes if I ate quickly and left meals early to get more practice in. Even then, I was still limited by my own limited experience with spellcasting in general as well as the types of spells I was capable of practicing on my own.
I once again lamented my lack of live test-subjects for testing several of these spells — especially the second-year transfigurations which mainly involved animal/object transformations — but until I could conjure my own animals reliably, I could only practice those spells in class… where I was stuck learning first year material anyways.
The only live animal I had access to for spell-practice was Damocles, but he was my pet, and using him as a guinea pig struck me as the mark of a terrible pet-owner. However, the thought did give me a terrible, evil idea for the future. I filed that sinister plot for later.
There was no way of knowing how Hallowe'en would really go, but I tried my best to learn everything I needed for a fighting chance. I only wished I had had the time to crack open the third year text-books I'd gotten.
It was Hallowe'en. And looking back on the day… I could have done a lot better.
Hindsight is 20/20, people. 20/20.
I mainly partnered with Neville in Charms these days. And in Transfiguration, DADA, and Potions, though occasionally Hermione took over for me. She had been avoiding Harry and Ron lately, likely because of the whole mess with Fluffy, the cerberus. I got the basic details from Neville about a week after it had happened, and mentally kicked myself for not noticing when they'd actually disappeared. Turns out, that whole event had happened the same day as our time working on Potions together (for the first time at least), and I'd just been too busy discussing how to change the color of the Red Sparks spell we'd been learning in DADA at the time with Lavender and Seamus (the pyrotechnical genius had ideas).
Anyways, since the first time we worked on Potions, Neville and I worked together fairly often. In Potions, it was much like it had been the first time. In other classes, it was mostly just me trying to coach him on pronunciation and visualization for the spells. We had been working on it for a month and a half, and Neville still had issues with his confidence. It was a little frustrating, to be honest, but the sad truth of it was that Neville's problems were deep-rooted. Despite my successes in showing that Neville wasn't as incapable as he thought he was, I'd accidentally set a standard with my own capabilities — what came easily to me (because I'd practiced magic religiously these last few months) came to Neville with difficulty. Naturally, Neville suspected that he himself was the issue and that his inability to measure up to my impossible standard was somehow his own fault.
No matter my argument, I couldn't shake this view. Neville's confidence was no longer at rock-bottom, but instead teetered constantly. Some days he was capable, others he was disaster-prone, and he was always nervous and doubtful.
So, like normal, I partnered with Neville and we sat through Flitwick's tutorial on the Levitation Charm before everyone started trying them out. Harry had partnered with Seamus, and Ron somehow ended up being partnered with Hermione. I don't have a clue why they would willingly be paired when the class was open-seating and everyone knew we were doing Levitation Charms today, but I suspect it was because Ron had wandered in last and Hermione's table was the only one open. I tried not to wince when I realized that I could have avoided this catastrophe by taking the seat next to her today… but then I'd have abandoned Neville.
"Come on, Neville. This one's not so bad. The trick is that you can't be too forceful, but not too light as well. There's this subtle middle, to it, like when handling Puffapods — too hard and they bloom early, too light and they slip through your fingers." I whispered my pointers to Neville. "And you've gotta be thinking of how much you'd like the feather to fly. Feathers are already good at floating, coming from birds and all, so all you gotta do is think about that, right?"
Neville nodded, brows furrowed in concentration, and tried the spell. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Contrary to Neville's expectation, the feather actually twitched for a moment, lifting off the table a little, before settling back into place.
I grinned. "Almost there, Neville. Better than Seamus, really."
And it was; Seamus had set his feather on fire, and Harry was currently beating out the flames with his own hat. Ron was shouting at the feather while butchering the pronunciation and waving his arms wildly. Hermione tried to correct him, if only to avoid being thwacked in the head by his flailing, but Ron snarled a vitriolic response.
Then Hermione demonstrated the spell to perfection, levitating her feather four feet above her head. Professor Flitwick was overcome with joy and Hermione positively preened at his praise. This put Ron in a visibly bad mood, and the air of annoyance around him was almost palpable, even from where Neville and I sat. I winced.
"Ron's not in a good mood…" Neville worriedly noted.
"He's jealous." I explained. "Ron's not used to working hard. He's got a lot of older brothers, remember? Everything noteworthy to be done, they've already done it. One's a curse-breaker, another's a dragonologist, the third's a prefect… Ron's gotta live up to their standard, but is too lazy to even try. So when someone else tells him he's doing something wrong, he gets angry and lashes out. And he already didn't like Hermione much, so when Hermione tries to help…"
"Oh," said Neville softly. "I think I understand that."
I turned to look at him, a little confused. "You do?"
"I do," Neville frowned. It took me a moment to remember that Neville's own sense of inadequacy stemmed from thinking he couldn't live up to the impossible standard his grandmother held for him — to be as brilliant and capable as his father once was. Neville had yet to talk about his parents, but he had explained how his Gran had "reasonable expectations" of him that he was always falling short of.
Then, Neville had a thought. "Say, you knew the Levitation Charm before we started term, right? You used it on the train."
"Learned it from our textbook by myself. Why?"
"So you could probably cast it better than Hermione, right?" asked Neville.
I thought about it for a moment, before admitting, "Definitely, yes."
"Then, maybe if you show off how much better you are at the spell, Ron won't be mad at Hermione as much?"
Surprised, I whipped my head to regard Neville. He seemed startled by the sudden stare and my smirk.
"You know, that idea isn't half-bad, Neville. I'm surprised the Hat didn't suggest putting you in Slytherin." I joked.
Neville paled in horror at the thought. "Don't even joke about that. I don't know what I would have done if I'd ended up in Slytherin."
I laughed. Sadly, Flitwick heard it and noticed that Neville and I hadn't been working on the charm. He was suddenly right beside our table, frowning at us disapprovingly.
"Misters Godewyn and Longbottom! I do hope you're discussing the Levitation charm and not idle gossip!" the diminutive professor chided.
Neville and I shook our heads rapidly. "No Professor!" we said in unison.
"Hmn, well I don't suppose you could go about showing me that, then?" challenged Flitwick.
Neville looked at me pleadingly, knowing he still needed plenty of practice. I acquiesced, drawing my wand, and focused on the feather before me.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The feather began to levitate off the table. Up, up, up it went at the direction of my wand and I let out a smile as it hovered higher than Hermione's. Flitwick grinned and let out a laugh of surprise, drawing everyone else's eyes to the flying feather, but I wasn't done yet.
Another flick and the feather started darting through the air. This way and that, it flew at my wand's direction, doing loop-de-loops and corkscrews through the air, all across the classroom. It dipped and dived before pulling up in hair-raising drops like a muggle rollercoaster. It flitted this way and that while jerked about by my spell, like the feather was trying to mimic a bird on the wing navigating a hurricane.
"Oh, marvelous! Look here class, how delightful, Mr. Godewyn!" laughed Professor Flitwick happily, clapping his hands in utter delight. "Never have I seen a first-year student put on such a show! Why, I'd say you have had great practice with it!"
I grinned happily as everyone's eyes were either fixated on me or on the dancing feather which I was now directing to come back to my table. Their gazes were either filled with amazement, jealousy, disbelief, or some combination of the lot. Neville's mouth was agape at the display.
I left my feather to hover over Neville and I, while I turned to the professor and shrugged. "I'll admit, this isn't the first time I've tried the spell. I was just doing some reading ahead of the course schedule — Madame Goshawk is such a captivating writer and the spells were so interesting… Before I knew it, I ended up reading the entire textbook, and have practiced some of the simpler charms over the last few months."
"Splendid! Oh, how I love to see such enthusiasm for a subject in a student. Especially from someone who isn't in my own house!" Flitwick praised before wagging a finger at me chidingly. "Though, I should remind you, Mr. Godewyn, that while Hogwarts does encourage students to learn on their own on occasion, we take safety very seriously. Charms can be dangerous to practice, especially if you attempt a spell beyond your capabilities. I hope you're taking adequate precautions during your practice?"
I thought back to my practice with second year material in the Room or Requirement, with no supervision, and the somewhat basic safety measures the Room had equipped itself with. "Err, yes?"
Professor Flitwick hummed doubtfully at the thought. "Be sure to continue taking safety seriously while practicing in the future, then." Then there was an eager glint in his eyes. "Now, what other spells have you practiced on your own?"
I turned back to the floating feather I was still levitating, and let it drop. As it fell, I focused my intent and flourished my wand at it.
"Diffindo!"
Flitwick let out a cry of surprise at the flash of light and the falling feather was suddenly split in twain length-wise, all along the feather's shaft and rachis. The two halves slowly drifted to the table below. Once they'd landed, I pointed at the split pieces of the feather and wiggled my wand in the movement for the Mending Charm, willing the damage undone.
"Reparo!"
The two halves of the split feather leaped from where they lay and joined together, meeting where they had parted and fused back together seamlessly. I offered the feather to the professor, to double-check that the repair was done without any indication the feather had been split in the first place.
Professor Flitwick took the feather, looked it over, saw no faults in the charmwork, and handed it back to me. Then he asked me, "Mr. Godewyn, why in Merlin's name were you not put into Ravenclaw with such an aptitude for learning charms?"
I tried not to let the embarrassment show too much on my face when I muttered my response. "The Sorting Hat thought I was too reckless."
"Now that I will believe!" Flitwick chortled. "Thirty points to Gryffindor for a surprising show of fine charmwork for a first-year, and exemplifying why one should always seek to learn beyond just in the classroom!"
I beamed at the sound of that, glancing at Neville who was already taking the feather out of my offered hand with a small smile of his own. Our Charms professor turned to regard the rest of the class who were still looking at us, mouths agape. "Come now everyone! Let's take Mr. Godewyn's example and practice our Levitations! I expect everyone to be able to make their feathers fly like that by the end of term! Practice, practice, practice!"
There was a flurry of motion as everyone started swishing and flicking with a fervor, their incantations ranging from Fay's ineffectual mumbles to Ron's frustrated growls. I resumed coaching Neville in the casting of the spell, and kept an eye out for trouble.
As Neville had predicted, Ron was no longer fixated on being angry at Hermione. He was now also angry at me… but his ill temper seemed to only be worsened. He kept attempting the charm over and over and over, shooting me dark looks every other failure, as if it was my fault somehow.
Hermione, on the other hand, appeared to have given up on helping Ron for some odd reason, and focused on getting her floating feather to move in any direction beyond upwards. It was not going well. Her feather appeared to be perfectly happy just staying in one place in mid-air and could only be coaxed into jerking itself around little by little. It barely moved from where Hermione had first levitated it to, as if tugged an inch at a time by some invisible hand trying to pull it where it would not willingly go.
By the end of class, Neville had managed to lift the feather a foot off the table, but it dropped the instant his focus wavered. Hermione got herself a point from Flitwick for managing to get her feather to rotate in place on command, but it didn't seem to be what she hoped to accomplish. Seamus had set both his and Harry's feathers on fire… twice. Dean and Fay had also managed to get their feathers to move, but it wasn't by much.
Professor Flitwick assigned us to practice the charm for homework and we all filed out. I glanced at Ron as we did, but unlike in the canonical storyline, Ron was uncharacteristically silent as we shuffled into the Charms corridor. Sure, he was in a dark and unpleasant mood, but at least he wasn't running his mouth off about Hermione.
I glanced at Neville, who was still a little surprised at his success in even managing to lift a feather with magic. No use in asking for his input on whether his idea had worked or not, he was far too distracted. Still, I supposed that things had turned out for the better. Ron wasn't hurting Hermione's feelings with his careless words, after all. He was just silent and brooding.
I figured I'd take what I could get.
A/N: I had more written for this chapter, but it was getting long and it's already been a while since I last updated. I figured I would split it into two, and post the complete first-part, just to keep things moving. Life got busy again, which is unfortunate but just how things are. I'm still working on this story, but my update schedule is gonna be pretty sporadic.
Even so, preparations are made for the near future, rudimentary plans are executed, and things don't go quite as swimmingly as you would expect, but that's life for you. At least Neville's making progress... That's a win, right?
Last edited: Apr 11, 2020
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
Apr 11, 2020
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kenmadragon
May 5, 2020
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Chapter 8
Hermione didn't show up to Transfiguration.
I didn't even notice until half-way through the lesson when Professor McGonagall called on me to answer a question first. Normally, Hermione raised her hand to answer every question, even those I didn't bother with. It seemed only natural that the professor would favor Hermione for that, and she'd made it a habit to always pick Hermione for the first question of each and every lesson thus far. The fact that our professor had to ask me to answer the first question of the lesson, even when I hadn't raised my hand, was what tipped me off to Hermione being absent. Otherwise, I'd been far more occupied making sure my transfigurations were perfect, leaving Hermione to soak up McGonagall's praise for answering her questions correctly.
After answering, I ended up staring at the empty seat where Hermione usually sat, front and center. I hadn't paid her absence the slightest attention, so certain that she'd be there. Missing class was very much unlike her, and everything I knew about her from my first life, coupled with having taken classes with her for two months, said the same. Hermione wasn't the type to miss classes, not without extremely good reason.
Unless… was she upset somehow? But why? I'd taken Ron's attention off of her earlier that day, and the twit hadn't said a word to her since then. Without Ron to run his mouth and say something thoughtless and hurtful, why would Hermione be upset? It didn't make sense.
I glanced back at where Harry and Ron sat for a moment. Harry was lost as always, trying to keep up with the lecture despite only understanding every other word. Ron was still in a bad mood, and seemed to be writing down everything with a half-broken quill. Neither of them had said anything about Hermione after Charms class, not that I could hear when Neville and I filed out behind them. Hermione hadn't bumped into either of them on her way out, either. That was what had happened in the canonical storyline, and its absence should have meant that Hermione wasn't upset.
But she was absent from class, and that bode ill for the timeline. The question was: Why?
Obvious answer: Ron did something stupid when I wasn't looking. This was far more likely than was ideal, but not something I could have averted. I couldn't control what Ron did or did not do — or in this case, what he did or did not say. Even more so if it happened outside my own, limited perceptions. I wasn't God, no matter what fore-knowledge I had to exploit.
The problem was that I had no idea what Ron had done, much less any clue how I'd find out. It's not like I could just interrogate him once Transfiguration let out… could I?
I entertained the thought of accosting Ron in the corridors and dragging him into a dark room. He'd be hand-cuffed to a table and there would be a single overhead lamp as the only source of light, shaking and blindingly bright like from one of those old detective movies I'd watched in my first life.
I would need to convince Neville to play Good Cop and have him try to get Ron to cooperate and confess before I barged in as the Bad Cop with the heavy-handed threats, brow-beating and semi-blatant intimidation. Ron would deny everything, even when I swung the lamp right in his eyes to blind him, hounding him with questions and accusations until Neville pulled me off to try a nicer approach. Back and forth between us, making him sweat until eventually Ron broke and confessed to everything. Neville and I would throw him in the slammer and then kick-back at our desks to share a box of Cauldron Cakes for a job well done. Eventually, the Chief would yell at us, both in congratulations and to order us back to work so we'd find and catch another jerk being mean to girls.
I was brought back to reality when Neville nudged me out of my daydream and tilted his head towards Professor McGonagall, who seemed rather miffed at the lapse in my attention. Flushing with embarrassment, I went back to my note-taking.
It was a stupid idea anyways. Besides, the issue would be resolved just by talking to Hermione.
"What do you mean I can't talk to Hermione?"
"Well, you're a boy… and this is the girl's toilet," came Penelope Clearwater's exasperated reply. "So, no. You're not allowed to go in, even if your friend is in there. Wait till she leaves and then you can talk to her about… whatever it is you need to talk about."
"I'm not going to do anything weird! I just have to talk to her, she's missed all our classes since morning and is going to miss the feast. It won't take long, I promise!" I protested. I may have had the mind of an adult, but my body was still 11, and it wasn't like I particularly cared about anything in the girl's toilets beside ensuring that Hermione left before that bloody troll showed up. I'd only been able to figure out which one she was in after interrogating Parvati and Lavender right after Flying Lessons — they'd overheard her crying.
I'd promptly ditched Neville with the rest of the Gryffindors and skipped straight to finding the loo rather than returning to Gryffindor Tower to get our hats before the feast. Somehow, the canonical timeline was asserting itself and I had to be around to stop it. If not, Hermione would most likely die at the hands of the bloody mountain troll that Quirrel was going to let in. I couldn't stop the professor, but I could find Hermione and perhaps convince her to leave before it was too late.
But no, I ran into Percy's maybe-future-girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater. And the Ravenclaw Prefect certainly wasn't having any of my 'explanations' for trying to enter the girl's loo.
"That's not my problem. Now, run along and don't try it again or I'll tell Professor McGonagall all about this little mess. Detention will be the least of your problems then!" threatened Penelope.
I scrunch my face up in distaste. That was a low blow; sure, my intentions were truly innocent (I was eleven!), but McGonagall would think poorly of me if the Ravenclaw prefect told her I was trying to sneak into a girl's loo, no matter what my intentions were. Professor McGonagall actually seemed to like me, and I'd much rather keep it that way as long as I could.
"Could you at least ask her to come to the feast? For me? Please?" I half-begged, half-whined. "Ron said something stupid and hurt her feelings, and now she's crying in there and will miss Hallowe'en! You're a girl — you can go in and ask her to come out, right? She's been crying in there since morning!"
Penelope's features softened slightly at that, seemingly a little torn. She kept glancing between myself and the door to the girl's loo, and it was painfully obvious that she was considering it. Seeing her waver, I realized that I'd have to do something I'd sworn was beneath me.
I widened my eyes, willing them to water, while my lower lip quivered and I gave her a hopeful, desperate look. The dreaded "puppy-dog eyes." I'd never been able to pull it off before, but being 11 again seemed to help a bit. Children are naturally cute like that, and that makes it easier to pull off... even if I did likely look somewhat odd, in my opinion.
Thankfully, it seemed to work. Penelope sighed, running a hand through her hair tiredly. "Fine, I'll ask her. But when I come out, I expect you to be gone, understand? You still have time to head to your Common Room and get ready for the feast, and I expect you to do so."
"Yes," I agreed. "Thank you!"
Penelope waved me off and I hurriedly made my escape, heading down the corridor towards Gryffindor tower. The second I turned down another hall, out of sight of Penelope, I quickly looked for a place to hide. I settled on a suit of armor standing before an enormous tapestry depicting a vast garden with pixies and fairies and other small, woodland creatures. Hiding myself behind the tapestry, I waited and listened.
Why hide when the prefect had told me to head to Gryffindor Tower? Because I had absolutely no trust in Penelope Clearwater convincing Hermione to leave the loo. I wasn't sure if it was just because I knew Hermione was too stubborn for her own good sometimes, or if I was worried about greater, cosmic forces at work.
Ron had apparently said nothing whatsoever to Hermione since Charms class, and certainly not after Hermione had shown him up in class. I had double-checked to be certain, subtly asking the other Gryffindors if they knew why Hermione had vanished. No one else had said or done anything to make her angry, but she'd apparently locked herself in a stall almost immediately after Charms and had been crying to herself ever since. That was what she had done in canon, but this time it had happened without any actual reason that I could see.
So, why did she do that?
Because that's how the plot worked, came a small voice in my thoughts. And the plot wants to happen the way it did originally, regardless of my meddling.
Fate. Destiny...
There were many different words for similar, related concepts. I didn't know which was the most appropriate in this case, but the ephemeral concept I grappled with was the idea that nothing I did would matter in changing more than the minor details. Regardless of whether I had diverted Ron's jealousy onto myself (thus preventing Hermione's feelings from being hurt by his callous words), my actions hadn't prevented Hermione from crying on Hallowe'en.
So, why bother? If my actions had no effect on changing the timeline, then what was the point of even trying? Without my input, the canonical storyline had resolved itself rather neatly. Sure, there were regrettably losses on both sides, but the good-guys won eventually. That was an acceptable outcome, right?
If so, then why try doing anything at all? There would be no point — what was meant to happen in the canonical timeline would happen, regardless of whether the little details had been affected or not. Thus, I shouldn't even bother trying to help people and prevent bad things from happening because those things would happen regardless of my actions.
It was an awful way of thinking, but I couldn't help but ponder it.
Yet… I was reminded of what the Sorting Hat had said. That I should not just sit idly by. If the plot would happen regardless of my intervention or alterations to the timeline, then why wouldn't the Hat have allowed me to be put into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff? By its own estimation, I would have been fine in either house. But it put me in Gryffindor because it knew that I would need to be in the house of the protagonists explicitly because my presence in this timeline would shake things up. Things were not supposed to be going exactly as they did in canon…
So why was Hermione crying in the girl's loo on Hallowe'en of 1991 again?
I pondered myself in circles. Eventually, I settled on the fact that the reasons wouldn't matter if Penelope Clearwater failed to convince Hermione to leave for Gryffindor Tower. So long as Hermione remained in that loo, she was in danger of a horrible death. Despite my conflicted feelings regarding fate, I couldn't conscientiously allow that to happen. So, I hid behind a tapestry — waiting and listening for footsteps.
Over fifteen minutes had passed before I heard Penelope Clearwater's footsteps making their way past the tapestry I hid behind, heading towards Ravenclaw Tower. I didn't hear a second set of footsteps. Carefully, I poked my head out, and watched from behind the fluttering, woven fairies. I only saw the back of the Ravenclaw prefect: no Hermione.
"Bollocks," I swore under breath.
Once Penelope was well and truly gone, I crept out from my hiding place and started towards the girl's toilet. I had to be sure of whether Hermione was still in danger there or not. Penelope had been gone long enough — she might have convinced Hermione to go straight to the feast… or failed, leaving Hermione to unforeseen dangers. There was no way to tell for sure without checking the loo for Hermione's presence.
But, after a moment's thought, I doubled back and assessed the suit of armor in front of my hiding place. The suit was armed with an old halberd in one gauntlet and a long dagger sheathed on a slung belt. I glanced down at my own hands, and made some estimates. I was in no mood to risk snapping my wand should I need to defend myself and Hermione from a mountain troll, nor did I fancy my chances of tackling the creature with just my fists. Sure, I had a far better sword stashed in my Dimensional Pouch, but I needed something more disposable, just in case. The dagger would do — though, in my hands, it seemed more like a small sword.
I took it, hiding it among the folds of my robes, and hurried over to the first-floor girl's toilet. Once there, I rapped on the door, loudly.
"Hello? Anyone in there?" I called out, cracking the door open a little, but not quite entering.
"Go away!" came the plaintive cry. I swore silently. It was Hermione, albeit doing a stellar impression of Moaning Myrtle. She had locked herself in a stall in the far corner and her voice echoed off the stone walls of the room.
"Hermione? It's Kenneth. Look, I know you're in a bit of mood, but—"
"I said, go away!"
I blinked at the interruption. "There's no need to be snitty, Hermione. Come on, you've been in here for hours now, and you missed lunch. Look, the Hallowe'en Feast is about to start, and I hear they're serving all sorts of fantastic dishes. Plus, Hagrid's made these fabulously enormous Jack-o-Lanterns that you really ought to—"
"What part of "go away" don't you understand?!" Hermione interrupted again, now sounding angry on top of miserably upset.
"The part where you're not coming with me to the feast," I shot back, a little annoyed. "Tonight's All Hallows Eve, and it's too important a festival for you to be moping about in some godforsaken bathroom, Hermione! Now be reasonable and get out of there."
Hermione was quiet for a moment, and I could only hear her sniffling, as if trying not to cry again. Then she shot back, a little more coherently than before. "I don't want to!"
"You don't want to? What kind of reason is that?" I exclaimed.
"I just don't! Leave me alone! I don't want to go to the Feast!"
This made me flabbergasted. Didn't want to go to the Hallowe'en Feast, she says. It sounded like hogwash — everyone loved Hallowe'en, both in this life and in my first. Only, as a wizard, the holiday was even more fun and magical. Especially since everyone also celebrated it as the day the Dark Lord was defeated and the war was ended.
"Nonsense. It's Hallowe'en — all wizards and witches celebrate the holiday. It's tradition! Everyone will be there, you've got to be there too!." I insisted.
Hermione let out a loud sob, and began sniffling rather audibly. It sounded like she was about to break into tears again, and it likely wouldn't be pretty. I began to panic — I was in no way capable of handling anyone when they were crying. A crying, 12-year old girl who'd locked herself in a girl's loo? I had absolutely no clue.
So, I just started spouting whatever came off the top of my head, and ignored my usual filter — anything to fill the void so that she wouldn't go back to the full-on crying to herself because I simply could not handle that.
"Look Hermione, you've really got nothing to be crying about. You're an intelligent and talented young witch, I'm sure that whatever you're upset about is nothing, really. I mean, what was it Ron said anyways? It was totally Ron who said something thoughtless and hurtful, right? Well, Ron's a total dunderhead, but is he really worth crying about? He didn't mean whatever stupid thing he said, he's just jealous of you for being better than him… and Harry for being famous… and me for being, well, me… and Malfoy for his money, I think… Bloke's jealous of a lot of people, come to think about it… " I trailed off for a moment, then realized I was getting on a tangent and shifted back on track.
"Anyways, the point is that Ron's not someone whose opinion you really need to be worried about. The views of your peers don't mean as much as you think it ought to mean, not really, because peer pressure is a silly thing that smart people ignore. And who cares if you have trouble making friends, a lot of people have trouble with that. Merlin's beard, even I have trouble with that! I don't really get on with anyone besides Neville, and I suspect he mostly just tolerates me because we're, like, second- or third-cousins or something. Plus, I've made it my personal mission to keep him from sabotaging himself out of some misplaced notions about unreasonable expectations. Honestly, we shouldn't be holding ourselves up to such impossible standards like Neville does, but his Gran is someone with a lot of unreasonable standards. Of course, I don't expect you'd know her."
Hermione interrupted me once more. But this time, rather than being high-pitched and wailing, her voice was quiet and low, but still echoing to reach my ears. "We met on the platform."
I blinked. "Oh. Tall, thin, bony and formidable, armed with a bright, red handbag?" Hermione made an affirmative sound. "Yeah, that'd be her. Force of nature she is, but you can imagine what it'd be like living with her, especially if you were quiet and passive like Neville is. She doesn't suffer mistakes lightly and has a lot of high expectations. Of course, Neville's terrified he can't live up to them, which is understandable — they are rather impossible. But he's so terrified of failing that he sabotages himself in the process. Knowing Neville and knowing Great-Aunt Augusta… I couldn't just sit by and let him do that to himself, you know? He's my kind-of-sort-of cousin, and you don't let family do that to themselves. But I can't just tell Neville that, I've gotta work at showing him how he can do it, even if he thinks he's totally useless at all things magical because he is a wizard, no matter how clumsy or forgetful he is. And I can't just be lazy about it when I know that he'd ruin himself and fall deeper into a spiral of bad-habits if I didn't do something about it..."
I paused for a moment, realizing that I was starting to get into personal business that Hermione didn't really have a reason to know about. I cleared my throat and began to backtrack.
"... I've gotten off track. Point is, you've got no reason to be miserable, Hermione. You're doing aces in all our classes, are really hard working and actually dedicated to learning stuff rather than just coasting about and expecting results with no effort like Ron is… sure, you're a bit rough around the edges, but who isn't? We're eleven! Well, twelve in your case, but still! Merlin's beard, we're supposed to be dumb and have stupid little character flaws that we'll grow out of as we get older. That's just a part of life, really."
I hadn't really noticed that I'd fully entered the loo by that point, and had been pacing along the sink cabinets while ranting until I realized I'd almost swung the daggers into a mirror. It seemed that I momentarily forgot that I was still holding onto it while gesticulating as I spoke. Whoops. Old habits.
Hurriedly hiding the blade in my robes again (sending it to my Dimensional Pouch via a pocket for good measure), I leaned against a sink and sighed. "Look, all I'm trying to say is that I don't know what set you off after Charms. I'm guessing someone said or did something stupid, but that's really no reason to hide in a loo for the entire day. Especially not when the Hallowe'en Feast is about to start. You can't just hide in here forever, Hermione… not tonight, of all nights. So… do you want to get out of there so we can head to the feast together?"
Hermione didn't answer. I could hear her breathing from the stall, loud as it was from all her crying throughout the day, but she wasn't answering. I waited for a few moments, hoping against hope that she would exit that stall and leave, but time had already been working against me.
In the distance, the Clock Tower bells sounded. Dinnertime on October 31st. I was too late. The feast had already begun.
I swore in my thoughts. There was no time for niceties now. Unless my presence had affected Quirrel's plans more significantly than I suspected (and I doubted I had), the troll was already in the school. In a few minutes, Quirrell would burst into the Great Hall to tell everyone about the troll, but by the time Dumbledore quelled the panic and ordered the students to their Common Rooms, the troll would get bored of tromping through the dungeons and wander up here, attracted by the stench of the loo.
We needed to leave now.
I ventured to get closer. "Hermione? Are you still there? Come on, now you're just being silly, get out of there and let's head to the feast."
"No." It was almost a whisper, echoed through the stone chamber.
"What?" I said, perplexed.
Her voice sounded again, clearer and more resolute. "I said no. Please leave."
"Hermione!" I protested, panicking. This was no time for Gryffindor-stubbornness! I had only a few minutes before the troll got here and killed us both. "Get out of there this instant!"
"No! Leave me be!"
"Hermione, don't be stupid, get out—"
"STUPID?!"
There was an inarticulate sound of outrage and Hermione slammed open the stall door in a fury. I stumbled at the sight of her — Hermione was an ugly crier. Most people are. Her cheeks were stained with tear tracks both dried and fresh, her robes were rumpled and socks uneven. Most terrifyingly, her hair, once an untamable mane of brown and curly locks that frazzled at the ends, seemed to have almost doubled in size and ferocity. It was also twitching threateningly like a living thing as Hermione shook in place, holding back angry tears. Her vinewood wand whipped up towards me, clutching in a white-knuckled fist.
"How dare you! Vermillious!"
An explosion of red sparks screeched my way like grapeshot from a cannon. So I did the smart thing: yelp like a frightened child and dodge.
Throwing myself to the side by the sinks, I yelped as Hermione lined up her wand for another spell. My eyes went wide. The spell for red sparks wasn't supposed to be that dangerous. But, I supposed that in enough of a fury, even that humble little spell could be weaponized by a sufficiently angry witch.
"What in blazes… Have you gone mad?!" Let it not be said that my mouth gets any smarter when caught off guard. But to be fair, being attacked by Hermione was not how I saw this day going.
"I told you to leave!"
"But—"
"Locomotor robes!"
Bloody un-dodgeable spells! She'd charmed my robes and now they were yanking me off my feet! At the direction of her wand, I was sent skidding backwards along the tile towards the far wall by the door. Or, judging by Hermione's fury and lack of precise focus, I was going to crash skull-first into a stone wall. Or crash into a solid door. Both were likely, and Hermione seemed angry enough that she was blind to the consequences.
Yeah… no.
A twist of my hand and I brought out my wand from the sleeves of my robe (or rather, a sleeve-opening to my Pouch) and stabbed forward with the characteristic twirl of the Disarming Charm. I may not have devoted much time to learning it, but I had practiced it at least once or twice. I doubted Hermione had any idea the spell even existed… yet.
"Expelliarmus."
Naturally, her wand flew out of her hand, landing on the tiles and rolling into another stall. Of course, my lack of practice was working against me: I'd intended to have it land closer to me, maybe even in my hand, but this was good enough. Hermione blinked in absolute shock, mouth agape, and I grunted as I fell on my bum as her spell cut out.
"What…? How did you—?"
"Disarming Charm. Second year Defense textbook." I cut her off as I got to my feet, grumbling. "Dreadfully useful. Most wizards are absolute pants at doing anything without their wands, especially duelling. Honestly, there's more to magic than just getting good grades, Hermione."
I dusted off my robes and paused, giving Hermione a look. "So, ready to leave yet? The feast's already started, so we don't have much time…" I trailed off, frowning thoughtfully at the door then glanced about the rest of the loo, taking in as many details as I could. I could only guess how much time had passed, and there hadn't been much of it left when I'd shown up… even less when the bells tolled and the feast began…
We had minutes at best.
"It's now or never, Hermione."
Suddenly, there was a loud clanging sound from outside the girl's first floor loo, as the clatter of metal smashing into stonework reached our ears. A low grunting rumbled and more clanging sounds from the metal being punted aside by something very, very large and very, very heavy. We both stared in surprise at the door.
Merlin's pants. Make that 'seconds at best'.
"I've just changed my mind. Stay in here for the rest of the night, Hermione." I said and immediately scrambled for the door.
"Wait, what?" Hermione's eyes shot back to me in confusion, reeling from emotional whiplash at my sudden change of heart.
"Get your wand. Now. And stay here where it's safe. The troll's already found us, likely attracted by the smell of the loo… they like disgusting odors, as I recall." I half ordered, voice trailing off into a mutter as I stifled my initial instinct to freak out and panic. Panic served no one right now.
Thankfully, being sorted into Gryffindor had some benefits. Namely, that in addition to my other Perks that my previous self have given me, I'd also gained a Perk from being sorted into Gryffindor: Brave At Heart. In short, Gryffindors don't freeze up in the face of danger, but are capable of overcoming their fears to actually act when others would be paralyzed by terror. Was I grateful for the Hat putting me in Gryffindor now? Probably not, but it had become useful now that I was confronted with the thought of facing such a terrifying foe.
"Troll? What troll? How on earth could a troll get into the castle? I've read that they're dangerous, but the castle's supposed to be the safest place in the British Isles according to Hogwarts: A History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. How do you know—" Hermione was already ranting, still angry and perfectly at ease with spouting facts she'd read about as books as if they were incapable of being wrong. And while, yes, under normal circumstances, it would be impossible for a troll to just wander onto Hogwarts, much less get into the castle, but these were not normal circumstances.
I didn't bother telling Hermione that, there was no time. I pressed my ear to the oak and listened. The stomping was getting closer.
"Hermione, shut up, get your wand, and don't leave this loo until the professors get here" I warned then bolted out the door.
"Wait, but—Kenneth!"
I slammed the loo's door closed on her as she rushed to it. Waving a hand over the door and lock, I muttered the Colloportus spell before testing the door. Locked, just as I had practiced this summer. Hermione would need her wand to get out, and that bought me time before she did anything truly stupid like get herself killed trying to "help".
There was a huff from down the corridor and far up. I glanced over at the source of the exhale and scrunched up my nose at the horrendous stench. Twelve feet tall, weighed a ton and a solid mass of muscle and insulating fat with large, two-toed feet, shaggy grey hair all over the place, a leathery hide the texture of weathered stone, garbed in rudimentary clothing made from massive animal pelts, canvas and cured leather with ornamentation made from whittled bone and an enormous club made from a tree-trunk with all the branches broken off clutched in a hand large enough to crush my ribcage? Yup, there was the troll.
An adult male mountain troll, to be specific. Which was a tad worse than the usual troll as they were more muscled and durable than their forest or river kin. Far more prone to violence too.
Joy.
The troll squinted at me and grunted something in Troll (the language) that I didn't quite understand while scratching its chest. There was an audible sniff and the troll appeared to be contemplating what to make of me. Judging by the way the beast was staring at me with hunger in its eyes, it had been attracted to the smell of the bathroom (trolls are disgusting like that) and likely just decided on the menu for dinner: me.
I objected strongly.
"Hey, ugly!" I shouted at the troll, backing away from the locked door and into the open corridor smoothly. Swapping out my wand for the blade stashed in my Dimensional Pouch, I waved it threateningly at the troll, ensuring I had its attention. "Get lost, or I'll make you very, very sorry!"
The troll ignored my threats and took a lumbering step towards me. So, I used one of the classic spells of all wizards everywhere: I conjured fire. Flames erupted from my fingertips, swirling and forming into streams of scarlet that blazed towards the troll's head.
"Have at thee!"
Incendio is a wonderful spell. While trolls are largely resistant to the effects of being burned alive, the sudden bright light and threat of flame heading for its head invoked the primal instincts of all humanoid creatures: to protect the face. Startled and jerking away from the flames, the troll swung its massive club at me. But, as trolls are largely unintelligent beings, I knew well enough to duck and let the club crash into the stone walls of the corridor, creating even more of a din.
But I didn't stick around as the troll recovered its senses. No, I was already bolting down the corridor. Some might say that's a bit cowardly, but I wasn't an idiot, and while the troll was a terrifying foe to be faced with — especially for an eleven-year-old — I was Brave At Heart and knew that running away was actually the smart thing to do.
"Come and get me, you ninny!" Judging by the way the troll was grunting and hooting at me in rage, lumbering feet sounding like thunder as it tried to chase through down the corridor, I'd achieved my goal. The troll was now fixated on killing (and eating) me and had completely forgotten about the stench of the girl's loo that had drawn it to the first floor in the first place. Hopefully, that would keep Hermione out of harm's way. That sounded like a win in my book.
You know, if I didn't die in the process.
A/N: Stuff happened IRL that made finding time to write a bit of a challenge. That, and I was stuck with options for how I wanted this to go, and it took me a while to stitch the ideas together. I don't think people expected things would shake out this way (Ken certainly didn't!) but nothing ever goes quite according to plan. Still, the butterflies are flapping their wings and everything begins to go wrong for Ken.
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
May 5, 2020
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kenmadragon
kenmadragon
May 20, 2020
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#64
Chapter 9
Fear of death is an excellent motivator.
That was a fact I became well acquainted with while ducking, diving and dodging my way out of range of the rampaging troll while firing off wandless levitation spells to toss random stuff at the troll chasing after me. Mostly they were some torches along the walls and the occasional tapestry, all of which I yanked from their mountings and levitated at the troll's head as a distraction. Every second it took to scramble for the cloth covering its face or bat aside a burning stick was another second I stayed alive. So, I continued to do so in addition to hitting the suits of armor that occasionally dotted the corridors with Disarming Charms that broke the suits into piles of armament and metal that served as oversized, malformed caltrops for the troll.
If it wasn't clear, my goal was to stall the troll as long as possible while I led it down corridors I figured wouldn't be used by students in mass exodus from the Great Hall while still making my way to the Grand Staircases. Plus, the longer I stalled, the more noise my efforts and the irate troll chasing me would make… well, enough of a ruckus that I prayed would be heard by my professors — I didn't give myself good odds of actually subduing this troll on my own.
But I was confident I could survive it.
I juked down what must have been my sixth corridor while the troll was still distracted removing yet another tapestry I'd levitated into its face and kept on moving. Trolls had a rather exceptional sense of smell and this one already had my scent; there was no point in thinking that I could hide from it. But, the sight down this corridor gave me hope for my survival: I recognized the corridor and could see the Grand Staircases at the end.
Racing down the corridor, I poured on all the speed I could to make for the open space ahead. The troll redoubled its efforts to catch me, and I made the gamble of slowing just long enough to turn and fling another stream of fire at it. But instead of flinching away from the flames like before, my Incendio just hit the troll's meaty hide and did absolutely nothing to hinder it. I ducked and rolled again to dodge another swing of its arm as this corridor was too narrow to swing the club. The troll just gained more ground as I kipped back to my feet and kept on running.
Five yards left.
Three yards and another duck to avoid a grab that almost took my head.
Two.
One.
Then I was out onto the first floor landing looking out over the Grand Staircases — at last!
I only had a moment for my heart to fall when I realized that none of the moving staircases was connected to this landing… I paled. Hurriedly, I tried to guess how long it would take for the staircases to give me an exit from this godforsaken landing, but my most optimistic estimates were still "too slow" when there was a troll bearing down on me.
Speaking of the troll, it was upon me with a roar. It seemed almost delighted that I had stopped running and that there was enough overhead space on the landing for it to swing its massive club up high.
I gulped and threw a hand up to ward against the descending tree-trunk intent on splattering me against the stonework.
"Immobulus!"
The air around the descending club took on the consistency of molasses and the vast majority of the troll's tree-trunk club froze in place as the spell took hold of its length. Unfortunately, the troll's inhuman strength and bulk couldn't be stopped just because I'd frozen its club up in the air on its wind-up. The club splintered and shattered as the troll roared, bringing down a jagged shard like an unexpected dagger.
Eyes wide, I backpedaled out of the way of the sudden rain of wooden spears and the slicing of what remained of the club smashing into the floor of the landing. Sadly, without the staircase to step back on, I ended up escaping into open air.
You see, when all you're thinking about is escaping certain death by spears of wood as long my arm from skewering me like a shishkebab, you tend to forget that what's behind you is an open ledge since the staircase that was supposed to be there just happened to be somewhere else right then. I ended up tripping and falling from the landing, much to the annoyance of the troll.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as the saying goes.
Yelping, I flail wildly as I fell, but Brave At Heart kicked in just in time. Thinking quickly, I swished the long knife clutched in a death-grip at the spot where I was about to go splat and cast a very slap-dash Softening Charm. I had only practiced it to blunt my training gear to prevent injuries, since the charm could make sharpened steel swords act like a spongy rubber stick that would bend and flex harmlessly instead — very useful for training purposes, but that wasn't its only application.
So, I used the charm to turn the stone floor that would crack my head like an egg into a makeshift trampoline.
Bo~oing!
I sunk into the stone floor, almost partially swallowed by the elastic material as the tension built. Then I was ignominiously spat into the air spinning as the elastic bounced back. Flung high into the air, I flail about as I was thrown even higher than where I fell from. The troll looked incredibly confused by these series of events — first I had been running, now I was "flying"!
I somehow managed to contort myself in midair to get my feet under me by the time I hit the stone-trampoline again (mostly by flailing about until I got lucky). So this time, I could actually control how I shot up into the air again. I continued to surge up into the air with every bounce, each time a little higher than before with a laugh on my lips. The troll's head kept following my motion dumbly, entirely unsure of what was going on. It's anger was put on a momentary pause as it was confronted with something far more complicated than "annoying human-thing to be smashed and eaten".
Of course, I couldn't get cocky just yet. The spell would wear out eventually so I couldn't hope to keep jumping as a distraction forever. Plus, the professors were oddly nowhere to be seen even though the troll and I had been making quite a ruckus. They really ought to have been attracted by all that noise, even if only to see what in blazes was going on making this racket, but no one had come to my rescue. I had to think fast because I was on my own with this rampaging troll, and "The Incredible Bouncing Boy!" distraction would probably get old fast.
So I took it upon myself to deal with the situation… again.
When I fell for the last time, I angled my ascent slightly differently — rather than bounce straight up, I tilted into an arc that would carry me over the first floor landing. Up and up I shot and the troll stared after me agape as it had been doing for the last minute. But this time, I was actually getting closer to it.
"En garde!" I cried at the zenith of my arc, descending on the mountain troll from above. By the time the troll had realized what I was up to, it was too late. The arm it threw up to snatch me out of the air was too slow and I just used it as another launchpad to line up the perfect thrust.
There was an ugly squelch as I sank the long dagger deep into the troll's eye. The beast howled in agony, dropping the remains of its club as it reeled back, but I just drove the blade further in until it was stuck as deep as I could push it. It roared with every inch I drove the dagger further in, trying to send the metal spike through its brain, but the troll's head was too big and its brain too small to be reached with my dagger.
Of course, the troll didn't take that lying down, stumbling around while I clung onto its face for dear life. This was made even more difficult by the troll swatting at me while I swung to dodge at the last second, but every jerk and move only wiggled and twisted the blade, sending even more waves of agony into the beast's skull.
The troll ended up slapping itself in the face as I swung just in the nick of time, eliciting another howl of pained fury. However, I couldn't hold on like that forever, just wiggling what the troll must have felt was a metal needle in its eye. I had to end this once and for all.
"Engorgio! Engorgio! Engorgio!" I screamed.
There was a horrid splortching sound as the dagger rapidly octupled in size, and my hand slipped from the now-enormous handle. The troll shuddered underneath me, its howling interrupted as the small blade was now the size of a Muggle torpedo with its hilt sprouting right out of the troll's head like a steel tree-trunk.
The mountain troll spasmed, no longer howling but trembling and convulsing erratically as if its body were trying to grab me but didn't remember how and was too stupid to realize that its brain had been damaged. I scrambled to find purchase as my hands couldn't fit on the engorged blade anymore but my footing on the troll's face had already been tenuous. As the beast rocked on uneasy feet underneath me, I couldn't help it — I was flung back and off.
Panic flashed through my mind for but a moment before I twisted, whipping my head to look at where I was falling again. Once again I was falling off the first floor landing, but at least I now had the softened stone beneath me to break my fall. Well, at least until I landed on the edges of the spongy material at an awkward angle, hit my head on hard stone, and was flung off.
I tumbled gracelessly, fruitlessly trying to stop my momentum as I skipped and rolled across the stone floor. My limbs scraped on the tiles and my head and body were battered as I ragdolled like a stone tossed across the surface of the Great Lake. My back slammed into a wall, finally halting my battered body, and I managed to dazedly blink away the flashes of light from my dizzy eyes to see the troll falling off the landing as well.
Unlike myself, however, the troll had the misfortune of falling face-first off the landing, only to be slammed in mid-air by a moving staircase — the very same one that would have provided me an exit earlier had finally decided to shift! Instead, the staircase smashed into the troll's limp and falling body, sending it tumbling into a roll before it landed in a crumpled heap across the ground floor of the Grand Staircases. The troll continued to spasm for a few moments, small sounds escaping it that grew quieter and quieter before it eventually fell still.
I blinked, aghast and panting from the exhaustion of the chase and the aches of my last tumble. Galloping gorgons… Was it… dead?
I tried to stand, but my body ached in protest. The best I could manage was pulling myself to all fours and crawling closer for a better look, something made more difficult by the fact that my left eye was starting to get sticky and wet from what appeared to be a head wound. Plus, now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the exertion of this entire day was rapidly catching up to me. I don't think I got away from the rain of club-shrapnel unscatched either, and felt pricks from splinters as I crawled towards the troll's prone form.
Gagging from the stench of the beast as I got closer, I tried rubbing my vision clear (which only made things worse) and listened carefully. The troll wasn't breathing. There was the occasional spasm in its fingers and leg, but the horrid beast's chest no longer moved. Its sole remaining eye was glassy and dim, and the engorged-dagger was still planted in the other.
The troll was dead.
I sigh/gagged and rolled onto my back, aching all over. There was the sound of footsteps rushing towards me from one of the corridors, but I couldn't be bothered to move my head from looking at the moving staircases above. People were talking, shouting really, but by that point, I'd stopped paying too much attention because there was a ringing in my ears that made me a little worried I might have had brain damage. Gods, I hoped not.
My vision was filled with white hair, half-moon glasses and an orange hat — Dumbledore hovered over me worriedly, and there were other professors appearing at the edge of my vision, and they were all talking rapidly. His half-moon glasses looked weird from this angle, but that might have just been my shaky vision. I couldn't really tell what he was saying, everything sounded like I was underwater, but he seemed to be saying my name and asking me something.
Now, in most literature and cinema, this would be the time when the injured guy would give some pithy one-liner and sound really cool. Crack a joke, make a reference to something witty, spout a catchphrase, or say something profound, it didn't matter so long as it was dramatically impactful. This was the perfect set-up for that for that sort of thing.
Instead, I ended up blurting out: "Hello Rumbleroar!"
Whatever their reaction was, I wouldn't know. I passed out and everything faded to black.
I woke up in the Hospital Wing.
It took me a moment to realize that the unfamiliar bed was not my own, but as I regained my senses, the school infirmary was an easy enough place to recognize. While magical infirmaries don't have quite the same odious scent of antiseptic that seems to pervade all Muggle hospitals (or at least, the more intensive care wards), the smell of healing is almost universal. Magic simply adds another layer and texture to the flavor of scent, bringing to mind all sorts of vapors and concoctions, as well as the various fumes from aromatic herbs that decorated the infirmary.
Light poured in from the large windows, and the scent of the healing arts wafted through the air. Diffused colors decorated the Hospital Wing and I could vaguely hear the sound of the matron moving about just out of sight. I was off to the side of the ward, an empty chair to my side and a large pot of red geraniums on the bedside table. A clock across the ward informed me that it was early in the morning and that I was now missing breakfast. Great.
I gingerly reached out to touch the bandages that bound my chest and parts of my limbs. They felt rather itchy, likely from the scrapes I was healing from. Or possibly from the minor injuries I had already healed… I didn't feel any pain whatsoever. I just felt tired, hungry and a little itchy from the bandages.
I took in a deep breath, focusing and calming my thoughts. Exhaustion was set aside, and I blinked as I realized that I must have been in the Hospital Wing since I lost consciousness. The last thing I remembered, the troll had fallen, and… died.
Then… Just flashes. Bits and pieces of memory grasped from floating in and out of consciousness as I was found (Headmaster Dumbledore's garish robes stood out), to being escorted to the Hospital Wing, then drifting in and out of sleep while under the matron's tender ministrations.
I adjusted to sit up. Doing so alerted the matron, Madam Pomfrey, who quickly dropped whatever she had been doing to come over and fuss.
"Ah, Mr. Godewyn. Do be careful, don't sit up too fast now, dear," Madam Pomfrey chided, helping me sit straight and adjusting the pillows behind me so I didn't strain my back doing so. "Heavens, the Headmaster gave me a fright bringing you in like that. Honestly, the man ought to have kept you awake and saved me an explanation. Now, tell me dear, are you feeling any discomfort anywhere?"
"Err, no." I answered, a little flustered by the attention. "Just a little itchy, I suppose. A little peckish, too. I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday."
"I see. Well, the good news is that you aren't in any danger, and I've fixed up the most pressing of the issues. You looked far worse than you really were, thank goodness. But I'll be keeping you here for observation. Just until the end of the day, to be safe."
"Right," I nodded. Idly, my hand rose to itch at the bandages, but found it slapped gently by Madam Pomfrey.
"No scratching. Heavens, a boy your age rushing off to face a troll… I hope that you'll be more sensible in the future, young man. I don't want you in my infirmary for anymore such nonsense, do you understand? Leave such matters to your Professors," the matron warned.
I couldn't really do more than nod uneasily, unsure of whether I could keep such a promise. I certainly hadn't wanted to face the troll — but it had happened. Thank heavens I had prepared for that terrible eventuality… even if none of it had gone according to plan. Gods, I could still remember the smell of the enormous creature…
Leaning back on the pillows, I allowed Madam Pomfrey to continue her diagnostics and endured each tut and noise of approval. Of course, we weren't uninterrupted, despite the early hour of the morning.
"Hello Poppy. Is Mr Godewyn awake yet?" came Professor McGonagall's voice from the entrance of the infirmary.
"Here, Minerva," the matron answered, standing to meet her. The Professor walked over, giving me a kind smile as she saw me look at her.
"Ah, good. I had hoped to have a word before classes this morning."
"Not too long, I hope. The boy needs his rest."
"Of course. And his prognosis?"
"His injuries could have been far worse, but he's out of the woods. Even so, I'm keeping him for observation, until I'm certain he is in good health."
"Splendid." McGonagall smiled. "May I?"
Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Be sure not to stress the poor dear, he's been through enough."
Professor McGonagall gave her a contrite expression, leaving Madam Pomfrey to sigh, shaking her head as she left. The Professor turned to me and took a seat by the bed.
"Mr. Godewyn, how do you feel?" she asked.
"Fine," I answered honestly. "The bandages are a little itchy, but Madam Pomfrey says not to scratch them. A little hungry too — I think I'm missing breakfast, and I never made it to dinner last night."
The professor made a hmm-ing sound and threaded her fingers together on her lap before giving me a stern look. "Well, I would advise that you heed the matron on this, Mr. Godewyn. She is the expert on healing at Hogwarts, and has fixed up many a student's scrapes and mishaps while at school. We'll see about sending something up from the kitchens shortly, though."
"Right," I nodded.
"Yes, at Hogwarts, it is important that one always minds the advice of their professors. This is a school after all. Of course, there is also the matter of what on earth you were doing with a mountain troll in the first place." Professor McGonagall lectured, before giving me a dry look.
I tried not to look guilty. "I didn't intend to run into it…"
"Yes, Messers Longbottom, Potter and Weasley were clear that you had not been present at the Feast and were unaware of the troll's presence in the castle. Even so, I must question what madness overtook you that led you to believe that making yourself the creature's target was an acceptable idea, young man. You could have been killed!" reprimanded the professor.
I flinched, staring at my lap. "I had to."
"What on earth for? I understand that you weren't aware the troll had broken into the school when you encountered it on the first floor, but that doesn't explain why you made it chase you through the school, damaged several paintings, statues, tapestries, torches and suits of armor along the way, then decided to slay it in the most lunatic of fashions!"
Excuses raced through my head, and I thought quickly to pick one that sounded at least somewhat legitimate. The closer to the truth without actually touching upon my real reasons, the better.
"I didn't know anyone else knew…" I shrugged, wincing from her sharp tone. "I thought if I made enough noise, that someone would find me in time and help. And if it didn't chase me, then it would have gone into the loo because trolls are attracted to foul odors, and Hermione was crying in there, so I… I did everything I could to slow it down and buy myself time for help to arrive, but then it trapped me on the landing, and I couldn't run anymore…That's why I - I had to..."
I looked away, my eyes tracing the patterns in a privacy divider on the other side of the room. The howling of the troll echoed in my ears, as well as the pounding of my heart and the rush of blood and violence that erupted at the end. It was brutal and ugly.
The curse of my exceptional memory: I would never forget that horrific experience.
And yet… I was fine. The very same abilities that made me capable of such a feat and incapable of forgetting it meant that I didn't even flinch at the memory. I could feel the blood on my hands, but they didn't shake. I could hear its last dying breaths, the howling of its pain as I slew it, but I wasn't unnerved by them anymore.
I took a deep breath, closing my eyes, reliving the memory. The events flashed past my mind's eyes, and I could remember the throbbing of martialled panic and the courage I had brought forth to face my fears. I could recall each and every spell I had used, what had and had not worked, and how the troll had responded every time. I could feel its animalistic drive and the sensation of adrenaline and power racing through my veins as I fought to escape and survive. The moment where everything snapped into place, and I made the impulsive decision to end the chase and become the hunter. I remembered what it was like to sink that blade into the troll's eye, cling to it as it felt true pain, and then put an end to its misery before it was overcome with agony.
I saw it die.
I opened my eyes slowly, calming my breath.
I was fine.
Just another… benefit of whatever deal my previous self had cut with my Benefactor.
I felt sick when I realized the implications: I wasn't shaken by slaying the beast.
I also felt intensely relieved.
Idly, I recalled that Professor McGonagall was still there, looking at me with a complicated expression. She sighed, shaking her head. "What you experienced, Mr. Godewyn, is something that a student at Hogwarts should never have to endure. I offer my sincere apologies, on behalf of myself and the school."
I didn't know what to say to that. "Thank you?"
"Nevertheless, you acted incredibly recklessly last night, and not only were you caught entering the girl's toilet-" Penelope, you snitch! I thought angrily. "-but you also caused immense damage to the school in your misguided attempts to resolve a situation beyond your capabilities as well. You also put yourself and any other student who might have accidentally chanced upon you and that troll in the corridors in immense danger to life and limb. For that, I am docking Gryffindor thirty points, and you will have detention with me after class on Monday."
While this result was totally expected given how I'd played fast and loose with things last night, I shouldn't feel this disappointed about being punished that way. Making a face, I bit out, "That is-!... Fair."
Professor McGonagall nodded sternly, but then her expression softened a little. "However, you also showed great courage and quick wit when dealing with such an unforeseen challenge, kept your calm under fire, and dealt with a great threat to the school and its students single handedly in order to protect a housemate from danger. For your daring and nerve, I am awarding seventy points to Gryffindor."
I blinked, caught off guard. Was this what emotional whiplash felt like? I now had sudden empathy for what the Trio must have experienced after Hallowe'en during their first year in the canon timeline.
"Thank you?" I wondered if that was the right response. Judging by the professor's expression, it might have been.
"You are quite welcome, Mr. Godewyn," she said warmly before standing and straightening her robes. "Now, I fear that I must be off before classes start for the day. You have been excused from them for the day, Mr. Godewyn, and your professors have been notified that you will be absent. I expect you will need to make up the work once you have been released, but based on what I have seen from you in Transfiguration, that will not be much of a problem for you, will it?"
"No professor," I said, a little embarrassed at the compliment.
"I thought not. Take care, Mr. Godewyn. I hope to see you back in the Common Room soon, and hope you will try not to do anything so foolish again." Professor McGonagall said.
"I will, Professor, thank you." I answered, trying not to feel guilty about fibbing like that.
McGonagall nodded and strode off, leaving me to think and consider her words. I had much to think about.
But for now, I needed something to occupy my hands so I didn't scratch at the bandages.
"Madam Pomfrey?" I called out.
"Yes, what is it dear, is something wrong? You really ought to be resting…" she answered, hurrying over.
"No, it's just that I'm awfully bored already. Do you happen to have some basic books on healing I could read in the meanwhile? To take my mind off of scratching the bandages? I'm really bored, and need something to read or I'll go mad."
A/N: So, this is a pretty jarring chapter in comparison to the last few. Not happy times for Ken, but a serious wake-up call. Contrary to what many might believe, the world of Harry Potter is fairly dangerous, even in the early books. An adult male mountain troll is a very serious threat, even for adult wizards. Ken might have an adult mind, but he's still working with a very limited education in magic. If not for his Perks giving him an Edge others wouldn't have, he'd be dead.
Thus far, he's been reluctant to really get his hands dirty, but being confronted by "death by mountain troll", he's forced to do so… and now he's got to come to some realizations about himself and make some changes going forward if he wants to survive in this world of magic, mystery and monsters. Just knowing the canonical plot and the plots of fanfiction isn't going to cut it anymore.
Last edited: May 20, 2020
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
May 20, 2020
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kenmadragon
Jun 16, 2020
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Chapter 10
I was thoroughly confused by the letter Mum had sent.
After the troll debacle, things had been strange. For one, no one seemed to have the full story about what had happened. That meant everyone was free to make up their own rumors and stories, each more outlandish than the last. Of course, none of them were remotely accurate.
The prevailing theory was that the troll had just wandered past the protective enchantments and bludgeoned its way past whatever obstacles it encountered, then wound up running afoul of the professors after it caught, and almost ate, some unlucky student in the hallway. The details varied based on whatever each storyteller thought was more dramatic and entertaining, but that was the general gist of it, anyways.
Guess who was the poor sap who had to be "rescued" by the professors?
Naturally, it was the first year who'd apparently spent the entire day afterwards locked up in the Hospital Wing with no visitors allowed.
The rumor-mongers of Hogwarts had taken that to mean I had been hideously mauled by the troll, and Madame Pomfrey had to regrow my limbs from scratch and reconstruct my face from a portrait or somesuch. It was all utter nonsense, but the instant I had returned to Gryffindor Tower I was overwhelmed by students wanting to know more about what had happened, lamenting how horrible it must have been to be mauled by a troll, but did I have any scars and, if yes, could they see them?
Ugh.
Anyways, I'd written to Mum and Dad once I was back in the Tower, just to let them know that I was okay and not to trust whatever rumors were spreading that claimed I had been eaten by the troll or something. You know, because I was perfectly fine, I had no scars, and it really wasn't as big of a deal as Mum's gossiping friends might tell her it was. I'm not dead, and I'd thank them not to believe anyone who claimed I was.
Naturally, I said nothing about how I had known the troll would be there in the first place nor done anything to implicate anyone being at fault for the troll's presence in the castle. Doing so would just create more trouble for me, and I had no intention of being questioned about why I would do something so dangerous as confront a troll, especially if I knew where and when it would be in the castle and had every opportunity to avoid it.
I also didn't bother mentioning my part in its final fate… that would have been unwise. Telling Mum that I had killed a troll would have gotten me such a talking to and smothering with affection and care that I'd probably suffocate from the focused attention. So far, the only ones who really knew I had killed the troll were the professors and Neville — I'd ended up telling him the highlights in confidence as he was far too worried by all the rumors… though I worry my description of events might not have helped as much as I thought — and I'd prefer to keep it that way.
Even so, I'd expected Mum to be furious or worried or concerned or something. I mean, I'd been in mortal peril after all!
What I didn't expect was for her to be all of those things but also proud. Apparently, she'd received an owl from the Headmaster himself explaining the situation hours before my own owl reached home. Dumbledore had supposedly explained everything and she was proud of me for being so humble as to downplay my own role in events. Apparently, whatever the Headmaster had written was so glowingly complimentary of my two months at Hogwarts and appreciative of my quick thinking and courage in saving another student from the troll (as well as the rest of the school, when I killed it) that Mum was happy about that.
I mean, sure, she was still furious about my recklessness and I would likely get an earful about it over the holiday, but apparently Professor Dumbledore had somehow preempted her fury and made me out to be a child-hero she could be proud of.
I… didn't really know what to feel about that.
Obviously, the Headmaster was covering his butt in order to spin this troll debacle into something that wouldn't make problems for the school. Public-Relations might not have been the nightmare it would become in the future, but it was still important to manage, and Dumbledore was certainly accountable for managing the school's image amongst the rest of the Wizarding World. The letter he'd sent to my parents was a deft move, I had to admit, and I couldn't help but wonder at how he must have composed such a missive that could paint events in such a positive light. And I was glad that it had resulted in my parents being happy with me… I just wish I was as happy with what I'd done as they were.
Things had not gone according to plan...
I sighed and put the letter away. Neville looked over at me, curiously. "Later," I told him as we dug into our breakfast. Hermione was still glaring at me from down the table every now and then, and there was no telling who else might be eavesdropping.
On the upside, at least Hermione was now friends with Harry and Ron. I had no idea how that had happened, but apparently events had transpired between when she was locked in the loo and when I returned to the Tower as they were suddenly bosom buddies. It wasn't the same as it was in canon, but at least the famous Trio was together now.
I just wished they weren't united in their low opinion of me.
The rest of the Gryffindors had sensed the tension in the air and wisely kept our groups separated at the table in the Great Hall for meals, and we staked out different spots in the Common Room to spend time or work on homework — apparently, fighting and killing a troll wasn't a good enough excuse to miss my assignments, and I'd had to make up all the classwork I'd missed while in the infirmary.
Thankfully, I'd only missed a single day's worth of classes. Plus, with Percy now choosing to hover over me to make sure I wasn't going to do something "stupidly Gryffindor-ish" anytime soon, Neville and I had someone to ask questions about for our homework. His help was actually quite invaluable when it came to writing the short essays we were assigned. While I was quickly progressing through my studies in secret due to all my advantages, I still loathe writing papers.
Percy, on the other hand, was something of an expert and seemed tickled pink that Neville and I actually asked him for advice on completing our assignments. Sure, he was a bit pompous and stringent in personality, but apparently he was taking twelve O.W.L.s this year and clearly knew his stuff. The boy was bloody brilliant, and knew it. Neville and I asking him for help was just the highlight of Percy's day, and he was perfectly willing to share what he knew if we just asked him politely.
I don't think people gave Percy Weasley enough credit, really. Just because his personality's abrasive, didn't mean he wasn't brilliant nor helpful if you could deal with his eccentricities… I think we might have been kindred spirits, were it not for all my meta-knowledge about this world.
Still, his advice helped Neville and I do well on our written assignments, so that was fine by me. Writing papers was one of those things I couldn't help Neville learn, and anything I could do to help polish up my own skills wasn't something I would turn down. All we had to do was stay on his good side, and he'd watch out for us.
It was a pity that wizards like Percy Weasley are a rare breed and that few can be dealt with so easily.
Detention with Professor McGonagall was… exhausting.
She must have had a wry sense of karmic justice because my punishment for causing a mess in the castle with my recklessness was to help clean up the mess — without magic, of course. It wouldn't be much of a punishment if I could just learn a few spells and magic the mess away, now would it?
Apparently, if I was healthy enough to be walking about the castle, I was healthy enough to be worked to the bone polishing candelabras and suits of armor. Anything that was dented had to be banged out and restored to perfection too. It was long, rigorous work, and utterly impossible to finish in a single night, even for someone with special Perks like me!
I spent every hour from supper till curfew doing physical labor as reparations for the damages, rag and polish in hand with a soft hammer to fix the parts that were dented. The only use of magic allowed was for the Mending Charm when fixing something that couldn't be hammered out — stuff like snapped straps or metal which had been broken in two. Everything else needed to be fixed by hand and then thoroughly cleaned. Only once they had been restored to nigh-pristine condition could I consider any single piece done and move onto the next in the pile.
By the end of it, I was stumbling out of the empty classroom Professor McGonagall had filled with the remnants of my 'troll-distraction mayhem', terribly exhausted. As if that wasn't enough, she informed me that since I hadn't finished in a single evening, I would be continuing my detention every night for the next week until I was done.
I groaned as I trucked back up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, feeling like a zombie from the exhaustion. This late in the evening, just before curfew, the only ones moving about the corridors are the occasional student rushing back to their Common Rooms or the various ghosts drifting through the halls. Though, sometimes, you might run into a wandering professor, early in their rounds for the night.
"Godewyn, a word," came a voice from behind me on the stairs.
I blinked and turned to regard Professor Snape. In my weariness, I hadn't heard him approach, but he stood just behind me, lower on the stairs. Even though the difference in eye-level was minimal, Snape's presence still seemed to loom over me, and I had no idea how he achieved such a dramatic effect even when I had the higher ground. It was aggravating how he could be so imposing with seemingly no effort, while I was stuck as a child and my attempts at being fearsome ended up looking cute in my mirror instead. While I had no desire to interact with the Potions master at this late hour (he was stressful enough to deal with during the day), I couldn't exactly brush him off. I was a first year student, and he was a Professor. That just wasn't done.
"Yes Professor?" I responded politely, though I didn't meet his eyes. I had no idea whether he would attempt even casual use of Legilimency against me, but it was better not to risk it. Keeping my eyes down and being deferential seemed the best way to go. Plus, his beard was oddly fascinating to look at. How he kept it so immaculate while the rest of his hair was long and greasy was a mystery.
Of course, my attitude just earned a sneer in response. "Do not think that being in the Hospital Wing is enough to be excused from making up your absence from my class." Snape said. "I expect you to have three feet written about the ingredients and preparation of the Wiggenweld Potion that you missed. You shall be brewing one under my direct supervision, and I expect it to be flawless."
"Right…" I tried to keep my exasperation out of my tone, but I'm not sure I managed it. Snape merely scowled, but then I realized a complication and had to ask, "... but, when would I be brewing the Wiggenweld for you? Neville said we weren't going to work on the Wiggenweld in the next class, we were to be working on Forgetfulness potions..."
There was a moment of stillness, before Snape's lips stretched in a cruel grin. "Why, I do believe you will still have to brew a Forgetfulness potion, Mr. Godewyn. It is only out of consideration for your… meritorious actions on Hallowe'en that the Headmaster has advised your Professors not to simply mark your missing assignments as Trolls for their non-existence… no matter how ironic the marking. That does not mean you can delay the deadlines for your other potions assignments." Professor Snape smiled, his words dripping with sarcasm.
"I-!" I stifled my instinctive argument that that wasn't remotely fair, but remembered who I was talking to. I took a breath, forcing myself to calm down and not react with indignation. "And the essay?"
"A late submission penalty, in the interest of fairness. We wouldn't want to encourage skipping classes, would we? Best to get it through even the thickest of skulls that there are consequences for absences, regardless of excuse, don't you think?" the professor chuckled darkly.
"Yes, professor." I grit out.
"Good. Now, scurry on back to your tower, Godewyn, or I dock you points for being out past curfew."
I still had a good amount of time before curfew was up, and there were definitely other students still within view that were also about, but I knew that Professor Snape was just trying to rile me up at this point. All I had to do was give him a reason, and he'd have the justification he wanted to dock Gryffindor as many points as he could contrive excuses for. Best not to give him any.
"Yes Professor, I will. Thank you for letting me know to write the essay and prepare for both potions." I nodded deferentially.
Snape sneered and gave me a dismissive gesture. I didn't wait to start scurrying off again. But, before I had made it to the next landing, he couldn't help but have a final word.
"Oh, and two points from Gryffindor for disrespectfully being distracted and not looking at a professor when they are speaking to you."
My face twitched, annoyed, but I continued on my way.
Yeah… I was going to move up my plans for messing with Professor Snape. I had thought I would hold off on it until the next term, but now… now I just wanted to knock him down a peg.
I doubted he would see what I had in mind coming.
While attending my first Hogwarts Quidditch match would normally be something that would make me giddy with anticipation, I had other goals that conflicted with my desire to watch people flying through the air in an insane, sporting competition. Namely, the Quidditch matches were an excellent opportunity for mischief if your House happened to be playing.
Yesterday I had had the stressful displeasure of trying to brew two different potions at once as well as keep an eye on Neville so he didn't do something catastrophic while panicking. The fact that Snape had chosen to hover around us throughout the lesson hadn't helped matters, so I had been incredibly stressed out trying to keep track of everything. I am normally quite capable of multitasking when the occasion called for it, especially given the Essences of the Archmage and Druid worked in tandem to assist my mind and body with keeping up with the many tasks at hand, but that Potions lesson had been an ordeal.
I think it was a miracle that the only explosion during that lesson had come from Goyle's disastrous attempt at the potion and ended up splashing him in the face. To be honest, none of us were sure whether the botched Forgetfulness Potion had any effect on the boy — he didn't seem all that different from his usual, vacuous self. Professor Snape had Bulstrode take him to the infirmary anyways.
Surprisingly, I didn't have to do much to keep Neville on track with his own potion as he was being obscenely rigorous in quadruple-checking everything he did. Throughout the entire class, Neville muttered under his breath with fanatical focus, barely registering even my own whispered encouragements. I think my absence last week really shook him, because the only near-mistakes he made were when Snape's focus had drifted from my potions and settled on him.
Neville's potion ended up "barely adequate" by Professor Snape's standards, and mine were thankfully "acceptably made given the intellectual handicap of my House". While my Druid Essence helped with recovering from the mental fatigue rapidly, getting a passing score to keep Snape happy had been tiring for my 11 year old body. Lots to do in very little time, and many different things to keep track of all at once. If I hadn't had the benefits of my Perks and Essences as a Jumper, I'm not sure how I would have managed.
The rest of the Gryffindors' potions were… well, Ron and Harry's potions were Vanished and marked as failures without even a moment's hesitation, Parvati's was viciously criticized for not having the exact shade of blue the potion was supposed to have. Lavender's had ended up horribly pink and was failed out of hand. Dean, Seamus and Sally-Anne's potions had similar issues which Snape took great pleasure in delivering scathing critiques of. Hermione was the only one who emerged unmarred by indignation.
When we left the dungeons, I was the recipient of the rest of Gryffindor's sympathy, wringing my hands after nearly being splashed by Malfoy "accidentally" flinging remnants of Goyle's failure at us, as Dean and Parvati kept muttering about how Snape was completely unfair to me and being generally supportive. Seamus hadn't stopped scowling after Snape had torn into his potion, and Neville was rather quiet about it all. Even Hermione seemed somewhat empathetic, but that might have been just her silently agreeing with Ron as the redhead raved about Snape's favoritism for Slytherin. Harry and Sally-Anne seemed stone-faced and frustrated as we headed back to the Tower before luncheon.
After that, I felt no guilt about the fact that I was about to rob the potions master for my own self interest. But, to be fair, I doubted he'd even miss what I was about to steal.
Anyways, I had to admit that while I was sure that missing this Quidditch game would be something I would regret for quite a while, I knew that there would be other, likely more exciting games to be attended in the future. Besides, I hadn't been much of a live-sports-watcher in my previous life, so even if some part of me (in both lives) desperately wanted to watch and take part in a Quidditch game… I figured I could wait.
But the opportunity afforded by the first Gryffindor-Slytherin match could not be missed.
As a rule, the vast majority of Hogwarts are Quidditch fans. Pretty much everyone who was in one of the playing-Houses would attend the match. The few who didn't were usually loners or introverts who couldn't stand being in the crowded stands, surrounded by screaming students cheering on their House teams to victory. For this match, that meant that Gryffindor Tower was virtually empty… as were the dungeons empty of Slytherins. Plus, almost all the professors would be attending as well, as sports fanaticism wasn't something exclusive to the student population.
That in mind, I was perfectly aware that shenanigans would be in play during this Quidditch match, but since Hermione was now close friends with Harry and Ron, just like in canon, things should go relatively okay. Harry will be targeted by the Hurling Hex, Snape will attempt a counter-curse, Hermione and Ron will misidentify the villain, overreact, and distract everyone long enough for Harry to regain control and snag the Snitch.
I mean, sure, Harry might be injured if he's a bit unlucky this time around, but I'm fairly certain I saw Madame Pomfrey walking with Professors Flitwick and Sinistra to the Pitch while I was sticking to the edge of the crowd, so he'll probably be fine. More importantly, Professor Snape was seen stalking towards the Pitch as well, so I could safely say that his classrooms would be empty for the duration of the match.
Hopefully, this wouldn't take too long.
Once the corridors had cleared up and everyone was crossing the lawns or crowding the path to the Quidditch Pitch, I stepped out of the alcove I had ducked into and crept through the empty halls. Making my way to the stairs, I was careful to make sure no one saw me slip down into the dungeons. There was the occasional ghost flitting about, but none that seemed to think my presence odd. I was a first year student and wearing school robes. As far as any of the ghosts were concerned, I was probably a Slytherin student heading back to my dorm for some forgotten something-or-other.
I didn't know where the Slytherin Common Room was, but I was lucky that I ran into no one on my way to the Potions classroom. The locked door proved no obstacle to a wandless Alohomora, but I had to admit that it was strange to be in the classroom when no one else was there. There's just something plainly eerie about being alone in a classroom you've only ever been in with several other students. The fact that this was the dungeons and the Potions classroom didn't help matters.
Regardless, I kept a stiff upper lip and soldiered on, creeping towards the secondary supply closet where often-unused spares for class-materials were kept. I had the irrational urge to hum the Pink Panther theme as I did, yet nothing went awry. Of course, the closet was locked when I tried it, but that was to be expected. While it may not have been the storeroom for the far more valuable potions ingredients, the supply closet still had several spare sets of equipment and old textbooks and the like; all of which could be fenced for a few knuts if you were unscrupulous enough. Either that, or Snape was simply so paranoid that he locked everything, even the room he kept spare cauldrons in, for no other reason than that he could.
I'm not entirely certain which was more likely.
What was mildly concerning was the fact that while it took me several tries to get Alohomora to properly unlock the dusty, ill-used supply closet, it was absolutely useless on the trunk that held used Potions books. I must have tried the Unlocking Charm on that trunk over a dozen times, but the Thief's Friend did absolutely nothing. He must have locked the trunk with something that could rebuff the Charm, but I had no idea what or how to break it. All I could do was try and figure out the "correct" way to open it.
I surmised the Anti-Alohomora Charm had been placed on the trunk, but sadly, I didn't know the counter for that spell as the charm was designed explicitly to prevent idle thievery like this. Plus, it would be remarkably stupid to print a counter for a spell designed explicitly because the spell's inventor, Bladgon Blay, was sick and tired of there being a counter to the general Locking Charm and wanted a safer spell for securing his home against theft after it had been broken into nineteen times via the Alohomora. As far as I could tell, you needed to have the key or be the one who cast the locking spell in the first place.
The only question was whether or not there was some quick and dirty means to bypass the lock if one didn't explicitly have the key. If Professor Snape was paranoid enough to lock merely used books behind this kind of security, then there must have been some additional safeguard in case the key was lost to him or destroyed in some potions accident. I wasn't too confident in my Transfiguration ability to transfigure a false key without knowing what the original ought to have looked like, so I guessed that there must have been some manner of password to bypass the bewitchment.
It took me a few tries of some obvious, but incorrect, guesses, but eventually I remembered that Professor Snape, cruel and vindictive bat that he is, was a sentimental man at heart.
'Always', I recalled. Ah, love makes fools of us all, and yet none of us can resist her siren's call.
"Lily Evans," I whispered, then cast the Unlocking spell. The lock sprang open and slid off the latch.
Grinning — despite feeling tremendously guilty about using a man's love to steal from him — I slipped on a pair of gloves, opened the trunk and began to rifle through all the used books within.
Most of them were absolutely useless to me; either kept in pristine condition with only the occasional blemish or garish stain from potions and ingredients spilled on their pages, or filled with useless scribbles and drawings. Many of the books with writing in them were terribly maintained, and most of the notes were useless nonsense or flat-out incorrect. I narrowed my search to just open the first few pages and the inside covers. All I had to do was look for the signature of the book's former owner: "the Half-Blood Prince".
It took me almost half an hour but I managed to find nine such books. It seemed like Slughorn had assigned an additional book for fifth and seventh year students back when he was teaching Potions, mostly just additional recipes for further depth in the subject to prepare for their exams. Nevertheless, I was tremendously pleased with my findings.
"Sorry Harry," I muttered as I whipped off my hat and made an opening to my Dimensional Pouch within and proceeded to drop Snape's old Potions textbooks into it. "But I'll need these sooner than you will…"
Ill-gotten loot obtained, I reminded myself to hide them in my own trunk later, lest they clutter my Pouch and take up its limited space. I put the rest of the books back into the trunk as best as I could to make it seem like nothing had been taken. Then I locked the trunk, the supply closet, and then the classroom as I made my escape.
While taking the books might throw off the canon-plot down the line, I was certain that I would be able to finish reading and memorizing them long before sixth year when Harry would canonically get his hands on the Half-Blood Prince's copy of Advanced Potion-Making. So long as I put them back before then, no one would even notice.
The halls were still empty as I rapidly ascended through the castle towards the Room of Requirement. Once safely within, I pulled out the first of the books and began to read. While the textbook was clearly an older edition of the book we used in our current Potions class, the notes were obviously leagues ahead.
Severus Snape had been a gifted child and while I found few additions or corrections annotated within his first year textbook, I could definitely confirm that Sirius Black had been correct in canon: Snape knew loads about dark magic as a first year. None of it was truly serious or dangerous, but there were plenty of minor jinxes and hexes found within the book that Snape had scrawled in the margins, as well as ideas about how to better use various first-year charms and transfigurations. Of course, not all of these notes seemed to have been Snape's original ideas; he occasionally noted certain improvements or variations as suggestions by others I could only assume were Slytherin upperclassmen of his who Snape would eventually look up to.
Regardless, it was a fascinating look into Snape's psyche as a first year student at Hogwarts. He was clearly enamored with the dark arts, but most of his initial forays were incredibly childish and minor. One page even had a scrawled conversation between him and another student — I could only assume it was Lily Evans — discussing Slughorn's appearance during class in the rude and irreverent way children do.
Even so, I found myself learning a lot about jinxes and hexes from Snape's notes. Plus, it was clear that, based on the varying handwriting throughout the book, several of the annotations to "improve" the potions recipes had been written by an older Snape who had gone back and added them in. I supposed he must have done so while revising for his O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, but there was no way to know for sure. Still, I was thankful that they were there, because my Archmage Essence-boosted mind was able to memorize and integrate them into my own knowledge base. Once I had the skills to read and understand the next few years of Potions, I'd work my way through them until I'd memorized and understood them all.
Until then, I would make the legacy of the Half-Blood Prince my own source of secret strength.
By the time everyone filtered in from the Quidditch Pitch, raving about Harry's absurdly lucky catch and the ridiculous circumstances under which he had won them the match, I was back in the Common Room, quietly doing Astronomy homework, one-half book of nine memorized. No one was any the wiser.
A/N: Sorry about the delay, but I got busy with final projects and starting a new job and stuff. Things have been hectic.
Unlike with a lot of other stories, Ken isn't attached to the hip of the canonical protagonists, and has his own thing going on for him. Punishments at Hogwarts tend to be of the "make students do something awful to discourage misbehavior" variety, so McGonagall's detention is "physical labor to fix what you messed up". Also, Snape is being unlikable as usual - though, TBF, he has his reasons, but just goes about them in a way that garners him absolutely no appreciation.
Of course, all that really did was inspire Ken to steal some unused books no one would notice were missing… books that would teach Ken all about practical uses of minor dark magics and help advance Ken's potions skills faster. Ken, being Ken, doesn't like Snape… but the bat undeniably has style and a presence that you can't help but envy with how effortlessly he uses it.
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
kenmadragon
Jun 28, 2020
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#81
Chapter 11
Not many people stay at Hogwarts for Christmas.
See, Yuletide and a lot of the other holidays around this time of year originated from a lot of religious and cultural festivals in the Muggle world. Now, some might believe that the wizarding world celebrates the holidays similarly because they're throwing back to some ancient "true religion" that's actually based on real magic, or that since wizards and witches tend to live a little anachronistically, that we're all pagan heathens or something. Those people would be terribly wrong.
The holidays are about family and spending time with loved ones.
Thankfully, that wasn't a notion that Hermione needed to be dissuaded of, but Dean was remarkably happy to learn that being a wizard didn't mean he had to start performing weird rituals on the holidays just to fit in. He just had to deal with the same stuff Muggles did… only with magic.
I personally blame Muggle stereotypes about magic throughout history and the distortion of facts that occurred in the centuries leading up to the institution of the Statute of Secrecy and the centuries after it. Wizards and witches come in all stripes, you know? Some of us are religious, just like your average Muggle, but most of us are pretty secular. It's really only the fanatics that get into the whole "ritual aspects of ancient magic pre-dating the Gregorian calendar"... most wizards avoid those folks anyways.
They're weirdos, even by our standards.
Anyways, the point was that Neville and I were sharing a compartment with Seamus and Dean on the ride back to London as we discussed the holidays and mostly just commiserate over how awful the first term had been. Luckily, it appeared that a month and a half of school (on top of term exams) had dulled everyone's appetite for talking about that bloody troll incident, and my roommates were thankfully very cool about tip-toeing around the subject. Really, we've only known each other a few months, but I couldn't ask for better mates than these blokes.
"I'm almost certain I've failed that Potions exam, but I think I did alright on Charms and Herbology…" Neville mused as we all munched on the Cauldron Cakes we decided to split amongst ourselves.
"'Course, I 'spect you've done aces on Flitwick's exam, right Ken?" joked Seamus, as the other two giggled.
"No, I obviously failed it…" I rolled my eyes. "I just had to set the parchment on fire. But, I think you got extra credit, Seamus. You set the entire stack Flitwick was holding ablaze!"
"Oy!" Seamus complained as we broke into laughter. "I just missed where I was aiming, that's all. Didn't mean to make him start and scatter them everywhere..."
Seamus pretended to be hurt, but all of us could see him fighting to keep the grin off his face at the memory of Professor's Flitwick's panic. Our sniggering didn't help matters, and soon enough he joined us in laughing, tossing the wrapper for a Cauldron Cake at us to get us to shut up.
"Ah, I think I'll miss this." Dean sighed as our mirth wore out. "These last few months have been the most amazing weeks of my life. I almost don't want to go back."
"Yeah…" Neville murmured, staring wistfully out the window before looking at us all fondly. "But it's only the holidays. Just about two weeks at home then we'll be back."
"Barely any time at all…" Seamus grumbled.
"True, but we haven't seen our parents in months. Sending an owl every now and then is great and all, but I miss them." I sighed. All the others nodded at that.
"Course, we can't exactly use magic outside of school," Dean complained. "Stupid ministry rules…"
I snorted at the suggestion. The others gave me strange looks, frowning. Noticing, I explained, "I mean, technically, you're not supposed to use magic outside of school if you're underaged… but that's only a problem if you get caught breaking the rule."
"What do you mean?" Neville asked.
I mulled over whether to tell them the truth or not, but realized that there wasn't any harm to it. "Look, you didn't hear this from me and I don't want any of you spreading this, alright?" They nodded and we all leaned in, huddling close so they could hear my loud whisper, before I continued. "Alright. So, the thing the Ministry uses to track underage magic is called the Trace. I don't really know how it works, never really bothered to ask before, but what it does is determine whether magic is being used around an underage witch or wizard… but it doesn't tell them who did the magic."
Seamus frowned, puzzled. "I don't get it. If they can tell someone's doing magic, how does that not get you caught for breaking the rules?"
"Well, say you live with an adult wizard or witch, and they are legally allowed to do magic whenever they want. So if all they can tell is that magic happened around you…"
"... Then they can't tell if it was you or your guardian doing the magic," Neville realized, eyes going wide. I snapped my finger and gave Neville a nod. "Right on!" Seamus and Dean quickly grasped the situation, realizing what that meant.
"Since they can't tell who actually did the magic, they usually just assume that it was the adult, and that your parents and guardians were making sure you followed the rules and didn't do magic over the holidays. Thus, they don't bother looking any further — do magic in the house of a known witch or wizard, and no one makes a complaint… how would they ever know?" I finished explaining.
"That's brilliant!" Seamus breathed with wonder.
"Yeah… if we kept it secret, we could practice magic at home and get ahead on spells for next term," murmured Neville, pondering this revelation.
"Hold on," Dean interjected, noticing the flaw in this legal loophole. "That only works if you live with an adult who uses magic. I'm Muggleborn, I'm hung out to dry here!"
I winced. Technically, I wasn't supposed to know that Dean wasn't really a Muggle-born (he was actually a half-blood, his birth-father having been murdered in the last war without telling Dean's mother anything about magic) but given he lived with an otherwise Muggle family, the distinction was irrelevant here. "Right… Well, legally speaking, none of us are supposed to use magic over the holidays, it is against the rules. And I'm fairly certain most parents don't want their kids practicing magic over the holidays anyways… they're hectic enough without magic, you know. Any magic we do would either have to be in secret or somehow have our parent's permission to do — and I doubt any of our parents would abide by blatant rule-breaking, don't you think?"
"It's still unfair."
"That it is." I agreed, sadly. "Still, I'd be worried if Mum and Dad decided to take my wand for the holidays, just to be certain."
Would it be any hindrance to me, given I had an unfairly skillful grasp of magic as a result of my Wandless Magic perk and was capable of using every spell I knew both with and without a wand? Not really, but I had to admit that my wand was very versatile and made learning spells much easier.
Idly, I pulled out my wand rolled it between my fingers, taking comfort in the sensation of the oak on my skin and the feeling of warmth I could feel as it thrummed in my light grasp. A small smile graced my lips as I remembered how wands were very much alive and that mine had chosen me above all others. With it in hand, feeling that sensation of magic running through me as I use the wand to work my will upon the world… The power was intoxicating. I was perfectly capable of working wonders without it, but working in concert with my wand made me feel… more.
Glancing at the others as they continued to munch on Cauldron Cakes and digest what I'd told them about the Trace and how to exploit it, I realized I'd almost forgotten about their wands and what affects they might have had on my friends. Especially with Neville — the problems he'd had with his wand were legendary in the Harry Potter fandom. Practically everyone who read the books knew that Neville's wand was one of the many contributing factors to his lack of magical prowess in the first few books. His father's wand was not comfortable in Neville's hands, and having his wand fight him on every spell could not have been easy for Neville to deal with.
It wasn't just that Neville was meek, nervous, clumsy and forgetful. His struggles with magic had a lot to do with his inability to cast even the simplest of spells correctly… and every time, he was using a wand whose loyalty didn't belong to him. It never occurred to anyone that using his father's wand was the problem… not until he proved himself worthy of it and his skills began to improve at inhuman speeds in fifth-year… and then after he got his own wand when his father's was broken in battle.
But, the circumstances under which Neville would prove himself worthy of his father's wand's loyalty wouldn't be available unless the Lestranges somehow escaped Azkaban (Gods forbid)... A series of events I hoped would never come to pass. Even so, I was fairly confident that if Neville got his own wand, the difficulty of magic would be vastly reduced for him. And if he was able to practice magic consistently, perhaps Neville's confidence would be even more greatly improved.
With confidence, his spells would be more precise and powerful, thus making him more confident in his capabilities. If I could coax things into kicking off that feedback loop of positive thinking and confidence, Neville's suffering would be reduced and many problems could be averted. Plus, if Neville was sufficiently advanced, I could even introduce him to other things I knew, and finally have a confidant that I wouldn't have to worry about.
"You know, I never asked before, but how did you guys get your wands? Ollivander's?"
Dean nodded. "Professor Sinistra was the one who took me, since my folks aren't magical. It took ages before the man let me keep one of the wands he had me try."
"Aye, same here. Very odd bloke, that Ollivander." Seamus grinned.
"Yeah, I think he went spare trying to find the wand that fit me best… but I couldn't be happier." I said, smiling fondly in reminisce. "When I held it for the first time… that sense of warmth and strength ran through me, sending sparks of glory through the air with dancing lights of joy everywhere."
"Yeah… only, for me, it was more like I was standing in the middle of an inferno and fire was coursing through my bones. And when I gave it a wave, there was a crack of thunder." Seamus mused.
"Huh." Dean thought back. "I vaguely recall the light shifting oddly, like going from normal to all sorts of colours. Like seeing a rainbow, but everywhere all at once with hues I'd never seen before. But yeah, when I finally got to mine, it definitely felt… right, you know?"
We all nodded, murmuring in total agreement, but I noticed that Neville had gone awfully quiet, saying nothing. His face was stony and glum at the same time, and his hands fidgeting at the edge of his robes on his lap. The blond boy was nervous and seemed a tad ashamed for some reason. I had a sinking feeling that this was probably not the best way to do this… again, I lamented the fact that I was not well suited to manipulations like this.
If the troll debacle had taught me nothing, it was that I really needed to think these things through. But, while I had been considering how to talk Neville into accepting his father's wand wasn't right for him for a while now, I found that any plan that hinged on social interaction was something I would be forever uncertain about… and plans I was uncertain about were not plans I especially liked.
Should I survive ten years in this world, I swore that I would do unspeakable things should I not gain some kind of Perk or power for boosting my limited (read: almost non-existent) social manipulation skills in the next Jump.
Still, I steeled myself for the uncomfortable conversation ahead and told myself to stop being a coward and force Neville to confront the truth before he was ready. It was usually less painful to rip a bandage off slowly and carefully, but the pain would last much longer. Long-term, it was better if you did it quick-like.
"Hey, Neville, what about you? What did you feel when you first held your wand."
Neville twitched and mumbled something. I barely caught every other word or so, and I had exceptional healing from Essence of the Druid. "Sorry, what was that?"
"Warmth and stuff, just like you said." he muttered. To Dean and Seamus, it might have seemed like a typically shy answer for Neville, but I saw it for the lie it was. I didn't get the chance to remark on that before Dean cut in.
"Is that how it is for everyone?" wondered Dean.
I shrugged, rolling with the tangent. "Dunno. Ollivander is the expert though, he'd probably know. His family's been making wands for generations, and their shop has been open in Diagon Alley for centuries."
"Certainly looked like it, too. That place was stuffed to the brim with wands…" Seamus chuckled. "You think he just makes wands all day, waiting until he can make first-years go through a dozen wands before handing them a good one? That all those wards were made just so he doesn't get bored for the rest of the year? Then when the Hogwarts letters come around, he gets to have fun putting us through all that fuss?"
Dean laughed. "That would explain a lot. He's got to have loads of wands just so he can make everyone go through a bunch of them before he gives you yours."
I snorted, shaking my head. "Did either of you actually talk to the man? That's not it at all. It's not that he makes a bunch of wands so you have a large selection to pick from… it's to hedge his bets so that at least one of his wands will like you well enough for him to sell."
"What?"
"Now, I'm not exactly an expert on wandlore, but I skimmed a book about it in the library… and, well, you know me. I remember practically everything I read." There were no arguments there, as all my roommates were familiar with my uncanny skill (thank you Essence of the Archmage). "Anyways, the point is that Ollivander said something really important when I got my own wand, and that's why it takes so long for him to sell a wand to someone."
"And what was that?" Neville finally piped up, undeniably curious.
"The wand chooses the wizard."
"Oh yeah, I vaguely remember something like that," Dean said, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
"Right, well, that's because wands are more than just tools for us to work magic with. The magic in them, from their wood to their highly potent cores, is so vibrant that they're almost alive. Not the same way people or animals are, but more like they have a will of their own — emotions, desires, intentions. Stuff like that. They're not capable of thinking or anything, but they live as partners and friends, teachers and guides, defenders and healers and stuff. And when we learn about magic, they learn with us, growing as we do, and becoming more and more in-tune with us and how we do our own magic."
"Whoa!" Seamus exclaimed, astonished as he looked at his own wand with new eyes. "I didn't know that! So you're saying that our wands are learning the same stuff we do?"
"Yeah, and our wands can both help and hinder us if the magic we're doing is something it either likes or doesn't. The materials and cores involved make them better at doing some spells and hesitant to do others because they've got their own personalities… and that's why Ollivander is so particular about his wands. If a wizard's personality doesn't match his wand's, of course they're going to have problems!'
"Huh. So, his crazy measurements and trials are just to find a personality match?" Dean reasoned. "Because the wand won't work if you don't match it?"
I shook my head. "Not exactly, but close enough. A powerful wizard, like Dumbledore, for example, could probably use any kind of wand. But the wand might not feel right in his hands, and he won't get the full power of the wand that way… because the wand might not like them. There's this whole branch of magic regarding the loyalty of wands that I didn't really read much about, but the basic idea is this: wands are picky about who they give that loyalty.
"But you need to have your wand's loyalty if you're to do well with it. Since we're new students, learning magic for the first time and all that, we're like wet clay at a potter's wheel. If we don't have a wand that likes us perfectly, it'll be so much harder to learn magic because we're using a tool that rebels every time we try to cast a spell."
"Wait, didn't Ron say he was using his brother's old wand this year? What about that, he's using a hand-me-down wand, and he's still doing magic," Seamus protested.
"Yeah, and how well do you think Ron's been doing in class this term?" I asked sarcastically, rolling my eyes. Seamus raised a finger, ready to protest, but lowered it when I gave him a flat look, remembering how Ron had not taken to learning magic quickly at all.
"But yeah… you can't just use any old wand if you're learning magic. To learn magic properly, you need a wand that chose you and you alone. That's why Ollivander took so long to find our wands; he had to narrow down the search for a wand that would actually like us well enough to give us their loyalty. And so long as we live and keep their loyalty, our wands will serve us well."
"Fascinating," Dean mused. "That explains a lot about why Hogwarts doesn't have spare wands like it does school brooms or other spare supplies."
"Yeah, it'd be a hell of a time keeping that many spare wands in stock, just in case. You're better off just visiting a wandmaker and hoping that you'll find a wand that takes a fancy to you than trying your luck with some previous student's hand-me-down. Not to disparage hand-me-downs or anything, they're perfectly serviceable in all other contexts… but not with wands. Wands have feelings too. If they don't want to accept you, it's not like you can convince them otherwise!" I laughed at the thought, picturing myself getting into an argument with a mute, non-sapient object.
Actually, wait. I could totally see myself doing just that. I laughed harder.
Dean, Seamus and Neville laughed with me, but Neville's was a timid, hesitant thing. I glanced over at him, giving him a curious look that I hoped was surreptitious. The boy was clearly frazzled by our conversation but he'd said nothing. Even so, he'd listened and I think he was starting to reach the conclusions I'd hoped he would reach. He really was a bright wizard when he tried.
To me, who knew the truth behind Neville's wand, it was obvious that he was starting to wonder whether his father's wand being passed to him was another reason why he found magic so difficult. He still thought of himself as almost half-Squib due to how difficult magic came to him and that many of his spells still refused to do anything magical whatsoever. But the seeds of doubt I had been planting throughout the term to counteract Neville's self-deprecation were beginning to mix with this new information about wandlore.
Months of guiding Neville into looking beyond his initial failures and providing excuses to distract him from dwelling on his own shortcomings were slowly paying off. Lessons, brutal and straightforward, were hammered into his skull while alongside honest compliments and affirmations during the passing moments between classes or whenever we sought help from Percy. And honestly, getting Percy to help us out whenever he was free was a brilliant move when it came to helping Neville gain more confidence in himself.
Even if I could be thought of as a biased source of compliments, being Neville's friend and all, whenever Percy told Neville he had done a good job on something, everyone knew he meant it. The prefect did not abide by undeserved praise, and Neville couldn't stop himself from beaming for an hour if Percy said something positive about him.
Still, I felt that getting Neville a wand whose loyalty was his and his alone would be a far greater boost to his morale. It was one thing for Percy and I to praise Neville for being brilliant at magical theory — especially when it came to the subtler arts of magic where wand-work was secondary — but wandwork was an integral part of a Hogwarts student's education. What was the point of studying magic if you couldn't actually practice it?
Wizarding Britain greatly prized a wizard's skill at wandwork and the ability to use magical spells effectively. Neville, who still hadn't shed the fear of being a Squib and failing to live up to his family's lofty expectations, needed to truly believe he could be skilled at wandwork.
The only issue was to make him willing to let go of his father's wand…
I mulled over the thought, tossing ideas around in my head as Dean pulled out a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans to pass around. I would have to take advantage of the holiday while I had the chance.
Damocles had the unfortunate job of delivering everything I needed sent out for Christmas. I still wasn't certain whether my owl hated me or just disdained being run ragged with my mail-ordering and gift-sending. Thankfully, all my packages were relatively small and easy for the bird to carry in flight — at least, for Wizarding owls, who had some sort of magic I couldn't quite understand that made them capable of acting as magical messengers without issue. Still, the owl had to make several trips to deliver everything on time… and then make another trip to get Great-Aunt Augusta's permission to meet with Neville on Boxing Day.
Overall, my Gryffindor year-mates were getting Wizarding candy. Sure, my parents were rather rich by the standards of most of Britain, but I was saving my allowance for the more important purchases down the line. Even so, I thought I would help everyone build up (or start) their own Chocolate Frog Card collections by sending them all packages of Chocolate Frogs. Who knew, maybe we'd be able to trade them in the future, if they had some that I was missing from my own collection. Too many people were willing to give me a copy of Almeric Sawbridge (famous for defeating the river troll of Wye river) and I had extras that I wanted to translate into other obscure cards like Abe no Seimei, whose cards were hard to come by this side of the Carpathians.
Hermione was getting a Rubik's cube that I had picked up in a Muggle curio store while going into town with Mum on top of the Chocolate Frogs. I had to err on the side of caution with her as I remembered she had talked about her parents being dentists, and I wasn't sure if they would let her have chocolate much. If they did, she could start up a collection. If not, well, I thought she would appreciate a Muggle gift from a wizard-classmate alongside my general apologies for… well, whatever I had done to upset her.
Sure, we had gotten to the point where we could be civil with one another, but she still gave me the stink-eye every now and then and refused to talk to me about it. None of the other boys could get an answer out of her, not even Harry, who himself seemed a little nervous to talk to me on his own. Apparently, Hermione was unclear about why she disliked me, even to Ron and him, but the best he could tell me was that they were jealous of me for being smart. I thought that was ridiculous, told him so, but Harry just shrugged and wished me a Happy Christmas before we left for the train.
Parvati and Padma got more personalized gifts I'd picked up in town on the same trip I picked up that cube for Hermione. I got them matching bracelets and sent them along with the Chocolate Frogs, alongside a warning to not let the Frogs escape to freedom! I mean, I was going to see them again for New Year's when our Mum's met up for the party at their house, so I didn't think they would mind if I went for the generic gift.
Since they had been separated into different Houses, I thought gifting them a matching pair of bracelets would remind them that they were still twins and sisters. Even if they went their own ways over the years, they'd still have that, and no one could take that from them. Besides, they were one of the few friends I had had prior to getting my Hogwarts letter and awakening to the truth of my previous life. I think they'd appreciate the reminder of their sisterhood given the way the two had latched onto other girls in their Houses to fill the void, with Padma and Sue becoming fast friends just as Parvati hit it off with Lavender.
I also decided to send presents to a few of my professors as well: for Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, I had hunted down a fallen pine in the woods, shrunk the entire tree, and then pruned them with some arts supplies leftover from my time spent at a Muggle primary. I then engorged some of the leftovers and transfigured the lot into cardstock to make a home-made card for them, complete with my shrunken pines which were festooned with paper ornaments. I thought it'd be a clever gift to use their respective disciplines to make something for them, even if it was just a simple, homemade, pop-up card.
Headmaster Dumbledore got a whole pack of one-size-fits-all woolen socks. They came in a riot of different colors and fashions, but they were wool socks and I had taken a pack for myself to make sure they were warm and comfortable. I thought the Headmaster would be tickled pink that someone had deigned to send him a present that was not a book, and left off signing my name on the note. I could only imagine his reaction when he got the package on Christmas morning at Hogwarts…
Was I being a teacher's pet? Maybe. But who knew what a little goodwill gained here might translate to down the line?
My presents for Mum and Dad were homemade, as they always were. While I might not have had Dean's gift for art, I didn't think I was too terrible at drawing, even if the quill made things much harder than art had been in my first life. Of course, after months of adjusting and the lifetime of memories using one in this life, I thought my drawings were acceptable enough to convey my feelings.
Naturally, Mum and Dad didn't care a single whit about whether my presents were well-drawn or not. They lavished the drawings I'd sketched of the view from Gryffindor Tower with undeserved praise, and refused to stop despite how hard I blushed. They were really nothing compared to Dean's artistic gift, but I liked doodling when I was bored. I wasn't any good at it, but I knew they honestly wouldn't care even if I gave them nothing but a big hug. My family was big on hugs, and that was all they really required.
Of course, Smokey out did them both by having the gall to complain about getting a gift in the first place. In Smokey's opinion, house elves had no need for generous gifts like that, no matter how well drawn they were or were not, but that such things would definitely need to be preserved and kept in the elf's quarters for posterity.
It was just origami. I had turned leftover wrapping paper into a flock of cranes as a gift for the elf, but Smokey refused to see the basic figures as anything less than a masterpiece of art. It was thoroughly embarrassing to see something that simple as priceless in comparison to my memories of what origami masters could truly do in my first life… much less what some Japanese wizards and witches were famed for crafting purely out of paper.
Even so, Christmas was rather happy for me. Mum and Dad made sure to give me plenty of attention and I spent a lot of time playing with little Arnav while Smokey watched on fondly whilst keeping the house tidy. Mine was a home full of love and laughter, even if my parents were occasionally distant outside the holidays.
Yet, I couldn't help but feel a little melancholy this winter. I had a decade of memories from my life as Kenneth that said this was the only family I had ever known. But I was a Jumper. I had lived a life before this, and should I survive ten years here, I would have another life in the future. I had lost my first family in becoming a Jumper, and would leave this own when my ten years were up. I didn't know what kind of family I would have in the future, but I could only hope they were as kind and loving as the two I have had until now.
Was it wrong that I didn't feel bad about leaving my first family behind, even if I missed them terribly? I knew that my deal with my Benefactor had twisted my mind somehow, removing the phobias that made me weak and hardening me against gore and violence so that I could handle the really nasty stuff in the omniverse. Even as a wizard in the world of Harry Potter, the mere act of learning magic was a terrifyingly messy affair. Studying Transfiguration required an iron stomach, especially in the later years when you started to muddle with organic transformations. Potions required the ability to handle the most disgusting and vile of ingredients and the focus to not be squeamish or queasy as you brewed. I could only imagine the mental and physical fortitude required to learn more advanced magics.
And I was able to handle all of that because of the manipulations my previous self had done to my mind as part of the deal. Not only was I able to get over murdering the troll in a horrifically violent way with little fuss, but I didn't feel bad about abandoning the family that loved me in my first life… all just another, unforeseen part of my bloody deal.
Was another part of it this feeling of disconnection? I loved my family, I couldn't deny that. But I also loved the family of my first life. I had so many memories of both that I worried about what would happen over the years should they all blend together until the distinctions were unrecognizable. My Essence of the Archmage only protected the memories after I had made my deal with the Benefactor and became a Jumper. While I would remember Mum and Dad and Arnav and Smokey from this life… would the years wear away my memories of my first family? From before I had this world of magic and the wonders of the omniverse ahead of me?
It was a sobering thought. It was a lonely realization to come to as an eleven year old — that nothing was permanent and eventually all these people I knew in my heart I truly loved would be left behind after my time here was up. All I could do was hope that my impact on their lives was positive. That way, when I moved onto the next great adventure, I could do so without regrets.
Even so, I couldn't bear to tell them the truth. It would break them, I think, just as much as it would hurt me to tell them all about how I had memories from my previous life, where this entire world was nothing but fiction.
Or Dad would just haul me into work and have his fellow Unspeakables peel apart my mind to figure out whether some terrible curse had befallen his son and made me completely mad.
…What?
It was an honest concern!
Anyways, melancholy aside, I still had to deal with Neville on Boxing Day to hopefully resolve this wand issue once and for all. But, for this Christmas, I decided to spend it with my family. I wouldn't have many chances to spend a lot of quality time with them all together, so I would take any time I could get these holidays. The hearth was warm, there was jolly music on the Wireless, my family was gathered on the comfy couch, and plenty of holiday cheer.
Dark days loomed beyond the horizon, and I would cherish these happy, carefree days while I had the chance.
A/N: Many SIs and OCs tend to spend their first Christmas at Hogwarts because a lot of plot relevant events happen during the winter holidays of first year. However, if you're like Ken, and have plans that go beyond simply being present for the canonical plot, then why on earth would you stay in a castle in Scotland during the winter? It's bloody cold! Besides, if you actually have a family you want to spend time with, then why would any eleven-year-old willingly choose to stay at school? In the more meta-sense, this chapter's mostly about set-up for future plot.
Last edited: Jun 29, 2020
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
Jun 28, 2020
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kenmadragon
Jul 4, 2020
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Chapter 12
Neville tripped on the edge of the carpet when he fell out of the fireplace.
I leaped from my spot on the couch to help him up, having barely been warned of his arrival by the sudden change in the flames from dull orange to the vivid green of Floo travel. "Alright there, Neville?"
"I'm fine." Neville grumbled, grabbing my hand as I pulled him to his feet. Dusting off his robes, he sighed. "I always get turned around going through the Floo. I'm just glad I landed where I meant to this time, though!"
I smirked, "You and me both. Fascinating as Floo travel is, I'm not keen on winding up someplace nasty if I mispronounced the destination just because I choked on ash and smoke!"
Neville chuckled, patting the satchel he was carrying. "Come on, I brought my boots and cloak. Let's head out into the yard and find those snow-blooms like we did last time I was over. The field we found them in is probably covered in them by now."
"Actually, Neville," I interjected, grabbing his shoulder before he could leave the sitting room. "I told my parents you wouldn't be over till after luncheon… and they think that I'm already outside, playing in the woods like I usually do."
Neville was confused. "Why would you say that? You wrote that I ought to come right after breakfast."
"Yes, well, that's because I thought we could head out, just the two of us, and do something without Mum or Dad knowing. Or Great-Aunt Augusta, for that matter," I said quietly, trying to impress on Neville the need for secrecy.
"What on earth for?" Neville wondered a little loudly, missing the point entirely. I winced, putting a finger to my lips, glancing around. I knew that Dad had already gone out, Mum was in the drawing room, from which the sound of the Wireless would likely drown out our noise, and Smokey was still busy with Arnav upstairs. Hopefully, no one would hear us talking, much less notice the Floo had been used.
"I wanted to get you a present but it has to be secret, so hush!"
Brow furrowed, Neville did as asked, and lowered his voice. "But I already got those Chocolate Frogs from you yesterday. I really wanted to thank you for them, by the way, I managed to get two Abe no Seimei cards! Really lucky pack you sent me, that was."
For a moment, I stared at Neville, boggling at the sheer amount of luck it would take to get two copies of a card I had been looking for for months now, and I happened to send them to him as a gift. Just… What are the chances? The odds for that to happen must have been astronomical. Wait, I had to figure out what I had copies of that Neville didn't, negotiate some kind of trade…
My mind was getting off track. Focus!
"We'll revisit that later; I want to trade you for one of them after we're done. But no, I got Frogs for everyone. I couldn't get you your real present without you here because, well, I needed you to pick it out yourself. It would have been awkward to pick it for you…" I answered truthfully.
Neville blinked. "Oh…" A soft smile crossed his face. "You really don't need to get me anything special, you know. I was happy with just the Chocolate Frogs. You didn't have to go to all this trouble."
I waved him off. "Nonsense. I want to do it, so I shall. And don't think you can convince me otherwise, alright?"
Neville looked conflicted, debating with himself before finally giving into my stern glare. "Alright then. What's this present I have to pick out?"
"Right, well, I haven't exactly bought it quite yet, so we're heading to Diagon Alley."
"Diagon Alley? But… But what about your parents? Don't we need them to —"
"Nevermind them, Neville, we're heading to the Alley, and I'm not hearing any arguments, so don't bother!"
"But—!"
"Nope! Now hush, and let me lace up my boots so we can head out." I threw up a finger, silencing Neville's protests as I sat and started to put on my boots. Whenever Neville made a noise to complain or voice some concern, I just gave him a reproachful glare, which made him mute for a few moments more. Still, Neville was deeply concerned about this plan, and likely picturing the many, many ways my lies could go horribly wrong, or what terrible things might happen in Diagon Alley on Boxing Day to two first-years on their lonesome with no adults to watch out for them.
Boots done up, I grabbed the satchel I'd prepared for the trip and threw on a cloak. Once the cloak was all fastened up, I nodded to myself and Neville before grabbing his shoulder and leading/dragging him over to the fireplace. Neville sputtered out protests trying to resist, but I was both determined to get him moving and stronger than Neville by a significant margin from my training in the Room of Requirement: I was perfectly capable of manhandling him into place before tossing in the powder that turned the low fire into a roaring, heatless green flame.
"Kenneth, really, I don't think this is a good idea…" Neville mumbled nervously.
I looked at him for a moment, contemplating whether to just throw him into the Floo fire and send him to Diagon Alley without any further fuss. I probably could do it… but I honestly didn't know if he would blubber something while I tried to state a proper destination and end up getting misdirected along the Network until he ended up somewhere truly unfortunate. Or if you could actually state a destination for someone else going through the Network. I didn't really know how the magic for it worked (not yet, at least), and wasn't sure if this was the time to risk it. Especially since Neville wasn't quite as quiet as he thought he was right now, but knowing my family, they likely wouldn't notice unless he started shouting or something.
Either way, I had a decision to make.
After another moment of consideration, I elected to stay the course. But, I think I could make Neville come willingly. All I had to do was try something incredibly reckless — put my faith in an eleven-year-old Neville Longbottom.
"We're only in trouble if we get caught. And I'm going with or without you, Neville. The only question is if you are going to come with me, or tell everyone you failed to stop me."
"What? What do you—"
I preempted Neville's confusion by letting him go and striding into the green fire myself. The Floo fire surged around me — heatless, emerald green and always a little disconcerting — as I cried out, "Diagon Alley!"
Then I vanished in the spiraling confusion of being warped along the Floo Network.
I wound up in a room full of caged animals. Taking stock of my surroundings, I guessed that I must have been redirected by the Network. Traffic congestion? Who knew.
Of course, I spent the next few moments trying to calm down all the little creatures that were suddenly clamoring for attention, relying mainly on my limited experiences dealing with animals before this. The walls and tables were covered in displays containing toads, cats, rabbits, rats, streelers, fire crabs, newts, ferrets, serpents, pygmy puffs, and so many more in a mind-boggling variety. There was a cage full of squabbling ravens, the rats were playing skip-rope using their tails, a tortoise whose shell was encrusted with jewels lazing about by the windows… I think I also spotted a small burrow of baby nifflers in one corner, as well as a few kneazles in their own enclosure, among other mildly magical creatures that were housed in the cages that filled the small store.
It was awfully claustrophobic with little room for movement amidst the creatures' cages. The assortment of creatures was staggering, but the relative mundanity and low danger of the animals made me calm down. I took my time shushing them up and lavishing them with soft smiles and coos. The Animal Empathy perk that came with my Essence of the Druid definitely came in handy at times like this.
"I say, what are you doing back here, young man?"
I turned and glanced at the man in work overalls and heavy gloves that were both stained with unidentifiable stains. He had a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, but something in his gaze seemed kind and curious. The animals all seemed to perk up at his entrance from a back-room, so I supposed he was the shopkeeper.
"Sorry, sir. I think I got misdirected in the Floo. I am still on Diagon Alley, yes?"
"Right you are. Welcome to Magical Menagerie. Aiming for the Leaky?"
"Somewhere on the South Side of the Alley, actually. My friend and I need to pick up our mothers' dresses from Twilfit and Tattings for a party tonight, sir," I lied. Twilfit and Tattings wasn't where I wanted to go, but it was close by to my true destination. I did my best to puff up and look self-important. "Mum says it's a job for big boys, and I need to prove myself mature enough for my allowance!"
The shopkeeper chuckled. "Well, sadly this is the North Side. Floo network always redirects folks around this time of year, especially around the Leaky. Too many people are moving to and from Diagon, so we sometimes get the overflow."
"I see." I nodded, looking back at the fireplace. "So, will my friend come out here or…"
"Here probably." The man shrugged, absentmindedly turning to refill a bowl of dead blowflies for some glowing toads.
"Brilliant. Do you mind if I wait for him here, sir?" I asked.
"Fine by me." The shopkeeper gave me a curious look. "Say, you were quite good with calming the critters down when you first showed up. Have much experience with pets?"
"Not really." I answered honestly. "I have an owl who's a bit aloof, and I played with the neighborhood cats and dogs every now and then when I was younger."
"Well, you're a natural, young man. I think you would do well in Care for Magical Creatures."
I flushed from the compliment. "Thank you, I'll take that into consideration, sir."
"Polite too," the shopkeeper chuckled. "Well, I'll leave you to wait for your friend. Bathsheba, our kneazle queen, is a bit ornery today and needs the attention. And if you ever feel like adopting one of our lovely little creatures, feel free to stop by anytime we're open. They're all wonderful and could use a good home."
"Thank you, again, sir." I called out as the shopkeeper waved me off, ducking back into a back-room where I heard the yowling of Bathsheba the kneazle crying out.
I waited for another minute, glancing nervously at the fireplace. It had been a while since I had come through and part of me worried whether Neville had followed after me or stayed back at home. If he had stayed home, would he have just stayed in the sitting room until someone chanced upon him? Or would he have gone to Mum or Smokey to tell them I'd run off to Diagon Alley without telling them? Or had he gone through the Floo and gotten redirected somewhere else, like the Leaky Cauldron or one of the other connections Diagon Alley had to the Floo Network? And if he did come through, it had been long enough that I worried he might have called one of the adults to come after me instead.
I stewed in the juices of my anxiety, waiting and watching the flames before my patience was rewarded with the surge of heatless green fire and a body stepping through.
My heart stopped for a moment before I realized it was too small to be an adult. I let out a sigh of relief when the form resolved itself into a terribly anxious and frustrated Neville, hacking at the stray ash and smoke as he stepped from the messy fireplace.
"There you are, Neville! Where ha—hey!" I cried as Neville marched up to me and gave me an unexpected shove. I quickly caught myself on the edge of a rabbit hutch (just as the rabbit decided to turn itself into a silk hat, just in case I broke through) and gave Neville a surprised look. "What on earth was that for?"
"For lying and leaving me there like that! I-I… I don't even know what to say!" Neville complained, furious. "You lied to Gran and your Mum and Dad and then said we had to go to Diagon Alley because you had a secret present and then just left me there without explaining anything!"
"Neville, calm down," I held out my hand, trying to ease his frustration and panic, glancing about the room. "You're spooking the animals."
"And just what makes you think you can — what?" Neville was about to tear into me further before he registered what I said. Glancing around, he noticed all the animals in the claustrophobic pet store that were growing agitated as his voice rose, as well as the loud yowling from the back room. His face paled, and his voice was suddenly quite soft. "Oh. Sorry." He shot me a dirty look. "I'm still angry, though."
"Yes, well, please believe me when I say that everything I'm doing today I'm doing with the best of intentions for everyone." I said calmly, picking myself off from where I was leaning on the rabbit hutch and dusting off the straw that clung to the back of my robes and cloak. "Now, if you don't mind, let's get out of here before the shopkeeper comes back and wonders why the 'friend' I was waiting for wasn't someone older than me."
That prompted confusion, but I waved the queries off, deciding to save my explanations for our walk down the Alley.
Neville and I made it out of Magical Menagerie after navigating our way through the tight spaces between the cages that lined the shop and into Diagon Alley proper. Much like it was near midsummer when I'd come here shopping for Hogwarts supplies, the Alley was a hodgepodge of magic and mercantilism. Even on Boxing Day, the Alley was well-lit in the daytime and festooned with decorations, though some were a little worn from the last few nights' festivities. Wizards and witches were everywhere, though given the holiday, it seemed the streets were a little emptier than usual. Even so, Neville and I were quick to stick to the edges of the main street down the Alley so we didn't stand out too much.
As we navigated from the North to the South Side of Diagon Alley, I detailed the extent of my fibs to the shopkeeper and what our cover-story for being in Diagon Alley was should anyone get curious why two first-years were doing on their lonesome on Boxing Day without any adults watching over them. Neville nodded along, but admitted that he would prefer that I did the talking if necessary — he didn't trust himself to fib convincingly.
Even so, it took until we had past Twilfit and Tattings before Neville finally spoke up with the question that had likely been burning in his mind since I'd leaped through the Floo.
"What on earth are you getting me anyways?" Neville asked, a little frazzled. He'd been hesitating around various store-fronts whenever I paused my walk to avoid getting caught by a mob of pedestrians, unsure of which store I would be taking him. After passing so many possible stores, the frustration had returned.
"I'll let you know once we get there, Neville. I don't think you would take the surprise well otherwise." I answered.
Neville frowned. "That does not fill me with confidence, Kenneth. If I'm not going to like it, then why are you—"
"Do you remember our conversation on the train, Neville?" I interrupted as our destination finally appeared in view. "When we were chatting with Dean and Seamus on our way back from first term?"
"Sort of, yes." Neville's brow furrowed in thought. "But what does that have to do with anything…" He looked up at me, then followed my gaze. Suddenly, he went pale. "Wait… you're not saying…"
"Yes, Neville, you have guessed correctly." I smiled, turning to Neville who had frozen at the sight of Ollivander's Wand Shop a few stores down. "I am going to give you the gift of magic… Definitive proof that you are not as worthless at magic as people think you are. That you are not the useless Squib you mutter about in your darkest nightmares."
Neville looked horrified.
"Kenneth, I… I don't want another wand." Neville stammered, nervously. His hand had gone into his pocket, clutching at something desperately — his father's wand. "I can't go in there. Gran would… my father — I…"
I gave him a soft smile and drew up close. Putting my hands on his shoulder, I looked him right in the eyes. They were wide and terrified, filled with pain and fear and reluctance and accustomed misery. But deep within them, there was the tiniest glimmer of something I prayed was hope. That littlest flicker, so deep and ephemeral that I couldn't be certain I hadn't just imagined it, was what told me that what I was doing was right.
Damn the consequences.
It took all my mental fortitude to resist the urge to pull him into a deep hug and say empty platitudes until he felt better. He was only eleven, and no child ought to feel so emotionally weary or feel themselves be worth so little. Instead, I fixed my gaze on his with all the compassion and strength I could.
Then I spoke from the heart:
"Tell me Neville, when you first held the wand you clutch so desperately now, did you feel the power of its magic? Did you feel it resonate with you, that sensation of energy that told you that the world was a canvas to be painted on? The feeling that you were born to wisdom and power and that magic was your birthright?
"Let me tell you a secret, one I doubt you will ever believe: Your entire life, Neville, you have been doing magic in little ways all the time! But it was always around other people who never noticed because they weren't really looking at you. They were looking at the boy who they hoped would be your father reborn." The younger boy flinched away at that, head down and refusing to meet my eyes.
"Instead, you looked too much like your mother, so they hoped you would act just as your father did as a child. You didn't seem to be as gifted as your father, not as obvious in your extraordinariness, but you were truly phenomenal… they were just too blind to see it. And when you heard them talking about how ordinary you were, you thought they were right and stopped looking for the little bits of magic you were doing all the time, and instead ignored them entirely.
"Until you were dropped from a window and bounced down the drive, you didn't believe you were magical at all because you had been lying to yourself, believing that the wizards and witches around you were right in that being anything less than Frank Longbottom's exact duplicate was to be a failure." Neville shook, clenched fists and tried to wrench away, but I held him firm. My fingers dug into Neville's shoulders to keep him from escaping as I tugged him closer, more insistent in my words, no matter how much it hurt for Neville to hear them. He struggled, unwilling to listen, but I didn't give him a choice.
"However, that doesn't mean you have to be just like Uncle Frank. You are your own person, Neville! You have the potential to be a great wizard, and that means you have to forge your own path or you will be forever failing to live up to the fond memories of a man who cannot tell you this himself.
"Do you think your parents want you to be just like them, Neville? That you have to be just like your father if you want to make him proud? That your mother would want you to follow their path exactly, like how Great-Aunt Augusta implies you should? It's alright to honor them, Neville, and try to make them proud, but you aren't Frank Longbottom, nor are you Alice Longbottom. You are Neville Longbottom!
"I am certain they would be proud of you, no matter what you do, so long as you are true to yourself just as they were true to themselves." Neville's gazed whipped to stare into mine, watery and hopeful. I softened my tone, ever so slightly as I felt his resistance waver.
"And you do have potential, Neville. Otherwise, you would never be able to get your father's wand to do even the merest of spells. But think, just think, about whom the loyalty of that wand belongs to. So long as your father lives, that wand you cling to so tightly, clutching at the image of an unreasonable ideal, will never be yours. And so long as you hold onto that lie your Gran has told you while trying to force you to be the son she yet grieves for instead of the wonderful grandson you are, you will struggle with your magic!
"And magic is wondrous, Neville! I… I just can't see why you would deny yourself that gift. Why would you cripple yourself from being the wizard I know you can be, my friend? That wand refuses to give you its loyalty, and so long as it yearns for another, your birthright is being wasted because you chose to use an implement that isn't suited for you. And without a wand that chose you above all others, how will you grow?
"I tell you Neville, that if you had the right wand and the right motivation, you would become phenomenal! I just… I can't, Neville. I can't in good conscience let you cripple yourself like that. Just… Just trust me, Neville, and I—" I took a breath, half to take back a sob of my own and half to give myself a moment to phrase this right.
"I will show you the truth — that you are a wizard too, just as brilliant and splendid as the rest of us."
Neville was crying, but never wavered from looking into my eyes. I must have been crying too because my own eyes were watery and I couldn't stop from blinking away the tears. My voice had wavered as I kept talking, losing control of my emotions, getting more and more intense without changing volume until my self-control slipped and I started ranting and raving anything and everything that came to mind.
My body felt weak and my throat was dry from talking so much, but now that I had said it all, it felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I had bottled in a lot of my emotions while plotting this out, doing my best to hold back from overwhelming Neville throughout last term with my encouragement and compliments. I had spent so long trying to build him up, little by little, but now that I needed to take a big step… I had lost control and spilled everything. I felt emotionally exhausted.
Even so, Neville had just stared at me mutely through the end of it all, barely even reacting… just listening and taking in everything I was throwing at him and weathering every emotional blow. Now, he was still as a statue, pale and stony, but his eyes were streaming tears as he breathed sharply to keep from making a scene.
Then, all of a sudden, I could feel Neville's shoulders go slack after being tense for so long. It didn't give me much warning before Neville suddenly barreled into me, arms pulling me into a hug as he blubbered through the tears. I froze for a moment before sinking into the brotherly embrace as well, letting my own tears fall freely.
"I don'—I don't think I can do all that, Ken," Neville mumbled through the tears and runny nose. "But… no one's ever… ever said that to me before… You're the first to… to really believe in me… To really mean it..."
"I'll always take your side, Neville. You're not just my friend, you're family. I'll take your side over Great-Aunt Augusta's anytime." I promised, and the hug got tighter.
Neville's voice was a whisper.
"Thank you."
"Anytime, Neville. Anytime."
Neville was hesitant to enter Ollivander's shop alone, but I insisted. Being matched with a wand was an intensely personal process, and I had no intention of interfering with that process by being present and judging how things happened. Plus, Garrick Ollivander was a little creepy, and I was still unnerved by my first visit to his wand shop.
"I can only show you the door," I had said while handing him the seven Galleons he'd need to pay for the wand. "It's up to you to walk through it."
Saying that, I had felt like a corny wuxia master from my first life's love of martial arts flicks. The koan was definitely from one of those memories, though I wasn't entirely sure which exact film I had ripped it from.
Even so, Neville had worked up the courage to stride up to the storefront, pull open the door, and walk in by himself. If he could do that on his own, I was confident he would be fine. Courage was more than just being fearless in the face of monsters and mad wizards. The essence of bravery was all about facing the things that scared, big and small, each and every day. I hoped Neville would understand that one day, but it was really one of those things that people could learn all they liked but never truly understand unless they lived it.
As someone who had struggled with an intense phobia of birds (of all things) as a child, I had truly lived the lesson. Even the smallest of avians like hummingbirds had once been enough to send me into a panic, much less the larger birds of prey that soared through the skies. But, I had striven to tamp down my irrational fears until I was merely uncomfortable with their presence and strong enough to ignore the smaller ones in my first life.
Becoming a Jumper and getting the benefits of the Brave At Heart perk probably helped more with really getting over it, though. But, well, not everyone could have my absurdities, could they?
A little over three quarters of an hour after Neville had walked in, the door to Ollivander's shop opened again. Neville staggered out, almost in a daze. Worried, I rushed up to him, but he waved me off, a wide grin on his face.
"I understand now…" he said, staring off into the distance, before he turned to me. "You were right. The wand really does choose the wizard."
"What on earth happened to you, Neville?" I wondered at the state of my friend. He slumped tiredly against the wall between two storefronts, clutching at the wrapped box containing his new wand with a grip that was both tight yet tender. He was still grinning.
"There weren't enough chairs for me to sit, and it took forever to find the right wand for me. I must have tried over a hundred… Ollivander was as weird a bloke as you all said he was. Every failure just made him more excited and frustrated and mysterious, all at once. It was exhausting. I almost thought he wouldn't find one that would fit me..."
"But a wand did choose you in the end, right?" I noted the wand-box he was clutching like a lifeline.
Neville nodded. "It was… indescribable. I don't think I have the words to describe it, really. I'm not smart that way, but I felt it, like you said. Not exactly the way you three did… but you were right, that when the wand finally chose me… I knew."
I smiled happily. "That's the wonder of magic." I slumped against the wall next to Neville, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "Congratulations, Neville. From this point on, an ill-matched wand won't hold you back anymore. When you use magic in class… everything will snap into place, I promise."
Neville returned my grin meekly. "I hope you weren't bored waiting for me."
"Nonsense. I did a little bit of shopping for the first ten, maybe twenty, minutes or so and occupied the rest with the book I bought." I said, patting the satchel at my side.
"Oh? Get anything interesting?" Neville asked.
"Mostly just baubles and curios, a short novel from Obscurus Books, nothing too noteworthy," I answered honestly. They were really just ordinary things I could buy from the street vendors on Diagon Alley… but I hoped that I could use them to set other plans into motion for making my life here in this Wizarding World a little easier. Well, save the novel, which I'd bought because I honestly enjoyed reading them.
Of course, I couldn't exactly explain that to Neville, the reasoning behind why I thought certain things were useful would require explaining my nature as a Jumper and the full extent of my meta-knowledge. I was honestly just thankful Neville was still eleven and not mature enough to realize just how much I had revealed I knew via meta-knowledge.
Neville nodded and we both sat there for a while, looking and listening to the sounds of Diagon Alley. Then a thought occurred to Neville.
"Wait, what will I say to Gran?" A look of horror crossed Neville's face.
I paled for a moment, and thought quickly. A few moments later, I had an answer.
"Nothing."
"What?" Neville looked aghast.
I gave him a stern look. "Tell her nothing. We're not supposed to use a wand outside of Hogwarts until we're of age anyways, loopholes aside. So, whenever Great-Aunt Augusta is around, just don't use your new wand. Keep it secret. Keep it safe. And when we're at Hogwarts, no one will care if you use your new wand. Your grades for this last term are a wash, sadly, but with your new wand, the improvement will be noticeable. So long as you're aces for the next few terms, by the time Great-Aunt Augusta finds out, you'll have proof that you can be an excellent wizard with your own wand, and not Uncle Frank's."
"I… I think I can do that." Neville pondered this for a moment, frowning. "I don't like the idea of lying to her, though. Gran sees right through me sometimes, she does."
I shrugged. "Well, you know the truth now. Do you really think you could go back to using your father's wand after feeling what it's like to do magic with one that's yours and yours alone?"
Neville shook his head sadly. "No. No, I don't think I could. It wouldn't feel the same..."
"Then there's your answer." I said, patting his back reassuringly. "We do what we must to live up to our true selves. Anything less would be an insult to those who paved the way for us to get there."
Neville gave me a sly look. "Since when were you this philosophical, Ken? I remember when you played with sticks in the woods, pretending they were swords."
"Oy!" I cried, affronted. "I still play with sticks in the woods, pretending they're swords!"
Neville laughed and I joined him until our stomachs started grumbling.
"Best get back for luncheon, shall we?" Neville suggested.
"Agreed. You'll be joining us, won't you?" I asked.
The blond boy sighed. "Sure. I'm not certain I can face Gran right now. Later tonight, maybe, but I think I would like to spend some time at your house. Get my head on straight, you know?"
"Right. Well, you're always welcome at our place, you know that." I nodded. "Anyways, I think we're having rice and curry today, so I hope you're okay with mild spices. Smokey usually makes extra for everyone so it won't be a bother if you're there."
"Your definition of 'mild spices' is not normal, though," Neville groaned.
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, stuff it. Honestly, even I can barely handle the moderate to heavy spices sometimes. They're an acquired taste, sure, but you should really see the levels of spice Mum and Dad usually prefer… Trust me, 'mild' is accurate."
Neville grumbled about unrealistic standards but tucked his new wand-box into his robes pocket and followed along when I got up and led us back down Diagon Alley. Apparently there was another Floo connection in Gambol and Japes we could use, and it was much closer than Magical Menagerie or the Leaky Cauldron.
When we got back home, no one appeared to have noticed our disappearance. So when Neville was "unexpectedly" present for lunch, we played it off as if he had just gotten here earlier than anticipated and he joined in without any fuss. Mum and Dad made pleasant conversation over lunch with the both of us, and no one was any the wiser of our little spot of truancy. I was actually a little impressed at how well Neville had managed to avoid spilling his guts about the whole affair throughout the meal. Afterwards, we did end up playing outside in the snow, just as everyone thought we were, and had great fun making snowmen and taking a stroll through the woods.
If this was Boxing Day, though, I wondered what would happen during the New Year's Party the Patil's had invited my family to.
A/N: This chapter is also known as: "Kenneth goes on a rant, and Neville is too overwhelmed to speak up and stop it before it gets out of hand." Because, honestly, Neville's not going to do it himself unless you bully him into doing so, and overwhelm him with support and encouragement he's unused to getting until he stops thinking too hard and just goes along with you to get a new wand. So, this is a Neville-focused chapter, given that Kenneth has no intention of carrying Neville forever and believes that he needs to break Neville down a bit if he's going to build him up properly into a wizard who can take care of himself without Ken around.
Watch out butterflies, this one's going to set off a hurricane...
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
Jul 4, 2020
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kenmadragon
kenmadragon
Jul 12, 2020
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Chapter 13
Events progressed quickly upon my return to Hogwarts.
Over the course of the Christmas holiday, I had made the most of my time away from school to make preparations. This meant gathering materials and spending time relaxing without the threat of any dangerous events for the next few months. As far as my memories of canon went, there was pretty much nothing of note until around the Easter holiday when Hagrid would win the dragon egg off of a suspicious warlock (Quirrell, in disguise) and inadvertently slip the details about three-headed dogs that would let the Dark Lord have a way past Fluffy.
After that, Harry, Ron and Hermione would find out about the dragon, be present for its hatching and be discovered by a snooping Malfoy. There would be a ramshackle plan made to get the dragon to safety and they would all be subsequently caught and given detention in the Forbidden Forest, where they would chance upon Quirrell-mort feasting on unicorn blood. After being saved by a centaur, they would learn that Quirrell-mort was biding his time until Dumbledore was called away on business to strike, an event that would likely occur around the end of this school year's final term. Upon learning that Dumbledore would be called away to the Ministry, the trio would engage in a race to the Philosopher's Stone against the parasitic Dark Lord, culminating in a stand-off in the final chamber between Quirrell-mort and the Boy-Who-Lived.
Naturally, I had absolutely no intention of getting involved in that confrontation. Despite my advanced studies and my many natural talents and capabilities, I had little doubt that any duel with the Dark Lord would result in my premature demise. Harry, on the other hand, was protected by his mother's sacrifice and was possibly the only one who I believed could survive a direct confrontation with the Dark Lord.
So, I didn't bother getting involved with the trio. This was an arrangement that suited them just fine — Hermione still hated me for reasons I didn't fully understand, Ron still stewed in envy, and Harry still kept his distance out of loyalty to his only friends. Even if I'd been gone for a fortnight over Christmas, their feelings hadn't faded in the slightest. Hermione still glared at me whenever possible, and Ron muttered about me being a show-off whenever I performed well in class.
I think the only thing we could all agree on was that Malfoy was an annoying git. The three of them felt that way because Malfoy was mean and always had it for them. I felt so because he continued to pick on Neville any chance he got. Naturally, this meant showing Neville the myriad counter-jinxes I knew so he could undo whatever malfeasance Malfoy subjected him to. Granted, it would have been far more satisfying to pass on the jinxes and hexes I'd pilfered from Snape's old books, but Neville wasn't quite there yet.
After spending the remainder of his holiday post-Boxing Day in abject terror that his Gran would find out about the new wand, Neville had been obviously nervous about using it at Hogwarts. He ended up using his father's wand again for the first week of term until I managed to finally convince him to set his father's wand aside one afternoon — it had been my birthday, that day in mid-January. So, I told him that if he used his new wand in classes that day, I promised to forgive him for absentmindedly forgetting about my birthday.
The difference had been remarkable. During Transfiguration, Neville took out his new wand and was able to partially transfigure the mice we were working on into a furry, still-living, snuff box-shaped mouse-thing on his first try. It wasn't a perfectly cast spell, but it was amazing for a first attempt, especially from a wizard like Neville Longbottom. Bewildered and emboldened by the fact that the mouse had been transfigured even the slightest amount on the first attempt, Neville had taken to using his new wand with gusto.
This was aided by the fact that Professor McGonagall had heard Neville's cry of surprise when it first happened, rushed over to see what was wrong, and saw Neville's partially-transfigured abomination against nature. The shock and delight on her face was delicious to witness, and her softly spoken, "Almost there, Mr. Longbottom, but excellent progress," was enough to lift Neville's spirits. By the time class was over, he had yet to successfully cast the spell without error, but he'd made improvements far faster than before.
So lost in amazement at his speed of improvement with his new wand, Neville would have wandered into closed doors or fallen off the stairs if I hadn't been around to keep him on track. Honestly, I was happy for him, and could not have gotten a better birthday present than the clear and present hope on his face. Having Padma join Parvati at our table to give me one of the latest Pratchett novels, Reaper Man, over dinner as a birthday present from the both of them was well-appreciated, but ultimately not as fulfilling as seeing my work on Neville begin to pay off. Sure, building up his confidence was still a work in progress, but I was beginning to see the fruits of my labor bud and blossom. No matter how entertaining the book (and it was plenty entertaining), I think I enjoyed helping Neville more than I did sitting down to read the fictional comedy about Death in the Common Room's comfortable armchairs.
Of course, Neville yet remained a target for ridicule and bullying by Malfoy and his Slytherin compatriots. No matter the confidence and knowledge I could help Neville acquire, he was still often forgetful and clumsy. There wasn't much I could do about that besides be patient and help him learn how to help himself. This was especially true as I had my own, personal ambitions to deal with, and we often spent time apart on individual pursuits; Neville had his relentless practice to keep up with the rest of the class (though he was perfectly average by the end of February rolled around, but simply held myself and Hermione as the standard to live by), whilst I delved deeper into mastering the basics, immersing myself in magical theory, and practicing more advanced magic.
By March, I had completed my study of all second year material taught at Hogwarts and progressed onto mastering third year magic and studying magical theory for fourth year's. In my personal opinion, I was making rapid work of the third year spells, though I was hindered by the sheer variety of magic being taught in the third years and above. There were loads of spells to learn and magical theory from the fourth year onwards became more complex than the ultimately rudimentary magics of the first two years of Hogwarts. Even so, I pressed onward, trusting that as my knowledge of magical theory and practical spellcasting deepened and refined itself, the faster I'd be able to pick up any other magic I came across in my studies.
My practical learning was narrowly focused on Charms, Transfiguration, DADA and occasionally whatever insights and spells I could glean from Professor Snape's old Potions books. I simply didn't have the resources to acquire the needed supplies and ingredients necessary for proper study of Herbology and Potions, no matter how much the Room could provide, and Astronomy was mostly theoretical. I barely considered Flying a legitimate subject, and only spent as much time on my personal Nimbus 2000 within the room as I needed to acclimate myself to its capabilities. I'd leave the actual study of Flying to the bi-monthly lessons Hooch hosted for those who didn't play Quidditch and had yet to meet her high standards for aerial competence. I, sadly, had yet to reach that level.
Within the subjects I only needed a wand and acceptable targets, I prioritized those spells that would be most generally applicable, and found myself practicing what I could in the Room of Requirement. Sadly, those spells which called for living targets were difficult to attempt on my own - it was difficult to acquire test subjects and I was forced to learn the transfigurations needed to make my own out of materials from the Room.
On the bright side, I now knew that my mental-enhancing Perks also provided me with some resistance to squeamishness, and I had loads of practice with fixing mal-transfigured objects and animalian abominations against nature that had resulted from my attempts at advanced Transfiguration. I think it ought to go without saying that I vastly preferred Charms to Transfiguration when it came to accidents in magic, as failure in Charms didn't result in grotesque insults to the natural order… well, not typically, at least.
I mean, could you imagine using Scouring Charms on a troll? The result: a clean, bathed, pleasantly smelling troll…
Horrifying.
Nevertheless, my irregular disappearances were often enough that most of my Gryffindor housemates were well used to them by now. They either found me lurking about the library or wandering the corridors, "exploring" the castle as many first-years are wont to do. This suited me well as it gave me plenty of excuses to not only learn more about the castle's ever-shifting layout but also concealed my disappearances into the Room of Requirement. I think the only few that bothered questioning my whereabouts were Neville and Hermione — Neville sought me out for occasional advice on homework whenever Percy was too busy to answer and Hermione seemed to enjoy glaring at me silently over the large, musty tomes she read.
Either way, come early March, the incident where Malfoy cursed Neville with the Leg-Locker happened much like it did in canon. Neville had been leaving the library to head to lunch and had been ambushed by Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Neville sadly didn't know the specific countercurse for the Leg-Locker (yet), and had to hop all the way to the Great Hall before Hermione could use the countercurse. This was mostly hearsay to me as I'd already left the Great Hall by that point, so I missed out on getting revenge on Malfoy or hearing the rest of Gryffindor encourage Neville to stand up for himself. I also missed Harry's revelation that Nicholas Flamel was an immortal alchemist who had worked with Dumbledore in the past and the deduction that the treasure being guarded by Fluffy was the Philosopher's Stone. No, at the time I had been too busy skipping lunch to do an essay for Astronomy that I had put off. Still, it reminded me that there would be another Quidditch match coming soon, this time between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and that I would have another few hours where no one would notice my absence.
Apparently, Professor Snape was volunteering to be the referee for this match, and all teachers would be in attendance — a precaution Dumbledore thought prudent after Harry's broom was jinxed in the Gryffindor-Slytherin match. Knowing that a brawl would likely break out based on the canonical flow of events, I did nothing to stop it from happening. It suited my purposes to spend those hours more… productively.
I already knew Gryffindor would win after a match of decent length, that a fight would break out mid-way, and that my presence in such a debacle would be complete overkill; I possessed the Muggle Dueling perk, and could have taken on half a dozen Slytherin first-years simultaneously in fisticuffs. There was no point to engaging in a schoolyard brawl when I was practicing how to fight against multiple suits of armor wielding deadly weaponry on a bi-weekly basis.
No, when everyone was heading out to the Quidditch Pitch for another exciting match, I gathered up my supplies and headed down another, ill-used corridor for something far more exhilarating than watching other people play Quidditch.
So, when I turned up several hours after the match had ended and the celebratory party was already dying down, no one had even thought to question my whereabouts. By the time everyone had headed for their dormitories and the comfort of their beds, I was slipping upstairs alongside them, and soon fast asleep.
In the end, I couldn't resist the temptation.
Back in my first life, I had always been a fan of dragons. There was something about the majestic mystique and power of the reptilian creatures of myth and legend that had always fascinated me. I was enamored with the concept of them, and the idea of possessing one had been a lifelong dream of mine in my first life.
While, as Kenneth Godewyn, I now had a greater understanding of how bloody dangerous and unpredictable they were, I still felt that yearning in my heart to tame a dragon and keep one for my own. Preferably a vegetarian one, so I could feed it scraps off my plate like a favored pet. My parents had already trained Damocles into accepting that — Dad refused to explain how he had done it, but he had — but a wizarding owl simply wasn't the same as a pet dragon.
I still haven't found a spell for turning owls into dragons and I haven't stopped looking.
Anyways, soon after Easter, when the three protagonists began disappearing off to Hagrid's regularly, I realized that Norbert(a) the Norwedgian Ridgeback was either about to hatch or had already hatched. The fact burned in the background of my mind for a while, building up strength as I resisted the urge to go see the baby dragon for myself. I couldn't help the smile when I pictured the baby dragon in my head but knew that I wouldn't have long before they sent it off to Romania with Charlie Weasley's friends. I had to be strong and resist the temptation…
But I was weak.
After a week and a half of telling myself "no", I eventually capitulated to my childish desires and said "yes".
After classes, around when Harry would have Quidditch practice, I skipped over to Hagrid's hut for a visit. I was wearing my most durable clothing (barring the Dragon Hide Jacket in my Dimensional Pocket which I was still too small to wear), including a pair of dragon-hide gloves on my hands, as I strolled across the Hogwarts lawns and rapped smartly on the door to Hagrid's home. Situated on the edge of the lawns and overlooking most of the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid's domicile was rustic yet functional. It appeared to be a single-room house sized for the enormous man and was surrounded by a spacious garden and room for some of the animals raised on Hogwarts' grounds. Despite all depictions in movies and fanfiction, it was not squalid as one might have suspected (though it might have been a tad small for a half-giant) as the groundskeeper kept it in spectacular shape.
There was a cluttering sound from inside at my knocking, and I could vaguely hear some hissing from within. "Hol' on!" called Hagrid from inside. "Imma tad busy a' the momen'."
"Hullo Hagrid! I don't think we've been introduced, but I'm Kenneth Godewyn, a first year in Gryffindor," I introduced myself from outside the door. "I was hoping to have a chat with you."
"Er, I don' think now's the bes' time fer a visit," Hagrid rumbled nervously, fussing with something unseen.
"Look, I don't care that you've got an illegal dragon in there, I just want to see it. I think they're fascinating creatures and it's been a lifelong dream of mine to have my very own dragon... Honestly, I've read all about them! Terribly misunderstood creatures, no matter how violent and dangerous! Please, can I come in and see? I promise I won't make trouble." I entreated honestly.
There were a few moments of silence — and the faint hiss of ignition from baby dragon's breath that had me refresh the Flame-Freezing Charm on myself, a spell that I had studied explicitly for this visit — before Hagrid opened his door a crack. The half-giant gave me a wary look, to which I smiled as earnestly as I could.
"I've got fire-proof gloves on, just in case it's venomous," I said, showing my gloved hands. I already knew that Norbert(a) was a Norwegian Ridgeback, and I had indeed studied up on dragons in the last few weeks. Beyond their ability to breath fire from an extremely young age, Norwegian Ridgebacks were known to possess a venomous bite. I'd come prepared to meet a dragon and live, even if it was just a baby one. "May I come in?"
Hagrid wavered, but apparently recognized me well enough from the castle and the few times we had passed in the halls. Oh, and likely from the troll debacle, but I didn't like thinking about that fiasco too often. I really hadn't handled that well at all, in hindsight, and hoped he wouldn't hold the fact I'd killed the troll against me.
Eventually, Hagrid sighed. "Alrigh'. Come on, then, be quick abou' it, we don' wanna have Norbert gettin' out." Hagrid opened the door wider and let me in, holding Norbert in a gentle, yet firm, grip away from the opening. The dragon tried to escape from Hagrid's grasp and wriggle its way to freedom and the outside, but the half-giant shut the door behind him.
The Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts wasn't much like his appearance in the films. He didn't dress in scruffy clothes covered in animal pelts, nor was he rotund or hefty. Rubeus Hagrid was far taller than his actor could possibly portray and dressed in fairly clean (if sweaty and singed) clothes and had a dapper moleskin coat hanging by the door with many pockets alongside a jacket made of bearskin. Currently, he wore an enormous, flowered apron and his gloves were slightly stained with chicken blood. His hair and beard were thick, slightly burnt and somewhat tangled and his eyes glinted like beetles but were overflowing with kindness. He was a wild man, but he didn't look savage in the slightest.
Hagrid swept over the large table in his well-maintained (if heavily singed) hut, placing Norbert(a) on the table. The petite dragon scrambled about on all fours, wings flapping ineffectually and whipping its tail, sniffing and hissing at me. I had the barest of warning before it breathed a short blast of fire at me but I managed to interpose my dragon-hide gloves in time to block it. I couldn't repress my grin.
"Ain' he a beaut'?" Hagrid asked proudly.
"She's gorgeous," I breathed with wonder, unable to suppress the squee that came unbidden, marveling at how ungainly this terrifying predator was as an infant. Skinny and thin with black wings flapping threateningly as I approached her, I couldn't help the grin on my face when confronted with my very first dragon.
Oh, I only wished I could keep her for myself… or raise her to not be a vicious killer that would rather roast and eat me alive instead of allowing me to raise her till she was big enough to put a saddle on.
Sigh.
I looked Norbert(a) in the eyes, seeing the nascent intelligence in those reptilian, fearsome eyes. She was still a baby, but she was ferocious and full of feral instinct. In time, she would grow into a fearsome apex predator that would be the terror of any northern mountain-range. She didn't have claws, but her teeth were already growing in and those would drip with potent venom as she grew older and stronger. Still too ungainly to fly, but she snapped at my fingers as I reached out to touch her.
"How old…?" I asked offhandedly, not taking my eyes off the dragon.
"No more'n a for'night." Hagrid said proudly, circling around to watch carefully as I reached out again, this time with only a finger. I let it approach slowly, waving it lazily with the snake-like undulations. The dragon's eyes had locked onto the slowly moving and waving appendage. All of a sudden, she darted forward and latched onto the finger with a vicious bite and refused to let go, but I was well-protected by my dragon-hide gloves. Grinning, I reached around and got closer until I was able to wrap my arm around underneath her, carrying her like an ungainly cat while she playfully struggled with biting into my gloved finger.
"Yer really good wit' 'im," Hagrid praised. "How'd ya do tha'?"
I grinned happily. In truth, I'd had a great deal of help, not only from my studies of dragonology books, but also my Essence of the Druid making me innately talented at animal handling. While it wouldn't work on more intelligent creatures, dragons in this world are typically of animal intelligence. Smart animals, but animals nonetheless. I could understand them to a basic extent, enough to get a general read on their moods and tell them things. It was highly rudimentary and provided little more than a gut-feeling every now and then, but that was enough for baby-dragons. I couldn't control them, but just a smidgen of understanding could go a long way.
"I played with the village alleycats as a toddler," I explained, relying on details from this life. In my first life, I'd been kept away from most animals as my father had been allergic. In this life, I had much more experience dealing with animals, and the assistance of my Druid Essence. "From what I've read, dragons act a lot like cats, only vicious and crossed with the habits of a reptile, among other sorts of creatures. Predators typically have an instinct for hunt and play… I guessed that for dragons, they were one and the same."
"Tha's brilliant." Hagrid said happily, a little teary eyed. "I tried gettin' Harry and the others ta see tha', but they jus' said Norbert was dangerous… there's nothin' dangerous if'n yeh know what yer doin', I say."
"She." I corrected.
"Wha'?" Hagrid seemed confused.
"Norbert is a she. It's hard to tell, but she's not let go of my glove and she breathed fire the first time she saw a new face." I explained. "Among Norwegian Ridgebacks, it's the females that are more ferocious and combative at first encounter… She's also trying to rip my finger to pieces, so that's another sign. Dreadfully protective and antagonistic, female Ridgebacks are, according to the books I read."
"Huh," Hagrid scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Hadn' considered tha'. She needs a be'er name, then. Can' just go callin' her Norbert now, tha' sounds silly." he decided.
"You could just call her Norberta," I suggested a little weakly, still playing with the dragon. I'd progressed to making faces and fake-growling at her playfully, trying to get her to recognize me as not-prey. That dragon was difficult to convince, but eventually let go and hissed at me before scrabbling out of my arms and leaping back onto the table, flapping her wings in a failed attempt at flight. She whirled and hissed again, so I snarled back, unable to keep the grin off my face as I glanced back at Hagrid, waving my hands around to keep her occupied with the many moving objects. Norbert(a) kept snapping at my fingers and hands, occasionally trying to breath fire to roast my wriggling fingers, but I kept evading her attacks and had reasonable heat-protection with my dragon-hide gloves and Flame-Freezing Charm.
Hagrid gave me a wry but fond look. I blushed a little as I noticed the sincere joy on his face at seeing me play with Norbert(a), though he gave me a humored look at the name. "Sorry, I'm not good with creative names."
"I think Nora'd do jes fine." Hagrid reasoned.
I nodded. "And she's young enough that Norbert likely hasn't had much time to stick, anyways. They sound similar enough."
"Me thoughts 'zactly." Hagrid leaned over and grabbed a large bucket full of some unidentifiable smelly liquid that he put near the newly renamed 'Nora'. Nora immediately lost interest in me and zeroed in on the bucket, gulping down greedily.
"Guess she got hungry," I mused. "What's in the bucket?"
"Mixture o' brandy and chicken blood. 'Supposed ta feed that ter 'er ev'ry half-hour," Hagrid looked on fondly as Nora gorged herself on the brew.
"I remember reading that in Dragon Breeding for Fun and Profit too. She'll definitely grow healthy and strong on a diet like that." I mused, despite feeling a little ill at ease with the bloody mess Nora made as she sated her hunger.
"Tha' she will, tha' she will." Hagrid agreed, before turning back to me. "I hadn' though' about tha' cat trick before. Yeh've a gift for Creatures, Kenneth."
"So I've been told." I murmured. I already knew I wanted to take Care for Magical Creatures as a third year, but this was the second time I'd been told that I would be good at the class. All I was doing was relying on the instincts and understanding provided by my Essence of the Druid… but I supposed that I was my Essences now. I possessed both the Essence of the Archmage and that of the Druid. It would behoove me to remember that more often, as I would do well playing to those strengths. I already relied heavily on the Archmage for studies... Perhaps I ought to indulge the Druid more often.
I spent the remainder of that afternoon with Hagrid and Nora until the sun was beginning to set and supper would be served in the Great Hall. Bidding the both of them farewell, I ended up promising to return for the next few days so long as Harry and his friends weren't around. Hagrid wasn't too happy about that, but I explained that Hermione was angry with me for some reason, and it'd be better if we didn't mention my visits to them. We didn't want to make her upset. While he understood that children had their tiffs, Hagrid was saddened at the thought that I couldn't be there to show Harry, Ron and Hermione that Nora wasn't as dangerous as they thought she was.
Of course, Nora totally was that dangerous and deadly to pretty much everyone else in the castle… but Hagrid and I were both a little insane when it came to dragons, it appeared, and I was perfectly willing to live with that.
Nevertheless, Hagrid reluctantly acquiesced to my terms, and I proceeded to spend the few afternoons and evenings when the trio remained in the castle over at Hagrid's hut, playing with and teaching Nora tricks and lessons on being a good pet-dragon. The Wild Empathy aspect of my Essence of the Druid didn't stop her from trying to attack me all the time, but it helped me get her to be a little bit more tame around Hagrid and myself.
We also managed to train her to not breathe fire at everything that moved... just at the stuff she wanted to eat or hunt (which was most living things). She also stopped biting everything that got near her and scratching anything she came across after a few lessons in discipline that I could only attribute to the supernatural level of empathy my Essence of the Druid gave me.
She was nowhere near "tamed", but over the course of the next few weeks, Hagrid and I had gotten her to be "less vicious" for a female Norwegian Ridgeback. Nora eventually took a shine to Hagrid as he was the one who kept her fed and had hatched her, but it took several days for me to drill that concept into her tiny, reptilian brain. There were limits to my own Wild Empathy, and the mind of a baby dragon wasn't really designed to think complicated thoughts like that.
Honestly, I think there was only hope for her to be well and truly tamed if I had been able to raise her full-time for at least half a year… but that simply wasn't in the cards. I had my own classes and homework to complete, as well as the advanced studies I had put on temporary hold to indulge in my childhood fantasies of having a pet dragon. Plus, there was also the fact that Nora would eventually become too dangerous to be confined to Hagrid's hut and would eventually be discovered. This was clear by the way Harry, Ron and Hermione rarely visited Hagrid in those days explicitly because Nora refused to treat anyone besides myself and Hagrid as anything less than potential food.
Also, she scared the daylights out of the lot of them, the pansies.
Regardless, I knew after that first day that we'd never have the time for me to truly work my out-of-context Wild Empathy to truly bring the dragon to heel. This was only confirmed when Hagrid tearfully informed me that the others had convinced him it was safest for Nora to be sent to Romania where she could be raised amongst other dragons and given the proper care and nurturing she needed to thrive. I only had a few more days with her before she would be put into a crate and flown to Romania under the cover of night, so I made the most of my remaining time with Nora while Hagrid tearfully watched on.
Sadly, the timeline was catching up to me and Ron had his hand bitten because the three first-years hadn't bothered to read up on Norwegian Ridgebacks properly and didn't show up to Hagrids wearing dragon-hide gloves. I personally blamed their laziness on, well, laziness and the gamekeeper's bad example — just because Hagrid's half-giant hands made the bite of a baby Ridgeback feel like tickling and their poison incapable of affecting him didn't mean that non-half-giants could handle Ridgebacks with their bare hands.
It was obvious in hindsight, really. No one said anything about what had really sent Ron to the Hospital Wing for several days when his hand began to swell to enormous sizes, but I had noticed they visited Hagrid the previous day to walk him through the plan for Nora's escape. This meant that Harry and Hermione would be in charge of transporting Nora to the Astronomy Tower the next evening so she could be off to her new life.
I spent that afternoon saying goodbye to the little dragon, and did my best not to cry. Hagrid was weeping enough for the both of us.
The evening after Nora was sent to freedom, I realized that not only had Malfoy been spying on Harry and noticed the dragon was going to be moved that evening, but that Neville had overheard Malfoy plotting to get Harry in trouble and decided to do something about it. To be honest, it had completely slipped my mind that Neville would also get into trouble that evening and I was a little surprised he had bothered to run after Harry, Hermione and Malfoy to give them the warning.
Sadly, it appeared he was too late to deliver that message and had gotten caught. Neville informed me of the sordid series of events that would lead to his evening detention and I did my best to cheer him up. I felt reassured that despite my affect on the canonical storyline, Neville still tried to do the right thing without my prodding.
I didn't have the heart to tell him he would be going into the Forbidden Forest that night for his detention. Despite the capabilities afforded by a wand that suited him, Neville would have freaked out if I told him that. However, I did quietly confess that I had known about the dragon for a month and that the reason I had been mostly distant and absent those last few weeks had been because I had been so enamored with trying to train it.
He called me mental for even trying, but understood and forgave me. He didn't seem bothered in the slightest that I had been mostly ignoring him the last several weeks in favor of living my childhood dream of playing with a dragon; I suspected Neville liked the occasional solitude.
As recompense for my absence, I promised that I wouldn't avoid him for the rest of term and that I would help him revise for our final exams in a few weeks. Neville immediately accepted the offer as Percy had steadily gotten busier and busier after the Easter holiday and no longer had time for tutoring first-years while preparing for his ungodly number of O.W.L.s.
Sadly, all was not forgiven on the Hermione and Ron fronts. Turns out that Hagrid had accidentally let slip that I had been privy to the dragon-secret since shortly after Nora had hatched and was the one who had deduced Nora was actually a female dragon. It had been difficult to make out through his tears, but apparently Hagrid had bemoaned the fact I hadn't been there with him the night they sent Nora away and that if we had had more time we could have shown the world that dragons were truly tragically-misunderstood creatures.
Ron was mostly angry that I had known about the illegal dragon the entire time, said nothing to them, and had even convinced Hagrid to keep my knowledge of Nora a secret.
Hermione, on the other hand, was incensed. In her eyes, I had willfully aided an enterprise I knew was wholly illegal and dangerous to everyone involved. Worse, I had lied about it, pretended to know nothing, turned Hagrid into a conspirator, and was probably trying to train Nora into some kind of horrible weapon against my enemies…
To be fair, I had considered the idea of training Nora into my personal attack-dragon, but it was just an idle fantasy I never actually intended to follow through on.
Needless to say, Hermione sent me glares that threatened to eviscerate me should she learn how and have an excuse to get away with it legally and without getting expelled. I think the fact that she couldn't tell anyone that I had been complicit in illegal dragon-raising and been (unintentionally) encouraging Hagrid that his dreams of having a pet dragon weren't totally unreachable was what really ate at her on the inside. If she ratted me out, she'd get Hagrid into trouble instead; I was twelve and Hagrid was in his sixties, so any reasonable authority would blame Hagrid for the entire mess and blame him for roping me into being another accomplice.
Harry was mostly just disappointed that I had known and said nothing to help them… and hadn't been present that evening to get in trouble alongside them. No, I was getting off scot free and had been lying to their faces for weeks by pretending I was oblivious to their antics.
A week after the nighttime detention in the Forbidden Forest — a week which I had spent getting Neville to no longer jump at sudden noises and be scared witless of his own shadow — I found myself being followed at all hours by at least one of them whenever they had time free. It appeared that I was now the second-highest "suspect" on their list after Professor Snape for "Who Might Be Helping The Dark Lord Acquire The Philosopher's Stone".
It would have been more amusing if they hadn't taken to using the Invisibility Cloak to follow me around whenever I was alone. Sure, I couldn't see them, but the lot of them were terrible at sneaking around quietly. They could keep mum when it pleased them, but not one of them knew anything about muffling the sounds of their footsteps. To be fair, that was a skill even I only knew theoretically, but my Druid Essence granted me excellent senses and my martial training meant I was rather light on my feet.
Even if I had been trying to downplay my sensory acuity in public — even going so far as to wear false spectacles since my birthday, pretending as if I were suffering from astigmatism like I had in my first life, in the hopes it would make for an excellent Clark-Kent effect in the future — it was a struggle to conceal the fact that I had noticed them trying to follow me around and figure out where I was going when I wanted to be alone.
Nevertheless, I soldiered on and ended up abandoning my usual habit of sneaking off to the Room of Requirement for physical and martial training alongside my studies in advanced magic. Their suspicions didn't stop me from reading advanced books in public, but I couldn't read Professor Snape's old books nor any of the books on martial magics from the Room that I had been pouring over since last fall. Instead, I just read whatever interesting book happened to catch my eye that wouldn't look too out of place for someone as studious as people knew I was.
At least, they only seemed to be interested in where I went when I was alone. Thus, I could both live up to my promise with Neville and avoid the aggravation that came with pretending not to notice my invisible followers by spending all my free time until the end of term with Neville. Thankfully, the closer we got to exams, the less time anyone had for following me, so I suppose it all worked out in the end. Either way, I swore to myself that I would study as hard as I could until I had the theoretical foundation necessary to master the Disillusionment Charm, just in case they decided to post a tail on me next year for whatever reason.
In hindsight, the final exams for my first year at Hogwarts were alright, I supposed.
I was nervous as all get-out; my Essence of the Archmage could give me the foundation for being an excellent magical scholar with an infallible memory for magic, but I still got nervous and self-conscious about my own test answers. I could double-check my answers against the textbooks, sure… but I was still uncomfortable and anxious about my exams. Unlike certain other students, I wasn't a fan of quoting the textbook verbatim when it came to schoolwork and couldn't be certain whether my paraphrased responses and original answers would be acceptable.
Nevertheless, in preparing Neville to be ready for the exams, I had made myself more than prepared for anything the exams had to throw at me, and I think I did quite well. There was that assurance that knowing I had a photographic memory and rapid learning rate for magical study that I possessed which none of my year-mates had. Even so, Neville and I didn't talk about our exams once they were done — a sharp contrast to Hermione who continued to obsess over them with Harry and Ron immediately after each one was done.
It helped that Professor Flitwick had let slip that he had already graded the exams we took a few days prior and told me in secret that I had taken the top spot with a score of a hundred and fifteen percent on my exam. I had no idea how that was possible on an exam, but my confidence after that had been sky-high. Neville hadn't been in quite such good spirits, but I had convinced him he could be assured that he hadn't failed Herbology at least, as that was one of the few subjects he hadn't needed my help studying for.
Still, while the exams had been somewhat stressful, they paled in comparison to the stress I felt knowing that the culmination of Quirrell-mort's plot was at hand once all our exams were done.
Harry would have his epiphany and realize that the Dark Lord had learned how to get past Fluffy when Hagrid won Nora's egg in that card game around Easter. They would rush to get the Headmaster, but he would have suddenly been called away to the Ministry on some emergency, leaving the Stone "unguarded". There would be a race through the perilous gauntlet and a final confrontation with the Dark Lord before Harry would be the specter's undoing and Professor Quirrell's death.
I pitied Quirinus Quirrell for a few moments before realizing that his death warrant had been sealed when he accepted being a host for the Dark Lord's parasitic specter.
The trio kept to themselves for the entire evening and remained in the Common Room later than normal. No one seemed to pay this any mind besides myself. I knew that they wouldn't do anything until everyone had left the Common Room (that they knew of), so I eventually said goodnight to Neville and left for bed. I was one of the only people left in the Common Room at that point, and Neville was well hidden in a corner where he had been sitting with Trevor to relax and unwind after the stressful exams.
Not fifteen minutes later, Harry rushed up to our dormitory, grabbed his Invisibility Cloak from under his bed and the handmade wooden flute Hagrid had gifted him for Christmas from the nightstand. He didn't even notice I was still awake, lying in bed, pretending to be asleep. I waited for another few minutes to pass, counting the seconds in my head as I listened to the dormitory clock tick, then decided that enough time had passed for me to "realize they weren't in bed" and go looking for where my wayward roommates were.
I got out of bed, tossed a bath-robe over my pajamas, and went down to the Common Room. There on the carpet was Neville, frozen in place by the Full Body-Bind Curse, just as had been done in canon. Unlike canon, however, I was here to notice his plight and free him from the curse early instead of leaving him there the entire night.
Tutting to myself, I made my way to Neville, who noticed me out of the corner of his terrified eyes which he tried moving in order to convey some sort of message. I guessed it would be something along the lines of: "Help! I'm stuck! For god's sake, stop gawking and help me!"
Kneeling by his fallen, stiff-as-a-board form and getting my wand out, I performed the counter-curse. Once freed, Neville immediately gasped and started talking rapidly and confusedly.
"Hold on, slow down and speak clearly, Neville, I can barely make out every third word," I told him reassuringly.
Neville paused, took a moment, and continued, this time a little less quickly. "It's awful, Kenneth! Harry, Ron and Hermione are going out after curfew again! They'll get Gryffindor into trouble, and we'll lose all our points and it's going to be my fault again! I'm sorry, I… I couldn't stop them! I'm sorry!" he bawled.
I gave him a pat on the back and tried to be comforting. "Chin up, Neville, you did what you could. How were you to know they'd curse you when you're unarmed. Come on, we've got to let someone know they're out and about and that you tried to stop them."
"Right…" Neville nodded, seeing the sense in my words. Then he paused, and wondered aloud, "But, everyone's already gone to bed. And to fetch a Professor, we'd be breaking curfew too…"
I winced. "I… hadn't considered that, actually. Good thinking, Neville."
Neville wasn't reassured. "Should… should we go after them?"
"No," I said quickly. "Who knows where they've gotten to by now. We'd never find them this late after dark, they could have gone anywhere." The lies flowed quickly. I didn't want Neville rushing after them into the gauntlet protecting the Philosopher's Stone. Neville had already encountered Fluffy once, and I doubted he would appreciate the repeat… even if he survived the experience.
Nevertheless, we put our heads together and came up with a plan. Neville rushed to our dormitory and grabbed some parchment and a quill while I threw open a window and whistled as sharply and loudly as I could. I kept repeating the whistle until eventually a shadowy figure emerged from the inky black and resolved itself into the rapidly approaching form of Damocles, flying to my call. I gave the bird space to alight upon the window sill before snatching the quill, ink and parchment that Neville had fetched and began writing several rapid notes.
The first was to Professor McGonagall, informing her that Harry, Ron and Hermione were out of bed and heading down the third-floor corridor. Neville made a sound of confusion and curiosity as he read that over my shoulder, but I shushed him, promising it would all make sense in the morning. I also wrote that Neville had attempted to stop them, but was hit with the Full Body-Bind for standing in their way.
The second note was for Headmaster Dumbledore, explaining that the aforementioned trio were attempting to bypass the protections surrounding the Philosopher's Stone in a misguided attempt to obtain the Stone before it could be stolen by dark forces and that they would be in grave danger from said dark forces during their attempt to recover the Stone.
Neville was even more confused and astounded by the revelation of what was hidden under the trapdoor in the room with the three-headed dog on the forbidden third-floor corridor, but I promised that the Headmaster would likely explain everything once he showed up and saved Harry, Ron and Hermione from themselves. We signed both our names at the bottom as a show of solidarity.
I gave Damocles the letters and his instructions — the first letter was to reach Professor McGonagall in her personal quarters as quickly as possible and I gave the owl permission to do whatever was necessary to get her attention and deliver the message. Once she'd taken the parchment meant for her, Damocles was to deliver the second note to the Headmaster with all haste. No rest, no stops, no distractions until the Headmaster had our warnings, and only then could Damocles be free to hunt if he wished.
"Do not fail me," I told the bird, stifling the peculiar sensation of unease in the pit of my gut. "Now fly."
Damocles took off into the night with a hoot, wheeling away towards McGonagall's quarters. Neville and I watched him go before he disappeared in the darkness and vanished around the end of the Tower.
"Now what?" Neville wondered aloud.
"Now, Neville," I yawned. "we go to bed."
"Wait, what? Really? That's it, we just send a few letters and go to bed?" Neville gasped, incredulous.
I nodded. "Yes, that's it. We can't do anything else without breaking curfew ourselves, and that would get everyone into trouble and make things even worse for Gryffindor. Now we just go to bed and everything will make sense in the morning."
At least… I hoped it would.
A/N: I believe this is my longest chapter yet. To be honest, though, when first reading the books or watching the films, it's easy to forget how quickly time flies between major events in the timeline. Events progress rapidly in the background as daily life takes over and movie-style montages are difficult to capture in the written form. So, I went from the first few weeks of January all the way to early June in a single chapter. Because I can, and no one could stop me, mwahahaha!
Anyways, this chapter's a doozy. And, like Kenneth, I initially struggled with the urge to avoid meeting Norbert(a) as a baby dragon as it'd just add further complications to Ken's life… but, like Ken, I couldn't help myself.
Last edited: Aug 24, 2020
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
Jul 12, 2020
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kenmadragon
Jul 19, 2020
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Chapter 14
"Godewyn, come with me. The Headmaster would like a word."
I almost choked on my corn flakes at Professor McGonagall's words. Everyone at the table had seen her stalking over to where Neville and I had been worrying with the first-year Gryffindors about Harry, Ron and Hermione being absent that morning. Ron, in particular, was a proponent of making the most of each meal, so their absence from the table was notable. Especially since none besides Neville and I had any idea of where they had disappeared to... We all assumed that she would have something to say about that.
But, with McGonagall having come to personally deliver the summons of Albus Dumbledore, the table fell silent, torn between staring at myself and at the professor.
Of course, she then glanced at Neville, and said, almost as an afterthought, "You too, Longbottom. And, wipe that milk off your chin, Godewyn, you look ridiculous."
Quickly dabbing my face with a napkin to clean up, I hurriedly stood. A glance at Neville showed him looking at me, startled, before he joined me in setting down his half-eaten toast and grabbed his hat to stand. Professor McGonagall gave us both a stern, unreadable look, then muttered "Good enough," and turned. Neville and I shared another worried look before hurrying after the professor.
It was obvious why we were being summoned; the events of the previous night. In order to stress the urgency, I had been far too liberal with details about the Stone and those after it when sending my messages. The scribbled warnings of a first-year student wouldn't be taken seriously unless said student already had knowledge he shouldn't otherwise have. But, they had served their purpose and captured the attention of Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall.
Now we were probably being called in after the situation was resolved to debrief. It was the only logical conclusion to be drawn… I hoped. I could only guess at what had happened as a result of my meddling.
Nevertheless, I memorized the path we took to the Headmaster's office as best as I could. By this point, it was mostly just a habit whenever I wandered somewhere new in the castle — the layout had a tendency to change around every now and then. If I didn't keep track of where I went and how I got there, it'd be far too easy to get lost while exploring. It was one of the reasons why Neville usually stuck to known routes when possible and rarely deviated from them. Besides, it seemed like a decent idea to memorize where the Headmaster's office was located, just in case.
We eventually got to an enormous, hideous-looking stone gargoyle stationed in an alcove, hiding the entrance to the Headmaster's office and quarters. Professor McGonagall once more glanced back to make sure we were still there, then said to the gargoyle, "Mars Bar."
Instantly, the gargoyle leaped aside, revealing a spiral staircase that ascended upwards as we stepped on at Professor McGonagall's instruction. Neville and I stewed in our nerves (he more visibly than I) as the stairs took us up quite slowly until we were met with a pair of imposing oaken doors. The Professor took hold of an ornate knocker on the double doors and knocked politely.
A moment later, the doors opened, and Professor Dumbledore was there, smiling kindly. "Ah, yes, thank you Minerva," he said to Professor McGonagall before turning to address us. "But I think I shall speak to Mr. Longbottom first. Mr. Godewyn, if you would please be patient, I believe this will only take a moment."
"Of course," I mumbled. Neville was guided into Dumbledore's office and then the doors closed, leaving me to wait outside with McGonagall.
Time passed. I didn't bother counting it out, too busy trying to keep my mind occupied on anything besides this upcoming talk. I was trying to be patient, but found that my thoughts kept wandering and then I began to fret on the inside before I forced myself to think of more inane topics. Dumbledore's talk with Neville definitely took longer than 'a moment', but I couldn't really do anything about that besides put my focus on thinking about magical theory. There really wasn't much better to do; a glance at McGonagall revealed that she was watching me carefully and didn't seem inclined to casual conversation right now. It felt like she hadn't decided whether I was in trouble or not, and was silently judging me like Anubis with his scales.
Eventually, after what felt like a small eternity, the door opened and Neville showed up, looking a little dazed. "Alright there, Neville?" I asked.
Neville nodded, frowning. "Yes. He just had questions about… well, I — I have a lot to think about."
"What do you mean?" I wondered, brow furrowed.
Before Neville could answer, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, drawing our attention. "I believe it is your turn, now, Mr. Godewyn."
"Right. Be seeing you, then, Nev." I waved to Neville and walked into the Headmaster's office, allowing the heavy, oaken doors to swing closed behind me.
The Office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts is an elaborate affair. It is a massive, mostly circular chamber with high ceilings and is lavishly decorated in a riot of fashions and styles. The walls are bedecked with bookcases, shelves for assorted magical equipment, and the numerous portraits of previous Headmasters. There were many spindly tables dotting the lush carpets and rugs which were bedecked with whirring, smoking silver instruments and countless books and scrolls and other academic materials. By the many large windows there were instruments for all sorts of things, ranging from Astronomy to Potions, and a large stand upon which was an ashen nest. Within that nest was an enormous, fierce and fiery bird of vibrant red and gold plumage with a tail as long as a peacock's and whose blazing feathers glowed under the morning sun filtering in through the sheer curtains: Fawkes the Phoenix.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I was a tad more preoccupied by the sight of the adult Phoenix than I was with the Headmaster sitting at his desk. While my phobia might be a thing of the past, some part of me would always react to the presence of avian predators, especially those of such power as a phoenix. Native to the mountain peaks of India, China and Egypt, the phoenix was a notably peaceful creature… but it was also powerfully magical, physically strong beyond belief, fully immortal beings that would return to life after exploding in death, and capable of amazing feats of magic through the use of flame.
Thank god they were herbivores and that they weren't aggressive by nature, or I would have been far more nervous than before. Still, Fawkes unnerved me with his unblinking stare. I didn't even attempt to look the phoenix in his eyes, too distracted by the brilliant plumage and the sharp beak and talons he possessed. I kept waiting for the bird to make a move…
Then Fawkes let out a trill. I stiffened, but there was something about the cry of the phoenix that resonated within me. His voice was beautiful, a masterpiece of sound captured in a single creature that soothed my heart and filled me with courage. I was no longer nervous, but instead felt more alive than I ever had been. The warmth in my pocket reminded me of a fundamental truth — the wand I bore, the wand which had chosen me above all others, had a phoenix's tail feather as its core.
I glanced at Fawkes' tail, noting how impressive the tailfeathers truly were, with the way they blazed without burning, and the beauty of the bird that grew them. Fawkes trilled again, and this time, I knew via my Wild Empathy that Fawkes meant me no harm. In fact, the bird could probably care less about me. It wasn't Fawkes from whom my wand's core came from, after all...
"Beautiful creature, is he not?" Dumbledore asked softly from behind me.
I'd been so focused on Fawkes that I'd barely paid any attention to the Headmaster behind his desk. While I'd been busy staring at the phoenix, Dumbledore had taken the time to move to my blindspot and give me a start.
I turned and tried not to look too startled. "Yes, he is. I remember reading somewhere you had a phoenix, but…" I looked back at Fawkes, who had begun to preen some of the feathers on his wing. "It's another thing to see a phoenix in person. They're incredibly rare, after all, and aren't native to Europe, much less Scotland."
Dumbledore made a sound of agreement. "Yes, wondrous creatures, phoenixes are. Alas, the story of how Fawkes came into life is not the subject of your presence here today, Mr. Godewyn. Perhaps, on another occasion, we might have the time to discuss that particular tale. Today, we have other matters at hand."
I blinked. "Right, naturally."
"Shall we?" Dumbledore gestured over to his desk. We moved over to take a seat by the desks, and I sank into a comfortable armchair while Dumbledore took the high-backed one behind the desk. "Sherbet lemon?"
"Yes, please," I took one of the candies he'd offered from the bowl, glanced at it suspiciously for a moment, then plopped it in my mouth. It was basically a citrus-flavored lozenge with a sweet inside. I could see how Dumbledore would like these so much. Not much chewing required for a man of his years, all that you needed was saliva and time.
"Excellent, now I believe we shall get down the business, then. I apologize, but I am afraid that this conversation will not be as brief as it was for Mr. Longbottom." Dumbledore said plainly.
I grimaced lightly. "I thought as much. What is this all about, then?"
"Why, the contents of your dire missives last evening, of course." Dumbledore explained, bringing out both messages I had sent with Damocles the previous night. "You gave both myself and Professor McGonagall quite the fright with your letters, and I do not doubt that you had the best of intentions in their sending, but…"
"You want to know how I knew what Harry, Ron and Hermione were getting up to." I finished for him.
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. When your letter reached me, I am sorry to say that I was not within Hogwarts' walls. I had been called into the Ministry for some matters, though my presence appeared to be a surprise to some," he explained.
"Then, imagine my shock when I received your owl, warning me that I had to return to the school immediately. And when I arrived back at Hogwarts, I found that your warnings had been correct! Alas, while I had little time to ponder this last night, I find that with fresh eyes in the morning, I am forced to wonder… how did you come to know what those three were up to when they snuck out after curfew?"
I studied Professor Dumbledore carefully. "Well, despite how much they might try to keep things secret, they don't know how to talk quietly. I have good ears, and I share a room with Harry and Ron. We have the same classes. It was not difficult to put together what they were up to when you put everything they talked about together."
"I see, yes. And yet, you were the only one among your peers to notice all this? To piece together the pieces of the puzzle?" Dumbledore questioned. "You live with other Gryffindors, especially those older and more experienced than you, do you not?"
"I do," I granted the point. "But, at the expensive of being presumptuous, I find that most of my peers and upperclassmen are… shall we say, preoccupied with so many other matters that they don't always notice all the pieces."
"But you do?" The old man's eyebrow arched, the corners of his lip twitching upwards in amusement.
I shrugged. "Sometimes. Other times… I suppose guesswork also played a good part in it."
The Headmaster hummed in thought, giving me a strange look. While he did so, I took a moment to study Professor Dumbledore in turn. Contrary to popular belief, he did not look much like his on-screen appearance by either actor. Both the first and second actors had managed to capture aspects of the picture and presence of Professor Albus Dumbledore the Grand Sorcerer, but neither could achieve his full appearance and affect.
Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore was a tall and thin wizard over a hundred years old, but in true wizarding fashion, didn't appear much older than his late sixties. His hair was silvery and long, hanging low enough to reach his waist and was unbound despite the length. Despite this, Dumbledore's hair was neat, well-groomed, and perfectly even. The old headmaster's eyes were startling blue behind his half-moon spectacles and I idly pushed my own up to rest more comfortably on the bridge of my nose.
Perhaps the most uneven aspect of Dumbledore's visage was the fact that his nose was crooked in more than one place, appearing to have been broken and carelessly healed on multiple occasions. Despite this, Dumbledore's robes were an immaculate periwinkle blue this morning and dotted with the occasional, twinkling star embroidered in silver threads, matching the pointed cap atop his head. All in all, he seemed to be a kind old man… but I knew better than that.
This was the most dangerous mortal wizard in the world.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily and all of a sudden, I felt the impression that just as I was assessing the Headmaster, so too was I being assessed. I quickly averted my gaze, suppressing the shiver that ran down my spine.
"Indeed, I find that many great breakthroughs throughout history have been a result of guesswork and random pieces of the incomplete puzzle," Dumbledore chuckled. "But, I fear that now my curiosity has been truly piqued, Mr. Godewyn — oh, but may I call you Kenneth?"
I didn't mind, so I nodded my assent.
"Thank you. These matters are quite sensitive, so I feel that perhaps it is best to be perfectly candid." Dumbledore explained, then his expression gained a stony, piercing quality. "Now, to my next question: Where did you learn Occlumency?"
Wait... what?
I blinked, caught off guard. What on earth was he on about? I didn't know Occlumency, I'd yet to find any reference book that gave instructions on the subject. Besides which, training in Occlumency would have required someone to practice Legilimency on myself… and I did my advanced training in solitude. It would have been impossible to practice Occlumency on my own, and there was no opportunity to have had a teacher in the past...
Hold on… I was a Jumper. Over the course of the last year, I had uncovered some of the blotted-out details on the Interface, but there were still some sections that were still redacted to me. It wasn't unbelievable that I had a passive talent for Occlumency given by my status as a Jumper that I just hadn't noticed. But… I glanced at Dumbledore, feeling the icy grasp of fear attempting to reach for me before I shook it off. No, there was no time to confirm my suspicions. Dumbledore was right there, and he needed an answer, not to see me stare off into space, looking at nothing.
"I don't know. I wasn't even aware that I..." I answered honestly, then paused, realizing something important. "Hold on, that means you just tried to read my mind!"
Dumbledore gave me another amused but conciliatory look, apparently reassured by that response. "I do apologize, but I simply could not repress my curiosity, and as I believe you must suspect, I needed to be certain of the state of your mind. However, after the events of last October, you can forgive me for being careful."
I grimaced at the memory of the troll and how pear-shaped that had gone, but turned my scowl on the Headmaster. "Thank goodness I was an Occlumens, then… however that happened."
"Ah, did you not already have a theory? Then allow me to share mine," Dumbledore smiled. "I believe that you are familiar with your father's line of work as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, yes? I suspect that perhaps your father's experiments early in his career at the Department had some unforeseen effects upon himself which have passed on his uniquely natural gift for Occlumency to his son. How fascinating, you must let him know that you have inherited his talent for natural Occlumency."
I… had not been aware that Dad was a natural Occlumens. Then again, that branch of magic was particularly obscure and rarely studied, especially considered the difficulty and restricted nature of the subject. Being told by Dumbledore this piece of knowledge about my father was eye-opening, and I gained a new understanding of why my father enjoyed his work at the Department of Mysteries — he was a natural Occlumens, and thus a natural at keeping the secrets of the Department under wraps. His skill at Occlumency would allow him to be trusted with handling some of the most delicate and confidential research conducted at the Department, and Dad always did like challenging problems; he'd been a Ravenclaw when he was at Hogwarts, after all.
I instantly put the subject of Occlumency on my Wish-List for magical study and made a personal note to check my Interface when I was next free to determine what the Perk that apparently inserted this detail into my family-history actually did. Even so, I was now thankful that I was protected from casual-mind-reading; that meant I could actually look Dumbledore in the eyes as we talked without fear of having my every thought laid bare.
So, I did just that, looking Dumbledore in the eyes with a grin on my face. His eyes twinkled madly as he chuckled. "Ah, how wonderful. In all my long years as a professor at Hogwarts, seeing a young student discover something new about themselves and magic has always been one of my favorite aspects of teaching."
"Is that why you called me here, sir?" I wondered skeptically.
"No," Dumbledore admitted. "No, I was rather more curious about something else entirely… An event that took place quite some time ago; though precisely when, I admit I am not certain of."
I stilled. "Oh?"
"Yes…" Dumbledore leaned forward, his presence suddenly magnifying invisibly as he steepled his fingers together. "In this case, I believe I shall require an explanation of the event involved, and I do hope you will be honest."
"What do you wish to know," I asked, cautiously.
Dumbledore looked at me seriously, his piercing eyes seeing into me and through me, even without the use of Legilimency. I could feel the pressure of his eyes upon me, joined by those of the countless portraits of past Headmasters staring down upon me in silence, as well as the heat of Fawkes' attentions blazing behind me.
"The circumstances surrounding your theft of the Philosopher's Stone, of course."
I couldn't help it.
I burst into laughter.
The laughter went on for a little longer than it probably ought to have, and when my giggling died down, Dumbledore didn't look quite as amused as I did. He fixed a stern look on me. "I don't see what you find so amusing, young man."
"It's—It's just that I didn't think you would catch on so quickly!" I grinned with relief. I let out a bark of laughter and leaned back in the armchair, turning my attention back to the Headmaster. "It's been months since I stole the Stone, I was beginning to think no one would realize I'd already done it. What gave me away?"
"Educated guesswork," the Headmaster said evenly. "The pieces were there, but none added up. Your answers to my questions regarding the letters you sent myself and Professor McGonagall confirmed my suspicions, as did your ignorance of Occlumency. The rest was… guesswork. But, an accurate one, it appears."
"Quite right." I laughed as the headmaster used my own excuse against me. "You cannot imagine how much I've been holding back from telling someone about this. I really wanted to boast about it but, well, that would have been missing the entire point of pulling this entire sleight-of-hand, wouldn't it? What gave me away?"
"Your attempts to conceal the extent of your immense talent were insufficient. I have long kept an eye open for extraordinary talents in magic; it's a bad habit of mine, but I take pride as an educator in nurturing young minds, especially those of the particularly gifted." Dumbledore admitted. "But, I believe it would be more prudent to begin your explanations at the beginning of your theft, and show me the errors in my protections that allowed you to abscond with the Philosopher's Stone."
"Right, right," I assented and thought back to the fateful afternoon. "Well, I'd found out about the Stone and decided that I could not allow it to fall into the wrong hands. However, I thought your own protections, while adequate, were insufficient to prevent someone truly dedicated to misusing the Stone from attaining it. So I decided to add an additional protection: deception. The entire gauntlet of traps and challenges that protected the Stone would allow you to stall for time before the attempt on its defenses could be detected, I grant you that, but guardians and protections were too obvious. It was clear that they were protecting something important, anyone could see that.
"So, I decided that it would be best to take the Stone and hide it somewhere no one would think to look for an artifact of such power… and then pretend like the protections hadn't been breached, so anyone seeking the Stone would attempt the gauntlet anyways, only to be foiled when their prize was already missing, safely hidden somewhere else entirely."
"Hmn. I suppose it has been missing for some time, then. When did you manage to take it?" Dumbledore asked.
"The day of the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match, of course!"
It was the perfect opportunity.
Previous experience during the Slytherin-Gryffindor match had shown that pretty much the entire school stopped whatever they were doing in order to attend the Quidditch matches between Houses. They were massive events, and in a boarding school in the mountains of Scotland, recreational activities were at a premium — when they were available, students took every chance they could to make the most of them. That's just how boarding school students are, and Hogwarts was no exception to that.
What made things even better was that after the fiasco involving Harry's jinxed broom in the previous Gryffindor match, all Professors were in attendance. Partially, I think most of them enjoyed watching the games too, but I could tell that Dumbledore had likely "suggested" they attend, just to be certain he could keep an eye on them. Only Filch and Trelawney had stayed behind, but neither of them were involved in the protections of the Stone so I didn't pay them much mind.
Nevertheless, no one noticed me slip off from the crowds and make my way to the forbidden third-floor corridor. It wasn't difficult to manage; everyone avoided the corridor and gave the entrance to it a wide berth. So long as I was quick and subtle, no one would pay me much attention if I did it when no one was looking. Once on the corridor, it was just a matter of finding the right locked door, behind which would be a massive, three-headed dog.
In preparation for Fluffy, I waited until the halls beyond the corridor began to clear and took off my hat. Reaching into it, I rummaged through my Dimensional Pouch until I found what I was looking for and pulled out my family's old Wizarding Wireless. I'd found it in an ill-used cupboard at home after remembering it still worked, despite Dad replacing it with a newer version that could pick up signals from international channels. Though its range was slightly more limited, this old one would suffice. I'd already tuned it to the correct channel beforehand, so all I had to do was turn it on.
It didn't take long to figure out which door Fluffy was behind. It was not only locked, but also the only door I could hear breathing behind. And as large as Fluffy was, his breathing was easy for my keen ears to pick out. I didn't bother taking out my wand to perform the Unlocking Charm when I opened the door. Almost immediately, I stopped at the threshold of the room. Before me lay the massive three-headed dog Hagrid had affectionately named "Fluffy". And he was — fluffy, that is.
Fluffy was absolutely gigantic, his body filled the entire room from floor to ceiling, and this particular room was already taller than normal. Bristling black fur and three lolling heads with rolling, maddened eyes that growled as he stepped forward with massive, clawed paws. Fluffy bared his three sets of fangs, yellowish and deadly, drooling buckets and letting out a rumbling growl that sounded more like thunder than anything that should come from a dog. Once more, I was torn from how dissimilar Fluffy looked to his depiction in the films as well as the artwork for the books - he wasn't spotted, nor did he look like any known dog-breed in the Muggle world. No, Fluffy appeared like a mix of some of the world's deadliest canines rolled into one, and truly lived up to the legends of Cerberus, a three-headed dog famous for having guarded the entrance to the Greek Underworld. Taking in Fluffy's appearance, I could definitely see why he might be called a "Hellhound".
I reached out a hand, and drew upon all the knowledge I'd gained from the neighborhood dogs I'd played with as a child and my Wild Empathy, attempting to convey calm and peace to the three-headed dog. This would have been easier if I had been able to steal one of Hagrid's old shirts from his laundry, but it appeared that the House Elves helped take care of that for him around this time of year, so I had to rely on my own, limited skills at keeping animals from calm in order to give me time. I cooed and grumbled and kept careful track of the way I presented myself, conveying that I was absolutely no threat, but instead a friend. Sadly, Fluffy didn't seem to buy it, growling threateningly and angrily, warding me away as his hackles tensed, ready to pounce.
Immediately, I hit a button on the Wireless and the dulcet tones of Celestina Warbeck sounded through the speakers. The instant the music came on, the beat percolated through the air, and Warbeck's voice belted into song, a strange look crossed Fluffy's faces. He began to relax, each head lolling as his six eyes blinked blearily, tongues now starting to loll out of his mouths and scatter drool. I quietly made sure the door was shut as I inched along the edge of the wall, transfixed by the sight of the three-headed dog losing track of what it had just been doing as the magic of music quickly began to take hold over it. There was a loud "whump!" when Fluffy slid onto his belly, stretching lazily with three massive mouths opening in a yawn that felt like a typhoon.
And yet, slowly but surely, Fluffy ended up falling asleep to the sound of music. I was lucky that this channel would be playing all of Warbeck's albums for the entire day with no interruptions as part of some Warbeck-marathon, so once I was certain Fluffy was sound asleep, I tucked the Wireless into a corner of the room and slipped closer to the massive hellhound, looking for the trapdoor.
Sadly, I ended up having to move Fluffy's tail in order to get the trapdoor open. The three-headed dog had gotten turned around while I was making my way along the wall and ended up half-sitting on the trapdoor. Even so, I managed to open it with just enough space for myself to slide underneath and slip through the opening.
"Celestina Warbeck, really?" Dumbledore asked, thoroughly amused. "How did you know music would put Hagrid's guardian to sleep?"
"Fluffy is a three-headed dog, and the most famous of his kind was Cerberus," I explained. "In Muggle stories about Greek mythology, Cerberus guarded the Underworld, the land of the dead... and also a chthonic realm full of immense riches and treasures. A fitting guardian for the Philosopher's Stone, by the way. So I took my inspiration from the Greeks as well; specifically, the tale of Orpheus."
"The Musician, whose beautiful music charmed all the denizens of the Underworld on his quest to recover a lost love. A tragic tale." Dumbledore noted, recognizing the mythology I referenced. I was actually a little impressed as I hadn't been aware that Dumbledore had any interest in Muggle mythologies.
"Quite. While Heracles might have wrestled Cerberus as part of his Labors, Orpheus lulled the beast into complacency with music. And, well, since most stories have a shard of truth in them, even Muggle ones, it seemed like the best way to circumvent the three-headed dog in a fashion most wizards wouldn't think of."
"Marvelously done," Dumbledore nodded. "But please, continue. You were then confronted with Sprout's contribution to the Stone's protection."
"Right, well, that wasn't quite so difficult to puzzle out..."
I landed in the tangled mass of soft and springy vines. Upon my landing, my first instinct was to roll off the springy bed of tendrils and get to my feet, but as I did so, the plant's creepers immediately latched onto me. I immediately remembered that Devil's Snare was a lot like how quick-sand worked in the cartoons: the more you struggled, the tighter it took hold and the faster death would approach.
And, now that I was caught up in it, I could definitely see how this plant would be recognizable. It might have just been osmosis from partnering up with Neville all the time, but it might also have been my own brief studies into the plant when I saw it in the Herbology books. Nevertheless, I felt justified in confirming what I had read in my books did in fact match the reality and was glad that I had also prepared the appropriate spells for dealing with the plant. While Neville might have had some alternate approach that wasn't nearly so confrontational, I decided to go with what I knew would work.
I focused my mind and concentrated on keeping my body loose and limber, allowing my limbs to go limp. After a moment, the speed of the Devil's Snare slowed. I was still ensnared, though, and no amount of relaxation appeared to be cause for the Snare to let go (just loosen and slow its strangulation), so I instead directed my will into my hands and cast a wandless, non-verbal spell to conjure Bluebell Flames.
I really like the Bluebell Flames spell. It creates bright light, burns "cold", and the fire is bloody waterproof. It was perfect for burning the Devil's Snare and creating enough bright light in this damp chamber to force the Devil's Snare off my body, sending it retreating from my person. Freed, I slipped through the Snare, coating myself in the Bluebell Flames at the expense of lightly singing my robes in order to keep the creepers and vine-tendrils from snatching me up again. Yet, even while wreathed in ghostly blue fire, I was unharmed by the magic of the Bluebell Flames.
I'm not entirely sure what it said about me that my response to being caught in Devil's Snare was to relax and magically set myself on fire...
Once through, I breathed a sigh of relief, dusted myself off, and hurried down the passage as it sloped downwards, deeper into the bowels of the castle. As I rushed down the passage, I could vaguely hear the sound of trickling water in the walls, leading me to suspect that I was now nearing the bottom of the castle and the remainder of the Stone's protections would be underground.
Opening the door to the new chamber, I was confronted with Flitwick's challenge. It was a spacious chamber — expanded by magic, I guessed, as all the rooms of this gauntlet appeared to be — that was elaborately decorated in gothic styles and brilliantly lit with magical lights and an enormously high-vaulted ceiling that at first glance was positively swarmed with metallic birds.
Thankfully for my former-phobia, I already recognized that they were merely winged keys. Thousands upon thousands of winged keys, flitting in several different flight patterns all over the upper reaches of this tall room, enchanted to keep flying about in order to conceal which key was the true key to the next chamber.
Idly, I tested the door to the next chamber with a battery of spells, but it rebuffed them all. I tried unlocking it with the Thief's Friend, shouting random passphrases, even some of the older variations of "door-unlocking" magics that blasted doors off their hinges or reduced a door to dust, but nothing worked. The only way to make it to the next room was to grab a key from the swarm flying overhead.
Doffing my own pointed cap, I pulled out the Nimbus 2000 I'd gotten as part of being a Jumper. The only other brooms available were the rickety, old school-brooms, and I doubted I'd be able to get any real speed out of them. I was a mediocre flier anyways, and using the school-brooms would only hinder me. But before I kicked off, I took a few moments to memorize the appearance of the door, the handle and the silver lock to be certain that I grabbed the right key.
Mounting my Nimbus, I kicked off and soared into the upper reaches of the chamber. Immediately reacting to my presence, the winged keys began to flutter away, changing patterns to evade my flight and confuse me with the constantly shifting flows to their flight as the bright lights that illuminated the room made their shiny, metallic wings shimmer distractingly.
I flew about for a while looking for the right key, trusting in my Essence of the Druid to assist me in tracking all these many moving targets. There were a lot of keys and I strained myself trying to keep track of them all, but eventually I spotted it. It didn't have bent wings like it did in canon, but I could be certain that I would be far more gentle than Quirrel-mort was. Of course, I also didn't have the wherewithal to chase it down on a broom.
No, I was a wizard, and I had magic. I also was perfectly capable of wandless magic, so I didn't even need to pull out my wand and sacrifice my control of my broom in order to cast an Immobulus Charm.
Every winged key was frozen in place, stuck like they were trying to fly through invisible molasses that clung to everything but myself and my broom. The keys struggled, but they couldn't muster the force necessary to wriggle against the force of my immobilization spell, simply floating lazily in mid-air as they could no longer flap their wings to maintain direction in flight.
At that point, it was simplicity itself to navigate my way through the drifting clouds of keys and gently pluck the large, silver one that matched the door going forwards out of the air and fly back to the ground. Still frozen by my spell, I didn't have to worry about the key trying to escape while I stashed my broom back in the Dimensional Pouch via my hat. Naturally, should I ever have to narrate this tale to someone else, I figured I could probably fudge the details a bit, and say I'd used one of the school brooms available. It would probably sound a little more impressive.
Then, I unlocked the door and strode forward into darkness.
Pausing my recount, I glanced at the Headmaster once more, gauging his response thus far. His face was mostly filled with curiosity and amusement at the way I had handled the first three challenges and he seemed eager to hear how I progressed further. His eyes seemed particularly vibrant when he was engaged like this, and I could tell that Dumbledore found my tale both informative and entertaining.
Of course, I also had to recall that he was the Headmaster of a school and had set these challenges to keep people from doing exactly what I'd done: steal the Philosopher's Stone. Even so, I think he enjoyed listening to a student talk about how they'd accomplished tasks, as if living vicariously through their success and showing how they should be proud of their accomplishments. And I definitely feel proud of how I'd managed to pull off the theft. I just wish it was as impressive as had been done in canon, because the next chamber had been… well…
"Professor, before I continue, can I ask a small favor?" I asked, hesitantly.
"Whatever for?"
"Well, as you know, the fourth challenge was the Chessboard Chamber, and I suspect that one was devised by Professor McGonagall… and I doubt she would appreciate hearing how I beat her contribution to protecting the stone…"
Dumbeldore frowned. "I do not believe Professor McGonagall would hold it against you if you utilized some clever or unorthodox strategy to defeat the enchanted chessmen she placed in the chamber. She is a professor, and will not be angry that you managed to beat her chessmen." he chastised.
I winced. "Yes, well, I am only a mediocre chess player, so when confronted with chessmen animated by Professor McGonagall, I…" Once more, hesitation struck me. No matter the circumstances, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were still teachers. And admitting this was… difficult, especially because they were teachers. "... well, I couldn't win fairly."
"So…?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, trailing off as he realized what I was admitting. I nodded at the stern look.
"I cheated."
The fourth challenge was held in a dark chamber. The only source of light came from above, illuminating the giant chessboard that took up most of the room. Upon the board were massive statues of faceless chessmen carved from stone, ready for a game. If I hadn't already known what the challenge would be, it would have been painfully obvious from the set-up of the room and the fact that the only other door leading away from this room could only be reached by crossing the entire chessboard.
I was sorely tempted to just bolt across the board and dodge any attempt to stop me by the opposing chessmen, but suspected that the door leading to the next chamber might have been enchanted against such a course of action. I would have to play.
Sadly, I am not a great chess player. My father was pretty decent, I thought, and he played Wizarding Chess fairly regularly. He said that it helped keep his mind sharp. I, on the other hand, had my mind enhanced by the Essence of the Archmage; I was innately very smart. However, that did not mean I was skilled at playing chess. It just meant that I was good at coming up with solutions to problems and figuring things out.
So, I could definitely play chess well enough. I was smart enough to understand how to plan ahead and come up with strategies for play. However, chess wasn't just about one's intelligence but also about one's understanding for strategy and experience with the game itself. I was "okay" by the standards of the truly skilled, but I couldn't claim to be good at the game. I simply didn't have the right grasp for chess strategy nor much experience playing.
Afterall, I was a casual player who never bothered to study the game nor learn its intricacies. In my first life, I mostly just played to kill time with others or for amusement; I had paid the game just as little attention in this life. And to be truly skilled at a game like chess, you needed more than just brains — you needed experience.
Professor McGonagall, on the other hand, had designed this challenge and was most certainly experienced as a chess player. If she had enchanted the opposing side to play at her skill level, I wasn't confident of victory. Unlike Ronald Weasley, who had beaten this challenge in the canonical timeline, I was no chess wunderkind who had been playing since childhood. I was just, well, me… a casual player attempting to pit my meager skills against the master's.
Even so, I gave it the best shot I could.
That's all anyone can do, really.
I attempted to take the position of the black King, as I was situated on the black's side of the board, but the chessman refused to budge. In hindsight, this made sense. In chess, the King can never be captured, only placed in check. Thus, by forbidding any challenger from taking the place of the King, McGonagall ensured that there was personal risk to the game. Not only did I have to keep myself alive, I now also needed to maintain the safety of my King.
Well, the next best choice was probably the Queen… but I also tended to be a little reckless with my Queens when playing chess. I settled on taking the place of a Bishop and waited for play to begin.
The white side started with the movement of a pawn and from there the game commenced. The early game was mostly based upon jockeying for position and setting things up for later as we tested the waters and took each other's measure. Of course, I wasn't one for traditional chess strategies, and decided that my lack of experience could introduce some variable of chaos. I planned around guarding my more valuable pieces and taking as many of the white chessmen as I could.
When pieces started being taken, I actually sighed in relief. The imagery of the chessboard in the Sorcerer's Stone film had been incredibly dramatic and deadly, and a chessman being removed from play involved one chessman obliterating the taken piece and reducing it to rubble. It was horribly violent and quite thrilling, but made me worried about what would be done to me should I make a terrible mistake. I was reassured when I saw that the chessmen just knocked each other out, then bodily dragged or flung the fallen chessmen off the board. Still quite brutal and violent, but I didn't have to deal with having chessmen smashed to pieces all about me whenever a piece was taken.
However, seeing them do that reminded me of some ideas for bypassing the chess game I had initially discarded when attempting this gauntlet. Even so, I kept them in reserve until the middle game when it became clear that I was beginning to lose. The trade in pieces was bloody, and both sides were being whittled down, but I found that the white chessmen were better positioned to constrain my side's movements and they were narrowing in on my King.
Even worse, I could see routes by which the white side could put me in a position to be personally taken, but if I moved to save myself, it would speed up their ability to place my King under check. I wracked my brain and came up with several methods of escape to try and protect myself and my King, but I would end up losing far too many pieces in the process. I was being forced to give up ground, and found myself thinking more about the defense than I was about figuring out how to place the white King in check.
My position was unsustainable, and by the rules of Chess, I was definitely going to lose.
So, I cheated.
Over the winter holidays, I had realized that I had yet another magical talent as a result of one of the perks that had been previously redacted on my Interface: Non-Verbal Specialty. Much like with the Wandless Magic perk, the function and ability of Non-Verbal Specialty was clear from the name itself. Not only was I uniquely gifted with the ability to utilize my magic with the same precision and control both with and without a wand, and possessing the insights into the workings of magic required for such tremendous skill and capability, I also had the same level of innate talent with regards to non-verbal spells and silent casting in general. Unlike my peers, the focus and concentration required to cast my spells without a sound came easily to me.
It was an uncanny knack for magic that, when coupled with my Wandless Magic perk, made the act of spellcasting incredibly easy for me as I got used to it. Sure, I could still say the incantations for each and every spell aloud and I wouldn't suffer for it (I actually felt pretty cool saying the incantations sometimes, satisfying the immature child-side of myself). But if I needed subtlety and speed, not only could I eschew waving a wand but also the words themselves.
Naturally, this made cheating laughably easy.
Whenever a white chessman moved on white's turn in a way that I thought would be annoying, I bewitched the chessman silently and wandlessly. If they were by the edges of the board, I could jinx them with the Jelly-Legs Jinx (an amusing sight, given these were giant, stone chessmen) and then give them an invisible nudge to fall off the board themselves. Others I just shrunk down to the size of normal Wizarding Chess chessmen and then levitated them somewhere move convenient for me before using the Engorging charm to counter the previous Shrinking Charm, making white's move for them. Or, if I couldn't think of a more advantageous position (for me) to place them at that was still a legal move, I just chucked their shrunken, stone bodies off the board.
Somehow, the fact that since the white chessmen left their squares and went somewhere else counted as white taking their turn… and none of the chessmen did a thing about it! It was absurd!
I could move with impunity, but whenever white made a move I didn't like, I either changed it while they were still moving to their new spot or chucked them off the board!
I had never had so much fun playing chess!
It took a great deal of self-control not to burst into maniacal laughter as I manipulated the game to my advantage. I just had a bloody grin fit for a lunatic plastered across my face the entire time after I realized the chessmen weren't going to complain. I don't believe Professor McGonagall had considered anyone blatantly cheating at chess like this. The chessmen weren't as emotive as the usual Wizarding Chess-set played as a board game, but I think that was the tradeoff for making them out of stone statues and setting up a life-size board that enchanting the chessmen into playing a vicious and brutal game. So, I took Professor McGonagall's faith that anyone who met her challenge would abide by the rules of chess and exploited it to my advantage. I mean, it wasn't like she was there to criticize me at the moment, and so long as I won, I don't believe the black chessmen would complain as I utterly demolished the opposition.
I steadily ignored the white chessmen beginning to get antsy whenever I turned my attention upon them and as they made rude gestures at me whenever I sent them flying off the chessboard.
Though, I might have had a little bit too much fun with it, as after some time, there weren't too many white chessmen left on the board, and I had a bugger of a time figuring out how to force the white King into a proper checkmate. The game had already been taking ages, but I ended up spending a great deal of time trying to catch the elusive King and pin him down in a way he couldn't just sidestep or interpose one of his few remaining pieces as protection. But, eventually I managed to get it done, but it definitely soured some of my good mood from before. Not enough to remove it entirely, but the victory was not quite as sweet as I would have hoped.
Still, loads of bloody fun though.
"Ah. I see how that might upset her," Dumbledore beamed at me beatifically. Then he leaned forward and gave me a conspiratorial wink. "But you have nothing to worry about. Ingenuity is not something I like to discourage."
I was a little surprised by Dumbledore's good humor. He'd been surprisingly open about his feelings on my story, just based on how he reacted as I told it. Sure, I had skimmed over some parts (like the fact I messed with the chessmen wandlessly and silently), but he seemed to be truly amused by my approach to the challenges.
"Right, well, I wish I had been a little more discriminating about how I cheated… Hunting down that King and getting the checkmate was… tiresome."
"Ah, I imagine it would be. But, that's the fourth challenge complete. As to the fifth, I must say I was surprised you left the troll alive this time," chuckled Dumbledore.
"Yes, well, I suppose it would have been too obvious if the troll guarding the Stone wound up dead with a blade stuck in its eye, wouldn't it?" I said sarcastically.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with mirth. "Indeed. So how did you manage to overcome the troll this time?"
"I got really lucky."
When confronted with yet another mountain troll, this time deep underground, in confined spaces with limited mobility, I was annoyed. Given how the trio hadn't needed to deal with the creature in their canonical go at the gauntlet protecting the Stone, I hadn't given this challenge as much thought as I probably ought to have. After all, I had survived one encounter with an adult mountain troll… surely a second wouldn't be too bad?
Even so, the putrid stench of the troll was unbearable. It was a lot like the troll I had killed in appearance, but the details were both different and similar enough that I suspected they weren't quite related. Cousins, once or twice removed, perhaps?
I didn't know why I was pondering whatever relationship the two trolls had with one another, especially since I had bigger things to worry about — both literally and metaphorically.
Luckily, the troll was slow to recognize my presence. It had been living down here for so long that the entire chamber smelled like the troll. My singed robes likely served to mute my own scent, and might have explained why it took so long for the troll to notice that there was a scent in the chamber that was not its own. However, I was not terribly certain about that theory, given the way the troll seemed to be picking its nose and eating its own boogers while staring blankly at a wall.
Not too bright, those trolls.
Nevertheless, when it eventually noticed me and stood, roaring in challenge, I had already been half-way across the chamber. Not wanting to have yet another fight with a mountain troll, I decided that in this instance, discretion was the better part of valor and chose to leg it.
Of course, the troll was much bigger than I was and had far greater reach with that massive club it swung. Even if it was limited by the confined nature of the chamber, a blow from that club could still be crippling for a time and I had no intention of being at the mercy of a mountain troll, especially after what happened last time. So I had to distract it somehow.
For some reason, the first spell that came to mind was a prank-spell I had learned from Fred and George, who themselves had learned it from their older brother Bill, who worked as a curse-breaker in Egypt for Gringotts. It wasn't technically meant for pranks, but the way the twins used it, I could see the potential for other applications beyond the stated use and the pranks the twins came up with.
It was a Knot-Tying spell. It not only undid existing knots but tied them in new ways as the user desired. Most people used it when they had trouble tying their own shoes or couldn't reach the ropes to lash luggage to a carriage or similar. It was somewhat complicated, but after seeing the twins use it to cause someone's shoelaces to come undone then tie themselves into a knotted mess, I had begged them to show me how the spell worked. I had only learned it a week ago, but that was good enough for me.
I whipped out my wand and jabbed it in the troll's direction, muttering the incantation under my breath. The troll didn't wear any footwear for me to tie any laces into knots, but it did wear a massive, knotted rope for a belt. My spell undid the belt's knots and let it slip free, allowing the troll's rudimentary trousers to fall and tangle up the troll's stomping feet.
Predictably, the troll fell forward, caught up in its own fallen trousers, and let out a yelp. It slammed face first into the stone floor, too stupid to throw out an arm to brace itself for the fall. No, it instead threw its own club away… upwards. Flabbergasted, I looked at the fallen troll over my shoulder, and was shocked at how the club it had flung away while falling went up, up, up… and then fell…
Right on the troll's own head.
Bonk!
Already dazed from falling face-first on the stone floors, the falling club smashed into the troll's skull and knocked it out.
I… I didn't have any words. I stopped bolting for the door to the next chamber, and instead gave the fallen troll a wary look. It wasn't moving… I think it was breathing? But it seemed to be mostly unconscious.
I just… somehow, that troll was even dumber than the one from Hallowe'en and I didn't know about what to think about that.
In the end, I just left for the next chamber.
I waited for Dumbledore to stop laughing. It was only polite, because I was also chuckling at the memory myself. After the chess game, that encounter had been truly ridiculous. I mean, it knocked itself out after I pantsed it!
After last Hallowe'en, that was such a let down!
I mean, it made a certain amount of sense; Quirrell left the less intelligent troll guarding the Stone, and allowed the slightly smarter, more dangerous troll loose upon the castle as part of his distraction on Hallowe'en to steal the Philosopher's Stone. Leaving the less dangerous threat to himself as one of the guardians would have made it easier for Quirrell to steal the stone later, though still presenting a reasonable challenge to deflect suspicion.
Still, I don't think I could look back on that encounter and not laugh about it. It was just too absurd to be true, but it was true!
Once the Headmaster had calmed down, he motioned for me to continue, so I did so.
Even if I knew it would happen, the sudden appearance of the purple fire blocking off the entrance I had just walked though and the black flames forbidding me from moving forward were still startling. I regarded the colored flames warily — I wasn't familiar with all kinds of magical fire, but I suspected that these flames were cursed in some manner. Even if they were cursed flames, I was not yet proficient enough with the Flame-Freezing Charm to protect myself thoroughly against the blaze.
Idly, I tested the flames by directing my own fire-making spells at them (mostly just variations on the Fire-Making Charm and the Bluebell Flames spell) and found that the purple and black flames blocking both routes out of this chamber simply ate up my meager fire magics. As expected of a skilled wizard like Severus Snape, the cursed flames would likely serve as a significant deterrent for any trespasser. Even if I was confident in my speed and resilience, I didn't doubt for a moment that those cursed flames would still prove troublesome to deal with. Unless I beat Snape's challenge, I was well and truly trapped in this chamber.
So, I turned my attention to the riddle the Potions master had set. In the center of the room, there was a large, rectangular table. The table was perfectly clean and ornately decorated with carvings of various animals and creatures and had seven coasters fixed to their surface. Upon each raised coaster was a bottle of different size and shape with different liquids (potions, obviously) within them. At the head of the table, facing the entrance, was a thick parchment that I suspected was resistant to tampering or destruction. Upon the parchment was the challenge: a riddle. Three bottles were poisons, two were nettled wine, one would allow you to move forward, the last to go back.
Here, my foreknowledge was not as absolute as I would have otherwise hoped. While I could recall that the correct potion for moving forward would be found in the smallest bottle — which only held enough for a single person to move forward, leading me to believe that all seven bottles were enchanted to refill themselves once the chamber was empty of people — I simply could not recall which bottle had the potion for moving back. I would need that potion in order to leave the gauntlet undetected, so I had to tackle this challenge fairly.
I read the riddle several times, thinking carefully. I glanced at the arrangement of the bottles and started going through permutations in my head, but realized that just staring between the riddle and the bottles was annoying. In my past life, I had taken a course on Discrete Mathematics and the professor had been fond of riddles and puzzles like these. He gave them out as extra credit assignments as a break halfway through the double-period lectures. Back then, I found that merely staring at the riddle and thinking about logic problems involving spatial relations in my head was counterproductive. Problems like these were easier when you could solve them tangibly… at least, they were for the younger me.
That was why I had come prepared. I pulled off my hat and withdrew another piece of parchment from it as well as a fountain pen. While I did appreciate a good quill every now and then, I found that when I was in a rush, I got far too impatient to bother with the inkpot. Especially when I didn't want to leave any traces, not even stray specks of ink that might have clung to any inkpot I brought. Nevertheless, I prepared the fountain pen then tore the parchment into eight, roughly even pieces. On seven of those pieces of parchment, I labeled them with the possibilities before me: poison, wine, forward and back.
Then I began to logically step through the four clues. With each clue, I started arranging the parchment pieces to assign them to different bottles. The clues repeated themselves in my head as I worked systematically, muttering to myself as I worked through the logic puzzle, thinking aloud.
The leftmost bottle could never be wine, so it must be either forward, back, or poison. The third from the left was the smallest, so I labeled that as 'Forward' and left it at that. That made the first and second potions 'Poison' and 'Wine' respectively. Since the sixth from the left (ie, the second from the right) was the largest bottle, I determined it had to be 'Wine' as well. This made the fourth and fifth bottles from the left the other two 'Poison's, leaving the first on the right to be the only option remaining: 'Back'.
I double checked my work before feeling satisfied that my answer satisfied the clues given by the puzzle. Then I grabbed the 'Forward' potion and quaffed it before turning to the black flames barring my path. The feeling of ice flooded through my body, and I felt a bone-rattling chill shake down my spine and limbs. The potion had taken affect and I stepped through the black flames with confidence.
Then I was at the seventh and final chamber, and confronted with the final challenge protecting the Philosopher's Stone. Dumbledore's chamber: the Mirror of Erised.
A/N: So, this chapter was getting waaay too long, so I cut it at about the half-way mark (or close enough). I had been planning on doing this whole "Ken narrates how he did it to Dumbledore" scene this way since the Troll chapters, but it got super-long so I have to cut it in half. Don't worry, the next half should be out reasonably soon.
And yeah, if no one noticed, Ken's been planning this for a while… and it's finally paying off. The best way to protect the Stone from Voldemort? Steal it yourself and tell no one. That way everyone's chasing after a prize that's already missing. It's a classic con - you make everyone think the ball is under one of the cups when it's actually sitting in your pocket.
Last edited: Jul 19, 2020
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
Jul 19, 2020
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kenmadragon
Jul 25, 2020
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Chapter 15
Memories of the Mirror of Erised plagued my thoughts.
I had paused in my narration of events once I got to the seventh and final chamber. I don't think I quite realized that my voice had trailed off as I described finding the Mirror chamber sparsely furnished with only the large, ornate mirror before me.
It wasn't until Dumbledore spoke up that I noticed I had been staring off into the distance, lost in memory for some time.
"You do not have to say what you saw in the Mirror of Erised," Dumbledore said softly. "As I'm sure you noticed what the magic of the Mirror does… your heart's deepest desire is not something you must share with me and I will not ask you to do so."
I gave the Headmaster a considering, yet grateful, look. Then, softly, I said, "Thank you."
Then I cast my thoughts back to the day I stole the Philosopher's Stone, and narrated to Dumbledore what I had done, keeping the visions the Mirror had shown me to myself.
The final chamber was lit by torchlight lining the walls. At the center of the room, tall and imposing, was the gold-framed and claw-footed Mirror of Erised. As an eleven-year old, the Mirror was over twice as tall as I was, and wide enough to show three or four of me. I read the back-wards writing inscribed over the top of the frame, and steeled my resolve.
This was the final challenge — the only one that could not be prepared for. There was no spell I could prepare nor item to leverage for overcoming the final defense presented by Albus Dumbledore himself. While the Mirror's powers might have been affected by Dumbledore's manipulations to serve as an appropriate guardian for the Philosopher's Stone, it was still an artefact of great and subtle power. I could not cheat my way past the Mirror.
I could only face it… and be confronted by that which my heart desired above all else.
Fear gripped me. It wasn't rational, but I couldn't help but approach the Mirror with trepidation. Worries plagued my mind — what if I saw something horrible? What if what I saw in the Mirror was some terrible, dark desire, something I had refused to confront or admit? What if I was not worthy of the Stone and the Mirror taunted me with the desires I could not have? What if it showed me something so captivating that I was lost to the Mirror's power, a slave to my own desires?
I was the Jumper. In time, I would attain great power. This was not in question — that was a simple fact. Whatever the Mirror had to show me, I was certain I would be able to obtain in time. All I would see was the desire of my heart… the goal to be reached.
But… I couldn't help but worry about what the Mirror would show, so much so that I allowed myself to truly feel the icy grip of fear inch up my spine and slowly begin to strangle me.
I took deep breaths, focusing on my sense of self, reaffirming my resolve and intentions. I drew upon my first life and my current one, reassuring myself in the power of my Essences and the Jumper powers I had obtained from my Deal. I had my memories and my will.
Whatever the Mirror showed me… I would overcome it.
I had to.
Stepping before the Mirror, I finally took in my reflection. There, standing in the reflected chamber, lit only by torchlight, was the mirror-image of myself. He smiled at me, a familiar smirk that was far more comfortable to me than any toothy grin. The background was foggy, but that might have just been the focus I had on myself.
Slowly, the mirror image of myself began to change. He grew older, taller, more assured and handsome. His eyes were dark, but bright with intelligence and wisdom. The robes he wore were no longer the dirty and singed black mine were, but full and well-fitting robes in soft, dark colors embroidered with silver and gold. It was like looking at myself from my first-life… only altered, having grown with the Essence of the Druid guiding him into a physically phenomenal specimen of wizardry. There was a wand in his grasp, a familiar ring of gold upon his right hand, and a silver sword belted at his hip. But beyond these familiar symbols and items of my life, old and new, my mirror-self blazed with power and confidence. He was supremely assured of himself and his capabilities, unafraid of anything, and content with his life.
And he wasn't alone.
My heart ached at the sight of my family. It wasn't just the family I had in this world, but my entire family from my first life… My current family resembled them in some senses, but they weren't the same. Life in the Wizarding World had put them on vastly different paths than my first family had, and I was struck by how terribly I missed my loved ones from my first life.
The Benefactor I had struck my deal with had eased that pain, made it almost inconsequential to handle and overcome. But now that I was confronted with the sight of them, the entire clan of men, women and children that were my blood in my first life, standing beside and behind me, supporting me with their faith and pride… I realized that I had been scared of forgetting them — that time would eventually erode my first life's memories of them.
My deal made it so I was okay with the fact that my time here was limited, and that I shouldn't feel terrible about leaving people behind… but I didn't want to forget them. My mind was now perfect — I could forget nothing from this life onwards, including my current family… Yet that didn't shield my first life's family from the erosion of time.
But now, I could see their faces, shining with pride and support and encouragement. I could see my mother and father, full of love. My mother was dressed in her finest, young and full of energy, while my father was more matured and full of wisdom. My little brother of my first life, who had only been a year and a half younger than me then instead of the 9 year difference between Kenneth and Arnav, was there with a roguish grin on his face, just as handsome as ever and far more charismatic than I ever felt I could be, patting me on the back and hugging my shoulders affectionately like he rarely ever did. I could see my grandparents from then, both alive and dead, passing me their blessings, as my aunts and uncles and many cousins looked on fondly and waved.
I didn't realize I had begun to cry until my vision was too blurry to make out them silently mouthing their words of affirmation.
My memories of my first life might not be protected by a mind enhanced by the Essence of the Archmage… but now, I was seeing their faces with a mind that was. I would never be able to forget the faces of my first family. I named each and every one of them aloud, so I would never forget them. I committed them all to memory, and did my best not to start wailing as the tears flowed.
My Deal kept me from missing them too much, but now I would never forget them. I wouldn't forget what they looked like. I had to remember them — remember where I came from — so that I wouldn't forget my roots in the future.
As that realization settled in, the image began to fade. It was slow, gradual, as the fog in the Mirror closed in from the figures in the background, and soon all that remained were my parents and little brother. Then, from off in the distance of the reflection, emerged a new figure from the black flames of the chamber behind me, one I didn't recognize in the slightest.
It was a girl, I thought, but then as the figure drew closer, the image resolved into a shapely young woman. Her features were indistinct from a distance, and her hair was long, dark, and in a color and style that seemed to change the longer I stared at it. She was tall and short in equal measure, just as her attire seemed to flow and shift as if it were unable to decide on what to be. Despite this, there was a presence to her that drew the eye and captured my attention in a way that seemed both unfamiliar yet hauntingly heart-breaking.
The woman in the Mirror walked up to Mirror-Me and I faintly realized that my first family had drawn into the background, leaving her to stand at my side. She was looking up at Mirror-Me with… adoration? Her dress shifted into robes to match Mirror-Me's and her form began to solidify further, taking features from different feminine figures in my first life… those I had had romantic feelings for, I noted with no small amount of shock. And then there were the features that were drawn from the few girls I had interacted with as Kenneth, which proved even more confusing.
This Mirror-woman reached up an elegant hand, and Mirror-Me took it tenderly, affectionately kissing it, then drawing her into a familiar embrace as the background shifted. No longer did the Mirror reflect the chamber I stood in, but instead some modest domicile. There, Mirror-Me and the shifting-woman stood in a comfortable sitting room and began to dance to the tune of a silent song.
They were laughing gaily, staring at each other with looks I couldn't understand, as if there was nothing else in the world for two forces of nature to do but dance and laugh and live in the comforts of a familiar home. It wasn't a proper dance, they didn't really know how to dance, but they didn't care — they were just happy to have each other. Occasionally they threw me glances, amused, as I stared at the ease of their intimacy and the alien sight of myself dancing with a woman whose face I could not recognize for its composite and shifting nature.
Oh.
She truly loves him.
I felt the ache in my heart yearning for what my Mirror-self had; dancing and laughing and being blissfully happy… seeing myself so carefree and happy, I couldn't help the whisper in the back of mind that said this was an impossible dream. This scene would never be — never could be, the whisper said — and all I could do was be envious of what this phantasmal reflection of myself had. All I was was an interloper, intruding on their private scene of contented bliss. My skin felt cold and I shivered at the warmth of the image in the Mirror.
It was a wonderful dream…
My hands tightened into fists as my side. Envy turned into frustration at my inability to have what I couldn't obtain. Frustration became anger at the suggestion that I was being denied. And anger… anger is great for breaking yourself out of the spell of want. Anger is the conflagration of will, igniting as the emotional fuel combusts into impulsive action and firms up rash decision making that overrules the mind and clouds reason.
Fury was directed at the Mirror, as I realized… I was done seeing this. It pained me to look at the Mirror, to see my heart's desire… so why should I continue to torture myself with this image of bliss I didn't have? This wasn't what I was here for, was it?
No... I had come looking for the Philosopher's Stone, and the Mirror didn't show it to me.
In the books and film, Harry had obtained the Stone because his Mirror-self had possessed it and placed it in his pocket. Harry had wished to find the Stone but not to use it, so Dumbledore's enchantment on the Mirror had allowed him to retrieve it. It was a clever protection for the Stone, admittedly, if an imperfect one I had hoped to exploit. But it appeared that my own desires were stymying me. My heart's desire was to have the personal power to be assured of my life and…
Anyways, it appeared that unless my heart's desire was to find the Stone, it wouldn't appear in my hands. I resisted the urge to smash my fist into the mirror and shatter the glass with the weight of my rage and frustrations. I took several deep breaths and let my anger go. I had wanted to find the Stone, but my heart's desire had nothing to do with it. I assumed this meant I didn't meet Dumbledore's exacting requirements to retrieve it from the Mirror.
Sighing heavily, I turned away, sticking my hands in my pockets sulkily as I kicked at the floor in frustration. Of course, that's when I felt something warm and rough in my pocket, brushing against my fingers with a presence that resonated with me and the wand in my other pocket.
I froze.
Carefully, I took the object out of my pocket, and my eyes went wide. In my hand was a large rock the size of my fist. It was ruby-red and glowed with a subtle power that seemed to pulse periodically like a beating stone-heart.
Merlin's beard, this was the Philosopher's Stone.
I whirled, looking back at the Mirror. All the visions and fantasies were gone. Gone was the comfortable home and the enchanting woman. Gone were the shadows of my first family, drudged up to stay in my memory for eternity. Gone was the vision of my aspirations for my future self.
All that remained in the Mirror was my Mirror-self in the form of the young, dusty, singed, twelve-year-old boy still coming into his own that I was. There was a smirk on his face, brimming with mirth as if to contain himself from bursting in laughter at the sight of me.
Mirror-Me winked and waved me off, wishing me luck.
I grinned back and ran back through the black-flames.
The sound of triumphant laughter was my constant companion as I made off with my prize.
In the potions chamber, I stashed the Philosopher's Stone in my Dimensional Pouch via my robe-pocket alongside everything else. The Pouch was protected by my status as the Jumper (and kept everything inside in stasis) so I felt confident it would be safe enough there. I then proceeded to clean up the chamber of all the scraps of parchment, as well as my fountain pen. Turns out I was correct about the bottles being enchanted to refill themselves as the Forward Potion once more contained barely a mouthful of potion.
I grabbed the Back Potion and drank from it as well, feeling the sensation of ice crawl through my body. It was subtly different from the potion to move through the black flames, but this time I just had to head through the purple flames into the chamber with Quirrell's troll.
Thankfully the troll was still unconscious, so it was with great relief that I held my breath and bolted for the door to McGonagall's chess board. There, I took care to be cautious about how I entered, especially after how outrageously I had cheated near the end of the game, but it seemed I didn't have much to worry about. Apparently, they had managed to reset themselves, even the ones I had Shrunk, because they had to be ready for the next game.
The chessmen only vaguely remembered me, but still made their displeasure known with crude gestures and by angrily waving their weapons at me. However, so long as I dodged and ducked around them, they couldn't leave their positions. Plus, I was leaving, not trying to head deeper in, so they didn't bother forcing me to play.
Flitwick's chamber locked the door behind me, which I thought was a nice touch, and the winged keys didn't seem nearly as nerve-wracking as they did before. Of course, I still decided to hoof it before the keys got any ideas... Just in case.
From there, I made my way out from the bowels of the castle and through the underground tunnel as it sloped ever upwards. Once I got to the end of the lengthy tunnel, I glanced up and grimaced. The "path" was still blocked by layers of Devil's Snare, and once I was past the deadly verdure of tendrils, creepers and vines most murderous, I would need to open the trap-door and get past Fluffy again.
Once again, Bluebell Flames served to keep the Devil's Snare at bay, sending the plant to slink in terror of the enchanted fire-blast and spread itself further along the walls to avoid being burned like I'd burned them before. That gave me just a few seconds of freedom to fly through the narrow gap I had created while riding my Nimbus 2000. For once, the extreme acceleration of the broom helped me, allowing me to clear the gap between the floor and the empty space above the Snare before the plant could take advantage of the break in flames to snatch me out of the air… though it took all of my limited flying skill to not fall off my broom while trying to brake in midair before I crashed into the trapdoor in the ceiling. I ended up bruising my shoulder in the collision instead, but those healed pretty quickly for me on account of the Essence of the Druid.
The real trouble at that point was getting through the trapdoor and out of the room before Fluffy noticed me. Putting my ear to the wooden trapdoor, I could still hear Celestina Warbeck playing on my old Wireless and the sounds of three gigantic heads snoozing in the way dogs did. Fluffy's breath was tri-fold and rumbled with every inhale and exhale from each of his three heads, but each breath sounded roughly even and relaxed so I assumed he was still fast asleep.
Getting the leverage to open the trapdoor with my hands while flying on a broom was beyond my skills. There was no bracing point to push from when you're hanging in mid-air while sitting on a broom. I ended up just putting my back into the trapdoor and forcing the broom to fly upwards as my body forced the trapdoor open, trusting in the Nimbus' magic to support both myself as well as the weight of the door.
Thankfully, Fluffy hadn't shifted too much in his sleep, and the only part of his body displaced by the door opening was his tail. When there was enough of a gap to slip through, I edged the broom forward and out, letting the door close behind me as I flew into the three-headed dog's chamber. From there, I managed to land and dismount as quietly as I could (though not as silently as I would have liked), and snagged my Wireless before booking it for the door. At that point, I had had enough flying for a week, and was glad for my own Nimbus being more sleek, quick and capable than the ancient switches that passed for school-brooms.
Once I was through the door, I slammed it shut and hit the latch with the Locking Charm. Almost immediately I could hear Fluffy begin to rouse himself from his slumber, so I turned off the Wireless and stashed it and my broom in my Dimensional Pouch.
Then I snuck out of the third-floor corridor and made my way to the Gryffindor Common Room.
"... and by the time I got back, the Quidditch match was over and no-one really noticed I had missed it or the party afterwards. I just went straight to bed and made excuses if anyone asked, but no one ever pried too deeply." I concluded my tale. "I was on edge for weeks, wondering if I would get caught early. But by Easter, nothing had happened and I realized that you hadn't noticed the Stone had been stolen already. So I stayed quiet because as long as everyone thought the Stone was protected by all those traps and challenges and guardians, no one would suspect that it was actually in my posession."
"A most intriguing recount. It appears that the challenges we presented were insufficient to truly protect the Stone, given the way you managed to circumvent them. I would give you points for your clever use of advanced spells for a first-year… but I don't believe I ought to be rewarding inventiveness in theft, do you?" Dumbledore mused with a grin.
I shrugged. "I'm mostly surprised you're taking this so well."
"Ah, but my purpose was to ensure that the Stone did not fall into the hands of those who would misuse it. The protections my colleagues placed ensured that it would not be easily taken, and my own protection ensured that the only one who could take the Stone was not one inclined to use it." Dumbledore pointed out. "And you did not use it, did you?"
"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't figure out how," I complained. "Alchemy is hard. Even the basics of it require an understanding of Potions and Transfiguration well beyond even me… and I've been studying ahead!"
Dumbledore chuckled. "This is why Alchemy is only taught to N.E.W.T. students who have proven themselves up to the task, and only when there is sufficient demand. Perhaps in the future, should you feel up to it and others be interested as well…"
"I would definitely want to learn," I leaped at the opportunity. "I don't plan on failing Potions or Transfiguration anytime soon, and what little I've managed to grasp makes it out to be an incredibly interesting field of study, even from a purely theoretical standpoint."
"Ah, I will keep myself abreast of your progress in your studies, then, Kenneth. It warms my heart to see another student take interest in the subject, as it's the only one I find I have the time to personally teach these days," Dumbledore beamed.
"Really?" I said, trying to look like this was news to me.
"Indeed. Though, if anything, I do believe we have far more to discuss than merely your theft of the Stone. Where is it now, if I may ask?" Dumbledore said, his countenance growing more somber.
"Ah, well, it's still in my pocket. I've been keeping it there ever since I took it." I said honestly.
Dumbledore gave me a strange quirk of a thin, silver eyebrow, obviously skeptical. He glanced at some of the instruments on his desk and poked at them with his wand, muttering under his breath. Frowning at the way they whirred and whistled softly (apparently, that was not what he had expected them to do), Dumbledore gave me a searching look.
"...How on earth have you kept it hidden in your pocket?" he questioned incredulously.
"Quite easily, actually." I smirked, reaching into my robes where I created an opening to the Dimensional Pouch in my pocket. From within, I retrieved the Philosopher's Stone and presented it to Dumbledore. Immediately upon taking out the Stone, several silver instruments began to whirr and bellow smoke as they shrilly rang and wailed, forcing Dumbledore to annoyedly vanish them with a wave of his wand.
Dumbledore stared between me and the Stone in my hand. "That is a wonderful trick," he mused, obviously impressed and intrigued by how the Stone had somehow been hidden in what otherwise looked like an empty pocket. "How on earth did you manage it?"
I shrugged. "It's just something I figured out how to do. I don't know how to really explain it…" I debated explaining the nature of the power, but decided that it might be better to just leave it as an unexplainable magical knack for a very specific power. Those weren't impossible by Wizarding standards, just highly unusual. "I can do all sorts of other things, too…"
"Like your knack for dragons?" Dumbledore smirked at my startled expression.
"How did you… Hagrid told you, didn't he? He doesn't keep secrets very well. I'm assuming that's how the others learned about how to bypass Fluffy?" I guessed.
"Do not blame Hagrid for that; he is an honest soul and I feel the world would be a better place were there more men and women of his character." Dumbledore chided. "But then, I imagine that is not the greatest of your personal, magical talents either, is it?"
I furrowed my brow slightly, cautious at Dumbledore's knowing tone. "I'm sorry, sir, but what do you mean?"
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, as if to question whether I really intended on playing dumb. I stuck to my feeble attempt at pretending like I had nothing else to hide while quickling thinking about what other magical talent I had that he might have found out about. Was it my knack for using magic as a side-effect of the Wandless Magic perk? I've been quite careful to keep evidence of my Wandless Magic a secret, just as I have been my Non-Verbal Specialty.
My Muggle Dueling Perk could barely be considered a magical talent, and the benefits of my Druid Essence and the mental-enhancements of the Archmage Essence were myriad, but not "unique" — there were plenty of folks in great shape, with eidetic memories and an uncanny gift for languages… Not all of them had all of them at once, admittedly, but that wasn't exactly noteworthy enough to draw Dumbledore's eyes, was it?
I continued to play dumb until Dumbledore sighed and sat back, crossing his fingers on his lap to calmly explain. "After the incident with the troll last Hallowe'en, Professor McGonagall had a small chat with everyone involved beside yourself. The accounts of Miss Clearwater and Miss Granger were quite clear about your stated intentions for being in that toilet at the time, but Miss Granger's testimony showed you were awfully insistent about her leaving the toilet with you prior to the start of the Feast."
"Hermione's a Muggleborn and has never been to a Hallowe'en Feast before. I didn't want her to miss it and thought the Feast would make her feel better than crying in the girl's toilet." I countered, getting the sinking feeling that I knew where this was going.
"A splendid sentiment," Dumbledore agreed. "However, when the troll arrived, you seemed to notice it before anyone else could, and acted decisively to deal with the situation yourself. Your attitude during your detentions afterwards and the idle conversation you had with Professor McGonagall might not have seemed important to you, but they were quite illuminating to us."
I said nothing, trying to keep from giving myself away as he went on, inwardly panicking as I realized that Dumbledore was piecing things together I hadn't even realized I'd let slip. I hadn't even realized that Professor McGonagall's detention back then had been anything beyond punishment for rule-breaking and lying to Clearwater and the like. The conversation had seemed innocuous at the time, but now that I thought back...
"At the beginning of March, you say you decided to steal the Philosopher's Stone, somehow realizing what was hidden underneath the trapdoor on the third-floor corridor when that secret was previously only known to your professors. You managed to deduce the challenges that would be present to guard the Stone and protect it from falling into the wrong hands.
"However, you had already begun acquiring the equipment and magical skills you would need to overcome these challenges by the end of the Christmas holiday. Thus, it is more likely that you became aware of the Stone's existence last November at the earliest and began to plan how to steal it by December. From that point, you studied spells more advanced than the first year curriculum, particularly those that would be useful in overcoming the specific protections guarding the Philosopher's Stone and acquired the Wireless you used to overcome the first guardian over the Christmas holiday. In March, you took the opportunity provided to you by the Quidditch game and made your attempt, knowing that the Professors would be too distracted by the game to intervene.
"You knew that no other attempt to steal the Stone prior to then would be successful, which is why you waited. You also knew that there would be no other attempt until yesterday."
I frowned at that. Dumbledore framed it as a conclusion, but it still sounded more like a guess to me. Still, I said nothing. He was a professor in the middle of a lecture; he shouldn't be interrupted. It wasn't just because it was rude, but also because I had no idea what to say in my defense.
Plus, the more I heard Dumbledore talk, the more I started to realize that the elderly professor vastly exceeded any expectations I had for his ability to extrapolate details from minimal information for. He took the presence of the Wireless in my story and correctly intuited that I had known about the Stone's existence and protections far in advance of what I had implied, and correctly inferred that I had put a few months of study into learning the spells I used, knowing they would be useful for bypassing the protections. I don't know how he realized that last detail about my certainty the Stone would be safe and that no other attempt would make it as far as the last chamber until yesterday… but he did.
So I kept my mouth shut and listened as Dumbledore continued his summations.
"You knew that Hagrid had acquired a dragon's egg, and waited until it was hatched before you went over to play with it. I believe that your intentions were truly innocent, but I'm afraid that while Hagrid might not have been as subtle as he may have hoped, you had never before shown any particular interest in our Groundskeeper until he acquired a dragon egg. Hagrid had been under the impression that Harry and his friends had told you about little Nora, but Miss Granger has admitted to me that they did not."
Okay, lying to Hagrid did make me feel bad, even if it was a little fib. He had been really nice to me when I went to play with Nora and I made him complicit in my deception just because I wanted to avoid further confrontation with Hermione and Ron over the dragon. That wasn't really my fault, for not wanting to make more problems for Hagrid with our fighting… but then, I supposed it must have looked strange to him, that I had heard about his secret dragon from those three while also having a tiff with them...
Dumbledore continued, noticing the guilty look on my face. "In fact, Miss Granger has quite a many theories about you, Kenneth Godewyn, that seem a tad too fanciful and childish for my tastes. But, after speaking with her last night after the events that occurred — events that I am sure you are well informed of despite having no method of learning them about normally — I have composed my own theory."
My blood ran cold. I struggled to keep a solid poker face on, but I had always had issues with that in the past. I was a mediocre liar in truth… but I was also a natural Occlumens, no? I didn't know how to leverage my natural gift for Occlumency into being a more believable liar yet, and I swore to myself that I would look up the subject at the next possible opportunity so I could figure out how to best exploit it.
But I did not yet know how to use Occlumency to lie effectively. Instead, I did my best to keep a stony face and let nothing show as Dumbledore leaned in, his presence magnifying.
"A theory which explains why you knew that Voldemort had been possessing our unfortunate Professor Quirrell and coercing him into stealing the Philosopher's Stone, thus prompting you to steal it well in advance of his almost-successful attempt last night. This theory would also explain why you were well aware of what Miss Granger and Misters Potter and Weasely were intending to do last night when they petrified young Mr. Longbottom, and who would need to be informed with just the right, promptly-delivered messages needed to ensure your classmates were rescued from where they were stuck in the Stone's protections, unconscious or injured…"
Dumbledore's eyes seemed electrified, thrilled at some apparent challenge, and a jolt ran through me as I straightened in my seat from the weight of his direct attention boring into my own eyes. I was protected by my newly-discovered Occlumency perk should he be attempting to brute-force his way into my mind with Legilimency, but I think he finally wanted me to say something… anything…
"And what theory would that be, Headmaster?" I managed to get out evenly, cautious and ready to bolt should things turn sour. I wasn't sure I could make it to the fireplace and grab the Floor Powder before he could pick up his wand and use it, but I couldn't discount the possible use of wandless magic from someone as skilled as Dumbledore… and that's not to mention Fawkes taking offense to my attempts at an exit… Didn't know the spell for breaking windows cleanly yet, so I can't just jump out the window and pull out the Nimbus, but maybe I could fake it with Open Sesame by blowing up the window entirely…
Of course, Dumbledore dashed all my expectations when all that intensity of focus weighing upon me vanished and was instead replaced by the old man giving me the warmest and happiest look he could. "Why, you're a Seer, of course!" he said with great enthusiasm and genuine mirth.
I paused mid-thought.
Hang on… What?!
"I'm a what?" I gaped incredulously. I had been expecting him to name me as a potential Dark-Lord aspirant who had wanted to keep Voldemort from getting his hands on the Stone to fuel his resurrection.
I mean, that's the conclusion I would have jumped to; that I was a wannabe dark-wizard getting started on keeping the competition from making a comeback. Honestly, I was half-way certain he was going to compare me to Tom Riddle back in the day with the exception being that I was a Gryffindor and not quite as popular as Tom was back then. Look at me! I was intelligent, constantly holding back from showing off all the time, and managed to pull off a successful theft of a powerful magical artifact from under his nose… What, did I need to start developing my own cult of personality?
Wait, why am I wondering what it would take for Dumbledore to think of me as the second coming of Voldemort? That's a bad thing! I do not want him thinking that!
No, instead, Dumbledore happily said, "I believe you have seen the future. No need to fret, as I am sure you are aware, you are not the first Seer to have attended Hogwarts, nor are you alone as the only one of your kind. I imagine that your visions haven't made things easy for you, even with your other magical talents, but you do not need to be alone in coming to terms with what your visions have shown you of the future. In fact, I am quite surprised at the level of specific detail you could ascertain with your predictions!"
I stared at Dumbledore in disbelief. I… a Seer? I was certain that was a Perk all on its own, but I certainly didn't have that one. No, the only Perk that had been left blotted-out had been Occlumency, and Dumbledore only just proven to me that I had it. There was no way I was an actual Seer.
But…I could probably work with that misunderstanding. If I phrased my knowledge of canon as the result of "Seer visions" and "prophecies" and what-not, I would be able to gain Dumbledore's aid in mitigating the worst of the canon plot.
So, I guess I'm pretending to be some kind of Seer, then. But first, I needed to manage his expectations, because, well, I couldn't just make prophecies. Prophecies have to come true. My knowledge of canon… well, that would probably be butterflied away as more and more things changed. Best I explained that now.
Sighing loudly (shoulders and everything), I forced myself to relax. "I know what Seers are, sir, but I don't think I am one… I didn't make a Prophecy or anything like that…" I said, carefully. The relief in my voice was completely honest, though. I had not wanted to get into a confrontation with Dumbledore if he thought I was going to be a dark wizard. That would not have been pleasant in the slightest.
Dumbledore frowned slightly, not convinced. "Then, how did you foresee what would happen this year, and take measures to prevent it?"
I thought quickly and carefully. "I'm not entirely sure myself… Most of what I know about Seers suggests that what happens for this was not like what happened to me. As far as I can tell, what I... well, what I saw was unique to me and me alone."
"If you are able, then feel free to explain." Dumbledore encouraged me gently. "We can work through it together. You are not alone anymore and you do not need to hide from what you saw in your visions if they frighten you."
I nodded appreciatively.
"Alright then. I suppose I better start from the beginning. On the day I got my letter from Hogwarts… I had a… 'vision', I suppose would be the closest term to describe it, but it's not as accurate as I would like. I haven't had one since then either, and something tells me I won't have another vision like that again. But in that one, long vision, I could see an entire… timeline of events and other things that would happen. And it wasn't just a series of events, but all sorts of other details and knowledge of random people and places and things that were in the world my vision let me see, only… only I wasn't in it." I began to explain, carefully avoiding the subject of the JumpChain.
"I don't know if I had died before that day in that world, or if my parents had never met and I was never born, but it was another world, almost identical to this one, save that my presence was nonexistent there. And in that world, I saw many things. All of which I knew would likely happen in my world — our world — as well."
"Such as the troll at Hallowe'en, and Hagrid's baby dragon as well as Voldemort's attempt on the Philosopher's Stone." Dumbledore reasoned. I nodded. Dumbledore looked pensive and wondered aloud, "Was he successful, in this vision of yours? Or did Miss Granger suffer grievously as a result of the troll?"
I shook my head. "Hermione was saved by Harry and Ron, but it took dumb luck to save them all from death, plain and simple. I didn't want to leave her life up to chance. And no, Harry managed to confront Professor Quirrell and the Dark Lord in the final chamber before the Mirror of Erised. Professor Quirrell was stuck on the Mirror, he could only see himself giving the Stone to his Master, but Harry only saw himself holding the Stone. Then Voldemort realized that Harry had gotten the Stone and made Quirrell attack. But, well, Harry was protected by his mother's love, the sacrificial protection that shielded him when he was a baby, and Quirrell died, leaving the Dark Lord to flee as a powerless wraith, barely able to escape destruction by his anchors to this world."
The look on Dumbledore's face was comical. The man was completely dumbfounded. "You saw even that too? How far does your foreknowledge reach? And how far back?" he asked in dismay.
"My visions mainly centered around Harry and his life, to be honest. However, I also learned a lot about plenty of other people too," I shrugged, seemingly nonchalant. "Harry was the focus most of the time, though, because he's the subject of the prophecy that Professor Trelawney made which set the entire series of events into motion that vanquished the Dark Lord the first time around."
"The 'first time', you say…" Dumbledore mumurred, brows furrowed. "So it is as I suspected — he will return."
"Somewhat." I qualified. "Just as we prevented him from resurrecting via the Elixir of Life, the resurrection I saw can be prevented… and I've already proven that this world is not bound to the same timeline of events as the world I saw. In that world, he returned to power… in this world, maybe not..." My voice trailed off meaningfully.
"So the future is still ours to make, and tragedy can yet be prevented," mused Dumbledore.
"That is my ardent hope, yes. In fact, I have had several ideas over the last year about preventing some awful things from happening and correcting some injustices in more effective ways. But I had several problems trying to implement my ideas without reasonable justification. It wasn't as if I could just tell people that I knew something about the future and they had to take my word for it. Reasonable proof that I wasn't a lunatic would be difficult since I'm not a typical Seer who makes prophecies… and was eleven." I groused.
"Well, you have an ally who understands you now, Kenneth," Dumbledore reassured me with his grandfatherly manner. "Let us discuss what you can and cannot tell me, and we shall make our plans together, shall we?"
I smiled thankfully, before furrowing my own brows, concerned. "Please don't tell anyone else about what we have to discuss, not even Professor Snape. I know you trust him implicitly where Harry and the Dark Lord are concerned… but the more people know the details of what I saw and what I know… all the secrets I am privy to… Well, my knowledge is limited to what I saw of that world where I didn't exist. Using what I know can help many people, but the more the world changes beyond what I remember of my vision, the less reliable my knowledge becomes."
"Naturally. Such is the case of foresight such as yours," Dumbledore said easily, putting a hand over his heart. "Take heart, Mr. Godewyn, that I will keep your confidence, if you will do the same for mine. I give you my word; together, I hope we can avert unnecessary tragedy."
"Yeah…" I gave Dumbledore a sad look, recalling how badly things had gone for him. The headmaster's plans had ended up being successful, but had cost so many good people far too much. Sure, the outcome reached in canon had been far better than the alternative, but with the benefits of my memory of canon, I was certain we could do better… Especially if we could avoid the headmaster's death in the process. "I have had a while to think about this, and I already have an idea on where to start. But first, I have to ask you a serious question. I know a lot about what you will have deduced in the future, but in the interest of saving time, I need to confirm we are on the same page, so to speak."
"Oh? Ask away." Dumbledore seemed intrigued at the thought. "Though, I would normally frown upon the use of such a method of learning information on account of possible paradox, but... I suppose that it would be best not to waste the work of this alternate-timeline version of myself and save ourselves the trouble."
"Great. So, you are aware of what a Horcrux is?"
Dumbledore's face screwed up in disgust, crinkling his crooked nose into even more of a misshapen mess. "I am familiar with the term, though not the specifics. One of the darkest of magics, it requires horrific acts in order to split the soul and hide the fragment in an object. The study of it has been banned at Hogwarts for centuries, and every Headmaster since the Founding has been adamant about enforcing that rule. This is the method Voldemort used to survive that fateful night?"
"Yes. Even when he was young, he murdered and created his Horcruxes, so that when his body was destroyed in 1981, his soul remained earthbound. He was tethered to the world by his surviving Horcruxes." I explained.
"He made more than one!?" Dumbledore gasped in dismay.
"The goal was a seven-part soul," I spat in distaste. "Because seven is magically significant, he pushed the limits to attain power and immortality."
"Oh, Tom…" Dumbledore signed softly to himself, lost momentarily in thought as he stared off into the distance of memory. When his mind returned, it was intensely focused upon me. "You know where they are, don't you?"
"Mostly," I grimaced. "But the hunt for the Horcruxes happened later on in the other timeline. I know where Harry managed to find some of them then, but he was seventeen at the time, and the Dark Lord had been resurrected and returned to power for several years by that point. He might have moved at least one of them, but the others… He hid them well. But yes, I know where some of them are."
Dumbledore hummed, thinking aloud. "Do you believe we can access them early, remove them from play before then? Perhaps if we weaken him in advance, while he's still reeling from his near escape with poor Quirinius…"
"It's definitely possible, and as it has been decades since their creation, I doubt he will feel their destruction keenly… But we would need a method of destroying them. As far as I know, there are two, maybe three, methods that will work for certain."
"They would need to be damaged beyond the point of conventional repair… and as artefacts of the darkest magic, I can only imagine it would take something similarly dark to even damage one." Dumbledore mused.
I nodded. "Fiendfyre is not the most reliable of methods, but it is the only one we have access to right at this moment. You are familiar with the spell?"
"Regrettably, yes, I am proficient in its use." Dumbledore admitted, a little put out. "Though I would recommend you do not learn it until you are well beyond your N.E.W.T. levels, Kenneth. I know that look, I've seen it in many students before you, and you are most certainly not ready for such magic."
"So noted, but I learn quickly, especially when it comes to practical magic. I'm just finishing my first year, but I've been studying third-year spells on my own, so… fifth year, maybe?" I estimated.
Dumbledore sighed. "I would advise against studying the Dark Arts, even if only as an academic interest, but I have a feeling that you have already begun to study them, if only to prepare yourself for using such a spell. Even so, one part of myself wishes to congratulate you for your excellent progress, just as another part wishes to admonish you for rushing your studies instead of enjoying your time at Hogwarts." the elderly professor chided.
I did have the sense to look a little guilty as I answered, "Well, I'm mostly sticking to the curriculum and mastering as much magical theory as I can. I haven't actually found much in the way of dark magic beyond various DADA spells and some of the prank spells the other students know. And I've been broadening my skills by learning any spell any of the other Gryffindors are willing to teach me, even if they're not directly useful in preparations for the events of my visions. I do have fun with magic… it actually helps with learning a lot of spells if you have fun with them. Charms especially, it's my favorite subject…" I paused, then asked furtively, "Please don't tell Professor McGonagall I said that."
Chuckling, Dumbledore seemed slightly mollified at that response. "You have been practicing appropriate caution, I hope?"
"Depending on the magic in question, yes, I have been fairly rigorous."
"Normally, I would recommend you practice advanced magic beyond your year-level in the presence of a professor, but knowing what you know… I suppose your thirst for advanced magic is understandable, given the horrors you have witnessed." Dumbledore hummed. I suppressed the wince at the mention of "horrors", as I had not seen them quite as vividly as Dumbledore assumed. Perceiving things through the media of books and films does a quite a lot to distill the horror-factor of the situations depicted into something a tad more manageable. Even so, Dumbldore continued. "But we have gotten off track. You had an idea for making a move to weaken Voldemort's position before he could rise to power once more. I imagine it is the destruction of one of his Horcruxes?"
I shook my head. "Destroying his Horcruxes is the end-goal, that is for certain. But the opening move I had in mind is not nearly so straight-forward. If we are to destroy the Dark Lord's Horcruxes, then we must not only confirm their locations and ascertain whether their defenses are as I recall them to be from my vision, but to also put ourselves in the position to take them all with a clean sweep once we have the means of their destruction, so Voldemort cannot outmaneuver us."
Dumbledore looked positively intrigued. "And how do you propose we accomplish that?"
I grinned.
"We must exonerate Sirius Black."
A/N: I love the Mirror of Erised. It's an amazing plot device for showing you exactly what a character wants and values… all they could ever hope for which they simply don't have. Or can't have. The Mirror rips out their hearts and presents it to them in such a fashion that they can't help but be enraptured by their own weaknesses and failures, consumed by the sight of their greatest and innermost desires fulfilled before their eyes. It's glorious and heart-breaking when you think about it.
And we finally reveal that Dumbledore is a phenomenal guesser who reads between the lines and sees how Kenneth knows plenty of things he really shouldn't know. From that, intuitive leaps allow him to reason out the steps that would have had to be true to reach his conclusions. Sadly, well, Dumbledore is limited by his own experiences and understanding of the world, so given Dumbledore's past history with Divination, Kenneth must be some variety of "Seer". An understandable misconception, sure, and also one that Kenneth can work within, allowing the two wizards to form a compact.
We have crossed the Rubicon. May the butterflies have mercy upon us all.
Last edited: Aug 24, 2020
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
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kenmadragon
Aug 23, 2020
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Chapter 16
Dumbledore was scarily insightful when it came to plotting our next steps.
We must have spent hours arguing and plotting out what I could remember of the future timeline and how to deal with the issues ahead of us. Sure, I couldn't tell Dumbledore everything — I don't imagine he would have wanted the full details of his ultimate fate — but I explained my initial plans and my reasoning behind them. Details were filled in as Dumbledore had to get caught up on the background he was missing, but he also noticed enormous room for improvement.
Not for the first time did I have to remind myself that Albus Dumbledore had seen the rise and fall of two Dark Lords and had pitted his wits against each of them. He had experience in this arena that I certainly did not, and I could only marvel at his insights into planning for the uncertain future. We didn't expect any of our plans to survive contact with the uncertain enemy that was time and the universe, but we could at least come up with a general strategy.
Yet, even after hours, we could not beat time… nor the end of Minerva McGonagall's patience.
"Albus, I must protest! This chat you insisted upon has gone on long enough! It has been several hours and Mr. Godewyn will have missed lunch if you keep him any longer!" Professor McGonagall huffed as she barged into the office. Then she paused, actually taking in where we were in the office. Dumbledore and I weren't having a stern interrogation as she might have expected, but were instead seated rather amicably in comfortable chairs at his desk, pouring over several open books and leisurely sipping at tea poured by an enchanted teapot.
"Goodness, where has the time gone!" Dumbledore exclaimed as we glanced at the ornate clock along one wall. It appeared that we had both lost track of time while caught up in our talk. "I suppose we will have to continue our discussion some other time, Kenneth. It wouldn't do for you to miss out on your meals. As they say, we must eat to grow, and while the only thing I seem to be growing these days is hair in all sorts of places, I suppose you would need it more than I!"
I blinked, looking between Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall before setting down the teacup and saucer and clearing my throat. "Right, well, thank you for the tea Professor. Perhaps we could resume tomorrow, or…"
"Alas, other matters require my attention this late in the year. But, you have given me much to think about and I shall take our own discussion into consideration. Perhaps we can reconvene in some months time, once you return from your holidays. I believe we will have more to discuss by then." Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.
I nodded and stood. "Well, thank you for having me, then. Good day." Then I hurried out of the office as Professor McGonagall's face seemed to darken as she strode towards the desk. Slipping past her as Dumbledore waved me goodbye, I made it out through the oaken doors and was speed-walking down the stairs when I heard McGonagall hiss loudly just as the doors closed:
"Why on Earth have you been using the Philosopher's Stone as a paperweight?!"
Wincing, I hurried for the Great Hall and prayed that McGonagall would forget about this the next time she saw me. She probably wouldn't… but a guy could hope, right?
The remainder of the school year passed in the blink of an eye.
Rumors abounded, but little truth was found, as per usual. I kept mum with Neville, promising I'd explain when the walls didn't have ears as he was awfully curious to know whether I knew the full truth. But after Dumbledore pulled the same shenanigans he did in canon at the Leaving Feast, I think Neville got too caught up in the appreciation from the rest of Gryffindor House to remember to follow up on that.
I thought it was telling that I didn't get any last-minute points, but I supposed between stealing the Stone in the first place and the secrets that I'd shared with the Headmaster just days before, it wouldn't have been appropriate. Or it might have invited further questions from my House that Dumbledore knew I didn't want to answer. I gave a knowing smirk at the old wizard, and he shot me a wink of his twinkling eye, as if sharing a private joke. I supposed we were, in a sense.
The next morning our exam results were released. Hermione and I were neck-and-neck for our final grades, but it appeared that Hermione had beat me out for the top spot in first year by only a single point. Even if I'd done better than her in more than half of our subjects, she had somehow managed to gather enough extra credit on the Astronomy and Flying exams of all things in order to eke out a win.
Her smug grin was insufferable.
Still, it was with a heavy heart that my trunk was packed and we sailed back across the Great Lake for the end of our first year at Hogwarts. The next time we sailed the Lake would be as seventh years, as per the tradition. Glancing back at the magnificent castle, I promised myself that I would sail this Lake again, and that the tragedies of canon would be averted.
Oh, and that I would be a far, far better wizard when that time came.
I would settle for nothing less.
Things were amicable on the Hogwarts Express, at least. Unlike the giddy anticipation of our journey towards Hogwarts, our ride back to London was marked with the feeling that a weight had been lifted off our shoulders. For the other students, it was the completion of exams and the relief that they hadn't failed. For me, it was the understanding that I had an ally who could be counted upon. Dumbledore might not be a perfect wizard or leader, but he was capable, and I had faith that he could act in my stead where possible. I hadn't told him everything — he didn't want to know too many of the exact details, especially about his personal fate — but he knew enough to make a difference, I hoped.
So, I took the time to sit back and relax, knowing that for the duration of the trip, I could be a normal child again. I could laugh and play silly card games with Neville and the Patil twins in our compartment and promise to drop by for visits over the summer when possible. We joked about our exam results, how ridiculously Hermoine had been acting over earning the top spot by only a single point, and how the Leaving Feast had been an insane party after Dumbledore practically handed the House Cup to Gryffindor.
We couldn't wait to go back.
When you don't happen to be the main character of a children's book series, your summer holidays are not full of exciting adventure or mysterious happenings. They tend to be perfectly mundane and without much in the way of incident beyond the quotidian.
In fact, the majority of my holiday was remarkably similar to my previous summer — I read my books, I trained in the woods, I played tennis… the only addition to my weekly routine was after I explained to Dad that I had inherited his natural gift for Occlumency. Of course, being an Unspeakable, Dad was immensely curious as to how I'd learned of my natural talent. It's not exactly something others can notice without intentionally trying to root around in the mind of a eleven/twelve year old child, so me finding out that I could filter out mind-readers in an incredibly blunt and direct fashion would have required someone attempting to read my mind.
Unwilling to rat-out the Headmaster, much less tell the truth, I threw Professor Snape under the bus and came up with a bold-faced lie about a Potions mishap that required them to figure out if I'd lost any memories while I was unconscious from a blast or something. It wouldn't stand against close scrutiny if Dad actually talked to Snape about the fictional incident, but he bought it. He took away my wand until I had memorized a small book on Potions safety he'd gotten from the non-Classified sections of his workplace library, though.
Dad then decided that the only thing to be done was to ensure that I truly understood my gift for Occlumency and could work to control and leverage it properly. So, every Saturday I spent an hour or two with Dad as he lectured me on Occlumency. Dad was not the most patient of teachers, but as a Ravenclaw and an Unspeakable, he had loads of technical knowledge about the field and its applications.
Learning how to leverage the magical skill, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. The subject was abstract and complex and required a great deal of self-control… it did not come easily. On the upside, I found out that Occlumency was a lot deeper and more intricate a magical art than the short description provided by the Interface to detail my Occlumency perk. Thank god for the Essence of the Archmage or learning Occlumency beyond the natural baseline my perk gave me would have given me migraines for years.
Occlumency is difficult — even if you're cheating with perks like I was. Man was not made to divorce themselves from emotion and sustain multiple lines of clear thought simultaneously… on command… as a reflex to the insanely-difficult-to-detect probe of Legilimency.
Even so, the practice ended up becoming a new part of the usual routine.
Honestly, the only real break from routine that I had was when I was reminded that I had family beyond those who lived with me as Mum decided it was high time for a trip "back home" to India for a few weeks. While I'd made the trip several times when I was younger, having the knowledge of my first life available made this specific trip all the more remarkable.
Being an infant, Arnav presented a challenge for international travel as a wizarding family.
Normally, one would take a Portkey for moving between countries — I recall that our last trip before Arnav had been born involved taking the Knight Bus to London, a Portkey from London to Istanbul then on to Agra, after which we relied on the more local flying carpets to reach my grandfather's home in India.
However, infants like Arnav don't handle the uncomfortable travel of Portkeys well at all and there were unfounded rumors about dangerous side effects in small children. While I was skeptical about such claims, my parents decided that they'd rather not deal with an irate child suffering from the mind-twisting nature of Portkey travel for the entire trip. Instead, we traveled to India as the Muggles did — by aeroplane. Or "airplane", as my more American memories insisted.
Flying like Muggles was uncomfortable for Mum. My family's been fairly comfortable about blending in with Muggles pretty well, so there wasn't much issue on that front. Dad's expression betrayed nothing about his unfamiliarity with the Muggle mode of transportation, partially a result of his Occlumency and partially due to having done this before when I myself was young. Mum, on the other hand, liked to take day trips in our predominantly Muggle town and was fairly adept at pretending to be "mundane"... though she couldn't help but make the occasional comment about it all.
Honestly though, I think she just didn't like the idea of being cooped up in a metal coffin flying through the skies, breathing tinned air when surrounded by Muggles and utterly reliant on Muggle technology keeping us all from falling to an untimely and gruesome demise.
Arnav's issues with high-altitude travel added to that, I think — Mum repeatedly told me that I had been the perfect child as a baby. I had always been quiet and un-fussy, even as an infant, and didn't make a racket while on an aeroplane. Arnav was more like a typical baby, however, and elected to scream his displeasure when we reached the high-altitudes and his inner-ear had trouble adjusting.
London to Bombay (the city wouldn't be renamed 'Mumbai' until 1995) was a fairly lengthy flight, even for the Muggles, and we were glad to have finally landed in the crowded, blazing hot airport on the western coast of India. Arnav had had a small incident with accidental magic at six miles in the air that almost gave us all heart-attacks when we realized he'd somehow conjured toys to play with from our trunks in the luggage compartment. Thank all the gods out there we avoided an international incident and Dad handled things to keep the Muggles from noticing anything strange about the randomly appearing toys — I hadn't been aware he was licensed to perform Obliviations...
From the Bombay airport, we grabbed a rickshaw to the train station and then ducked through a wall to enter the wizarding lines. The magical-side of India had taken a few pages from the British in that regard when it came to keeping magical transportation in similar areas to the Muggle hubs as it made things neat and easy when concealing their own brand of security. Customs took a while (it always did), but once we were through we were free to secure further transportation to my grandparents' home across the subcontinent.
Gotta say this for Indian transportation — Flying Carpets are fun. Terrifying, but fun. Most of the magicals in the Middle East and South Asia tend to rely on carpets over brooms. Given the oddities in the laws regarding the classifications of Muggle artifacts and what can and cannot be legally enchanted in what ways, flying carpets are banned in Britain… but in India, they're perfectly acceptable and tend to be more reliable than brooms in these climates. The drawback is that they're heavy, less maneuverable, and often fairly obvious to spot overhead. Sure, the broom still had its fans in India, and the country did have their own International Quidditch Team after all, but most of the broom's proponents in India were younger, rowdier men who would have been riding motorcycles everywhere had they been Muggles.
Still, if you're traveling with a group in style, you really can't beat the flying carpet. It's one of my favorite parts of being in magical India - the carpet is legal! No more straddling a broom when I can kick back and relax on a comfortable carpet, I say! Sure, they're not as maneuverable, but they're loads bigger and could seat my entire family and our luggage without much issue.
So it was in relative comfort that we made our final leg to my grandparents' home on the outskirts of a temple town. It's really quite something when you fly through the enchanted illusions that protected the communities from outsiders as the scenery abruptly changes from lush jungles and forests — a wilderness that contains dozens of beasts of various degrees of lethality and all sorts of magical defenses ranging from illusions to all manner of vicious hexes and curses and mind-altering enchantments — and the dilapidated and haunted 'ruins' that the locals considered sacred ground instead transform before your very eyes into the lavish and breathtakingly colorful town my grandparents have called home for longer than I've been alive.
India's magical communities are very much like Hogsmeade in that respect — no Muggles nearby, none allowed anywhere near the village. Ever since the implementation of the International Statute of Secrecy, India's magical population had gone hiding in plain sight. Many chose to live amongst the Muggles, veiling their powers under the guise of mysticism and religion, or to simply keep it out of sight of the non-magical peoples around them. The few that didn't bother taking adequate precautions, though — like the infamous snake-charmers of India who used their magic and Parseltongue to control and manipulate snakes both mundane and magical to put on performances for ignorant Muggles — were often hunted by the Indian Ministry of Magic for violation of the International Statute of Secrecy.
Others veiled themselves in settlements like where my grandparents chose to live out their retirement, using magic to conceal their communities from prying eyes and liberal usage of some vicious enchantments to keep their homes safe. Of course, most of the time the illusions and fact that the land those villages were on were declared sacred grounds and that trespassing brought forth the wrath of god was usually sufficient to deter Muggles from running head first into an enchantment that turned them into monkeys if they trespassed anyways...
It was a bit like living in a gated community… only the punishment for trespassing involved being cursed until you were a gibbering madman whose tales of magic would either be dismissed as lunacy or spark renewed religious fervor and solemn oaths that the "sacred grounds" would be protected from other trespassers more seriously.
My grandparents lived fairly modestly for their backgrounds. My grandfather was a retired Arithmancer, specializing in economics, who had spent decades in academia and was all too keen to lend me books on the subject to keep me from getting bored while I stayed with them. I much preferred his collection of adventure novels, though. My grandmother was, well, a housewife and I did my best to spend as much time with her as I could — I always regretted not spending much time with my first-life's maternal grandmother before she passed away, so some part of me thought I could perhaps make up for that by fixing that mistake with this one.
Instead, I ended up learning a good deal about how Indians approached magic and the differences they had with more European ways of doing things. I mean, magic is magic, no matter where you go in the world, but the practice of it can vary in theory and method. And my grandmother? Well, she was pretty traditional for an Indian witch, and was delighted to tell me what she knew, especially since I had a knack for it that Mum hadn't had.
Most of it wasn't too far off what I was normally learning at Hogwarts. While my grandparents both carried wands, Indian wizardry put a great deal of focus on the more subtle aspects of magic. Things like Astronomy, Arithmancy and Divination were highly prized in wizarding India, unlike in Britain where they're seen as either soft-subjects or just time-consuming. India also had a long history of producing masters in elemental magics and magical healing as well as the myriad arts of conjuration of wonders and the creation of illusions. Sure, the trappings and style was different from what European wizards might have been used to, but as any good wizard knows, magic is magic.
I did my best to learn what I could, even though a lot of the higher level theory was beyond my current capabilities. Despite knowing loads about Indian mythology, I was utterly lacking in knowledge about the magical history in India beyond what my parents had told me as a child (ie, the heavily abbreviated version, sanitized for younger ears) that could provide me a basis to work with. What tips and tricks I could glean from the way the Indians of old did things would help broaden my understanding of magical theory, though, and that was always valuable in my eyes. Dad certainly approved of my studiousness, though he would constantly bemoan my placement in Gryffindor when it appeared clear to his eyes that I truly belonged in Ravenclaw.
I wasn't sure how to break it to him that I was extremely reckless and my placement in Gryffindor was probably well-deserved. I didn't have the heart to tell him I was frequently skirting with breaking the rules, he wouldn't have stood for it — Dad was remarkably like Percy in that way.
Was any of the magic I learned useful?
Well… not really. There's a reason why older forms of magic aren't used these days — they're just outdated, plain and simple. When it came to magic, just because a specific spell or technique was old didn't make it any better than a more recent invention. Case in point, the spell "Open Sesame" rips doors from their hinges and tears them till they're reduced to little more than firewood. Until Portaberto and then later Alohomora were invented, that's just what people used because that's all they had. Nowadays, Open Sesame would be lunacy when Alohomora is far simpler and more deft.
But knowledge of older styles of magic and the theory behind how they worked their craft broadened my own horizons. And the broader my horizons and stronger my grasp of the raw, underlying principles of magic were, the more control I had over my wandless magic.
The best part was that whenever I did well with what my grandparents were willing to show me, they were not shy about showing me how much my success brought them pride and joy. I promised myself that I would ensure they never had reason to feel otherwise.
They had me flanked before I even noticed they were there, and my escape route was blocked by the oxen moving a cart behind me.
To be fair, they blended surprisingly well in the riot of colors, clamor and aromas of the Maya Bazaar. For those unfamiliar with the Maya Bazaar, picture Diagon Alley, only Indian and far, far denser than the London hub for magical activity. As one of the most populated countries in the world, India also has a phenomenal number of wizards and witches. And unlike in Magical Britain, Magical India has hundreds, if not thousands of these "Marketplaces of Illusion" all around the country, hidden away in magical towns and Muggle ones, where they acted as the safe-havens for India's insular, magical communities. Even in wizard-only towns like this one, the Maya Bazaar was like a city within a city, a concentrated nexus of magical peoples and beings, all living and working and engaging in commerce each and every day. And as was natural of Indian wizards, it was a riot of lights, colors, noises and pleasant smells that beguiled the senses and bewitched the mind.
Anyways, I hadn't been expecting them to be in the country in the first place, so forgive me for letting my guard down. But no, they had slipped into my blindspots like stalking cats while I was preoccupied with an argument I had been having with the purveyor of ashwinder eggs at this market stall. The merchant refused to sell the dangerous eggs to a boy of twelve, and I was proving that while my knowledge of more northern curses was lacking, I was fairly proficient at swearing in southern tongues.
Of all the stall keepers selling dangerous goods at the Maya Bazaar, the one selling the ashwinder eggs was the only one who seemed put-off by the surprisingly eloquent mixed-race boy of twelve years attempting to purchase them. It wasn't like I hadn't been around ashwinder eggs before — they were a useful potions ingredient and helpful for curing ague — but apparently the merchant thought I was too young to buy them myself and would instead hatch more ashwinders like an idiot.
I didn't get nearly that much argument from the Tamilian magizoologist covered in colorful scarves with the pet Occamy in a gilded cage who sold me all sorts of magical creature-parts that would have been illegal back in Britain… like the blood of various XXXX-rated creatures and higher. Nor did I have any issues with the Bengali apothecarian that smelt perpetually of camphor oil who sold me preserved chrysalis' of Death's-Head Hawk Moths as well as various other rare potions ingredients that the British Ministry would have labeled as Class A through C Non-Tradable Materials and been in uproar about their sale to an underage wizard.
Nor was there an insurmountable obstacle with the eccentric sadhu with orange dreads sitting on an azure tiger-skin and draped in living serpents who was willing to part with a legitimately enchanted Rudraksha Mala in exchange for a display of non-verbal wandless magic and the recitation of a few scriptures from my first life — the sadhu seemed a fairly religious sort and gave me a discount for each verse… Though I did have to beat a hasty exit when the sadhu began rambling about magic being a gift from the gods and how I really ought to shave my head bald "to better hear the voice of the divine".
Sure, all of my purchases had involved forking over a fistful of Panas (one of the many Indian varieties of wizarding currency) after copious arguments in the vendors' respective native tongues, but I'd still managed to get a hold of plenty of dangerous magical goods that would have been illegal in Britain, much less impossible for a twelve year old to acquire even on the black-market back home. Gold and silver talked, and in India, it was an eloquent grease for negotiations to speed up the wheels of business and commerce. You can get people to overlook all sorts of things (like children interested in purchasing rare and/or dangerous materials and ingredients) if you had enough of the precious metals.
But Satyaraj Devanga, self-styled "Merchant of the Thar" didn't seem to agree with that premise, and argued that children shouldn't be haggling with adults about things buying ashwinder eggs, but that he instead had their skins and plenty of fiery stones that ought to be well worth my while instead. The only way he would sell me something as volatile as an ashwinder egg was if I paid twenty times their actual worth under the table… and then had an adult do the paying. I had no idea why he was being stubborn about it, especially since his argument was flimsy and just full of stuff like: "Because I said so, and your parents must be ill-mannered if they couldn't teach you to listen to your elders, little boy."
Of course, insulting me was something I could bear with, but the dig at my parents had me spitting fire — luckily for him, it was only verbal, and not literal fire — in irritation as the stubborn, swarthy merchant's fingers seemed to itch for the wand tucked into his sash to give me a punitive jinxing for my disrespect.
So, I could possibly be excused from noticing that it was too late to escape when my sides were blocked by the appearance of two young girls. They dressed in shades of green and purple (villain-colors, I remembered from comics) and had devilish smirks as they closed in and laid their hands on my shoulders in complete sync. By the time I spotted them, it was already too late to run or react.
"Hello Ken, fancy seeing you here!"
I tried not to start at their touch, but I couldn't help but stiffen as the sight of the twins flanking me gave the merchant a merry grin, all annoyance seemingly forgotten. "Ah, two lovely girls, surely discerning and understanding of the finer treasures that come out of the desert, welcome to the stall of —" the merchant started his spiel in Gujarati but I'd already tuned him out and turned towards the twins. The twins didn't speak that particular language, to my knowledge, but I wasn't about to correct the man's assumption just because I spoke it and they knew me.
Padma and Parvati Patil weren't supposed to be in India. At least, not this part of India… Their extended family lived in another part of the country, last I recalled. Weren't they supposed to be at their cousin's engagement party? Padma had mentioned that he lived in Britain and they were going to be visiting him over the summer, and that's why we wouldn't be meeting up anytime soon. But they were here… In the exact same town my grandparents lived. At the Maya Bazaar on the same day my folks had decided to take me as well…
"What on earth are you two doing here?!" I wondered aloud, allowing myself to be dragged off by the grinning twins. It was unnerving to see them both in sync like this, it rarely ever happened. Especially after being separated into different Houses at Hogwarts, Padma and Parvati had slightly diverged from being perfectly identical in mannerisms, but they still remained mirrors of one another when it came to smiling conspiratorially.
"Sid's fiance's family lives in this town, over by the river. We told you on the train that we were going to our cousin's engagement party, and it's being held here in India." Padma said matter-of-factly.
"Oh," I said, feeling a bit foolish. "I'd assumed it'd be in Cornwall since it was Siddarth's engagement party…"
"Yes, but Aishwarya's family — that's his bride-to-be, by the way — managed to convince Dadi to let them host it instead, so now we're in India! Surprise!" laughed Parvati. "We didn't even know your grandparents lived here too until Mummy ran into your mum just now."
"Huh. What a coincidence." I said, still bewildered.
"Right? Come on, I saw a stall selling amulets by that restaurant with the animated planets. Rakhi's coming up and we need an opinion on what a boy wouldn't mind wearing. Manish has no taste, obviously, and Sachin is busy with Sid, so that's your job now." Parvati said primly in a tone that brooked no arguments.
Naturally, I had an argument. "I know nothing about fashion, though."
"Yes, that's exactly why we need your opinion." Parvati said, giving me a pitying look. "If you pick them out, they can't complain about the bracelets being girly."
I contemplated picking out the most hideous and unmanly options, just to prove them wrong, but thought better of twins would surely get their revenge if I did that, and I wasn't certain if I wanted the vengeance of the Patil twins bearing down upon me… even if they were just twelve-year-olds who hadn't learned much magic. In my experience, girls could be terrifying if you gave them reason to be, magical or not.
The talismonger selling the Rakhi bracelets was fairly personable, though, and made picking out decent bracelets for Padma and Parvati's brother and cousins painless enough. I just pointed out the styles I thought I wouldn't mind being given to me by my own cousins (as I didn't have a sister) and that I could wear for a while without it getting in the way of anything. They were also on the cheaper end in comparison to the really fancy and flashy options, but that was made a moot point as the twins kept jabbering in English. I inwardly winced as I could almost see the price going up half a Sickle in the talismonger's head when he heard their British accents.
Of course, after I'd loaned my assistance in picking out bracelets the twins decided to conscript me into helping them with the rest of their shopping, dragging me over to the tailors and clothing sellers. I inwardly panicked at the thought of clothes shopping, but suppressed the urge to run like hell for a bookstore as Dad had taught me better than to be rude to girls.
But just last week I'd already had to suffer through Mum trying to get me an entire wardrobe of new clothes — yet again — despite my insistence that I didn't need that many new clothes, even if I'd outgrown some of my older wear. Indian wizards and witches didn't dress much differently from the traditional attire of Indian Muggles, the divergence being mainly in the minor details, so the only real issue was the fact that I'd look doubly odd in Britain if I was wearing Indian style robes and the like. Sadly, wizarding fashion in India doesn't align that well with fashion in Britain given the fact that India was a subcontinent in Asia and Britain was in Europe. The fact that I would be spending most of the year in a boarding school in Scotland where the uniform was a "plain black work robe" didn't really help Mum's case.
Given the shared roots in history that the styles of clothing from centuries past meant that swapping between Eastern and Western attire for wizards wasn't much of an issue, the only real difference was in presentation and material as specific to the climates and uses wizards would need those outfits for. India is blazingly hot compared to Britain, much less Scotland, so the attire is notably lighter, thinner, and far more breathable with more room for the material to flow and swish without getting dirty or caught in the wild.
However, I admit that sometimes I prefer to wear the Indian style of robes as they are especially comfortable and far less form-fitting that the tailored cut of an English wizard's robes… but magical India's current fashions trend towards outrageously bright and glittery beads and other such embellishments embroidered in eye-catching patterns. I much preferred my attire to be more subdued and modest in pattern and color thank you very much.
Never stopped Mum from trying to cajole me into getting at least a couple of outfits in that style, for parties and the like. "You never know when you'll need something like that for a formal occasion," she would say. Thank you Mum, but I'll wait until fourth year before I go shopping for something formal.
Sadly, I couldn't just stomp my foot and whine about it like I did with Mum. No, I couldn't escape it this time with the twins dragging me around to look at all the pretty clothes and help translate for them once they'd realized I spoke half a dozen different Indian languages. I had spent some time exploiting my Polyglot perk's ability to rapidly learn new languages from my Essence of the Archmage before this trip, and was capable of making small talk and purchases in most of India's major languages. Padma seemed fascinated that I had been able to learn them so quickly, but Parvati didn't care how I had learned them all, just that I could translate for them when talking to the storekeepers so they could find the perfect new outfits to wear at the engagement party. I also had to carry most of the bags, because "that was what gentlemen did", and I was a gentleman, wasn't I?
Why was I friends with those two again?
Oh, right, our parents are friends and the age gap is only a couple months. That made sense; adults like it when their kids get on well with their friends' kids — makes it easier to organize social gatherings. I will bear with it in quiet stoicism, then. It should be good Occlumency practice, at least, to keep myself from seeming bored while being dragged around shopping. If the twins noticed that my interest lay towards the seedier, exotic and rarer stalls of the Maya Bazaar, they didn't comment on it.
This sadly took hours (or felt like it, at least), even when our parents and other extended family found us and made us take a break for lunch before the girls dragged me off for further shopping. We ate at a restaurant just off the Bazaar that was situated in what might have once been a temple alcove but had been converted into some blend of European dining with traditional Indian cuisine… only, you know, for wizards. The paintings on the walls were alive, the live music came from self-playing instruments, the tablecloth was somehow magically stainless, etc.
Of course, after lunch I found no escape to get back to purchasing the things I wanted without dealing with Mum and Dad hovering over my shoulder or the restrictions of the British Ministry and what adults believe children shouldn't be buying. No, I had to deal with our shopping group expanding to not only include my own folks, but also Padma, Parvati and their parents. With all those people around, it was hard to sneak off and peruse the Bazaar for the obscure and magical that I couldn't find in Britain… especially if I wanted to buy them and secret them back to Britain via my Dimensional Pouch. No, anything that seemed interesting to me while Mum, Dad and the Patils were around was met with dismissal on the grounds that it'd either be something for older wizards and witches, or was simply illegal to bring with us back to Britain. I think the only thing I was allowed to get with parental oversight and the judgemental looks of the twins' parents hanging over my head were books.
Lots and lots of books.
On the upside, I got lots of books about magic that I wouldn't otherwise find at Hogwarts on account of the fact the library's selection of material from east of the Caspian Sea is… well, limited. Hogwarts was founded in Scotland and the vast majority of its magical literature came from Europe and were written by Europeans. That's not to say that its library (and the selection of material available within the Room of Requirement) was limited solely to European texts, but much of Hogwarts' literature originated from Europeans who had either obtained them from other Europeans or who had traveled beyond that portion of the continent and brought back foreign texts. Even so, much of the magic taught at Hogwarts related more to the traditions of Europe, Northern Africa and the Middle East. All texts of magic with roots beyond those areas would likely be translations of original copies, made to ensure that other Europeans could better understand the ideas and magical knowledge of foreign cultures.
On the down side, the Maya Bazaar was rather lacking in more Muggle literature… I missed getting imported comics for dirt-cheap in India. In my first life, every trip to India had also been accompanied by getting English versions of various European comics like the Adventures of Tintin or the Asterix series and similar. You couldn't find those series in America, not without exorbitant prices my parents were unwilling to pay, so getting them in India was an affordable alternative. Sadly, the Maya Bazaar had magical bookstores… they didn't cater to Muggle fantasy or comics. I really wanted to read those comics again… Sure, I remembered most of the plotlines, but I only remembered a few of the jokes. It would have been a hoot to pass them around the Gryffindor Common Room, though, to show off what the French and Belgian Muggles had been making for comedy.
And who knows, maybe Getafix's Magic Potion could have been inspired by an actual potion we could brew in this world… that would be loads of fun!
I resolved to beg my parents to stop by a Muggle bookstore before we left the country if possible. That, or I was kipping over to the Muggle parts of town once we were back in England and hunting those comics down myself.
As the afternoon wore on into the evening and I did my best to survive being dragged around shopping by Padma and Parvati while our parents talked and watched over us — Padma blabbed about me trying to buy ashwinder eggs to Mum so she started keeping a closer eye on me to make sure I didn't slip away — we ended up wandering away from the main parts of the Maya Bazaar to instead take a walk along the botanical gardens that lined the river.
Wandering through the gardens, breathing in the scent of nature all about us, was relaxing. Birds sang in the distance as brilliant fish darted under the water's surface, their sleek forms obscured by the pads and petals of enormous lotus blossoms in full bloom. The flowers glowed with a magical luminescence in the dimming light of an orange sky and the leaves rustled with the chatter of birds and beasts. Serpents curled in burrows marked by magical lights, nestled in the muck and darting at the insects that dared near them. Statuary lined the walk and would occasionally wave or attempt to entice any who wandered by into some manner of antics. Stone gandharvas and apsaras frolicked about, playing ethereal music on their impossible stone instruments.
Padma and Parvati had a lot of fun wandering the gardens, chatting freely with themselves and occasionally with me, but I was mostly content to just quietly take in the beauty of nature arranged and well tended to, breathing in the scent of flowers and incense that wafted in from the nearby Bazaar. That didn't stop them from roping me into a conversation about Herbology, at which point I was reminded that Neville would have enjoyed these gardens far more than I, even if the inscriptions describing the plants that called the gardens home were written in Hindi. Nevertheless, I ended up succumbing to the twins' insistence that I translate the descriptions of each flowering tree or bush they thought spectacularly gorgeous or pretty… despite the fact that our parents were probably more adept at reading and understanding Hindi than I was. I think they thought it was amusing the way the girls nagged me to tell them the proper names for the plants they liked best and what their properties were. Thank God for Polyglot, as the placards occasionally veered into the technical.
As the sky started moving away from the oranges towards the darker hues of the setting sun, our folks ended up pulling us away from chasing the water serpents and fish along the river's banks. The twins had to rejoin their cousins in the morning and Arnav was starting to get cranky from staying up so long, so Mum and Dad had us say our goodbyes to the Patils before we headed back to my grandparent's house.
As the night fell, we spent our time up on mats and cushions up on the roof terrace in the one corner taken up by the laundry, water tanks or the various magical plants that Ammama grew up there as a hobby. After the trip through the botanical gardens, I had plants on the mind so I spent most of our dinner up on the roof talking with my grandmother about her plants and inquired if there were some that could be grown in Britain. This somehow segued into a discussion about how ridiculous my grandfather's hair had been when he was younger and had been working as an amateur actor for a theater troupe. My grandparents still had the pictures of my grandfather in his costumes, and we had a good laugh about the antics of the animated facsimile of my grandfather in his twenties decked out in gold and jeweled armor with an enormous ornate crown as he made grand, sweeping gestures and silently transitioned between dramatic poses while spouting lines from an old play. The sheer panache involved with the picture merely twirling its moustache was hilarious.
This led into a discussion about animation charms, at which point I mentioned that the Charms exam had involved making a pineapple tapdance across a table. Telling my grandparents this, they insisted on seeing it for themselves. Sadly, finding a pineapple on short notice was not in the cards so Ammama (my grandmother) suggested we used some of the guavas she grew. From there, the Dancing Feet Jinx set the guavas dancing, though clumsily given the paucity of thick leaves on the rather skinny stem. Still, the fruit bobbled around as it danced on the tiny leaves while my grandfather summoned some of Mum's childhood dolls — these painted and wooden figures that might have once been puppets of some kind — then teamed up with Dad to show me all sorts of other fun animation charms by having them act out various scenes from various stories of my childhood, or in more sophisticated dances than my clumsy guava's tapdance.
We laughed and had fun well into the night until Arnav woke up and needed to be changed, sending Mum and Ammama hurrying off to take care of him and giving the rest of us guys a good excuse to head to bed.
Beyond shopping and spending time with my grandparents and extended family, my family did other typical tourist things. We visited the temples, exploited the breadth of magical transportation available in India to sight-see the various monuments and landmarks that dotted the country, both magical and Muggle, and learned all sorts of interesting factoids about the history of magical India that really diversified my (admittedly limited) Muggle knowledge of the country's history from my first life. I wasn't allowed to go everywhere I might have wanted to given that Arnav would be with us and we had to tailor the itinerary around my little brother.
Still, the sedate nature of our trip was highly conducive to relaxation and enjoyment of the time I had with my family over the summer. Even if I ended up going to Padma and Parvati's cousin's engagement party because their mother extended Mum an invitation and I was forced to bear with the overly bright and flashy formal attire, I couldn't say I didn't enjoy my summer holiday in India… weather notwithstanding. The heat was unbearable in comparison to Europe and I thanked every god I could think of that my Druid Essence let me bear it without sweating like a pig.
Of course, by the time we left India and returned home to jolly ol' Britain, I was itching to get back to my studies and return to Hogwarts. A backlog of Daily Prophets hadn't told me much that I wouldn't have otherwise known from canon, but it seemed that Dumbledore had not made any big moves while I was out of the country. While a part of me wanted to criticize the old wizard for the lack of immediately visible change, I instead told myself that slow and steady would win the race. Dumbledore was likely just putting his ducks in a row before he made any larger, more dramatic moves that would be noticed by the wizarding public.
In that case, I would best be served by preparing myself as much as I could for the year ahead. So, it was back to the books for me, studying everything I could about magic while practicing in secret and keeping my body and reflexes sharp in the woods and on the tennis court. With the addition of Dad's weekly Occlumency lessons and my gradual growth in that obscure field coupled with the reassurance that Dumbledore was on my side, I felt ready for anything second year could throw at me.
Of course, all that went out the window when Mum noticed the letter from Hogwarts sitting on the pile of mail that Smokey had collected while we were away. She'd already opened it and started reading through the new book and equipment lists we would need while I was skimming through the newspapers when all of a sudden she stilled, almost tearing the parchment in half before letting out a strangled noise of outrage.
Concerned, I turned to Mum, asking what was wrong, but got no response as she proceeded to toss the parchment away, muttering in at least three different languages various swears and insults about some "idiot" as she stormed off… Well, I say idiot — Mum said some far nastier and uncharacteristic-for-Mum things to describe the bloke who had somehow drawn her ire. Curiosity overtook me and I snatched up the parchment while Mum went to her personal writing room and silenced the doors and walls so she could shout all she liked while Dad looked on in mild concern.
...Wait, hold on. Why on Earth does the Hogwarts book list contain all of Gilderoy Lockhart's books? I thought I had warned the Headmaster that the ponce was absolutely useless. Did no one else apply for the bloody job besides Snape and Lockhart?
Oh dear, no wonder Mum wasn't happy… she loathed Lockhart for some reason in a way that went beyond professional pride, but Mum and Dad never really explained everything they did or had done — I was only twelve, and still very much an obedient child who knew better than to ask questions like that.
Either way, I knew that dealing with that ponce was going to be a headache… Bother.
A/N: So… this is MUCH later than I had hoped to post it. In my defense, I've re-written this entire chapter two-three times or so, and was mostly distracted with my projects at work and the whole "Bay Area is on Fire" thing that's been happening in my neighborhood. Living on the very edge of the evacuation zones is nerve-wracking, so I figured I'd just wrap this up with what I've got and put it out, even if it doesn't feel like my best work.
So, this is mainly a transitional chapter for Ken to wrap up his first year then take the time to connect with his family and get away from Britain and from worrying about the plot by immersing himself in international wizarding culture. In this case, he went to spend time with relatives in India, and I did my best to keep in line with the existing canon as well as my own ideas of how things are both the same and different for wizards and witches around the world - still very familiar and similar, but with their own cultural and historical flair. Most of it was highly abbreviated from my own experiences as a child taking a summer trip to my grandparents in India, but I put a magical twist on it.
Last edited: Aug 23, 2020
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
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The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
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kenmadragon
kenmadragon
Sep 20, 2020
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Chapter 17
The thestral's eyes stared through me, piercing my soul with terror.
When approaching the famed Hogwarts carriages after disembarking at Hogsmeade Station, I had been stricken when I realized that I could see the thestrals they were harnessed to. Enormous, gaunt horses with draconian heads so thin and drawn they seemed almost like sinister, skeletal demons made of shadow that had sprung out of the deepest pits of hell. Their white eyes lacked pupils and emotion, but the ones pulling the carriage Neville and I had approached with the Patil twins, Lavender Brown and Anthony Goldstein had turned to look at us with interest.
I… hadn't considered whether I could see thestrals too much. Whenever the thought occurred to me, I always distracted myself and changed my line of thought to some other, less depressing topic. It had always seemed like an "It'll happen when it happens" sort of issue.
Well… it had happened.
I was confronted with a thestral, and I could definitely see it. Staring into those pale eyes set in a dragon-horse skull reminded me that the thestral could see me as well — it knew I could see it.
Not knowing how to handle this situation, I ended up freezing in place, shaking as my thoughts raced. Questions and answers filtered in as my mind went to dark places regarding how I could possibly have been able to see a thestral.
Who had I seen die? I perused my memory, but no one came to mind. In my first life, I had never personally witnessed someone die. Movies and TV simply didn't count, nor did reading about it in the news. Similarly, I was too young to have personally witnessed death in this life, and this life had far greater memory than my first one.
Could it have been… myself?
No… no, that couldn't be… right?
But what else? The requirements for being able to see a thestral were rather simple: first, you had to personally witness death; second, you had to understand what had happened; finally, you had to come to terms with that understanding.
It couldn't possibly have been my own death, could it? Mainly because I was not dead… sure, I had no recollection of how or why I had made my deal with my Benefactor that resulted in becoming the Jumper and being put in the world of Harry Potter… but surely it hadn't been because I had died… right?
It was at that point that optimism and memory reminded me that there was another possibility I was failing to consider — that the requirement was never about people.
Thestrals were about Death.
Death doesn't care whether it's dealing with witches or wizards, much less humans or non-humans…
The Troll at Hallowe'en…
I had personally slain — murdered, a small part of me said, but I ignored it — the troll on Hallowe'en last year. It had been a living being; sapient and capable of thinking and reasoning, even rudimentary speech. It certainly qualified as a life worth something. Then I watched it die (made sure of it) before I allowed myself to succumb to exhaustion and unconsciousness...
Then, the next morning, I had thought back to what had happened. I understood what I had done, and realized what death had meant in the aftermath of the troll's demise. Then I came to terms with it.
My shaking hands tightened into fists.
For a brief moment, I could hear the troll's screams of agony… its dying breath. I could still see how it slowed and stilled, finally giving in to Death's embrace.
No wonder I could see thestrals. I might not be traumatized by the experience, but I certainly saw and understood death.
Surprisingly, it was Neville who gathered his wits first, and nudged me along, giving me a worried look. "Ken… you can see them too, can't you?"
Startled, I turned to him and realized that he could see the creatures as well. It took me a moment to remember the explanation in the books: Neville had witnessed his own grandfather's demise as a child. The exact circumstances of the event were murky, even to my knowledge in this life, but seeing death like that had certainly had an effect on Neville… beyond the ability to see thestrals, that is.
My heart ached, seeing Neville's scared and worried visage, clearly unnerved by the sight of the creatures but also my own reaction to them. Primal terror wasn't a reaction twelve-year-olds are used to seeing on other kids' faces, but I did my best to set my own uneasiness aside. Dad's lessons in Occlumency helped, as the initial training in emotional control made it easier to give Neville a reassuring smile.
"Yeah… Come on, I'll explain later…" I muttered as we rejoined the others we had sat with on the train.
Neville nodded and we carefully entered the carriage with the other Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, none of whom seemed to realize the carriages weren't pulling themselves. When Neville gave me a hand to make it up the step, I realized he was still shaking and gave his hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A grimace of solidarity passed between the both of us as we both came to the conclusion that mentioning the source of our shared unease would be unwise in present company.
Then at some unseen signal, all the carriages began to move towards Hogwarts. Neville and I merely traded looks every now and then as the others marveled at how the carriages moved through the small road from Hogsmeade Station towards the castle grounds. When the castle finally came into view, illuminated by the lights within and the line of fiery lamps from every carriage, we breathed a sigh of relief.
Back at Hogwarts, once more.
~o0o~
Hermione was understandably nervous without Harry and Ron there. She ended up spending the Welcome Feast making idle, albeit a little awkward, conversation with the other Gryffindor girls, but it was obvious to everyone that any topic beyond "where on Earth were Harry and Ron" wasn't going to hold her interest.
On the upside, most of Gryffindor was wondering the same. The Weasleys were all understandably nervous to find one of their own missing when they looked for him on the Express, a concern that was only exacerbated when they failed to show up at the Feast. The Welcome Feast was mandatory for all students at Hogwarts — if they didn't show up, something was almost certainly wrong. And, well, Harry being gone was the talk of the Gryffindor table… a topic that eventually spread to the other tables when they realized the Boy-Who-Lived was absent.
My own theory that "they decided to steal a flying car and fly here, but lost control and crashed into the Whomping Willow" was generally dismissed as cockamamy nonsense, though the Weasley twins shot each other nervous looks about it. They didn't even make a joke, nor laugh at the idea like the others did. Naturally, when not even Fred and George Weasely could think of a punchline to spin off of something as absurd like that, the rest of our house seized upon the idea and it suddenly became the only truth to be had. Everything from there was just wild speculation about the details.
Percy just had a steely glint in his eyes and was staring at Professor McGonagall like he was itching to stand up from the table and press the professor for information about his wayward brother's (and said brother's best friend's) whereabouts and verify whether or not they'd stolen their father's flying car but didn't want to make more of a scene. When Ginny walked in with the other incoming first-years, he let out a sigh of relief and seemed incapable of resisting the urge to glance her way every minute or so to make sure she was still there while still stiffly trying to steer any conversation away from his brother and Harry's possible misdoings to maintain some modicum of solemnity during the Sorting and Welcome Feast.
The Sorting seemed fairly typical. It was a different song, sure, but not much different from what I'd heard the year before. There weren't any real stand-outs in this year being sorted beyond Ginny Weasley and Colin Creevey who were sorted into Gryffindor and Luna Lovegood who ended up in Ravenclaw. Ginny and Luna were actually sorted rather quickly, to my surprise, and it was Colin who had taken almost a minute to Sort, though to his own admission the Hat was determining whether he'd have done better in Hufflepuff or not before making a decision. Colin was obscenely chipper, and I had to remind myself that not every eager-beaver Muggleborn was a potential Hermione in the making. Colin wanted to make friends and was perfectly willing to win them over with good cheer, rather than just talking about all the stuff she'd read to prepare.
Over the course of the Feast, I would come to a few conclusions: Firstly, I wanted Colin to live past the Battle of Hogwarts. Seeing this wide-eyed, earnest eleven-year-old badgering the new fifth-year prefects about magic reminded me of how young some of the victims of the Second Wizarding War would be, giving me an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that no amount of food would settle.
Secondly, I had no idea whether Ginny had been put under the Riddle Diary's influence yet or not. She had likely been writing in it on-and-off for a month now, but it was still early enough that she might not have progressed to pouring enough of her soul into the Diary for full-on possession yet. Time would tell, as I had no idea if the nervousness the Weasley girl exhibited was because of the usual first-year jitters, the fact her brother and childhood-crush were missing, or due to Percy's new obsession with looking over to check up on her and make sharp comments about her eating habits out of some poorly executed sense of brotherly love and concern… or because she desperately wanted to tell the memory of Tom Riddle all about the wonders of Hogwarts so far.
Thirdly, I was fairly certain that Professor Dumbledore had already begun playing his own part in our shared plan. You could just tell by the glint of his merry eyes as he gave me a knowing smirk from the Head table when he caught my gaze right as the Sorting began.
Of course, Professor Snape was conspicuously absent from the start of the Sorting as well, but I already knew that was because Harry and Ron had been spotted flying over England on their way to Hogwarts — it was only the students who wouldn't have gotten an edition of the Evening Prophet as the owls didn't deliver on the first day. Sadly, his reappearance in the middle of the feast wasn't enough to remove him from the rumors that were beginning to tie his absence with that of Harry and Ron's given how they were famously at odds. The fact that he had gone and whispered something in Professor McGonagall's ear, prompting her to leave early as well hadn't gone unnoticed either. Judging by the way she'd suddenly stood up and followed Snape with a stormy expression hadn't helped matters.
Naturally, that's when the Headmaster decided to give his usual speech a little early before begging off for the night, handing things over to Professor Flitwick to coordinate for the rest of the evening, claiming that age caught up to all men and he sadly had to abide by the infirmities of an old man's inability to indulge in pumpkin juice forever. Obviously nonsense, but it was fascinating to see how conversation and rumor could spring up from even the slightest of things when Dumbledore slipped off after Snape and McGonagall.
When Snape and McGonagall reappeared without him, things only got even more nonsensical… Everyone expected that it must have been truly serious if Professor Dumbledore didn't return to the Feast but the other professors did. Naturally, Professor Snape just had to exacerbate the issue while storming back to the Head Table, slamming a rolled up paper into a plate of mashed potatoes over on the Slytherin Table in apparent disgust and frustration. When the startled Slytherin, Tracey Davis, retrieved the cast-off paper and unrolled it, it turned out to be the day's copy of the Evening Prophet… complete with headlines about a flying Ford Anglia sighted by Muggles at various points along the Isle.
Of course, when Tracey Davis sputtered in surprise, Draco Malfoy seized the paper, took one glance at the headlines, and started cackling before reading the entire front page article aloud, detailing how a flying car had been seen traveling northward from London… a path that every returning Hogwarts student knew was the train's path to Hogwarts. The Slytherins erupted in some chaotic blend of shock, outrage and (particularly in the case of one Draco Malfoy) malicious glee. The news rapidly spread to the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables before getting to Gryffindor and before you knew it, everyone knew the truth.
I collected two Sickles from Lavender, who'd been foolish to wager on whether my "outlandish theory" was nonsense, but by that point, everyone seemed more interested in what the hell Harry and Ron were thinking by pulling that stunt and whether they'd be expelled for it or not. Hermione seemed particularly distraught by the conversation and proceeded to worry and fret for the remainder of the Feast — the only thing keeping her at the table was the fact that we weren't allowed to leave the Welcome Feast without permission, as per Hogwarts tradition.
Honestly, you read or watch these scenes play out in the books and movies from the protagonist's perspective, but it's another thing to see how quickly the rumor mill at Hogwarts can get started and rapidly evolve in seconds. The tables were alive with gossip as per the usual, but after Snape dropped the paper in Davis' potatoes the frenzy of the story sprang completely out of control, no matter how much some of the stodgier sorts tried to reel the talks in and restore some semblance of decorum free of rumor mongering and childish sensationalism.
Also, Dumbledore has terrible excuses… But I think he knows that and just likes to poke fun at how no one can call him out on how bad his obvious excuses are.
Eventually the Feast ends, Dumbledore fails to show up again, and it's up to Professor McGonagall to send us off to bed. Harry and Ron are in the Common Room when we get there, but I couldn't muster the energy to pay them much attention beyond muttering "Totally cool," when my other roommates commented on their shenanigans re: flying a stolen car to Hogwarts and crashing it into the Whomping Willow.
Sleep called to me, and I had other things to think about as I drifted off that night.
~o0o~
The first day of classes, my roommates awoke to my mad cackling as I poured over a letter that had been deposited on my bedside table in the dead of night by one of the school's house elves. Any attempt at an explanation was summarily ignored as I poured over the letter they would have needed a French-English dictionary to understand. Once I'd memorized the message, I promptly shredded it and tossed the scraps into the dimming fireplace before leaving the Common Room, smiling brightly.
Dumbledore had been phenomenally successful. Last night, we had decapitated the canonical main-plots for the second and third books, and the message had informed me briefly of the Headmaster's success in obtaining not only the Diary of Tom Riddle but also the capture of Peter Pettigrew.
Well, it didn't say so that plainly, but instead utilized code-phrases that wouldn't have made sense to anyone who hadn't been privy to the details of my discussion with Dumbledore at the end of the previous term… and was also in French, for some reason. I couldn't be sure how Albus Dumbledore was aware I could read French, but I guessed he had noticed my comfort with foreign languages last year amidst his time "gathering intelligence" on me (ie. back when he was spying on me to figure out why I knew the things I did).
"One thing at a time… one thing at a time…" I muttered on my way down the stairs that morning like a mantra, having been up far earlier than my roommates.
Now, I didn't go directly to breakfast on my way out of the Common Room. No, I instead made my way behind the tapestry of a constantly slumbering wizard and through the intangible wall beside the false-door hidden there to enter a convenient secret passage that cut my time to reach the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy by almost half. I had no intention of being on-time for breakfast, no matter how interested I was in the morning's news. I rather liked my ears to be safe from the screeching of a Howler, thank you, and while they were a minor nuisance to someone as proficient with incendiary spells as I now was, I saw no reason to suffer them if I had the chance.
No, I had deeply missed having opponents that could actually correct my footwork and provide a moving target when practicing my muggle dueling, and the animated-armors that the Room of Requirement could discreetly provide me were due to further hone my skills. Given the early hour and the fact that it was the first day of classes, there was little need for secrecy like there had been near the end of my last term, but I didn't plan on spending too long in the Room anyways — I'd need to drop by the Great Hall for a quick bite and this term's time-table of classes anyways, and it wouldn't do to show up stinking of sweat.
With a sigh of reluctance, I asked the Room not for my usual training hall but instead for the comfortable study that I had been practicing advanced magic in last year. The only change was that there was now a pedestal in the middle of the room, upon which stood a basin made of silver. Now that I was a second year, I realized that I not only needed to master magic as quickly as I could and learn everything there was to know about magic and the magical world in preparation for the horrors to come, but I also needed to expand my arsenal.
My discussions with the Headmaster the previous term had reminded me that while magic was a powerful tool and a potent weapon in the hands of an experienced wizard, it was not the end-all-be-all of magical combat. I had little experience in proper dueling, much less the level of combat that would likely occur in the next few years and beyond. My only practice was with the animated armors, and I had yet to request the Room of Requirement to provide practice combatants that could actually cast spells against me. While I'd gotten plenty of practice in using spells against the armors, they fought like Muggles and were mostly up-close and personal… the best I'd gotten to practicing Shield charms against Jinxes and Hexes were against crossbow bolts fired by one of the armors.
Personally, I wasn't certain the Room could provide such foes. Animated suits of armors were commonplace about Hogwarts, and there were certainly mannequins in the Room that were attired like dark-wizards and could move of their own accord in a threatening manner, brandishing ancient-looking wands I was skeptical were real. However, I didn't think wizards and witches were capable of creating automatons that could do magic of their own initiative, and none of my research into the armors last year had shown any such capabilities among modern wizards. In absence of an animated figure that could engage me in proper sorcery, it was obvious that I'd have to ask someone to stand as a dueling partner eventually — I wouldn't get honest practice against magic any other way.
Until then, I was stuck with practicing the spells themselves with the enchanted, animated armors or mobile mannequins as target-practice, or with dueling like a Muggle.
Of course, doing so reminded me that pretty much no one in the books ever fought like Muggles did. It was "uncivilized" for witches and wizards to brawl with their fists or engage in wrestling of any kind. The attitude wasn't just a result of the typical attitudes of modern wizarding society but also those of our ancient history; magic was capable of far greater damage in the hands of a trained sorcerer than any sword and required far more skill and effort. A wizard entering a duel armed without a wand or magic of any kind was like a Muggle entering a gunfight armed with a butterknife.
The only exception would be magical weaponry of the highest caliber: stuff like the Sword of Gryffindor. Magical swords were used as a workaround for medieval wizards who were expected to get into scraps with Muggles — it was considered unsporting for a wizard to use magic on Muggles, but it wasn't against the code of chivalry to use the same manner of weapons Muggles used when combating them. The fact that the Sword of Gryffindor was magical just made it equally effective against magical creatures of various stripes… including other wizards.
No matter how much we wizards might not like to admit it, we can be stabbed, just like everyone else.
Why was this relevant? Because the canonical Sword of Gryffindor was used to destroy several Horcruxes. It destroyed the Gaunt Ring, Slytherin's Locket and Nagini… all because it was made by Goblins with their magical silver and their master metalwork then enchanted to hell and back… then it was thrust through a Basilisk's venom gland and imbibed the properties that allowed Basilisk Venom to destroy beyond conventional repair.
My problem was that while I could train to use a sword without hurting myself, I didn't possess the Sword of Gryffindor. We couldn't just grab it from the Hat whenever we wanted — the Hat could only manifest the blade when a "True Gryffindor" had genuine need for the sword. It didn't matter if we were Gryffindors that were perfect examples of Godric Gryffindor's dream for a successor, the sword would only appear in the Sorting Hat if they were acting in a properly courageous fashion and the need for the sword was true and pure. Though Dumbledore and I had immense need for the sword to destroy a Basilisk and then some Horcruxes, it would have been impossible to just wear the Sorting Hat and expect it to manifest the Sword just because we wanted it hard enough…
But — not that Dumbledore knew any of this, and I'd planned on keeping this particular detail to myself for a while longer — that didn't mean there was only one silver sword of goblin-make that could imbibe that which made it stronger at Hogwarts…
As I've noted on several occasions, my Deal with my Benefactor granted me items that didn't always make sense to my life's history. I was a mediocre flyer and neither of my parents were fans of sports-brooms… but I owned a Nimbus 2000. That was given to me as part of my Deal, just like my Dragon-Hide Jacket and Damocles, my Pet Owl. Those three were essentially free for me, just because I'd spent Choice Points on ensuring my family in this particular life was "Wealthy". My ownership of them just… happened.
But it appeared that my previous self had not been content with just ensuring I had the Muggle Dueling perk to know how to fight. As part of my Deal, I had also spent points on getting a particular weapon as well…
A "Goblin Made Sword".
Safe from prying eyes in the Room of Requirement, I opened my Dimensional Pouch and reached inside, bringing out the blade. I had never used it before, so it was still safe in its sheath and bound in cloth wrappings to keep it from being drawn — I had tied them myself, just in case it ever slipped free when I had it out. The blade was insanely sharp, and the one and only time I had ever drawn it, I had cut my hands on the blade just testing whether it had an edge or not.
I hadn't been aware of what kind of sword it had been when I found it in my Pouch back in my first year, just that it was already there, along with my Dragon-Hide Jacket and the Nimbus 2000… When I first drew the sword and ran my hands along the silver edge, marveling at the beauty of the sword's craftsmanship, the pain of the cut was a bit of a shock as I hadn't expected the edge to be that keen as to cut at so light a touch.
But cut it did, and in my panic and inexperience, I ended up making things worse when my jerk away from the sword cut my palm instead. If not for the Essence of the Druid, I'd have needed to visit a Healer to have my hand healed without scars… but that was what alerted me to the nature of the sword.
See, it's not normal for human blood to just vanish on a sword's blade. Not of its own accord, anyways… In the case of the silver sword I had found in the Dimensional Pouch? Well…
The sword drank my spilt blood…
After some panicking and contemplating about vampiric swords and whether the blade was somehow alive or not, I eventually realized that the dilemma was easily resolved by double-checking my Interface and confirming that the blade I had found in my Dimensional Pouch was indeed a silver sword made by goblins. It was immensely sharp, practically indestructible, and like the Sword of Gryffindor, would imbibe only that which made it stronger.
As it turns out, my sword was not the Sword of Gryffindor; no rubies on a fancy hilt nor engraving of the original owner's name on the blade. But it was a sword of goblin-make nonetheless: one with no history or past. It was a blank-slate, and it appeared that my blood was the first time the sword had ever been exposed to wizard's-blood…
Given I was a Jumper and my blood was inherently magical, I had no idea what kind of effect that might have had on improving an already deadly weapon.
Sadly, it was impossible for me to wield the sword in battle — unlike the Sword of Godric Gryffindor, it was not perfectly sized so an eleven or twelve year old could swing it easily (though I suspect that was just one of the many enchantments or enhancements the legendary blade had adopted over the centuries). Much like my Dragon-Hide Jacket, the sword given to me by my Benefactor had been sized to a more grown-up me. A child cannot use a sword meant for an adult, not without significant difficulty… but that didn't mean I couldn't prepare myself while waiting to grow up.
That was partly why I'd spent so much time ensuring I was in-sync with the knowledge and experience granted by my Muggle Dueling perk — so that when the time came to use the sword, I would be capable of it. That meant practicing on mundane weapons and also why I never bothered using it against the mountain troll on Hallowe'en in my first year at Hogwarts. If I was too small to wield the sword without risking self-injury, what use would it have been?
Of course, just because I had started my second year at Hogwarts didn't mean I was big enough to use the sword yet… but it also didn't mean I couldn't start trying to enhance the sword before then either. My trips to the Maya Bazaar hadn't just been about acquiring materials for future potions and projects or even just magical trinkets of some value, but also for reagents that might enhance the abilities of my Goblin Made Sword.
In particular, I had acquired several vials full of blood and marrow from various magical creatures that I thought would be useful. And given I had no idea when I'd have a shot at accessing the Chamber of Secrets to expose my personal sword to Basilisk Venom, I figured I'd get the less-powerful stuff out of the way before I let the sword imbibe something as powerful as Basilisk Venom. Judging by the description, the sword would not be incredibly picky… unless it imbibed something that made it picky. Otherwise, it's only criteria would be "anything that makes it stronger". The limits of its discernment were vague in that respect.
Since Basilisk Venom is one of the most deadly substances known to wizardkind, well… It wouldn't do if the venom was the first thing my sword was exposed to, and everything else I could possibly add was simply less-powerful than that deathly substance, now would it?
No... There were many magical creatures in the wizarding world whose properties I thought might be useful beyond the venom of a Basilisk. I intended to see which of the many samples I had obtained on my trip to India might be imbibed by the sword to make it stronger. With luck, my blade might prove superior to Godric Gryffindor's in the end.
I unbound the blade from its sheath and drew it carefully, ensuring that I didn't damage myself, the sheath or the nearby table I'd put my bag on as the long, silver sword swung free. If I nicked myself on the blade again, the blade would not drink it again and I had no intention of having to explain bloodstains on my robes when my wounds were healed minutes later. Also, I was handling a dangerous weapon that was just a bit too big for me to wield comfortably — caution was prudent. Placing the blade in the basin, I began drawing out the materials from my Dimensional Pouch that I had spent a small fortune to purchase and then smuggle into the country (and then into Hogwarts) via my Pocket. Sorting out the vials and wrapped packages on a nearby desk, I picked out those I figured would be both quick to imbibe and had less potent properties I wanted imbued in my sword.
First I'd try the blood of an Occamy…
~o0o~
I ended up being slightly late to double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs that morning, having been held up snagging a few rolls from the breakfast table before the food was Vanished. Professor McGonagall had also been particularly displeased by my lateness, muttering something to herself when she thrust my timetable at me right before I bolted for the greenhouses. Luckily, I hadn't been in too much trouble as Lockhart had also kept Harry late to discuss fame.
Mandrakes were sort of interesting, though, and I definitely made certain to ask Professor Sprout several questions about them while I could. It helped that my curiosity also sparked some interest in Neville, earning a rare smile from the disgruntled Herbology instructor with the flyaway hair and earthy robes. I had to ensure that this batch of mandrakes grew to be healthy and strong as a precautionary measure should a cure to Petrification ever be required (I hoped not)... Though, I could not deny that their application in other potions I was interested in brewing in the future was not a factor in my interest. I had already obtained the preserved Chrysalis of a Death's Head Moth, after all.
Of course, things never went well for the protagonists. Hermione was in a particularly foul mood for some reason, Ron was miserable after Transfiguration when his broken wand — badly fixed with Spell-o-tape — refused to function properly, and Harry was spending his first day back at Hogwarts being hounded by Colin Creevey, the well-intentioned yet would-be-paparazzo, and "Professor" Gilderoy Lockhart, the glory-hound attempting to be some kind of Public Relations mentor for the Boy-Who-Lived. I imagined the Howler sent to Ron had not helped matters either, as Mr. Weasley was now under a formal investigation by the Ministry for having enchanted the now-rogue Ford Anglia…
Events naturally resolved themselves when we had Defense Against the Dark Arts in the afternoon and Lockhart was… well, Lockhart.
The newly minted DADA professor spent the first half-hour giving the class a pop-quiz of 54 questions about himself, then spent fifteen minutes poring over our responses and grading them before awarding Hermione points for answering everything correctly. Personally, I gave the quiz very little effort — I hadn't taken the time to read any of his books before term started. They weren't textbooks; his 'adventure novels and memoirs' were better served as time-killers for when I was bored in History of Magic.
Sure, his books were nonsense… but they were entertaining-nonsense. You know, if you didn't think about them too hard.
After that… Well, then he unleashed a cage full of Cornish Pixies on the class, and left us to fend for ourselves. I think that was about the point I actually started to enjoy myself, if I could be perfectly honest.
The pixies unleashed absolute havoc on the entire classroom. No one else was prepared to deal with them as they seized upon us second-year students, grabbing at our hair and faces, tugging on robes and anything else in sight to make a mess. Ink pots were flung, scattering ink everywhere, parchment and books and posters were shredded, bags and the wastebin were upended and the pixies made a right nuisance of themselves. They flitted about, jabbering in their shrill voices and were surprisingly strong. I reacted instantly to immobilize the pixies that attempted to seize Neville and hoist him onto the chandelier, but not fast enough to stop Lockhart from being completely useless and losing his wand to an errant pixie flinging it out the open window.
Honestly, it was a miracle that they were so fixated on wreaking havoc that not one of them escaped out the window.
Hermione and I were the only ones who seemed to have kept our wits and wands about us, firing off Freezing Charms — the immobilizing sort, not the icy ones — and went about rounding up the errant pixies while fighting off the remainder. Lockhart had taken the opportunity to slip out with the rest of the fleeing second-year students right as the bell rang for the end of class, leaving me alone with Harry, Ron and Hermione. Apparently, since we were the last ones in the classroom we were being left with cleaning it up.
"Well, that was a right mess," I said, rounding up more pixies with muttered incantations and irritated wandwork.
"Unbelievable is what it is! Yeowch!" Ron yelped as a pixie snuck behind him and bite his ear, only for Ron to seize it angrily and toss it in the cage I had set up.
"It was just to give us some practical experience, that's all." Hermione defended, freezing some more pixies. "After Professor Quirrell last year, it was obvious we needed something more hands-on…"
"Hands-on?" Harry said, swinging around trying to grab at a Pixie with his bare hands. The Freezing Charm wasn't actually part of the curriculum yet and Harry had yet to realize that there was more to magic than what was learned in the classroom. "Hermione, he didn't have a —"
"Don't finish that sentence, Harry." I interjected quickly. "At least, not outside the Common Room. The walls have ears, and you do not want Gilderoy Lockhart to have any reason to dislike you."
"What's that supposed to mean, Godewyn?" Hermione asked sharply. "Professor Lockhart's done amazing things — it's all in his books, you can't just insinuate that he's-"
"Published books claiming he's done things?" I raised an eyebrow, scanning the room as Harry managed to snag the last of the pixies and stuff it in the cage. "You grew up among Muggles, Hermione, but I think Ron is familiar with all the books that have been published in the wizarding world about Harry: stories about him defeating dark wizards, going on fantastical adventures, finding ancient and powerful treasures… that sort of thing."
"Oh yeah, I forgot about those…" Ron said thoughtfully, rubbing his bitten ear.
Harry gave Ron and I a horrified look. "Sorry, books about me doing what?"
"That cannot be legal…" Hermione mumbled, but we all ignored her.
"They're children's books. I mean, you obviously didn't do any of the stuff in them, but they were written for entertainment for small children, talking all about the fantastical adventures of the Boy-Who-Lived. I recall they were quite popular for a while when I was younger," I thought back on my memories of this life before giving Harry and his friends a wry, almost sarcastic grin. "'Course, it's quite obvious you're nothing like the books made you out to be. I mean, it's not like you've actually hatched a dragon, solved puzzles and riddles in a treasure hunt, or banished the spirit of a dark wizard with something as silly as the power of love… No, those are all just stories someone wrote about Harry that never actually happened."
The way the three of them paled and shot each other startled looks as I walked out the door was glorious.
"Well, looks like we've got all the pixies. Since Lockhart never asked us to clean-up, I'm off to the Tower. Till supper, then!" I called over my shoulder, then bolted before they could ask me more.
I chuckled all the way back to Gryffindor Tower when I heard Ron's cry of outrage just as they realized I'd left them holding the cage of irate Cornish Pixies.
~o0o~
The week passed quietly, for the most part. At mealtimes I would keep a wary eye on Ginny Weasley to make sure she wasn't acting strange as a result of Horcrux possession, leading to an uncomfortable conversation when Ron threatened me with his damaged wand. Thankfully, Colin was there to defuse the situation by pestering Harry with questions like an overactive puppy, eager for any kind of attention from his hero, and provided a distraction for me to make Ron think about anything else. Suggesting that Colin take pictures of himself with his classmates for posterity and make a scrapbook for Gryffindor House saved me from that awkward situation at the expense of giving Colin even more excuses for taking pictures of anything and everything he thought ought to go in this hypothetical scrapbook.
Good lord, I was just trying to make sure Ginny hadn't poured more of herself into the Diary than she had in canon and allowed Riddle to possess her full-time… I never really paid her character much attention in the story until much, much later when she'd had the time to actually grow up and have a personality besides "big fan of Harry".
Besides that, things seemed almost normal. Hermione was still irritated around me and shot me suspicious, competitive glares every chance she had. I studied with Neville, Parvati and Lavender in the Common Room after classes and played games with the other Gryffindor boys whenever we had a chance. We avoided Lockhart whenever he was hunting for Harry and did our best to endure Colin's exuberance. If I had the chance to sneak out, I'd be in the Room of Requirement studying more advanced magic or working on my footwork and silver Sword. My summer homework was well-received — even Professor Snape had positive remarks about my essay! — and I was doing well in my classes.
Things seemed to be settling into a steady, comfortable pattern until the weekend when Ron, Hermione and the entire Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams got into a fight on the pitch and the male protagonists got detention. By the time Ron and Harry got back to the Tower, it was late enough that I'd already fallen asleep after a lengthy session dueling the armors in fisticuffs. Rather than worry about whether Harry had heard voices in the walls or not, I was sound asleep that evening.
Of course, come morning, I had far greater worries to deal with as something truly odd finally happened at Hogwarts on Sunday:
Four Aurors, a small squad of Hit Wizards, and the Head of the DMLE showed up at the gates of Hogwarts and demanded to speak with Dumbledore.
~o0o~
A/N: Most Harry Potter stories tend to focus on Harry and his POV, so we rarely ever think of how things must have seemed to the kids in the Great Hall, wondering where on Earth Harry and Ron were that day. Based on what little we can gather from the canon chapters and the general state of Hogwarts' student-body being prone to gossip, I made a stab at it.
We also get to see the last of Kenneth's Build from the Harry Potter Jump-doc… save the Drawbacks he's suffering from and the Scenario he's working under, as those are still hidden from him. But with the reveal of the Goblin Made Sword as his final Jump-Item, we can see the loadout his Benefactor has given him to survive ten years in the Wizarding World.
The last scene was mostly just me poking fun at other fics - whenever the subject of Harry being the subject of several children's books in wizarding Britain is brought up in other fics, it's usually something that provokes outrage and aggravation on Harry's part (or someone affiliated with Harry - fanon-Hermione in Harmony fics, for explain) that someone is making money off of Harry's name/likeness without his permission and/or without paying him a Knut and are thus immediately cast as unscrupulous thieves or immoral villains of some kind. It's ridiculous, because Harry's not the type to get angry about stuff like that - he's more likely to be embarrassed because he sees himself as a normal kid who people think is some kind of adventure-hero with powers he certainly doesn't have…
So, Kenneth uses that to take the mickey out on the Trio, get them second-guessing whether they were right to suspect him last year or not — just for fun.
Last edited: Sep 20, 2020
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
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kenmadragon
Oct 17, 2020
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#126
Chapter 18
For a group of "dark-wizard catchers", the Aurors were remarkably unsubtle.
By the time lunch had rolled around, everyone at Hogwarts had heard about the DMLE's presence on school grounds. Based on the fact that there was a Ministry carriage on the main drive staffed by a pair of Hit-Wizards and the remainder of the Hit-Wizards were lurking about the corridor leading to Dumbledore's office, it was no small mystery that someone at Hogwarts was in serious trouble.
Of course, Hit-Wizards being present on Hogwarts grounds was normally an unthinkable occurrence — they were the magical equivalent of "specialist firearms officers" and were trained specifically to deal with high-threat situations. My memories as an American made the analogy to S.W.A.T., and their presence at a school was cause for alarm. The Ministry did not deploy Hit-Wizards unless there was an immense probability for violence to break out and require suppression by their specialized forces. The fact that they had shown up not as riot-control or to deal with a hostage-situation but were instead operating as bodyguards, on the other hand, was what fueled even greater concern.
Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, normally traveled without an escort; according to Percy (don't ask), she was only ever accompanied by a pair of mid-level Aurors on formal occasions or when traveling beyond London. A squad of Hit-Wizards alongside an escort of four, highly-experienced Aurors was simply overkill.
Not long after they had shown up, the Heads of Houses had descended upon the main quad to disperse the onlookers while Professor Vector led them to the Headmaster's Office. Word was passed on to ensure that no one bothered any of the "guests from the DMLE" under pain of detention with Filch. The Weasley twins earned McGonagall's personal ire when they tried to snoop their way out of the castle to wheedle the witch minding the winged horses pulling the Ministry carriage about whey the DMLE had shown up. They only managed to get a closer look at the carriage before being caught, confirming that there were grilles on the windows and the paneling was dark and austere rather than the lush, vibrant colors of an official's transport.
Instead, students clamored at the windows and alcoves overlooking the courtyard where the carriage was, hoping to catch a glimpse of… well, something. They did so in vain; when Madam Bones and the Aurors accompanying her left Hogwarts not long before lunch, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall were seen preceding them in the halls, blocking any attempts at finding out what had happened. They had even been magically shutting windows and blinds in students' faces while docking points across the board when students tried to stick their noses in anyways.
Mum's the word, was the school's response, it looked like.
Naturally, word spread throughout the school as the professors seemed notoriously tightlipped about the entire affair. The only thing that had slipped seemed to come from the Slytherins, who gathered that Professor Snape had been muttering angrily about Dumbledore having a chat with Bones and that someone was going to wish they were dead by the end of it.
"D'you reckon they were here to arrest someone?" Dean whispered loudly from across the table as we (my roommates, our femine counterparts, and I) sat in Gryffindor Tower.
Someone (whose surname rhymed with "wagon") had made the mistake of asking McGonagall after lunch if Harry and Ron were going to be thrown in Azkaban for nearly breaking the Statute of Secrecy last week. This started an entire argument over the whole thing amongst the rest of the House, and now all of Gryffindor was being confined to the Tower until moods had cooled. At the prefects' suggestion, the different year-groups were to keep to themselves, just to keep things somewhat civil. Percy, in particular, advocated that we shut up, do our homework, and forget about the entire visit from members of the DMLE. After McGonagall's furious glare and the unsettling notion of having Hit-Wizard on school grounds, everyone seemed inclined to follow Percy's suggestion, even if some complained about it. It hadn't taken long for the girls to migrate over to our dorm, though, seeing as Neville and I had actually been in the courtyard when they showed up.
"Here? At Hogwarts? Who on earth could be in that much trouble?" Lavender scoffed. There was a none-too-subtle glance in Harry and Ron's direction, but no one lingered on the thought.
Harry just buried his head in his arms on the table, as if to muffle out the discussion, but Ron just looked pensive. "I don't know… I keep hoping it's Snape… Slimy git's gotta have done something illegal, I bet."
I shrugged, feigning skepticism. "I doubt it. For all that Professor Snape is a loathsome bat, he's kept his nose clean," — I ignored Harry's huff about Snape's nose — "and knows how to keep out of trouble. Sure, he's awful, but I doubt they were for him."
"Who else would they be here for, then?" Parvati wondered.
"Depends on who they sent, I reckon." Ron said. "If they sent Hit-Wizards, that means they're expecting trouble. Anyone hear who actually showed up?"
"Madam Amelia Bones, for one." I noted. I hadn't actually recognized her by face, but instead by her sheer presence and the sash she wore over her robes. Madam Bones was a square-jawed, stern-looking woman with grey-hair cut almost militarily close and a monocle shielding all in her path from her glinting eyes. Just that was enough to realize who she was, and by gum did she have the presence to match her reputation.
"That's Susan's mother, right? The redhead in Hufflepuff in our year?" Hermione asked.
"Her aunt, actually." Lavender corrected. "She's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so you know whoever is in trouble must be important if she came all this way personally."
"She had four Aurors with her. I don't think they've ever needed so many Aurors for just one arrest before. And Hit-Wizards too…" Neville mumbled. He'd recognized the Aurors on sight, having known most of them by his Gran's stories; the rest by reputation. "But those were senior Aurors, she brought with her. Most of 'em were around when things were really bad… back before…"
"Before what, Neville?" Hermione asked.
"Before You-Know-Who disappeared." Seamus answered. Harry's head whipped up, suddenly interested. "I recognized one of 'em by Finch-Fletchley's description, and he was definitely around back then, fighting off You-Know-Who and his followers. Me mam told me stories, she did, about that bloke with the spinning blue eye — Mad Eye Moody, they called him. Best dark-wizard catcher they ever had, Mam said."
"He wasn't the only famous Auror who showed up," I interjected. "Bones also brought Rufus Scrimgeour, he's another veteran from those days. The other two, Kingsley Shacklebolt and John Dawlish, are younger blokes but are still pretty well-known in the Ministry and aren't too shabby themselves."
Once more, I'd never met any of them before… but their reputations and appearances were well-known. Scrimgeour really did have a wild mane of hair about him, even under his pointed hat, and seemed like a prowling lion when keeping watch alongside Mad-Eye Moody. Kingsley Shacklebolt was recognizable as the tall, handsome, dark-skinned wizard with the gold earring and fanciful tunic in every color of the night sky. John Dawlish, on the other hand, was surprisingly the only one of the lot that dressed in Muggle attire, looking like a surprisingly well-dressed combination of Harry Dresden and John Constantine, with a dash of Mal Reynolds for seasoning.
"So… why were they here?" Parvati asked. "Four Aurors, a squad of Hit-Wizards, and Madam Bones… what could possibly call all of them up to Hogwarts the first weekend of term?"
Fay, the mousy girl who'd been quiet thus far, chimed in. "It has to be one of the Professors. There's no reason for so many of them to be here for just a student."
I glanced out the window as the others began to debate and discuss. The dark clouds from earlier today had gotten stormy and rain began to fall, little by little. Funny, how that happens sometimes — it was like the weather knew something serious had happened, and it just got the memo too late to be suitably dramatic when the DMLE had actually showed up.
Oh well, better late than never, I mused, watching my yearmates begin to bicker and gossip about this momentous change at Hogwarts.
~o0o~
The headlines of the Daily Prophet had the Wizarding World in an uproar.
PETER PETTIGREW FOUND ALIVE!
Caught Sneaking Into Hogwarts
The news that poor Peter Pettigrew, victim of the infamous mass-murderer, Sirius Black, had been found alive at Hogwarts and was now in Auror custody for undisclosed reasons had thrown everyone into chaos. Prior to that headline, the only discussion about the Aurors at Hogwarts in the news had been from the evening editions of that day and the various editions the following day, discussing who had shown up, the clandestine nature of their business there, and the occasional quote from varied sources to lend their own speculation.
It wasn't until the Wednesday of that week — a full week early according to Dumbledore's estimations in a letter Damocles surreptitiously delivered — that the Prophet reported finally having a source that leaked the true reason for the DMLE's blatant presence on Hogwarts grounds that Sunday: to take Peter Pettigrew into custody and open an investigation into… well, everything.
For God's sake, the man was supposed to be dead. That's what the magical public had believed, anyways. Dead men were supposed to stay dead.
Pettigrew being alive had opened up can of worms for magical Britain and the Ministry was now struggling to keep their investigation under wraps while simultaneously trying to figure out what they'd gotten wrong all those years. The Ministry — and to a lesser extent, Hogwarts — was under siege by letters from concerned witches and wizards who thought their own belated relatives and loved ones lost during the War might still be alive and living in secret to this day. Bureaucrats had immediately reacted to start covering their asses and were pointing fingers every which way, doing all they could to not take responsibility for whatever had happened a decade ago.
Fudge seemed to be rolling with the punches, though, and had been making public statements about how he was doing all he could to get to the bottom of things. The Minister also made sure to cast blame upon the previous administration under his predecessor, Millicent Bagnold, in order to further elevate his standing in public opinion by ensuring that even if he wasn't actually involved in the investigation, he was at least seen being involved. I was actually quite surprised to see him make such a canny political move, given it was only two years into his term as Minister and I suspected he still wrote to Dumbledore for advice.
While I had worried about Cornelius Fudge's ability to blind himself to the truth, it appeared that with Pettigrew being in Auror custody and the news clamoring for any information they could get, he was throwing his weight behind the investigation. I imagine that some part of him wanted to know the truth, sure... But the skeptic in me pointed out that Fudge might also be trying to muddy the waters to soften the blow when it got out that it was Fudge himself who had been the first responder to witness the aftermath of Sirius Black's apparent murder attempt on Pettigrew and placed the laughing maniac under arrest, back when he was still a Junior Minister in DMAC.
Even so, tensions were high in the weeks following Pettigrew's arrest as the Aurors grilled the miraculous survivor for information and interrogated everyone tangentially related to their investigation. News trickled out slowly, mostly hearsay and the occasional rumor given life, but there would sometimes be a nibble of a real story amidst all the gossip in the papers. A quote here and there, but it wasn't the ground-breaking expose with information from all the inside scoops that one would expect from the writers at the Daily Prophet.
It was clear to me why that was when the news that Peter Pettigrew had been an illegal Animagus was finally leaked a week and a half later, explaining exactly how he had been living in hiding all these years — as a pet rat named "Scabbers".
Suffice to say, it appeared that Rita Skeeter couldn't freely eavesdrop on the Aurors like she used to, not for this investigation at least. The fact that Pettigrew had evaded notice by the Wizarding World for over a decade while still living in Britain had produced a dramatic shift in watchfulness by the DMLE who were now suspicious of further Animagi lurking about. This paranoia soon spread to the wizarding public, who were now deeply suspicious of any pet that had been previously remarkable or intelligent. Reports came in about people clamoring at the DMLE's offices with carriers containing all manner of creatures that concerned witches and wizards believed might actually be suspicious Animagi in disguise. Literature concerning the subject was sold out within days, and the Hogwarts library was overwhelmed with a desire to figure out the subject. McGonagall was furious about the disruption to her class schedule as everyone seemed to need to learn more about Animagi than ever before.
The news hit the Weasleys hardest. Rumor had it that Arthur Weasley — already under fire for having bent (if not broken) a few laws in enchanting that Ford Anglia so extensively — was being placed under closer scrutiny. According to letters from Molly Weasley, he was being routinely called in by various investigative committees to discuss the debacle. Percy, the twins, Ron and Ginny were now surrounded by other Gryffindors at all times to keep them away from the jeering of other students and, if necessary, defend them.
Duels had already become a common occurrence in the corridors as Ron's belligerent pride made him an easy target for insults which ended up in fights involving everyone around him before Professors or Prefects could break things up. The twins then retaliated in their own fashion with magical pranks that seemed a bit more vindictive and embarrassing than they were funny. This then led to further conflict as students retaliated in turn against all belligerents on every side; over the course of the months following Pettigrew's arrest, the Professors struggled to maintain order and keep the dueling to a minimum. Ginny was simply overwhelmed, but seemed distraught that her first memories of Hogwarts were being tainted by the nastiness of children. If not for Percy constantly hovering, obsessively checking up on her to make sure she wasn't getting into trouble like her wayward brothers, Ginny would likely have gotten into quite a bit of trouble herself. But Percy…
Percy was devastated.
Given his pompous attitudes and air of haughty aloofness, it was easy to overlook the fact that Percival Weasley was a rather sensitive and introverted individual. While most assumed that Percy cared little for anything besides his own position as a prefect and teacher's pet as it let him judge others and tell them off whenever they did something that'd damage his self-image, I found that Percy's response to all this was proof there was more to him than that.
Percy didn't define himself by positions of power or a rigid adherence to social norms and the rule of law — he was defined by the importance he placed on responsibility.
He considered that it was his duty to look after his fellow students because that's what prefects were supposed to do. It was a matter of pride for Percy to use that power to show other students an ideal wizard to use as a role model, especially since his siblings never bothered to pay him that attention. He looked after his siblings, even if he felt he had to be harsh and strict with them — how else were they supposed to learn how to behave without their Mum around to admonish them?
But after he'd been called up to an interview with Aurors in the Headmaster's in the third week of September, his core had been shaken. It was obvious that something had given him a massive shock during that interview, but he still managed to keep himself together, portraying a semblance of stability for his siblings and the rest of Gryffindor.
A week later, when the news finally got a hold of the fact that Pettigrew had been hiding as the Weasley family's pet rat for a decade… something inside him broke.
In Percy's eyes, this entire ordeal was his own fault. "Scabbers" had been his pet for years — Percy was only five years old when he found the rat in the family's garden and convinced his parents to keep it as a pet since they couldn't afford to buy one that year… and Scabbers had been so well-behaved… so easy to care for… just ate and slept… And when his parents finally had the money to buy him an owl, he had given the rat to his youngest brother as a gift…
Then, this summer, Hogwarts had enacted a new rule, requiring that all pets aboard the Hogwarts Express were kept in cages or similar containers for travel or to be kept in during classes — a rule that Professor Dumbledore and I had concocted last term which I privately referred to as "the Trevor Rule", after Neville's pet toad with aspirations of freedom — and Scabbers had never had such a container before; the rat had always traveled in Percy's or Ron's pocket. Since money was tight in the Weasley family, Scabbers had been forced to ride the Hogwarts Express with Percy's owl, Hermes, where he was safe from the shenanigans that plagued Harry and Ron's trip to Hogwarts. Of course, when the pets were being offloaded from the train with the other luggage, "Scabbers" had apparently been caught as an illegal Animagus… Scabbers/Pettigrew would never have been caught had Percy not insisted on following this new rule and pestering Ron into giving Scabbers over to be kept in Hermes' cage.
The truth horrified Percy — the betrayal of learning his beloved pet had secretly been a grown wizard, abusing his trust to use Percy and his family as a safe place to hide… it was too much for Percy to bear. He vacillated between anger and depression, making him immensely volatile for a good while.
Marcus Flint had confronted Percy and Oliver Wood about it when the news first showed up in the Prophet — Percy put him in the Hospital Wing for a week. McGonagall was aghast when she was forced to give Percy detention for using magic in the corridors and casting the first spell in that brief, one-sided fight.
After an evening of writing lines, Percy seemed to close in on himself. Chatting with the other sixth-years informed me that he'd stopped answering questions in class and seemed to be going through the motions of schoolwork without the same level of zeal that had consumed him for years. A week of moping and solitude had been enough for McGonagall, though, who wanted her favorite prefect back in top form again. She apparently had a private chat with him at some point, after which Percy had another miraculous transformation in character.
With a renewed, almost single-minded focus, Percy threw himself into his studies. No one was sure what Percy had been told until one mid-October afternoon when Percy unexpectedly pulled Neville and I into an unused classroom for a chat.
~o0o~
Neville and I were heading down a fifth-floor corridor — having taken a detour on our way back to the Common Room from the Library when we caught sight of Peeves hovering further ahead with an armful of dungbombs — and had just turned a corner when a voice called out to us.
"Godewyn, Longbottom; what are you doing here?"
Neville and I were rather startled to see Percy Weasley hovering awkwardly at the threshold of an abandoned classroom, to all appearances looking like he was leaving it after a class that no one else attended.
"Heading back to the Tower; Peeves was up to some mischief on the third floor, so we took a detour." Neville explained.
"Discretion is the better part of valor, I say." I interjected. "And I don't fancy being on the other end of those dungbombs he's got his hands on. Or Filch after Peeves' through with them."
"Right…" Percy said, processing that. I half-expected the prefect to get flustered at the sound of Peeves being ready to cause mischief. Normally, Percy would have heard what we said and promptly charged off to confront Peeves with a telling-off and threats about reports to the Bloody Baron.
But, Percy hadn't been himself lately — and with good reason. This time, he just appeared furtive, glancing over our heads behind us then down the corridor we were headed. No one seemed to be around, so he nodded to himself and said, "Well, I've been meaning to have a moment with the two of you anyways, do you mind if we chat in here? It won't take long."
Neville and I looked at each other; I shrugged, he nodded. "Alright," we said, and walked in after Percy.
Percy didn't take off his own book bag, but began to shuffle some of the papers on the old teacher's desk at the head of the classroom. A wide space had been cleared in the center and front of the room, and the remainder was strewn with old books and rolls of parchment that I vaguely recognized as being transfiguration texts. Rather advanced material I barely understood myself, to be honest, but I hazarded a guess that they were beyond the normal N.E.W.T. requirements. Neville and I stood around awkwardly as Percy seemed to take the moment he was clearing up papers to gather himself.
"I know I haven't been quite as… present these last few weeks. Not since the beginning of term, really." Percy started. "So I haven't had the time, nor the focus, to assist you in your learning as I did last term. I wanted to apologize for that."
"You didn't need to," Neville said softly. "That was never your job in the first place."
"No, I started doing so last term, and I promised I would help you both with whatever questions you had." Percy said firmly. "I never took that lightly, and I don't intend to do so now."
"Alright. We didn't expect you to, not with everything that's been going on with, well, you know… but why make a fuss about it now?" I frowned.
Percy made a face like he'd bitten something sour. As a tall, thin teenager with a shock of vibrant red hair and hundreds of freckles on his face, it was not a particularly good look. "Well, all this business with Sca-Pettigrew has given me a project, and I'd really rather the others didn't know about it. Especially not my brothers — they'd take the mickey out of me if they knew."
Neville and I nodded. That certainly made sense if Percy was up to something potentially embarrassing… but that just made me curious about what exactly Percy was doing.
"Right, well, you can certainly trust us to keep mum, I assure you." I said. Neville nodded along. Percy wasn't too certain.
"I do mean it. I don't want this getting out… I'll tell everyone else on my own, understand?" Percy said with a sharp look.
"Sure," we answered, intrigued.
Percy nodded, glanced to the window before sighing. Finally, he explained, "I asked Professor McGonagall to give me her old notes on the Animagus transformation. I don't know if you were aware, but the Professor is a registered Animagus, and has agreed to mentor me in my own attempt at the transformation."
I was stunned. Percy… wanted to become an Animagus? He had never had such aspirations before, neither in canon nor in the time I had known him. The only reason I knew of becoming an Animagus in this world was for when you either required secrecy or sought mastery of advanced forms of Transfiguration opened up by the study of the transformation. Percy didn't seem to desire either — the teenager was upright and direct with little care for subterfuge, and his goal of entering the Ministry and rising through the ranks seemed a contrast to the academic interest in advanced studies. Until now, Percy had carefully curated his academics in preparation for the Ministry, but the Animagus transformation was not looked kindly upon as of late…
Oh, I suppose that explained it.
It was because of the changes in the timeline that not only was Percy changing beyond his canonical self, but also what prompted this interest in becoming an Animagus. After having been tricked by Pettigrew and betrayed so deeply, it seemed only natural that Percy would need to somehow make sense of it all. Studying about Animagi might be sufficient to protect him in the future from such trickery again, but it wouldn't help with the wounds in his heart.
In fact, he seemed remarkably stable after admitting his new goal, unlike when he was constantly paranoid and reacting to everything around him with pompous indignation like he had been since the "Scabbers is Pettigrew" reveal. Professor McGonagall must have suggested it as a means of giving Percy something to direct his feelings towards in a healthier way.
Fear stems from ignorance; ignorance is dispelled by understanding and knowledge. The saying had been rephrased over centuries, but Hogwarts was built on such foundations.
Surprisingly, it was Neville who voiced this. "You need this to get over… him, don't you?" the blond asked quietly.
Percy inhaled sharply, knuckles whitening as his grip on the desk tightened. "Yes," he said thinly. "I need to… do something. Something more than just moving on like nothing happened. Hearings and testimonies are all well and good for putting that… that man away, but I needed… well, Professor McGonagall suggested I try to become an Animagus myself. To occupy myself, and gain some understanding of all this."
"I can't say I understand it, but the professor knows best, I suppose." I sighed. "Don't worry Percy, we won't tell anyone."
"Mum's the word," Neville agreed.
Percy smiled. "Thank you, both."
"But…" I scrunched my face thoughtfully. "Why are you telling us this? It's fine, you could have just said you were busy with a project and not explained it. We wouldn't have minded."
Percy seemed skeptical. "I remember myself at your age — if I was given such a vague explanation, I would have wanted more information." Shaking his head, Percy continued. "Nevertheless, I did need your help beyond just that. So, I have a proposition."
"What do you mean?" wondered Neville.
"To initialize the first Animagus transformation, I need to brew a particular potion in preparation. As one of the ingredients is the leaf of a matured Mandrake, I have spoken with Professor Sprout about using one of the school's once they are matured. Sadly, the Mandrakes would be too young for me to use their leaves until spring, and as I have yet to acquire the remaining ingredients, my studies until then will be mostly academic." Percy explained, a little nervous. "Still, in order to keep this project under wraps, I require… assistants who can be discreet about their involvement."
"You mean test-subjects to practice Human Transfiguration upon." I noted, a little startled.
"Not at all!" Percy objected immediately, then paused, and corrected. "Well, not entirely. Much of my studies will be focused upon self-Transfiguration, but some still require additional points of view… or someone to fix me and get help should something go wrong."
"Oh…" Neville said nervously. "I-I don't think that I would be, er, much help there. Kenneth can do that, but I don't think—"
"Nonsense, Neville." Percy interrupted, a little annoyed. "I'm going to tutor the both of you like I did last year, and this is how I'll do it. Since I'll be spending much of my time on this project, I want you around to keep an eye on things. I don't mind if you do your own homework while I'm working, but it'll make my scheduling easier if I can fit them together. You can ask me your questions, and I can trust you will be around to help if something goes wrong. Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall are already aware of the project, and have given me permission to recruit the both of you. I imagine that you'll learn something while I'm working too, so there's no reason to refuse."
Neville didn't seem convinced, but I was able to see the benefits there: what time I normally spent asking Percy questions last year or working together with Neville on our homework, I could spend here while Percy worked on his project. An unused classroom was a sight more private than the Library or the Gryffindor Common Room, and Percy was a wellspring of information. Besides, seeing an absurdly gifted student like Percy at work would be a godsend for advancing my own understanding of magic…
Oh, and I could piggyback off his own work in puzzling out the Animagus transformation for when I attempted it myself in a few years.
"Come on, Neville," I nudged my friend. "Seeing Percy at work on this will probably help us in our Transfiguration classes… Might even help our grades."
At the mention of Transfiguration grades, Neville's reluctance began to wilt. It was a dirty move, but Neville had complained on the train that Great-Aunt Augusta had hoped his grades would be higher than they had been. Sure, he was much more competent now than he had been at this point in canon, but Neville still had a long way to go before he could live up to Great-Aunt Augusta's immense standards, especially in Transfiguration.
"Alright, I'm in." Neville eventually capitulated, and I slapped his back reassuringly.
"As am I. When do we start?"
"Next week. I am still working with Professor McGonagall to fit in this extracurricular study group with my Prefect duties… especially if I'm to make Head Boy next year. I will let you know when we'll meet in a few days."
"Smashing. Thanks, Percy." I smiled.
Percy smiled back, an uncommon (but welcome) sight. "No, thank you both. And remember—"
"Mum's the word," the three of us said in unison.
~o0o~
Publically, I did as Percy expected: Neville and I didn't always show up at the same time, but what time we did spend in that classroom with Percy, we spent learning. Percy studied materials far more advanced than Neville and I were ready to handle, but just watching him work and puzzle through things was enough to give us a leg up on what advanced Transfiguration would need from us. In return, Percy did in fact tutor us when we needed it, and proved to be a surprisingly adept teacher if you could get past his brusque manner.
Privately, I used these sessions to check in with him every so often, just in case. Beyond just milking his brain on advanced magical theory and getting advice on homework, I noted that Percy wasn't anywhere near as pompous or self-important as he had been last year. Dare I say it, he seemed remarkably mellow in comparison and far more relaxed in his fastidiousness and obsession with keeping everything in order.
Still, any mention of rats and Pettigrew provoked a visceral response of restrained anger and disgust that led to us quickly changing the subject. It was difficult to parse the pain that flashed across his face when the subject was ever broached, and I wondered if the Animagus transformation would actually help him heal… or if the animal-form he became would cause him more grief. Despite how much I looked forward to working with Percy, I still dreaded having to be careful how I presented myself around him, so I didn't give away that I knew more about the entire Pettigrew affair than he did. Percy was still the only Weasley at Hogwarts I actually liked to spend time with, and after seeing how my actions had inadvertently led to almost a month of mental instability, I couldn't shake that guilt of being responsible for that.
Thank God for Occlumency training. While the perk gave me an instinctive feel for how to organize my mind, the gnawing sensation of guilt still plagued me. Remembering the lessons that Dad taught me to keep my mind focused and clear were all that helped me from wallowing in my inability to control how the papers and public opinion had hurt the Weasley family so. It was a relief to be able to compartmentalize such emotions and keep them from showing on my face day-to-day, but it didn't make them go away… just made them easier to ignore.
So, I threw those feelings into learning more about advanced magical theory to further deepen my abilities, but my heart wasn't really into it. I ended up faffing about, memorizing more spells, potions and other esoterica than I did gaining further insights into the underlying principles of magic. Studying with Percy while he worked on the academics and theory behind the Animagus transformation certainly helped, but all my progress was from the Hogwarts curriculum, and little beyond that. It was an agonizing slow-down in comparison to the speed at which I have increased my magical prowess the previous year… But I couldn't even blame Percy and the Weasleys for why I felt the way I did and thereby slowing my own advancement.
The Weasleys were good people — they didn't deserve this.
Even so, I had crossed the Rubicon last term when I made my plans with Dumbledore. Just by keeping abreast of current events through the papers and overhearing discussion at mealtimes or from Parvati and Lavender could I see the old man's hand in the shadows, moving discreetly until recent events forced him to make more overt moves.
The situation appeared to be spiraling out of control at Hogwarts and beyond, but even without him seated at the staff table during meals, he was certainly present in ensuring that we held from falling off the edge entirely. Information was trickling into the Aurors, leads were being fed, and Dumbledore had reluctantly stepped back into the political game to direct public opinion when necessary. He was quoted in the papers, had sent numerous letters and had several clandestine appointments with members of the DMLE and the Ministry's senior management to office advice.
Events were progressing faster than expected, certainly, but once Dumbleodre started moving openly in the aftermath of the whole "Weasleys harbored Pettigrew for 10+ years" detail being leaked to the press, it seemed that sanity was slowly being restored. The press were still hounding the Ministry, the bureaucrats that ran the magical government were still being squirrelly about what really happened in 1981, and the Aurors were slowly but surely sifting through all the hearsay and misinformation to arrive at the truth.
Even so, Dumbledore getting involved in a more open, visible fashion was enough to help quell tensions and move matters along more smoothly. The Headmaster advocated for calm and order, aligning himself with the Ministry in attempting to get to the bottom of things and see that the truth came to light and justice was finally done.
Then Fudge made an announcement that proved to set the media ablaze once more: the Wizengamot was ordered to convene on Hallowe'en of 1992 for a full court trial. The subject? The trial of Peter Pettigrew for failing to register as an Animagus with the DMLE, the murder of a dozen Muggles, collaboration with Death Eater terrorists, violation of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, and other sundry offenses.
The collateral damage and instability at Hogwarts might have been an unexpected side-effect of our machinations, but it seemed that the plans Dumbledore and I had come up with were beginning to pay off. We'd set the wheels in motion and fed the Aurors the intelligence they needed to look where they had to. They had enough to throw the book at ol' Wormtail.
Pettigrew was done for.
I just prayed to every God out there that all of this was worth… something.
~o0o~
Hallowe'en at Hogwarts was thankfully uneventful.
In the canonical timeline, the Trio would have attended Nearly Headless Nick's 500th Death Day party, then chance upon the ominous message declaring the opening of the Chamber of Secrets and the macabre display of a petrified Mrs. Norris.
Here, all the drama appeared to be happening behind closed doors within the Wizengamot Chambers in London — far, far away. Sure, the Head Table was missing a few seats since Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape and Lockhart (for some reason) were all in London at the trial. Percy Weasley had also gone to London with them as he was being called to offer testimony to the Wizengamot trial in-person (I suspected that his parents and Dumbledore had also pulled strings to offer the boy some manner of closure). The Trio were still missing the Hallowe'en Feast — Harry and Ron had been avoiding people when possible all term, and Hermione went wherever they did — but I didn't feel the same compunction: Ginny was at the Feast, so I felt we were in the clear with regards to that Station of Canon.
Besides, Hagrid's pumpkins really were as gigantic as I remembered from last year. They had been carved into enormous Jack-o'-Lanterns that snarled and cackled when approached, much to the delight of the student body. Hagrid had carved an assortment of images into them, from monstrous creatures to wicked, grinning faces that Flitwick had charmed to flickering life and light. Pumpkins of varying size bedecked the Great Hall and floated in place of the traditional candles overhead, just as they adorned the tables.
The Hall itself was lavishly decorated for the Feast, clad in streams of orange and black in the more modern fashion of All Hallows Eve, just as the walls were bedecked in cobwebs. Wizarding poppers and other magical party favors were scattered across the tables and candlelight danced everywhere. Enchanted candy could be found in bowls every ten feet, causing all sorts of merriment when someone ate a toffee and would only be able to howl for the next few minutes, or similar. The school's ghosts were sadly not in full attendance, many of them having left for Nick's Death Day party, but a few were still visiting for a while before begging off, adding even further spookiness to the festivities.
That's not to say that no one was talking about the trial that had been going on the entire day, but as Flitwick had said when the Feast began: "Let's not dwell on all that tosh — have a blast! It's Hallowe'en!"
The Weasley twins seemed to be in top form with their rollout of special party favors, and I had a rip-roaring good time laughing at a selection of terrible puns Dean had gotten from a Muggle jokebook, just for the occasion. Seamus and I had to explain some of them to Neville and the other girls, but I don't think anyone minded that much. Parvati and Lavender tried to make their own puns based on stuff they were familiar with, though they didn't seem to grasp the complexities of such a refined form of humor and the punchlines fell a little flat.
I wasn't much better, to be honest, but made do by dint of the fact that I knew how to conjure pumpkins around people's heads, making it look like I'd turned Draco Malfoy's head into a Jack-o'-Lantern. Malfoy didn't seem to think it was quite as funny as the rest of Gryffindor did, but since no one really noticed who had actually cast the spell, he spent the rest of the Feast cleaning pumpkin guts off his face and out of his hair while glaring nastily at the Weasley twins (who seemed the most likely suspects). I didn't bother to let him know otherwise as my friends and I snickered at how ridiculous he looked, all caked in pumpkin stuff.
The pumpkin pie, on the other hand… heavenly. Paired with a goblet of spiced cider, and a side of all the many deserts that make Hallowe'en one of my favorite holidays, I eat heartily. Treacle tarts, chocolate biscuits, monstrous muffins, and so, so much more!
...So I have a sweet tooth; big deal — my Essence of the Druid body-modification meant my body processes food differently than most others. With it, I could indulge at the Feast without worrying about ruining my health so long as I didn't push it too hard. Besides, the variety on offer at the school's various Feasts throughout the year trumped the typical fare served quotidien, especially in the vegetarian department. I was taking full advantage of that while I could. I could at least attest that the greater variety of desserts available was well received… even if I did look a little ridiculous with a frosting moustache I hadn't noticed till I spotted Parvati giggling with Lavender and Fay about it.
Of course, the tables turned on them when Fay accidentally snagged one of the pranked cupcakes (just one of the many "tricks" at the tables) and started sneezing multicolored sprinkles all over Parvati and Lavender's hair. Dean, Seamus and I sniggered; their shrieks of indignation were music to my ears.
All-in-all, the Feast went without noteworthy incident — at least, nothing unusual by the typical standards for a Hallowe'en Feast. So when Harry, Ron and Hermione finally turned up just near the end of things, just in time to snag some pudding (the way Brits use that word to refer to all manners of desserts has always amused me) before Flitwick called the Feast to an end, I surmised that all was well. If the Trio had not been diverted from leaving Nick's party by voices in the walls, then I doubted the Chamber would be opened any time soon.
Despite my concern over the events of Pettigrew's trial down in London, I went to bed that night feeling very much satisfied with myself. While the Basilisk remained a threat, so long as the Chamber remained closed and the Diary was under Dumbledore's careful watch, I figured I could leave those problems for the future-me. While it'd be nice to deal with the Basilisk sooner rather than later, that was far easier said than done. For the sake of the school's safety, it was probably best we let that snake hibernate a while longer. But with no painted walls, ominous declarations or petrified cats to strike terror into the hearts of the school's inhabitants, I could rest easily that night.
~o0o~
Sometimes, things work themselves out.
It was all too common in Harry Potter stories I had read online that adults in the setting were basically useless. They were either woefully inept, unwilling to help, or actively malicious. This was typical of a lot of fanfiction I had read in my first life when the main characters were children or young adults — rebelling against authority was popular, and it wouldn't do for the main characters to seem incapable in comparison to the mature adults in fiction.
Sadly, the truth was often quite the opposite — children are children, and adults aren't always their enemy. Sure, things weren't always as black-and-white as one might hope, but within those shades of grey you could trust people to be what they were: people. And adults in the Wizarding World could be trusted to do their job if you gave them the knowledge and resources they needed and the opportunity to do so.
Case in point: Pettigrew's Trial.
The Aurors had indeed thrown the book at him. While I imagined it would have been simple to just drug Wormtail to the gills with Veritaserum and have him spill his guts, the potion was considered an unreliable method of extracting testimonies. Similarly with Legilimency — useful for gathering information forcefully, but you couldn't trust any information gained to be totally accurate or true. The only thing you could get under such methods were what the individual thought was true, not what actually happened. This was why the Aurors had to not only take any information they managed to extract through their interrogations and the tips Dumbledore fed them, but verify and confirm them with additional sources.
Even so, Dumbledore and I had given them enough leads to work with. They had Pettigrew, they had a rough idea of what they needed to look for, and all that they had to do was confirm the truth.
Pettigrew naturally tried to deny everything; making excuses, whimpering and wailing about his innocence and how he had been set up. The Aurors levied what evidence they had collected against him — testimonials from those who had known him back then, including one from Fudge himself about arriving at the scene of his "murder" (though Fudge fudged the details a little to make his younger self seem less gullible), and the explanation of how he had been found in rat-form and named Scabbers, living a life far longer than a normal rat's. Percy wasn't quoted in the papers, but apparently Pettigrew's response about "being a good rat and pet" for the young boy had been too much for Percy, who nearly caused an incident trying to attack Pettigrew with his bare hands.
Even so, Pettigrew played the victim, claiming all sorts of things to avoid a terrible judgement. He even attempted to pretend as if he had been under the Imperius for all these events… until the Aurors dragged out Sirius Black.
Percy explained to Neville and I in confidence during one of our study sessions that Pettigrew had gone pale and frantic when Proudfoot and Dawlish brought Sirius Black out before the Wizengamot, still in chains, to testify against Pettigrew. Sirius was manic, still deranged from having been around dementors without the time away that he had had in canon: even so, he was remarkably coherent and insistent on his version of events.
Of course, when Pettigrew made his flimsy denials and excuses, all it took was a snarl and raving about James and Lily from Sirius Black to make Pettigrew's will falter. From there, everything devolved. The truth came out over the course of testimonies and arguments as the Wizengamot went over the same questions the Aurors had asked in their own interrogations.
But, after Sirius had tore into Peter about his betrayal… the fight was out of Pettigrew. He seemed to give up, and when pressed, finally confessed.
He confessed to having worked with the Death Eaters willingly, even before his final betrayal. He confessed that he had indeed been the true Secret Keeper at Sirius Black's suggestion, and had betrayed the Potters to Voldemort. He confessed to having become an illegal Animagus along with Sirius and James, and having used that to fake his own death and frame Sirius for the murders of those poor Muggles to cover his escape. He confessed to using his rat-form to hide with the unwitting Weasley family, taking advantage of their hospitality out of fear.
When the trial concluded, it was a very different Peter Pettigrew who was walked out of the court chambers: he confessed to being guilty of it all, and for some reason, held his head up high.
I imagine that somewhere along the line, Pettigrew decided that with all the evidence and testimony against him, he was doomed anyway. So he chose to admit to his crimes as… I don't know, penance? Some shred of courage buried deep in his ragged exterior, and a pride that he should at least face his doom with dignity? A belief that since it was inevitable, it was better to admit to everything so he could bear to face James and Lily in death?
I don't know what the truth was, but the pictures of him in the papers after the trial weren't the same that had been leaked to the press in the months before: he was a different man, somehow. Still terrified of his own shadow, but there was a proud dignity in his eyes: faced with damnation yet determined to see it head-on.
I doubt I'll ever know the truth about that.
Peter "Wormtail" Pettigrew was convicted to a lifetime in Azkaban. It wasn't a unanimous vote, but there was enough of a majority to pass the verdict without much complaint. Ironically, his fate was going to be the same that Black would have suffered in his stead: being locked away in Azkaban, surrounded by madmen, criminals and dementors for the rest of his days. I imagine that the Aurors that lock him up on that rock would see fit to make the cell rat-proof, considering who he was.
Sirius Black was charged with being an unregistered Animagus. However, seeing as he'd been in Azkaban for over a decade for a crime he was innocent of, the Wizengamot decided that was punishment enough, and were remanding him to St. Mungo's for treatment until he was well enough to rejoin wizarding society. The papers did manage to get a statement from him before he was sequestered away by the Healers at St. Mungo's that while the hospital was a sore sight after the drab, depression crag that was Azkaban, all he could think about was "getting well enough to see Harry someday."
Harry, on the other hand, was torn between being hopeful and wary. He had no reason to believe Sirius Black, a godfather Harry had never heard about before, would actually do anything for him after the example the Dursleys had set... but Harry couldn't help but dream about this man he only knew from the newspapers and stories that Hagrid and some of his professors were able to tell him, someone who was apparently his dad's best friend. Ron, dealing with the whole "Scabbers is really a criminal" thing, hadn't been of much help to Harry in handling the situation over the last few months, but was generally supportive. Hermione, who I would have thought raring to throw herself into advocacy for a cause, was rather passive in her support of Harry. She mostly served to reassure Harry of his own concerns and point out options he could take, yet was hesitant to actually do anything about it.
I elected not to get directly involved. I was still feeling a little uneasy about the damage I had inadvertently done to Arthur Weasley's reputation and career. Seeing how that had spread to his children and how badly Percy had taken the news… well, I thought it best to keep my distance. Harry had been on an emotional rollercoaster himself these last few months, but at least that wasn't unusual for the twelve-year-old boy.
Instead, Harry threw himself into his petty rivalry with Draco Malfoy (who continued to be a nuisance for Harry, for some reason) and into practicing his flying. The first Gryffindor game was only a week after the Wizengamot trial, and Harry gave it his all in preparation for the game. Since Gryffindor was going up against Slytherin's stacked team on Nimbus 2001's, Harry put his all into overcoming an enemy he could actually beat in an area he excelled at: facing Malfoy as Seekers in Quidditch.
I don't know if Harry's obsessive focus on Quidditch was a healthy way to sublimate his feelings, but it seemed to work, so why not?
It didn't quite occur to me that even if the Chamber of Secrets had not been opened, that Harry would still be in danger… from Dobby the house-elf. Harry wound up getting clipped by that rogue Bludger, so Lockhart tried to show off and ended up vanishing the bones from Harry's arm. I hadn't even gone to the Quidditch match, continuing a trend from last year where I spent the time in the Room of Requirement, and had been so certain that since the Diary was in Dumbledore's possession, that the entire plot of the second book was kaput.
Dobby didn't get that memo, it seemed.
I could always blame the distraction that Pettigrew's trial and Black's testimony had caused for everyone, but it seemed like Lucius Malfoy hadn't gotten word about the Chamber failing to open. Or he had simply too preoccupied with the Pettigrew affair to remark on the lack of mayhem at Hogwarts as a result of the Riddle Diary — and if Lucius Malfoy was unaware that the Diary had already been taken by Dumbledore before it could do real harm to the school, then Dobby didn't know that either.
Thus, Dobby tried to maim Harry Potter with the best of intentions.
Never more have I been thankful that Smokey had been relatively sane... at least in comparison to Dobby's example. Quirky, sure, but what house-elf isn't a bit quirky, yanno?
Anyways, events seemed to settle down for a while afterwards — though someone threw a firecracker into Goyle's potion during one lesson, causing all sorts of havoc and my arm becoming the size of a tree-trunk when I tried to block the Swelling Solution from flying into my face — until it seemed like Lockhart had become desperate to seem relevant once more.
Posters were put up in the Common Room proclaiming the creation of a Dueling Club one evening. I think my smile wouldn't have been out of place on Jim Carrey's portrayal of the Grinch at the sight of it.
I had been practicing magical combat for over a year, now: I couldn't wait for the Dueling Club to strut my stuff.
~o0o~
A/N: Ken sowed the seeds, but he's not the one on the frontlines of the first wave of butterflies. Lots of changes from the canon that irrevocably shift the progression of events. Of course, even with the changes, some things stay the same… but most of the time, characters grow and evolve in different, unpredictable ways.
Also, this chapter relies a little bit more on "tell" than it does "show". I think that's fine — it's limiting to force yourself to always "show"; to never "tell". The idea is that writers ought to do both, never just one or the other. Plus, Ken's telling the story, so he's free to gloss over stuff when he feels like it.
Last edited: Oct 18, 2020
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
Oct 17, 2020
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kenmadragon
Dec 18, 2020
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Chapter 19
Walking into the Great Hall, I did not think I would actually learn much from the Dueling Club.
Consider this: ever since I found the Room of Requirement and later discovered that it could produce animated suits of armor, I hadn't really lacked suitable targets for practicing various martial magics. The armors that guarded the halls of Hogwarts didn't actually do much while on their plinths, barely capable of ambulation, but that wasn't the same for the armors that the Room would supply me with.
Within the Room, the enchantments that gave the armors their life seemed to be in full force, allowing the armors to exhibit skills and knowledge that, well, I could only assume their former owners might have had. The armors were not only capable of moving and fighting with Muggle martial arts (both armed and not), but were also skilled enough to serve as both sparring partners and trainers who could teach me the proper forms and techniques that my Muggle Dueling perk didn't quite cover.
Being twelve, I didn't have the right body to take advantage of a lot of the skill and expertise that my Muggle Dueling perk gave me (even my Sword had been too big for me at the start), so the armors helped me learn to adjust my form and footwork to compensate. Sure, they did this by slapping me with the blunt ends and shifting me into position until I stopped making mistakes, but it worked. Anyways, between training with weaponry and my fists, I also used the armors as glorified punching bags for testing my spells on moving targets. The fact that the armors were enchanted — thus resistant to some offensive magics due to the particular enchantments on each — only reinforced this as I had to work harder on mastering the spells to actually affect the armors.
Of course, I was utterly incapable of practicing spells that required living targets to really get the hang of (Stunning spells — oh, how I yearned to learn them), but that just meant I had to get creative rather than chase after the most immediately effective and straight-forward martial spells.
On the upside, I'm fairly confident that I would be able to defend against anything the Dueling Club could throw at me. I already had practice casting Shield Charms that were capable of withstanding a hail of crossbow quarrels the size of spears (gotta love Engorgement Charms) and other Engorged weapons from the animated armors. While the fact that I was even capable of casting a Shield Charm in the first place as a second year would be astounding, I was quite proud of how well I'd developed it… though, I admit my obsessive focus on practicing it was mostly brought about by the fact that pranks and impromptu duels broke out fairly regularly around Gryffindors this term. Coupled with my lackluster efforts in furthering my mastery of magical theory lately, my growing skill at the Charm provided a needed measure of pride.
Even so, my Shield Charm was untested against that which I needed it to truly defend against: other spells. While I had been lucky (and quick) enough to avoid getting caught up in the duels that plagued my housemates this term, it also meant that I had no idea whether my Shield Charm worked well against spells. As much as I could test my defenses against super-sized Muggle weaponry, I really wanted to know whether they would hold against more supernatural threats.
Ergo: why I bothered attending the Dueling Club.
Honestly, I doubted that Lockhart would teach anything worth a damn at the Club. It was obvious to me (as someone who knew his true character) that the only reason he'd proposed reviving the Dueling Club was to show off and stroke his own ego. For whatever reason, Lockhart bought into his own propaganda and honestly thought it was a good idea.
Personally, I wondered why the staff were even allowing this Dueling Club to take place anyways. Illegal duels were already rampant in the halls, so why in the name of all that was holy did they think that teaching students how to be better duelists was a good idea? It would just make the problem worse as students would be better equipped with the right spells and experience with how to actually make those random spells be effective.
Then I remembered that Dumbledore intended Lockhart to slip up somehow. Was the Headmaster giving the prat more opportunities to showcase his incompetence? If so, he was clearly too exhausted from the whole Sirius and Pettigrew debacle to actually have thought this through. That or something else was distracting him, as he was rarely present at meals, even now that we were nearing the end of first term.
Anyways, the Dueling Club. Leading up to the Club itself, not much seemed to be different from canon. The day I attended with my fellow Gryffindors, we joined during the time-period scheduled for second years and met up at the Great Hall. All the tables had been cleared of the Hall, giving a large open space for us to spread out and duel with the exception of a long, golden stage at one end of the room upon which the professors stood. The Dueling Club was presided over by Lockhart (wearing plum robes a far cry from the fencing-inspired outfit from the movie that would have been far more appropriate for the occasion) and a dour-looking Snape who constantly sneered and scoffed behind Lockhart's back whenever appropriate.
I idly wondered whether Snape had actually volunteered for the task of assisting Lockhart with the Club, had been assigned to do so by Professor Dumbledore or the rest of the faculty, or if Lockhart had just strong-armed the Potions Master into helping somehow. Neville's guess was that Lockhart must have annoyed Professor Snape into cooperating with the Dueling Club. Thankfully, I'm not a betting man because that did seem quite likely from the way Snape acted as everyone was filing into the Great Hall.
"What kind of spells are they going to teach us, d'ya reckon?" Seamus wondered excitedly while we waited for the professors to begin. "The Reductor Curse? Bat-Bogey Hex? ...The Transmogrifying Torture?"
"Honestly, Seamus, I don't think the professors would teach such complicated spells to second-years." Lavender sniffed. "Besides, you're already a menace with that Pepper Breath Hex of yours."
Parvati laughed. "What do you think they'll teach us, then?" she asked.
"Disarming Charm," I answered plainly.
"How do you know?"
"Simple. It's not terribly complicated and it's positively ancient — pretty sure Merlin used it, really." I shrugged. "But it's still useful and works quite welI. Don't suppose any of you could manage to duel without your wand, could you?" They returned my wry look with shaking heads and mutters to the negative. "Thought not."
The remaining students filtered in and Lockhart decided to start up, attracting everyone's attention. The showboat played it up for the crowd, as usual, and everything proceeded almost identically as in canon.
Lockhart pretended to be an expert. He introduced Snape as his assistant and backhandedly insulted Snape to make himself look better. They explained basic dueling etiquette, then set up for the demonstration. Lockhart was flamboyant and ineffectual. Snape was curt and focused. Lockhart never stood a chance when Snape blew him off his feet and sent the fraud's wand flying.
I nudged Parvati with an elbow, muttering "See; Disarming Charm."
Parvati gave me a look that was both worried and 'why must you be like this'. I smiled smugly while Neville rolled his eyes.
Now that I thought about it, maybe the goal was to have Snape (because Lockhart was useless) demonstrate the Disarming Charm to everyone so that people would start using it in their hallway duels instead of causing havoc with the myriad jinxes, hexes and curses that random students managed to get their hands on. Compared to those minor dark magics, disarmament was relatively harmless and still a useful skill for situations beyond schoolyard spats. I idly wondered whether that was Professor Dumbledore's idea, or if Professor Snape had decided to do so without prompting.
Either way, Lockhart eventually brushed himself off, got his wand back, and began breaking us up into pairs. Snape interfered a bit with the partnerships, but I didn't have much issue with that. He was mostly focused on breaking up the trio, setting Hermione (who had made an initial move towards me before being intercepted by Snape) up against Milicent Bulstrode, Ron with Seamus, and Harry with Draco.
I glanced at Neville. "Practice with me?" Unlike in canon, I had full faith that Neville would be able to cast the Disarming Charm rather quickly. Then I could test my Shield Charm against it.
Neville, surprisingly, shook his head. "I'd rather have a chance of winning, thank you." He immediately moved off to ask Dean to partner up, leaving me staring after him in a bit of a shock. I'd known that he was growing more confident with himself since last year, but I hadn't expected that.
I was torn between feeling affronted that he didn't want to partner with me, and pride that he was growing more confident.
Anyways, after being lost in thought about Neville's growth over the last several months, I realized that I hadn't quite gotten paired up myself, and cast about for any other stragglers. Hermione seemed to stare at me with an unexpected intensity, but, again, was already partnered with Milicent. Almost everyone else had either found a partner or been paired by one of the Professors, and the few stragglers around me hurriedly avoided my own gaze, partnering amongst themselves. Miffed, I elected to hover near Snape, hoping he would notice my presence.
He did. "Stop looking like a lost idiot, Godewyn. Where's your partner?" Snape snapped.
"I don't have one — everyone else wanted a chance at winning." I said, feeling a little glib.
Snape sneered. "Well, we'll see about that." Glancing over his hooked nose across the Great Hall, he sharply guided me towards one corner where a tall, weedy-looking boy stood a little apart from the rest of the crowd. "Nott, if you are incapable of finding someone to serve as a dueling partner, then you shall be assigned one," the professor drawled, waving at the two of us before turning back to the rest of the crowd. "Godewyn, you're paired with Nott. Try not to kill each other."
I eyed Snape's fluttering robes as he stalked away before turning back to Theodore Nott. "Hello, Nott."
"Godewyn," Nott said calmly, though I could almost feel the nervousness emanating from the boy. For a moment, I wondered why he'd even bothered to show up if he was so anxious about the event. I guessed 'peer pressure', and drew my wand as he drew his from his pocket. "Shall we?"
"Let's." I answered, and the tension seemed to drain out of Nott slightly. His hunched posture loosened, still wary, but with his wand in hand, there was a sense of danger to Nott now that I would have never suspected him capable of. If not for the surety of my own practice, the change in Nott's demeanor would have unsettled my own cool.
Everyone was moving to create a bit of space. The Great Hall was quite roomy without all the tables, though the darkened, cloudy skies above meant the only illumination came from the hundreds of floating candles above. Already the ceiling was beginning to sprinkle light snow, though the foreboding nature of the clouds above forecasting heavy snowfall later in the night. Nott and I stood perhaps six or seven paces apart, considering there were other students milling about, readying for their own duels. The pair next to us were Hufflepuffs (Bones and Entwhistle) and beyond them, Padma was facing Sue. Professors Lockhart and Snape had somehow managed to get back on the golden platform, making sure that everyone was prepared.
Nott and I settled into our stances. We stood slightly sideways, wands held like swords. I felt an odd sense of nostalgia — the situation was reminiscent of my time saber-fencing in my first life. I had already noticed the two weren't dissimilar from my time in the Room of Requirement — present a narrow profile, back straight, keep the wand/blade between you and your foe, lead foot points at the opponent, don't just focus on their wand/blade or eyes but their centerline, and so forth — and I wondered if, perhaps, muggle and magical dueling had influenced each others' development over the centuries.
"Bow!" called out Lockhart. Nott gave a curt nod, wand swishing up to his brow then back at the ready. My own wand followed suit, flourishing a crossed slash in salute. "Wands at the ready!" They were.
Lockhart made noises about only aiming to disarm, but no one seemed to be listening. He counted down: one… two… three —
"Mimblewimble!"
"Protego!"
A blue bolt flashed from Nott's wand, but impacted the invisible barrier I had called up to defend me. The spell burst upon contact in a flash of blue light across the surface of the forceful barrier, momentarily dazzling me with the brilliance of the blocked spell. How about that, my Shield Charm held up surprisingly well against Nott's Tongue-Tying Curse. He certainly hadn't expected that!
I took advantage of Nott's hesitation and the confusion from the professors as the entire Hall erupted in chaos. "Expelliarmus!"
A flash of red, and Nott's wand flew out of his hand. The other boy's eyes went wide as I followed up; "Petrificus Totalus!" His entire body stiffened, arms snapping to his sides and legs locking together until he was as straight and still as a board, somehow still standing. By that point, his wand had already landed in my waiting, left hand.
It took another few moments for the professors to restore order — primarily from Snape taking charge with a room-wide counter-spell that ended every duel while Lockhart ineffectually screamed for everyone to "Stop!' — and see to the minor injuries some of the other students had suffered in the mayhem. Nott had been a little off-balance after being freed from the body-bind, but once he regained his composure, I gamely tossed his wand back to him. "Nice try with the Tongue-Tying Curse. Might have worked if I didn't know the Shield Charm."
Nott scowled, but nodded in understanding. We turned to watch the professors and see what they would have us do next. Idly, I twirled my wand at the ceiling as we moved closer to the center of the room where everyone was gathering and the greenish smoke that had emerged during the chaos began to slowly clear with little prompting. No one else noticed or mentioned it as all focus was on regaining bearings and looking to the professors for guidance.
"Perhaps… perhaps it would be best to demonstrate how to block unfriendly spells," Lockhart said, finally, a little flustered at having to tend to the mishaps that erupted from the chaotic dueling. No one had really listened to Lockhart about only using disarming spells, and Seamus still looked a little wobbly on his feet after Ron's spectacular misfire. "Some volunteers, to show the rest how it's done. Miss Patil and Miss Brown, how about you two stand over —"
"A poor choice. Miss Patil appears to still be recovering from her catastrophe durings Potions this morning. Perhaps you should choose students who might actually be able to perform delicate tasks with grace and without error… lest we need to send Miss Brown to the Hospital Wing for more burn remedies." Snape interrupted nastily. I couldn't help the twitch in my eye nor my scowl at Snape's jab at Parvati's performance in Potions earlier that day. The only reason her potion had combusted was from Daphne Greengrass dropping her knife loudly and distracting Parvati when she added the ground nettles. That wasn't Parvati's fault; letting too many nettles slip from her hand when she was startled was a mistake anyone could have made. Parvati herself flushed hotly, biting her lip as Lavender reassuringly rubbed circles in her back, muttering assurances softly under her breath. Thank goodness for Lavender.
"Ah, yes," Lockhart said shakily, eyes darting about looking for someone who wouldn't make him look even more of a fool (too late, in my opinion). In moments, he'd found his savior. "Ah, Miss Granger, top of my class, would you care to volunteer?"
Hermione blushed pink at the compliment and attention, nodding rapidly. She stepped forward into the clearing space that the rest of the crowd made for her and the professors, apparently still trying to regain her composure after having been caught in a headlock by Milicent Bulstrode. Centering herself with deep, calm breaths, Hermione brushed her hair back and seemed confident, despite the focus of everyone else upon her.
"And Miss Bulstrode, would you —"
"Perhaps I may select her opponent, Gilderoy?" Snape interjected, once more. "After all, you already have chosen Miss Granger, and I wouldn't select her friend, Miss Bulstrode." That was a laugh; Snape had paired Hermione with Milicent in the first place, and the two were barely acquainted.
Lockhart managed to conceal the brief flicker of annoyance at being interrupted once again, but I noticed there was a familiar tightness to his smile that seemed far too practiced to be genuine. "Naturally, Severus," he conceded airily.
Snape's smirk deepened, twisting into a rictus of sinister glee. I really didn't like the look in his eyes when he swiveled and gestured directly at me with a sweep of the wand. "Mr. Godewyn, why don't you join us for this demonstration."
I suppressed a grimace as the other students cleared a path for me to join the opening in the middle. Snape and Lockhart gestured for us to stand by them as the others backed away to create more room for Hermione and I to face. Ten paces apart, we looked at each other across the makeshift dueling area, surrounded by our peers. Hermione's eyes seemed to go flinty when they locked on mine, her lighter brown eyes boring into my darker browns. I could feel an odd pressure when I saw the determination in her glare. It felt… strange. I controlled my own reactions, but it was still startling to see such a look of focus and hostility from a girl my age. What was that pressure? Was I… no, I couldn't be scared… right?
No, this was hesitation. It was uncomfortable, staring into Hermione's eyes as we met as enemies, and I recalled our last fateful duel on Hallowe'en the previous year. I hadn't meant to make her dislike me — quite the opposite, in fact, I had hoped we would be friends — but that hadn't worked out. And now, it seemed we were foes in a duel once more. Rather than just being an academic rival whose presence I tolerated, now I had to contend with Hermione as my enemy.
And that pressure… Nevertheless, I steeled my own determination, hardening my heart and fixing my gaze with the full force of my more considerable will. Hermione was a thirteen year old child, albeit an enormously talented one. She would not beat me.
I dared her to try.
Our staring contest was broken when Lockhart caught her attention. "Now, Hermione, when Kenneth points his wand at you—" I lost interest as Lockhart showed her that nonsensical wiggling motion that Hermione was now seriously trying to learn.
I suppressed the instinct to jolt away when Snape's hand clasped my shoulder. I glanced at the taller man as he leaned in, conspiratorially.
"You know the Shield Charm," he whispered into my ear — not a question, more of an observation. I gave him a minute nod. "Good. Use it."
"Don't I have to attack first?" I asked softly.
"Surprise me."
What? What in Merlin's soggy oatmeal was that supposed to mean?!
Too late. Snape had already drawn away, and I was left floundering just as Lockhart stepped back and began to count down. I snapped into a more defensible stance, wand whipping up to the ready. Hermione's mane of hair seemed to writhe with anticipation just as her own wand snapped up, pointed at me. It was already beginning to twirl in that ridiculous pattern of Lockhart's, and I still hadn't picked my spell.
Damn it, I needed to think fast. Steady breaths...
"—Go!" Lockhart finished with a shout.
"Depulso!" I roared. The tip of my wand positively exploded with white light and a sharp crack.
Hermione's eyes widened with shock (or maybe terror), and she leaped to the side, barely dodging the blast from my spell. Instead, my Banishing Charm caught Professor Lockhart in the chest. Unprepared, the DADA professor was flung flying back, flying over the heads of the ducking students before smacking into the far wall with an ugly thud. Lockhart collapsed in a heap, and didn't seem to be moving when he hit the ground.
Whoops.
The second year students in the Great Hall erupted in pandemonium around me over the fact that I might have accidentally killed a beloved (by the female populace, at least) professor. Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin had run over, shrieking in panic, to check on him, while the rest of the Dueling Club screamed bloody murder. Hermione just glanced over her shoulder, saw Lockhart's crumpled body, and proceeded to let out an unearthly wail.
But I was a tad more concerned with the fact that Professor Snape had not called the duel yet… and Hermione now looked positively murderous. My body shuddered with fear and I felt the cold hand of guilt grip me — or maybe it was just my instincts warning me of danger, given I had Brave At Heart and Hermione seemed furious enough to tear my heart out with her bare hands — as I locked eyes with the wild-maned girl. My thoughts had become oddly muddled in light of Lockhart's plight and Hermione's mounting, apoplectic fury. And, was it just me, or did her eyes just… flash red? It was only for a moment, but I could have sworn...
Her wand whipped up, crackling orange light erupting towards me. "Everte Statum!"
Oh… bugger.
"Protego!"
The spell smashed into my shield, sending a shudder through me from the impact and flash, but the charm held against Hermione's attack. Of course, the force of her spell was nothing to sniff at, and I knew that simply hiding behind the invisible barrier I'd created wouldn't keep her out forever. The Shield Charm was already a moderately complex bit of magic, and I was only a second year.
Case in point — her follow-up: "Inflammare!"
Hermione whirled, flinging a fireball the size of my head straight at my actual head. I whirled my wand about, angling my shield to deflect the blazing projectile into the ceiling. The weather mimicry enchantments along the ceiling of the Great Hall dispersed the flames in the heavy snow clouds of tonight's weather. The blazing heat sent some of the candles flaring up, and snuffed others out. It wasn't enough to darken the entire room, but the flickering shadows only added to the havoc as everyone but Hermione and myself ran to get clear of our increasingly dangerous duel.
Sadly, Hermione had thought that since one fireball was insufficient, she flung two more at me in short order. Backpedaling to give myself more room as the crowd that once surrounded us dispersed like headless chickens, I flicked my wand to deflect the further fireballs with my Shield Charm. I could feel it weakening with each blocked impact and forceful deflection, and let it fall as Hermione paused to catch her breath.
"Expelliarmus!" I barked, oak wand blazing red as I took advantage of the opening.
Rather than have the gall to be disarmed when she ought to be, Hermione spat out, "Ebublio!"
A transparent, blue bubble of magical liquid erupted from her wand and swallowed my Disarming Charm before shattering in a splash of blue light. I didn't even know that was possible! Where the hell was she pulling all these tricks from?
"Hermione, stop!" I shouted. "This is getting out of hand!"
Hermione said nothing, a wild look in her eyes (were they glowing red now, or was I just imagining that?) as she straightened imperiously. Her wand waved up menacingly. "Serpensortia!"
An explosion erupted from the tip of her wand, and an enormous, black cobra shot out landing on the stone floor before coiling high. The cobra's hood flared and it hissed threateningly. I yelped, backpedalling as the serpent began to slither towards me. Just my luck that I still struggled with the basics of Vanishment — much less vanishing conjured snakes! I knew the spell, but I'd never actually gotten it to work.
To hell with it. "Reducto!" I tried instead, blasting the cobra to smithereens and ash. Good lord, this was way more than I was expecting! What the hell was going on?! We were bloody second-years! I know I'd been studying ahead, but I also had so many advantages Hermione couldn't have had, this really shouldn't have been a contest. How the hell was this duel getting this far out of hand?!
"Expelliarmus!" I tried again, but Hermione just batted it away without uttering a word.
Wait... What!? How in blazes did she—
"Confringo!" she flicked her wand at me… or at least, she tried to.
Somehow, at the last instant, her wand slipped from her grasp and flew through the air into the waiting hand of the previously ignored professor: Severus Snape.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor!" Snape thundered, rage twisting his expression. "And detention! Both of you! Never have I seen such—"
Oh, I don't think I've ever been more thankful for a detention. Hells bells, I zoned out as Snape continued to rave and level abuses at the both of us, but I simply couldn't bring myself to care. I don't think my shields would have survived a freaking Blasting Curse — what the bloody hell, Hermione!?
I think I was panting now. I shouldn't be panting like this, it was just supposed to be a friendly duel. Good lord, I had messed that up from the start, hadn't I? Shit, was Lockhart okay? I really didn't mean to put that much force into it, I sorta just panicked and hadn't time to actually think things through…
It then occurred to me that I should be asking that aloud.
"Is Lockhart… okay?" I managed to get out amidst catching my breath and slipping my wand back into my pocket (the dimensional one). Snape just leveled a truly bone-chilling glower at me as he grabbed my bicep and yanked me over to Hermione, who now looked absolutely terrified. "Hey, ouch! What gives?"
"Silence," he ordered, and grabbed Hermione as well. She yelped, but otherwise seemed to shrink into herself, absolutely horrified… and confused? Why on earth did she look confused? Her eyes were staring into the middle-distance, darting this way and that like she was trying to puzzle something out but didn't have all the pieces. Beyond making small noises of protest at being manhandled on the other side of Snape, she was otherwise unresisting.
It was at about that point that the other students had taken shelter behind overturned tables that hadn't been there when the duel began. They were poking their heads out now that the duel was done and I could see the gossip that would spread from this already. In canon, it had been about Harry being the Heir of Slytherin from being a Parselmouth… After this whole fracas, I wasn't sure what the rumor mill would churn out.
Ugh, thank all the gods out there the winter hol's were just around the corner. I'd only have to deal with it for three days (only one of them a school day) before I was on the Express from the Christmas holiday.
Snape bustled Hermione and I towards the main doors of the Great Hall, muttering about the punishments he'd love to visit upon us and the glee he'd take if they ended up expelled for this, and promptly ran into Professor McGonagall on the threshold.
"Severus, I heard an awful commotion," she said a little concerned, before realizing that he was almost dragging the two of us along. "What on earth is going on here? Where's Gilderoy?"
"Incapacitated," Snape spat, nodding over his shoulder towards where the fraud lay, out cold.. "A duel gone awry. He'll survive... unfortunately," the professor sneered nastily and Hermione let out a breath of relief (as did I), "but will need to be taken to the infirmary. The students need to be sent to their dormitories."
"I see. And these two?" McGongall nodded at Hermione and I.
"These two are for the Headmaster to deal with," Snape growled. "He'll want to be notified immediately." His lips twisted into a macabre grin. "Trelawney might actually be right about losing a student this year — though, expulsion is less final than the usual predictions..."
Hermione whimpered at this. Good lord, not but two minutes ago I would have thought her capable of breathing fire and tearing me apart limb from limb. Now…. Now she was like a wounded puppy!
Professor McGonagal straightened. "Well, I can see Miss Granger and Mr. Godewyn to the Headmaster, then. I trust you can see to it our... colleague makes it to the infirmary safely and the students get to bed."
There was a moment of hesitation, unspoken words passing between Snape and McGonagall. Then, with a huff, Snape promptly released us, whirling back at the mass of students beginning to crowd towards us. His wand was out in a flash, vanishing the conjured tables, as he strode over to Lockhart, shouting. "And the rest of you, straighten up! Wands away! The next person to speak will cost their House ten points and get detention!"
The doors to the Great Hall swung shut behind us, leaving me with the fleeting glimpse of Snape ordering the remaining second years into rows of Houses and moving to levitate Lockhart when they finally shut.
"Well, then." Professor McGonagall settled herself with a sigh, and motioned for us to follow. "Come along then."
I made to follow, but Hermione seemed rooted in the spot, eyes wide in terror and staring faintly into the distance in disbelief. I glanced at her, more than a bit worried.
Professor McGonagall paused, then looked at her pointedly. "Miss Granger, we do not have all day."
Hermione jolted. "Yes! ...Sorry." she mumbled, flushing pink with embarrassment as she made to follow. McGonagall nodded and continued. I kept a little distance between Hermione in the halls as we trailed after the Deputy Headmistress. I half-expected Hermione to try and defend herself to the professor, but the girl seemed too mortified to say anything.
Soon, we were at the now-familiar gargoyle statue. "Sherbet Lemon." McGonagall said. The gargoyle hopped aside and we solemnly stepped onto the revolved staircase after her, like executioners being marched to the headsman's block.
~o0o~
A/N: Been a while since my last update. Kinda got extremely busy with other work: mental fatigue from writing at least three papers a week (among other projects and research) made little time for writing this chapter. I was hoping to make this longer, but wanted to get this out ASAP.
Hopefully I can spend the holidays getting some more work done on this story in between my job hunt (which Covid has made incredibly difficult).
Anyways, Ken attends the Dueling Club. It does not go well. He beats Nott (no surprise), assaults Lockhart by accident and then has to survive Hermione's fury. Thank goodness for Snape, saving the day! And McGonagall, saving them from Snape!
Last edited: Dec 18, 2020
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kenmadragon
Dec 24, 2020
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Chapter 20
The Headmaster was absent when we arrived.
It was late in the hour, but Professor Dumbledore's office hadn't changed much at all. It was still a beautiful room, but the noises from the many instruments that littered the space were muted since it was almost curfew. The entire area was lit by floating balls of light that reminded me of plasma-globes, casting soft radiance from their luminous, blue centers. The Sorting Hat perked up at our entrance from where it sat on a shelf behind Dumbledore's claw-footed desk. The rest of the room was a mess of books and papers, whose placement seemed to have shifted greatly over the last few months, if memory served (and it did). Most of the portraits and paintings that adorned the walls in the scant space between bookshelves, windows and other instruments were snoozing, disinterested, or absent.
To my relief, the phoenix appeared to be slumbering on its ashy perch rather than doing anything distracting, or even remotely interesting. Despite my hesitance around birds (both magical and Muggle), I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed at how poorly Fawkes seemed: he looked quite ill — positively decrepit, really — and appeared to be shedding feathers like a balding man lost hairs. Were it not for the fact that that was Fawkes' perch, I would have thought he had been replaced by a diseased buzzard. If memory served, tomorrow was his Burning Day in canon… Best not to disturb him then.
Hermione seemed to be horrified at the condition of Fawkes, and I was reminded that she likely had never seen the phoenix before. She wouldn't have recognized that Fawkes was merely near the end of his life cycle and would be born anew within the next 24 hours. I paid her little mind while she cooed over the "poor dear" and glanced at the papers still laying across the professor's desk before looking away in distaste — budget reports.
I picked up a handful of the stray ashes and a few discarded feathers while Hermione wasn't looking and stuffed them in my pocket. I had been running out of ideas for easily-accessible magical substances to try feeding to my Goblin Made Sword, and shed feathers and ash from a phoenix were better than hunting for something dangerous in the Forbidden Forest. I then busied myself with idly browsing the headmaster's book collection to pass the time, feeling strangely light-headed all of a sudden.
Odd, that, feeling dizzy out of nowhere. Perhaps it was just exhaustion. Or perhaps it was a side-effect of handling the cast-off ashes and molted feathers of a phoenix with one's bare hands.
Professor Dumbledore arrived a minute or so later, looking solemn. Hermione seemed to shrink into herself for a moment under his gaze, but then found some inner resolve and straightened up again. I had no such worries — this wasn't my first time in Dumbledore's office, and I doubted it'd be my last.
"Professor, I… is Professor Lockhart okay?" Hermione managed.
Dumbledore gave Hermione a tired but gentle smile. "Oh, I think he'll be alright. Madame Pomfrey has him well in hand, I'm sure."
I doubted that the Professor had actually spoken with the healer directly, much less even knew the full extent of the peacock's condition. Still, I couldn't help the relief from a tension I didn't know I was feeling until I heard his assurance.
"But, I'm afraid we have other things to discuss." Dumbledore sighed and moved over to his desk. His high-backed chair scooted out a few inches without prompting to accommodate him. I couldn't tell if it had already been enchanted to do so or if Dumbledore had somehow done that on the spot, but it was quite impressive. "While injuries during duels are regrettable, they are, sadly, not uncommon. I would not worry yourself about Professor Lockhart's condition, Kenneth. Gilderoy understood there would be risks in starting up his Dueling Club; his condition is his own responsibility."
"Er… then why are we here, Professor?" I asked.
"Simply to get all the facts. I am told you two caused quite the commotion just now." Hermione paled and I winced at the understatement. "Ah, but forgive me. I'm afraid my old bones aren't much use in the cold at this hour. One moment, please."
It was a ridiculous assertion — I knew for a fact the warlock was far more spry than a man his age ought to be — but I didn't comment on it. Dumbledore took a moment to settle himself in his chair then waved his wand, wordlessly conjuring two plush armchairs from thin air. Hermione and I took our seats at his prompting and tried to settle ourselves as best we could. Honestly, I think that Hermione's nervousness was getting to be a little infectious as I was startling to feel uncertain myself.
The Headmaster noticed this immediately. "I can reassure you both that I have no intention of resorting to expulsion… but I find that one needs all the facts before one can move forward. Don't you agree?"
Hermione nodded vigorously, relief flooding through her. Good grief, her emotions shifted so quickly, it was dizzying to watch, even out of the corner of my eye!
"Good. Now, Miss Granger, if you would please start at the beginning…"
At Dumbledore's prompting, the story spilled from Hermoine in a rush. I sat back and listened, noting that when Dumbledore had said to start from the "beginning", Hermione decided that meant from this afternoon when we first saw the notice on the board. Still, Dumbledore was able to coax her into skipping forward to the start of her duel with me.
"—so, I was ready to use the defensive maneuver Professor Lockhart had just shown me, but when he said 'Go', I just heard a blast from Kenneth's wand, and that Banishing Charm came at me awful fast. I completely forgot the maneuver Professor Lockhart had showed me, and leaped aside to avoid the spell, but… but… oh, poor Professor Lockhart! He trusted me to defend against it like he'd shown me, and got caught off guard… It's my fault he got hurt, I should have just tried that wiggling shield, and none of it would have happened… Oh, goodness, I'm so, so sorry, it's all my—" Hermione babbled, eyes misty.
"Miss Granger — Hermione, there is nothing to be at fault for. You did no wrong in trying to avoid harm. That poor Gilderoy was caught off guard was an unfortunate mishap; there is nothing to blame yourself for." Dumbledore interrupted gently before Hermione could actually start crying. "Perhaps you could explain why you reacted the way you did?
Hermione nodded. "Yes… well, Professor Lockhart was thrown by the spell and hit the wall. I… I panicked and got angry… I was furious, and then… I don't really know what came over me, but the next thing I knew I was dueling Ken until Professor Snape stepped in."
"I see," Dumbledore nodded, then turned to me. "Is there anything else you would like to add?"
I considered simply giving a play-by-play of the rest of the duel — and the concerns that I was beginning to feel about Hermione being far more skilled than she ought to be (like I had any room to talk!) — but realized I didn't really know how to explain it. Not only that, but I had the oddest feeling that I really should be more subtle about conveying this to the Professor, as if it were something to keep secret.
I had no idea why I wanted to keep it a secret… For a moment, I felt puzzled. My thoughts were all jumbled up, and there was something that I knew I wasn't remembering properly — some detail that was now fuzzy in my mind. I just couldn't remember what it was, and that frightened me. With my Essence of the Archmage enhancing my memory, I should have been able to remember exactly what I had thought was strange. Now, strangely, I couldn't and I had no idea why.
I was immediately tempted to explain my odd feeling to Professor Dumbledore, but something held me back from being so straightforward. It was a peculiar, gut instinct that told me that I had to show Dumbledore without letting on that there was something wrong with what I was remembering (or more importantly, not remembering). I simply couldn't explain why I was feeling suspicious when I had trouble connecting the dots myself.
Thankfully, I did remember that Dumbledore had a pensieve. Between what details I could consciously remember and the magic of a memory extraction spell drawing out those I only remembered unconsciously… perhaps the professor would be able to notice what I was failing to make the connections for. That's what pensieves were good for, after all: allowing a wizard to step back and see the connections that one otherwise couldn't notice at the time.
Decided on that course of action, I didn't need to feign the hesitation and awkwardness with which I made my request. "Er, I'm not sure. It happened so fast, I… Could I borrow a vial and give you my memory instead? Dad showed me the spell for it over the summer. He uses it for work, sometimes."
Mainly, Dad had needed to extract some sensitive memories from his head and store them at home before we went on our trip to India. Apparently, memory security was of great concern for a traveling Unspeakable. Given he had been tutoring me in mental magics over the holidays, Dad had elected to explain the spell… I don't believe he expected I would try it only a few months later.
Dumbledore beamed. "Of course, I would be delighted."
He waved a hand and a small, empty, crystal bottle floated from somewhere behind us into the headmaster's hand, which was then given to me. Unstopping the bottle, I drew my wand and placed the tip at my temple.
"Focus on the memory. Don't let your mind wander; just focus on what happened, and let the spell do the rest." reminded Dumbledore gently as Hermione looked on in confusion.
As this was not a spell I had ever used before, I did my best to concentrate on the memory fully and perform the spell verbally. "Extrahit Memoriae… Exemplum."
My wand glowed a faint silver as the spell started its work. A pressure began to build in my mind as I forged a path for the memory to be drawn through. The spell isolated my thoughts and recollections and transformed them. Anything and everything that I had been witness to during the memory, even those which I was unaware of at the time, were wrapped up and woven into a strand of pure memory. The strand followed the path of the spell, back to my wand.
Slowly and gently pulling the wand from my temple, a thin, gossamer strand of silver was drawn out from my head, glowing faintly with the pure essence of my recollection. My teeth were grit from the pain, unwilling to cry out from the stabbing headache that erupted while my memory was being drawn out of my head. It was the first time I'd ever attempted memory extraction, and it really hurt. It was all I could do but to keep myself from yanking it all out at once but instead bear with the tingling sensations of needles poking through my brain as I carefully teased it out like strands of silk.
I couldn't help but sigh in relief as the end of the silver memory-strand finally came free and the pressure began to abate. Gently guiding the strand as it hung like a stray line of spider-silk in the air to instead spool itself into the unstoppered bottle, I had to make sure the memory wasn't damaged. Of course, I couldn't say for certain whether I had done the spell perfectly or not, but it did look a bit like Dad's did when he would extract his own memories. Once the memory was safely stored and stoppered, I handed the bottle back to Dumbledore.
"Five points to Gryffindor, for attempting a difficult spell generally taught at the N.E.W.T level as a second year," Dumbledore said softly.
Grinning, I couldn't help the wince as my head continued to throb in the absence of the memory's travel through my head. There were essentially two versions of the memory extraction spell — the original spell and its variation, essentially. The "basic" spell removes the original memory entirely, and the variation creates-and-removes a copy of the memory but leaves the original untouched. Generally, the first spell is more commonly used when dealing with Pensieves or memory security in general.
Naturally, I had no intention of removing the entire memory from my mind, and had attempted to remove a mere copy of the memory. The problem was that I had no experience with either version, and in my attempt to perform the latter, I think I damaged the original by accident. While I was certain that the extracted memory was untarnished, the remnants in my head were a decided mess. It would take some time for my mind to recover from the strain.
I could practically feel my mind repairing itself from my inexperienced attempt already — my Archmage and Druid Essences were likely working in concert to perform the repairs and restore the damage to my memory. It was a decidedly unpleasant sensation, but one I knew would only grow easier with time and experience as I learned from these mistakes and grew more skillful with magic (both mental and in general).
Dumbledore and Hermione seemed sufficiently distracted by the memory in the bottle — Dumbledore's gaze was analytical; Hermione seemed suspicious of the bottle and alternated between peppering the Headmaster with questions about it and shooting me odd glares — so I took the moment to start rubbing my temples and sinus to try relieving some of the pressure in the hope that that would help speed things along. Drawing on my Occlumency lessons helped too as I did my best to order my thoughts and ease the burden on my mind. Still unpleasant… but manageable.
That didn't help the feeling that I had forgotten something… important. The problem now was that I couldn't remember what I had thought was important anymore, just that it was and that it had to be handled subtly. In hindsight, I'm not sure if I managed that, but my head was aching and my mind continued to spin in circles despite my attempts to order my thoughts into coherency. The damage to my original memory of the duel might have exacerbated that terrifying feeling of forgetting, but it had confirmed something truly ground-breaking: my memory was healing on its own. I imagined that whatever I was forgetting would be repaired along with the rest of the damage, so all I had to do was wait out the healing process and then return to my own recollections once my mind was whole again.
Huh. Perhaps the damage caused by my reckless memory-extraction was a boon in disguise?
"Well, I think that I have everything I need," Dumbledore said finally, ignoring Hermione's complaint about how she had actually talked and I just pulled something out of my head. "Now, it's awfully late, and I expect you both have missed your beds enough."
"Does… does that mean we're not expelled?" Hermione asked.
"No, I do not think that will be necessary, Miss Granger." Dumbledore chuckled. "I believe the loss of house points and a detention with Professor Snape will be punishment enough. Though, I hope you will both be more careful in the future."
""We will, Professor."" Hermione and I said, practically simultaneously.
"Good. Let's not have any more incidents like this, shall we?" Dumnbledore nodded. "Now, off you trot." Hermione and I stood to leave, but before the two of us could make it out the door, Dumbledore called out to me. "Ah, not you, Kenneth. I have another matter to discuss with you; It won't take but a minute."
Hermione gave me a look, clearly suspicious and a little bit worried. It took me a moment to realize this was likely about meeting Dumbledore and I had last term and the letters we'd been seeding each other since then. I did my best to look confused and shrugged at Hermione's unasked question. "Go on, I'll catch up later."
She wasn't totally convinced but left the office without any argument. Once we were alone and the professor was certain there were no lingering eavesdroppers, Dumbledore opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a small package wrapped in several layers of roughspun cloth. Something niggled at my memory about that grubbly looking thing because I was certain it wasn't a Christmas present.
I inhaled sharply as I finally remembered why it looked familiar. "Is that…"
"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed my suspicions. "After some discussion, my old friend and I agreed that there was a chance the Stone would be needed to avert tragedy. They have already begun to spread the lie of its destruction and saved enough to last them for a short while. Even so, my friend thought it best to have his work hidden in the most unlikely of places, where we already know it could not be tracked and found."
"With me." I realized. "In my pocket, where none of your own spells and enchantments could find it."
"Indeed," chuckled Dumbledore, full of mirth. "No one would suspect a child would be its guardian, not after we have claimed it was destroyed, and Nicholas puts on airs of arranging his affairs."
"Won't the Flamels need it again eventually?" I pointed out.
"Not for several years. Over the last few months, my friend has extracted enough of the Elixir to survive for some time. It is safely hidden and Perenelle has already set up a safe haven where they can lay low. Nicholas and I believe that our work will be done by the time the Stone must be returned."
"I see. Then, we have a deadline; the Flamels are counting on us to end the Dark Lord once and for all before they run out of time."
Dumbledore sighed wistfully. "Ah, time. A foe truly insurmountable. Even with the greatest of magics, there never seems to be enough of it to go around."
Then, with great solemnity, the Headmaster placed the package in my hands. I couldn't help but stare at it, feeling the nearly imperceptible pulse of the Stone within. "As Nicholas entrusted it to me, now I entrust the Philosopher's Stone to you, Kenneth Godewyn. Watch over it well."
"Thank you. For… thank you." I stammered, unsure of what to say. I was being handed a great responsibility, and couldn't help but feel tremendous fear. This wasn't simply fear for my life or safety, but more fear of being incapable of living up the responsibility.
I looked into Dumbledore's eyes and saw them full of understanding and trust: he was putting an immense deal of trust in my hands, not only by asking me to watch over the Stone, but also in his reliance on my knowledge of the canonical course of events. I had proven that trust well-founded with the plot to capture Pettigrew and secure the Diary, but now…
This was more than I had expected; I didn't know if I was ready for such a responsibility. As far as Professor Dumbledore knew, I was a boy one month shy of thirteen who had seen the future. It would have made more sense were he to know the full truth of my existence as a Jumper, but putting this much trust in someone like Kenneth Godewyn… in someone like me…
Of course, Dumbledore didn't even need his Legilimency to see right through me.
"Oh, Kenneth. Believe me when I say I have the utmost faith in you and your abilities. You may not think yourself worthy of that trust, but I know that you are far more capable than you think you are. You may already believe you understand the full extent of your abilities, but I am certain that you have much room to grow. And in that, I have faith that you will never disappoint."
I felt a little misty-eyed after hearing that. My mouth felt dry and I had to draw on Dad's lessons to keep my composure
"I won't let you down, Professor." I swore.
Dumbledore smiled. "Of that, I have no doubt."
~o0o~
Between my curt responses and a persistent glower (mimicked from watching Professor Snape at mealtimes), I wasn't bothered much upon my return to Gryffindor Tower. Honestly, by that point, I just wanted to sleep and be done with the day.
So, that's what I did. I ignored the other Gryffindors (Neville's concern, the Weasley twins' laughter, Hermione's pique, Harry & Ron's mixed feelings, the older girls' cool attitudes, etc) and went straight to my dormitory, kicked off my shoes, shrugged off my robes, and threw myself under the covers. Within minutes, I was drifting to sleep.
Well, that was until I was rudely interrupted by Seamus brushing the curtains aside and leaning over my bed, wanting details. So I just grabbed my wand and pointed it at him while raising an eyebrow imperiously. I didn't even need to say anything, the look and exhaustion in my face was enough for him to back off and save his questions for the morning.
The next morning, I awoke to a blizzard. Apparently, it had started the previous night, and I was just too distracted to notice. I couldn't recall whether there had been a blizzard that day in canon or not, but I supposed that the answer was "yes" because it just made more sense than thinking the weather would reflect my mood.
Given Herbology lessons were canceled on account of inclement weather (Professor Sprout trusted only herself to fit the mandrakes with knitwear for the cold), and Flitwick had elected to cancel Charms on account of term ending that weekend, I didn't actually have anything to do that day but Transfiguration in the afternoon. Rather than subject myself to a constant parade of questions, I just shut myself in the Tower until everyone had left for breakfast, then stole away directly to the kitchens to snag a few rolls and watch the house elves at work.
Honestly, I learned a lot about wandless magic from watching the elves. They rarely let students watch them do their jobs: rather, they would ply any visitors with endless amounts of food and other distractions. Of course, the elves' habit of fussing over visiting students could get grating after a while, though I thought it comfortingly familiar — my relatives would do the same, and the realization made me a touch homesick. But, when you could catch a glimpse of the school's many house elves in action, they were truly a marvel to see. Their ability to just apparate freely within the halls of Hogwarts, using magic for every little thing with just the snap of their fingers… It was simply marvelous. I was still working out how to replicate their skill myself, but that progress had stalled alongside my own forays into advanced magical theory.
Sadly, the house elves shuffled me out once I was done with the rolls and had stuffed my pockets (not the dimensional one, mind) with snacks for later. If I wasn't there to eat or do anything, then I was just a distraction, and students weren't supposed to be in the kitchens too long. That left me to wander the halls with little to do but think… and homework, I suppose, but I was saving that for later.
Being left with little to do but think was a mixed bag. On the upside, I could go over my memory of the previous night — wincing whenever I touched upon the spots that were still foggy — and was able to appreciate the feel of Hogwarts during a blizzard. On the downside, I was left to mope and wallow in my own shortcomings. Despite the fact that it was generally unpleasant to do so, I couldn't help but be frustrated and dwell on what I could have done better.
This was only exacerbated by the whispers I could hear following me throughout the halls. Everywhere I went, it seemed that the story of my duel with Hermione had already spread. Students were muttering about how I had struck Lockhart down for all sorts of reasons — he gave me bad marks, he had stolen my crush's attention, I had sworn vengeance on him for failing to save my father from a Yeti, etc.
"My father always said that Godewyn's dad was a dodgy sort — an Unspeakable, you know — and knew all sorts of dark secrets that the Ministry didn't want letting out." Macmillan was overheard gossiping. "I figure Godewyn learned those dark spells from his Dad, and tried to shut Lockhart up before the professor found him out. But now he's revealed himself, hasn't he? Best watch out for the professor, lest Godewyn finish the job…"
Macmillan would later find his shoes had been bewitched to untie and retie themselves in tangled knots every half hour.
Then there were all the rumors about how my duel with Hermione went down, each more outrageous than the last as the rumor mill had elected to escalate the entire matter until it appeared that Hermione and I were star-crossed lovers, battling in outrage after I had discovered she had begun to fancy another.
Utterly ridiculous.
Of course, I steadfastly refused to acknowledge Fred and George when they made their mockeries and japes, nor the jeering of Malfoy and the other Slytherin kids when they called me the "Lockhart-breaker". Sure, I might have twitched and glared at them a bit, but I think they got the message… eventually.
Oh, alright, there might have been some minor jinxes involved (mostly prank-spells I picked up around Gryffindor Tower)… but no wands were drawn, nor incantations pronounced, so no one had any proof!
But yeah… they got the idea.
I ended up running off to the seventh floor and shutting myself in the Room of Requirement, which had configured itself into a rather comfortable sitting room with bookshelves aplenty, a warm hearth and a pot of hot cocoa. Old habits, I supposed — it was just easier to hide myself away and avoid dealing with people whenever I felt frustrated, rather than face them and possibly make things worse when my emotions got the better of me in public. It just seemed better to deal with those emotions in private, especially since I had been rather liberal with my retaliations, and that was a terrible spiral to fall into. Anger and frustration was not a good mix for a young wizard with a vast array of spells at his fingertips. Hiding myself away in solitude didn't save me from the inside of my head, but it gave me time to distract myself with more frivolous things — things like books that had nothing to do with learning magic, history, astronomy, and all that other rot. Utensils to do random sketching with, assorted knick-knacks that had been lost through the ages for me to play with and indulge in being a child once more.
Distractions and my own imagination left me playing in the Room until well after lunch — only notified of the time by a grandfather clock chiming the hour that hadn't existed in the Room mere minutes before — after which I hurried off to Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall had the wherewithal not to mention the incident much, though did inform me that I would have my detention in the dungeons that evening. After the reminder and McGonagall's sharp glare at the gossiping whisperers around me, I found I couldn't focus as well as I normally could and my performance was, well, not my best (though still quite above average by everyone else's metrics). The minute class was over, I made an excuse about studying in the library and instead went to the Turris Medius to get some space and clear my head.
I really didn't expect anyone to find me there, but I suppose I never really get what I expect, do I?
~o0o~
She found me in a windowed alcove hidden behind a tapestry of a wizard being attacked by a dragon (thankfully, not magically animated) not far from the East Wing. I had distracted myself with humming and quietly singing old songs from my first life whose tunes and lyrics I could still remember. Sure, I didn't recall all the lyrics and I was probably off-key at times, but I made do with what I could recollect. Most of them were catchy songs that got stuck in one's head for years, but the rest… Well, those were the songs my mother had taught me as a child, back in my first life.
With my mind still healing from my botched extraction spell and the nagging voice in the back of my head reminding me that I had missed something important, memory seemed to be more important than before. While it wasn't directly related to the duel the previous evening, thinking about songs I could remember from my first life made me feel like I was making some amount of effort while my head continued to throb lightly from the gradual healing.
Of course, the sound of me humming and singing a bar here and there while gazing wistfully out a murky window into the fury of a blizzard painting the world in white was likely what let her find me in the first place. Occasionally, I'd actually glance down and read a few lines in my book about why various flora and fauna had the magical properties they did (in hopes of further inspiration for improving my Sword), but I suppose my eyes were merely glazing over the words as my thoughts were lost in the rhythms. I was just moving through a chorus, singing softly, when she interrupted.
"There you are! I've been looking for you since Transfiguration! You've been avoiding me — avoiding everyone all day!" Parvati exclaimed.
I started at her voice, too distracted to have really noticed her drawing near until she'd already swept the tapestry aside and saw me in the alcove. Letting the tapestry fall back into place behind her, she crossed her arms and looked down at me.
"Oh, Parvati. Hello," I said, regaining my composure. Seemed like I was in for a stern talking-to. Parvati (like many of the girls) was a fan of Lockhart and friendly enough with Hermione that she'd probably take her side in things. I readied myself for the inevitable admonitions.
"Honestly, if I hadn't recognized your voice, I would never have found you. What are you even doing here?" she asked.
I held up my book. "Reading?"
Parvati didn't look impressed with my explanation. "Behind a tapestry down a rarely-used corridor, less than a day after you put a teacher in the Hospital Wing?"
"By accident," I immediately qualified, before shrugging, "but yes."
Huffing, Parvati leaned in to look me in the eyes. "And that excuses you from talking to me… how?"
"I wasn't aware I needed your permission to get some time by myself." I muttered sarcastically.
Parvati sniffed. "As if disappearing all morning and afternoon wasn't long enough, you also missed breakfast and lunch. Have you eaten anything today, or were you too busy moping to do even that?"
I paused, scrunching my face. "You're not my Mum, nor my minder, Parvati. Just leave it be."
"How about… no." She looked at me haughtily. "I'm afraid you'll just have to make me."
Frowning, I considered (just for a moment) how I could do just that. I could try silencing her so she couldn't make a sound. I could try and trap her here then walk away to find another hiding spot. Or I could just make her leave…
That last one settled funnily in my stomach, memories of my Banishing Charm the previous night coming back up to remind me that I needed more practice using it on stuff far less durable than the suits of armor. I'd gone straight from cushions to furniture to enchanted armors… While I was feeling guilty enough about putting Lockhart in the infirmary — though not as guilty as if I'd put Hermione there, given I didn't care much for Lockhart in the first place — the thought of causing Parvati any serious harm was… I dunno, it made me feel queasy and wrong.
Parvati was my friend. I didn't have many of those…
"No?" Parvati grinned softly. "I didn't think so. Now budge up and make room, that alcove's big enough for two."
I tried to give Parvati a mean look, impressing upon her that I had no desire for company at the moment, but she didn't seem to care. Rolling her eyes, she just waited for me to move my legs from where I'd been curled up on the alcove ledge. After a moment, I sighed and swung my legs over and off, shifting to make more room.
Parvati beamed beatifically, tucking her robe then smoothing it out as she took a seat beside me on the ledge. "There, much better. Honestly, I felt way too much like Mummy with me just standing there, glaring at you."
I snorted. "Not much chance there, you're nowhere near as scary as your mum."
"Oi, Mummy isn't scary… she's nice!" defended Parvati.
"Oh, to you and Padma, sure..." I rolled my eyes. "But whenever I'm around, she gets this look in her eye like she's sizing me up for a pie."
Parvati laughed. "Mummy wouldn't bake you into a pie… She hates baking, they never come out right — she'd cut you up and make a stew. Add some potatoes, loads of vegetables, liberal spices, shredded cilantro… yum!"
"I meant that every time I come over she acts like I have to be fed and keep eating till I was bursting, but no, that's much scarier." I chuckled.
Parvati let out a snort of repressed mirth. "She does, doesn't she?"
"Honestly, I remember this one time, I was over at your place for your... what was it? Eighth? Eighth birthday party and we were all having dinner." I thought back, smiling in nostalgia. "You and Padma were laughing about the popper that sprayed confetti all over your dad, and I was just about finished with my plate. Of course, your mum decides that since my plate's mostly clear, I must not have had enough. So she ladled more of the curry onto my plate and told me to eat up or I'd never be taller than you."
"Right! And you just made that one face at her and just ate it all anyways! Cleaned out everything they put on your plate, even when Mummy and Auntie Maitri kept piling it on!" Parvati laughed.
"Yeah… Wait, what face?"
"Oh, you know, the one you do when you're annoyed but can't be bothered to do anything about it — that one. It's quite funny, really."
"I do not make faces like that." I frowned.
"Yes, yes you do." Parvati said, glancing at me before laughing again. "You're doing it now!"
"Am not," I said petulantly.
"Are too." Parvati rebutted instantly.
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
I gave Parvati an aggrieved look, but it just made her laugh more. Sadly, genuine laughter is awfully contagious and I ended up giggling alongside her.
"Alright, alright, I have a 'face'. So what? Everyone's got one," I grumbled.
"Yeah," Parvati agreed. "But yours are funny."
"Oi! I do not look funny!" I said in mock affront. "I look dashing — though, I'll also accept handsome or debonair."
"Think you're handsome now, do you?" Parvati teased.
I hummed noncommittally. "Mum says so, so it must be true."
"And according to you, your mum's the authority on handsomeness?" snickered Parvati. "Awfully confident about that, aren't you?"
"Well, I suppose everyone's got their own tastes…" I hedged. "I mean, Mum did marry Dad after all."
Parvati jabbed my shoulder with her elbow playfully. "You're awful!" she laughed.
I shrugged off the playful hit and gave her a level look, barely bothering to conceal my own mirth. "And so are you, casting aspersions on my good looks. I'll have you know, I am adorable when I mean to be."
Parvati shook her head. "First handsome, now adorable? Can't you be consistent?"
"You can be both at once, you know." I pointed out.
"Oh, now I'm the handsome and adorable one, am I?" Parvati giggled.
I gave Parvati an assessing look. "Well, maybe. Which one are you again, the Gryffindor or the Ravenclaw? One of them's a charming, well-read, upstanding, talented and pretty girl with taste and refinement —"
"Why thank you—" Parvati began, flattered, but then I continued.
"—and the other is a Gryffindor."
"Oi!"
I doubled over laughing as Parvati gave me a shove. Really, I couldn't help it, the way she suddenly got all bothered and offended, flushing as she tried to bat at my head and shoulders. Of course, I was easily able to fend of her assault, which just added to my amusement as she flailed about to try and cuff my head.
When she finally settled, Parvati huffed, crossing her arms and studiously looked away. "Well, I can see you clearly have a favorite twin."
I rolled my eyes. "Like you both didn't fit that description anyways… it was just a jape, nothing more."
Parvati turned, lifting her chin to look down on me imperiously. "Small words from a small boy. They mean nothing to me."
There was a twitch in my eye. "We were nine! You and Padma were an inch taller, an inch and a half at best, nothing more. We're practically the same height now. Give it a few years, and I'll be way taller than you, I guarantee it!"
"You said the same thing back then… Tiny." Parvati teased.
"Girls grow taller faster than boys do," I grumbled. "I just need to hit my growth spurt, that's all."
She patted my back reassuringly."There there. At least your Mum thinks you're handsome."
"Aye… at least there's that…" I agreed without thinking, then paused. "Wait a second…" Parvati giggled as I pouted, realizing what I'd just said. "Ugh, you are devious, it's a wonder you didn't end up in Slytherin."
"Oh, I would hope not." Parvati shuddered. "Their Common Room is in the dungeons — that much moisture around me would ruin my hair! Have you seen the mess Pansy's hair looks like? It's absolutely hideous!"
I laughed at that. Same old Parvati.
When my laughter died out, Parvati glanced at me, but didn't say anything. We sat in that alcove for a short while, shifting to get a better view of the scenery outside the window. Past the snow-laden towers and blustery winds lay the expanse of the lake, the Forbidden Forest bordering it in stark contrast with its dark menace, and the white-capped mountains of Scotland even further beyond.
"No matter what time of year, the view at Hogwarts is always a sight, isn't it?" Parvati said softly.
"I find that there's always beauty to be found in the world, even in the darkest of places." I said. "All you need is to know how to look."
"That's beautiful, Kenny."
"Yes, well, Mum's an author. I was bound to have picked up a thing or two." I demurred.
Parvati hummed thoughtfully, looking out into the blizzard beyond as it was dying away into a calmer — though no less chilling— snowstorm, better revealing the wondrousness of Hogwarts in the snow.
"Feeling better?" she asked, almost as an afterthought.
I paused, suddenly reminded of everything that had happened the last few days (and throughout the entire term, really). For a moment, the headache came back… but it was much lighter now. I still felt uneasy about the slowly healing memory, sure, and I was still on edge about what I was missing after all that had happened so far.
But… I did feel better about it. The tension had loosened considerably, and I couldn't help but feel as if the crushing pressure of my worries had lessened in some way. Or perhaps Parvati had somehow shaken me from my funk enough that I was now shifting priorities, and letting go of that stuff.
I was reminded that even with the weight of my abilities and knowledge… I could still be childish when I wanted to be. And that even if I couldn't share everything with my friends, they could help ease the burden, whether they knew my problems or not.
I thought back to the previous night and the faith that Dumbledore was putting in me. I thought to Neville, who relied on me to show him the way forward after realizing his problems weren't entirely his fault and that he'd just needed the confidence to move forward. I thought to Percy who trusted Neville and I to help him practice and learn what he needed to become an Animagus.
And now I thought of Parvati, who had come to cheer me up even when all the other girls at Hogwarts likely hated my guts.
"Yeah... loads." I said without doubt. Giving her a grateful smile, I pulled Parvati by her shoulder into a one-armed hug. "Thanks Parvati. You're the best."
Parvati squeaked and patted my back hesitantly. "Yes, well, er... I suppose we'd better get going then. You have detention with Snape tonight, don't you?"
Drawing back, I grimaced. "Right. Can't forget about that, can I?"
"No, you really can't." she smirked. "Mum might make you a stew — or into one! — but Snape would have you scrubbing cauldrons until your hands were stubs if you showed up late."
"Aye, best get a move on, then." I nodded, grabbing my bag and standing. I held out a hand for Parvati as I brushed the tapestry aside. "Shall we?"
"Let's." Parvati took my hand and I helped her to her feet (like Mum said gentle-wizards ought to). The night would be cold, the storm would rage on, and my worries would continue to haunt me. But, for now, I was in a better mood and the holidays were only a weekend away.
Surely nothing serious would happen before then?
~o0o~
A/N: Merry Christmas! Wanted to get this chapter out before I got busy with the rest of the holidays. Ken meets with Dumbledore, has a funny feeling, runs with it with horrifying results, and has to live with that decision. He also faces criticism and isolates himself out of frustration. Thankfully for Ken, he's got a good friend looking out for him who knows just how to help.
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
kenmadragon
Sep 23, 2021
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Chapter 21
Surprisingly, Hermione never showed up for detention in the dungeons.
Ten minutes after I'd arrived and had been put to scrubbing cauldrons in a large basin by the sink, I'd realized that she was uncharacteristically late. Part of me wondered if she was still moping and fussing in the corridors outside the infirmary (as Parvati told me she had been between and after classes), but it wasn't like her to be late to anything.
Of course, the irritation of almost losing to Hermione in the duel and the aggravation of my own head randomly aching whenever I thought about the previous evening was a terror of its own. I really shouldn't have lost! I knew the Shield Charm, and had practiced loads of jinxes… but why had my first instinct been a Banishing Charm? Something had unnerved me — I still had trouble believing I'd been perturbed by Hermione of all witches — and it made me believe that the best course of action was to throw it away. Then, after it had hit Lockhart… I fell back onto old habits, I suppose. Defense and counters were useful in a duel, and after knocking out Lockhart, I figure I must have been hesitant to be on the offensive again.
Still… I should have done better! So, why didn't I? In retrospect, I felt like a tremendous fool, and it was only the fact that Hermione seemed utterly horrified by her own actions in Dumbledore's office that kept me from grilling her for answers.
Something was wrong, and I was beginning to put the pieces back together. My memory had (terrifyingly) become unreliable last night, and my decision making was not up to my usual standard. Granted, I often did poorly when called to make snap-judgements under pressure — another failing from my first life carrying over. Indecisiveness was a plague I often suffered from whenever I had a wealth of options and little time to really give them much thought. Coupled with the stress caused by my own guilt regarding the Pettigrew fiasco hurting the Weasley family in unexpected ways and the near-constant worry I had about my own presence in this world, it made sense that I wouldn't have made the best of decisions as of late.
However, there was something deeper there. All I needed was to remember which of the millions of details my mind could recall was the important thread that would unravel this mystery. There was a reason I had been so off my game last night and which had caused that funny feeling to be cagey with Dumbledore.
The pieces were there… I was just missing the picture.
Thankfully, scrubbing was suitably mind-numbing that I could sublimate my grittier emotions into vigorously scraping the cauldrons for grime and potion residue. Taking out my frustrations on those foul stains was remarkably therapeutic — every bit of sludge I could scrub and scrape off felt like a blot in my own mind and stress being taken off as well.
It was like wailing on the armors with a sword just so I could vent my desire to hit things: surprisingly cathartic.
For a moment, I contemplated getting detention with Snape again the next time I needed to work off some frustration. I discarded the idea a minute later — obviously, I still had trouble thinking clearly.
Anyways, while scrubbing, I allowed my mind to wander. My thoughts inevitably returned to the duel the previous evening and the details that were becoming easier to recall as my mind healed. Despite my lessons in Occlumency, keeping track of which details were easier to recall than before was still a challenge. Even so, I found that I could recall most of the duel, but not why I had felt so unnerved by Hermione, especially not after seeing her acting like a chastised puppy when we were carted up to the Headmaster's Office.
Thoughts of Hermione brought me back to her absence from detention, so, a half hour into the detention, I risked Snape's attention to learn whether he knew why.
"Professor, may I ask why Hermione hasn't shown up for detention?" I asked after catching the Potion Master's attention.
"You may." he answered succinctly.
It took me a moment to realize he was being deliberately aggravating and stifle the annoyance at the snippy reply.
"Thank you," I managed to get out. "Has something happened to Hermione? You don't seem surprised she hasn't arrived for detention…"
Snape stopped grading parchments and shifted to address me more directly with a put-upon sigh.
"The Headmaster, in his wisdom, has seen fit to assign Miss Granger's punishment to Professor McGonagall. I imagine she has Miss Granger performing some inane and pointless task, like writing lines." Snape explained with a scoff.
"Oh," I mumbled, rather puzzled by that decision. While it was certainly the headmaster's prerogative to assign teachers to proctor detentions, I couldn't understand why Professor Dumbledore had done that. We had been given detentions by Snape and he had let them stand. Now he was changing Hermione's detention to be with McGonagall? Why? While McGonagall was a stern disciplinarian, it could not be denied that she did favor Gryffindors just a hair more than everyone else.
It was a subtle thing and never stopped her from doling out punishments fairly, but I couldn't help but agree with Snape: if McGonagall was supervising Hermione's detention, then Hermione was getting off easy. It was clear to me (and everyone in our classes, really) that McGonagall favored Hermione above the rest of us (even myself). It was honestly a little annoying, the way McGonagall would give her small smiles of pride whenever Hermione's hand shot up during class and answered a difficult question, while the only response I ever got was a nod of subdued approval.
Hermione would be assigned lines and possibly given a stern talking to for the professor to voice her disappointment. McGonagall had certainly not been shy about doing so at the end of Transfiguration lessons earlier that day, and Hermione had shrunk into herself under the weight of the professor's admonition. While that would be horror enough for Hermoine — a girl who dreaded being a poor student by any metric and placed great importance on the opinions her teachers had of her — it was still a light punishment compared to scrubbing cauldrons like I was doing.
Of course, there was also something further perplexing in Snape's statement. "But, Professor McGonagall told us in class that we both had detention with you. When did Professor Dumbledore change that?"
Snape gave me a dry, withering look. "It would be in your best interests to focus on scrubbing those cauldrons, Godewyn, and not on the flippancy of a Headmaster's interest in assigning tasks for detentions. If those cauldron's aren't scrubbed by curfew, you shall continue to have detentions until they are done — even if you must work through the winter hol's..."
Scrubbing harder now, I focused on this new information. Hermione would be absolutely insufferable if McGonagall let her off lightly (something I strongly suspected she might), though she would certainly play the properly-chastised victim. While she would certainly fret and sound like she had been right and truly punished for her actions, I had no doubt that she would lord the fact that the headmaster thought I should suffer more under Snape than be given the lighter punishment from McGonagall. Of course, Hermione was already somewhat difficult to be around given her abrasiveness. I think it was also the fact that she sometimes reminded me of the fussy, supercilious pricks I absolutely despised in my first life who felt some pathological need to correct my every failing as if they themselves were flawless paragons when they were really full of...
Sigh.
Anyways, I could only hope that Dumbledore would be able to get it through Hermione's head that she can't just do stuff like attempt to murder me just because she's angry I hurt her celebrity-teacher-crush. I mean, I know that kids get crushes on teachers they respect — that's perfectly normal, and loads of Hogwarts students seemed to be crushing on Lockhart, despite being an absolutely terrible teacher (though excellent writer with a solid grasp of how to craft compelling narratives) — but they were nothing to commit murder over.
I mean, what with the Legilimency and all, it really ought to be easy to help her out with—
Oh.
Hell's bells, I just remembered the detail from the duel that bothered me. The one that I couldn't remember properly which should have set off alarm-bells, but I was apparently too stupid or distracted or whatever to actually recognize and plan around.
Oh… shit!
Hermione had red eyes for a moment. Right as the duel truly kicked off, her eyes had changed color. It was one of those "blink-and-you'll-miss-it" moments, but I had noticed it… and then didn't… because I wasn't thinking straight after the duel, and then in Dumbledore's office I was still flustered and then immediately distracted by the molting remains of the phoenix, and then… it got hazy…
It got hazy… why? Why did my memory go hazy? It was clearing up, now that I had focused on it, but… Ah. Damn.
I had turned my back on Hermione. Only for a few moments, I had turned just far enough away that I couldn't see her out of the corner of my eye. It was a momentary lapse in attention, but it must have been enough to pull a trick I could only assume she'd mimicked from Lockhart somehow. I wasn't going insane from stress and guilt, as I had initially suspected (though, the jury was still out on whether I wasn't going insane for other, separate, reasons). No, it was far worse: my mind had been magically affected.
The timeline of events about when and where they had happened wasn't 100% solid, but it was enough for me to realize that Hermione was not just advanced in her dueling spellwork after suffering a defeat on Hallowe'en in first year, but had also been using mental magics.
Which was absolute bullshit because I struggled with mental magic, and I had loads of perks to cheat with. Honestly, my Occlumency perk gave me an excellent foundation in mental magics without even trying, as did my Mental Prowess and Mental Resistance aspects of my Archmage Essence grant me a great deal of resistance to mental manipulations.
Of course, as a Dungeons and Dragons nerd from my first life, I really should have remembered that "Resistance is not Immunity". I had relied on the integrity of my Archmage Essence and my Occlumency to protect me from casual mind-reading, and assumed that any blatant attempt at manipulating my mind would be easily thrown off… All my wariness had been aimed at ensuring I was never alone with Lockhart, but I had never considered Hermione as a potential threat beyond jinxes and the occasional hex. Those I could defend against easily, not mind-affecting spells that managed to beat their way through my resistances before erasing their presence in my thoughts.
Gods, I was an idiot.
And red eyes…
I may not have been a widely accomplished Auror, skilled in the tracking and capture of dark wizards and witches, but it was clear that the redness of her eyes had been something inhuman, if only for a moment. Hermione often had bloodshot eyes that made them reddish, but they had never had a faint glow or flash of pure scarlet color before — that seemed more like magic at work. And while plenty of magic was red in color, the fact that her eyes had been scarlet in a moment of rage… The sudden, inexplicable capacity for a vicious, single-minded assault upon an enemy...
I didn't want to believe it. But now there was a sinking feeling of realization as everything began to snap together.
I had reacted instinctively and used near-full force with the Banishing Charm not long after feeling pressured by Hermione's gaze… which might not have been just my instincts, but also my inexperience attempting to defend against mental assault aimed at something beyond Legilimency. Perhaps I had been silently (and, possibly, wandlessly) Confunded, but put up enough of a resistance that I could still duel effectively, but not as intelligently as I might have otherwise done. The stress of worry and guilt that had eaten away at me lately
The rest of the duel had been vicious, Hermione constantly on the offensive and contemptuously handling my attempts at counters with skill and practice beyond her years or experience. My own mental stresses probably didn't help there, as I panicked often and got caught up in the impossibility of Hermione's abilities during the duel rather than handle the situation gracefully as I ought to have.
The look of stunned shock when Snape finally interfered and her terror at being in trouble, as if she couldn't understand what had come over her. I had rushed to assume she had been lost in the throes of emotion and was now feeling ashamed of what she had done in her fit of anger, but now I wondered if she had come to her senses from something beyond just mind-numbing fury.
Her surprising interest in the dying Fawkes and apparent lack of threat lowered my guard (as well as my own greed and distraction) for just a moment, thus allowing her to alter my memories just a touch in ways I struggled to notice the source. Perhaps I had even resisted that mental assault too, even when caught off guard, but was overpowered? I had been feeling especially stressed at the time, looking for any distraction to avoid dwelling on the fact that I had put a teacher in the infirmary (even if Lockhart was barely a teacher, he was still an authority figure), and with the emotional stress I had been trying to deal with all term, I wasn't in much of a position to defend effectively anyways…
Plus, if my own resistance and mental defenses had been overpowered by a witch of greater skill in mental magics attacking when my guard was down, that would explain why I did not have any memories of that struggle: they may have been altered or removed.
My own funny feeling that I should be careful about conveying my own recollections, and the struggle I'd had trying to create a removable copy of my memories, as if there was something wrong with it. I had damaged it further, but the damage had provided an opportunity for my mind to speed up the healing, as my Druid Essence's healing effect could then work in tandem with my Archmage Essence's work in restoring my true memories.
Groaning as the memories finally began to order themselves properly, finally restoring themselves fully, I hunched over the cauldron while my head threatened to split open as if by an axe. My mind was racing, trying to connect all the stray threads that were now repaired and ready for my mind to weave them into the true tapestry of my recollections. Ideas sprang up from the ether, and now I could finally remember what I had realized in my duel.
Hermione wasn't herself… She was like Ginny had been in the canonical timeline.
Possessed.
"Ten Thousand Thundering Typhoons!" I swore, dropping my brush with a loud splash, and leaping to my feet. I can't believe I was stupid enough to miss it. Everything made sense now… and also the danger.
"Mister Godewyn!" Snape rose from his desk angrily. "You are not excused from your punishment. Now, unless you are a glutton for further punishment, you will pick up that brush and continue scrubbing now."
"But Professor, I just-"
"Not another word, Godewyn, or I'll have you scrubbing cauldrons for the rest of term!" Snape interrupted, leveling a vicious glare at me that seemed more annoyed than scary.
"But-"
"Silence! Scrub." Snape ordered sternly, brooking absolutely no arguments. "Now."
We stared at each other, neither side willing to give in. I knew that Snape was attempting to frighten me into compliance, but I had no intention of being scared. Of course, that didn't stop me from seeing sense: Professor Snape would not (could not) back down when his authority was being challenged and it wasn't wise to annoy him further. The sooner I completed my detention, the sooner I could be free to run to the Headmaster and tell him what my repaired memory had revealed.
~o0o~
Not fifteen minutes later, that very detention was interrupted by the most startling of circumstances.
While I had been busy quietly muttering to myself, scrubbing the cauldrons with sufficient vigor to placate the taskmaster's sinister gaze glaring out from over his hooked nose, the cry of a great bird startled me from my labor. The sound had me instinctively jerk in place, flinching from the source of it — while my phobia had been eradicated, the instinct to the cry of a great bird of prey was still baked into my memories, a lifetime of flinching or freezing-in-place at the sound of such mighty lords of the sky which might swoop down to rake talons across my face or pluck out my eyes like nightmares I had left behind in a previous life. I no longer feared birds, but I couldn't help the twitch in my eyes and the shudder down my spine at the predatory cry.
Naturally, the next instinct is to look at what in blazes had just made that sound, an instinct that Professor Snape and I shared as both our heads whipped around to the dungeon's door where a blazing shape made of what seemed like silver-white mist had formed into a solid form wrought of brilliance and moonlight, flapping far too slowly to keep aloft, though it flew without disturbing the air at all.
The form was an enormous bird of prey, greatly plumed, with enormous tail feathers and a wingspan wider than most men are tall. I recognized the creature immediately for I had seen the original this facsimile was based on before in the Headmaster's office, back before his Burning Day when he was young and strong: a phoenix.
The silver-white phoenix made from light — the Patronus, I realized — spoke without moving its beak in the voice of Professor Dumbledore, though brusque, with startling urgency and command: "Severus. The Forest has been set alight with cursed flame."
Snape inhaled sharply, but I barely paid him any attention as my eyes went wide, thoughts awhirl in my head. Hells bells, that had not happened in canon, what the actual hell?!
The Patronus' message continued. "Send Mister Godewyn and Miss Granger back to their dormitories and meet with Pomona and Hagrid at the greenhouses. I am heading to inform Minerva and will meet with you shortly. Contain the flames as best you can until we arrive."
With its message delivered, the phoenix's brilliant light faded, becoming less defined, less real, as its body dissolved back into silver-white mist before dissipating entirely into the air, leaving nothing behind.
"You told me she was with Minerva, you old fool." He bit out. But Professor Snape was already moving, waving his wand sharply at his desk to have the parchments and books upon it organize themselves, another gesture sending a cloak flying from a cloak rack by the door to his office into his waiting hands. The professor turned to give a serious glare at me, his gaze boring into my skull with enormous pressure that I realized wasn't from some nonverbal Legilimency. No, that was simply his sheer disbelief that I seemed to still be sitting there, hunched over a cauldron with a brush in hand and suds everywhere, doing nothing but look at him.
"Don't just sit there, idiot boy, clear up and get your things," Snape snarled, and I snapped back to attention, dropping the cauldron to the ground and leaving the brush in it as I grabbed a towel. Hurriedly drying my hands, I saw Snape scowl and flick his wand at the cauldron I had left behind, sending it back into the pile I still had to work on with a loud metallic clamor. "You can finish later."
Once I'd gotten my bag on my shoulders and bundled my cloak into my arms, Professor Snape grabbed me by the shoulder of my robe and not-so-gently led me out of the classroom and down the dungeon corridors. He finally let go as we reached the stairs, but had me go up ahead of him, scowling any moment it seemed like I wasn't moving quick enough for him
I did my best to keep up a satisfactory pace, though my mind was far too busy thinking about other matters. In particular, what the actual hell was going on with the Forbidden Forest being on fire… cursed fire, at that! Why was it on fire? I don't think there were any arsonists at Hogwarts — besides Seamus, but really, that was all just mis-cast magic that we ragged him about, nothing like an actual arsonist streak — and dragons don't show up in the Forest until book four at the Tournament (lest you count Nora, but she ought to be in Romania right now). Or perhaps there was some other fiery creature in the Forest that had set the place ablaze with cursed flame? Hagrid would have to have bred the bloody Blast-Ended-Skrewts at some point, but I don't think it would have been this early in the timeline.
No, wait. I was going about it all wrong again. My head wasn't addled anymore, I had to remind myself, and I ought to recall just what I had remembered after repairing my own memory. Hermione was possessed. It was no use thinking about other potential threats when she was the real and present danger… and considering her surprising proficiency with fire spells during our duel, it wouldn't surprise me if Riddle had also influenced the fires in the Forbidden Forest. Or had somehow given her the spells and instruction in how to employ cursed fire just for this very gambit.
I was still lost in my head when Professor Snape cut me off at a corridor intersection. "To your Tower, Mr. Godewyn. You heard the Headmaster; return to the Gryffindor Common Room at once. And if I hear you weren't there in the next few minutes, I assure you that you shall be scrubbing cauldrons until Easter… or worse."
A little startled by the sheer menace in the professor's voice, I looked him in the eyes. Those glittering dark orbs were piercing in their intensity, but I threw off the attempt at Legilimency with sufficient ease born from ludicrous innate talent and a summer's practice, ordering my thoughts to give off the impression (both mentally and physically, in posture and expression) that I was fully compliant with the Headmaster's instructions.
"Of course, Professor," I lied, drawing on long practice as one who has put on the airs of a well-behaved child before their parents across two lifetimes, regardless of what mischief I've actually done. "Shall I be off then?"
Snape's eyes looked through me searchingly, but found nothing of apparent use to him. "Go. And be quick about it." Scowling, the professor turned, cloak and robes fluttering behind him as he strode quickly down a corridor towards the greenhouses, but not before pausing at the next turn, looking back to check that I was heading the opposite way, just as I was supposed to.
~o0o~
Unbeknownst to Snape (hopefully), while I was indeed rushing towards the Grand Staircase, my destination was not Gryffindor Tower. No, with my realization that Hermione was possessed by Riddle, not Ginny as it had been in the canonical plot, I saw the fire what it truly was: a giant distraction.
I had no idea why Riddle would be so bloody blatant about it, but setting the Forest on fire was a damned good way to ensure that the school was looking beyond the castle's walls. With it being quite a bit after curfew, the students would also be in their common rooms as well, leaving only the professors and the occasional prefect or two that roamed the halls to worry about. With the cursed flame, professors would be rallied to either see all students were back in their dormitories or sent out to deal with the blaze.
While a normal fire wouldn't require so many wizards to deal with, cursed fire resists dousing, even by magical waters, and the spreading of such a flame throughout the Forbidden Forest would necessitate a good number of professors to properly combat — including the Headmaster. Otherwise it would overtake much of the woods and the underbrush, heedless of the fact that everything was bloody wet from the snow-storms we'd been having lately. Because cursed fire doesn't care about how wet the tinder is, just that everything burns before it, regardless of whether it should burn or not.
Potentially, the fire might leap out to the greenhouses (despite the distance, cursed fire was strange like that) or spread deeper into the Forest, causing havoc for the denizens of those darkened woods. As habitats shifted in the Forest as a result of creatures fleeing the blaze into the territories of other beings, chaos would erupt and potentially spill over.
Everyone would be looking out the windows to the fire that shouldn't be there. No one would be looking too closely within Hogwarts' halls.
Crude, but effective, as far as distractions went.
But if this was a distraction, then that meant that Riddle's true goal was going to be relatively undefended. Either I headed to Myrtle's bathroom on the second floor, or I tried for the Headmaster's Office… or wherever the Headmaster elected to hide the Diary.
Damn, I don't actually know where he put the Diary, do I? All our discussion about the bloody thing and what to do with it, and never once had I bothered to ask where Dumbledore was keeping it safe! Ugh, I need to get better about this whole 'scheming' thing…
Okay, so assume it's in his Office. Short of the gauntlet on the third floor (which wasn't there anymore, I checked two weeks into term) and the potential for various Vaults and other hidden rooms in Hogwarts, the Headmaster's Office is perhaps one of the most secure places in the entire castle, in no small part because of who inhabits it: Albus Dumbledore. Odds are good that the Headmaster has the Diary in his office, which means that Hermione will try to breach it to recover the Horcrux.
We both visited the Headmaster recently so she probably knows the password. With McGonagall about to be called out by Dumbledore, Hermione would be free to rush to the Headmaster's Office… or she never intended on going to detention in the first place. Snape had said that Dumbledore had changed Hermione's detention to be with McGonagall. But the Patronus that was sent thought Hermione was with me serving detention with Snape. Assuming that faking that Patronus is impossible, that leaves only one explanation: Polyjuice potion. Did she get his hair back when we were in his Office? That's a lot sneakier than I would have suspected of her.
Considering the fire was set off while detention was in progress, Hermione likely had a lead on me and could already be in the Headmaster's Office as I'm running up. No way to know how much time she would need to actually find and recover the thing, but let's assume Riddle is guiding her (or worse, has taken over for however long he can) and will get it for certain. But… that will still take time.
Then, she has three options. First, she flees to the Chamber of Secrets immediately to unleash the Basilisk. Second, she rushes back to Gryffindor Tower and pretends nothing is wrong, hiding the Diary somewhere she can recover later. Third, she makes a stand in the Office itself, Riddle rips the life-force out of her and incarnates himself immediately upon recovering the Diary.
Hopefully it's the second one. That would imply they were willing to be patient and subtle. But then again, I remember the blustering weather outside with snow blowing about on frigid winds howling through the Scottish countryside. Hermione and/or Riddle had conspired to use cursed flame in those conditions, where the potential for actually being a threat to draw out the Headmaster would require some serious dark magic to set the Forbidden Forest ablaze. Clearly, subtlety had gone out the window after my duel with the possessed Hermione. So, options one or three… Either way, I had to make my way upstairs as quickly as possible.
Just in case, I made a brief detour at the second floor landings heading towards Moaning Myrtle's bathroom only two hallways away from the Grand Staircase… Of course, it was only as I was staring down that corridor, idly noting that it was along this wall that the "message in blood" would have been scrawled, that I realized I had absolutely no clue how I would bar the bathroom door. The Locking Spell I knew was easily cast, but also countered by the Unlocking Spell. Sadly, I didn't know the Anti-Alohomora Charm — I suspected it was either a fifth-year spell or NEWT level since I'd never seen instructions for it — and I had no spells that could bar or block off the door itself. Besides, there was nothing conveniently around to charm beyond one rather befuddled painting of a half-blind wizard around the bend and torches on brackets. Alarm spells were similarly beyond anything I had bothered to study, a failing I would need to correct later. For now, I would have to satisfy myself with a minor annoyance to slow Riddle down.
Frustrated with myself and pressed for time, I simply mimed the turning of a key, nonverbally and wandlessly casting Colloportus. The door to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom slammed shut with a thunderous bang, locking and barring the entrance. Then I pulled out a stick of chewing gum I had gotten from Seamus a week prior and cast a Switching spell upon it and the innards of the lock. While the stick of gum now had the consistency of iron, the gears and pins of the door's lock would now be like gum, stuck and unwilling to move from where it had locked. Nothing truly solid, but a speed-bump if one trusted solely in the Unlocking Spell and failed to look too closely. It would have to do, though I was pleased to hear the sudden outcry of the ghost who haunted those toilets begin to shout, her voice an unearthly high-pitched wail. Well, I supposed that would have to do and turned on my heels to race back to the Grand Staircase.
Naturally, I was ambushed not long after I made it back onto the moving stairs.
~o0o~
My only warning was an otherworldly cackle and the whooshing of displaced air.
Long practice in the Room of Requirement in combat against the animated suits of armor and their remarkably impressive arsenal of non-gunpowder weapons had me whipping my hand out in response. It was purely a reflex born from having the suits of armor throwing balls at me… balls which had long since become rocks from the moment I learned the rudiments of the Shield Charm. And once I'd shown that I could manage the Charm wandlessly, wordlessly, and in the middle of sparring, they had upgraded to throwing actual weapons at me — mostly daggers and small axes, with the occasional spear tossed in quite literally.
I had recently gotten a handle on those, so it was only around the beginning of this month that they had upgraded to crossbows. It was like that one scene from that Dodgeball movie I half-remembered. "If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball." Only, in this case, the principle of the practice was "If you can dodge a crossbow bolt, you can dodge a spell." Though, given I was still only 12 (almost 13, next month), my main focus was on shielding myself better to block rather than dodge. It was less taxing on my still-growing body and great training for calling up defensive magics quickly.
So I didn't really need to think too hard when a Shield appeared like a hemispherical shell of invisible force centered upon the motion of my hand as it arced out to bat aside whatever had been flying at me. Turns out that was the right call, for a balloon filled with some manner of enchanted ice-water had splattered on my Shield Charm, erupting in a spiky coating of ice that appeared instantly where the water had splashed upon impact with the barrier. I gave it a moment's glance, surprised at how quickly the water had frozen, but flicked my wrist to send the ice away as the Shield Charm unraveled violently, letting it shatter on the steps of the Grand Staircases beneath me. It was to my immense frustration that the distraction had kept me from reaching the next landing before the stair beneath my feet decided to change where it went, adding much more time to my trip up to Dumbledore's Office.
The source of the ice-water balloon was, as should have been expected, a cackling poltergeist: Peeves. The spirit of chaos had infested Hogwarts for centuries. It was perhaps both the most famous and most persistent poltergeist in the British Isles. Efforts had been made over the years to oust Peeves from the premises, but it never stuck. Peeves was an incredibly potent poltergeist, having thrived upon the magical environs of Hogwarts just as much as the rest of the castle.
So of course he was a tremendous annoyance when the motley-clad spirit hooted with delight and surprise, finally allowing himself to become visible once more.
"Oh, that was something! Didn't even need to see old Peeves-y, did you?" Peeves chortled. "But what's a goody-goody like Godey-winny doing rushing up the stairs after curfew? Miss your bed-time?"
I really didn't have time for this. "What are you doing here, Peeves?" I asked firmly, left hand still ready to ward off the many other balloons Peeves had on him while my right dipped into my Dimensional Pocket for my wand.
"Helping keep the school safe, of course! Someone's been setting fires, don't you know, so I thought to myself, 'Say, Peeves, the headmaster did tell you to help him, didn't he? Catch the student who set the fires?' And so I am!" the poltergeist smiled innocently, though the glint in his eyes was anything but. "Say, didn't you get into a scuffle recently? Lots of fire tossed around, I heard. Put poor Professor Lockheart in the infirmary, you did. Now the Forest is on fire, and you're out here, after curfew, trying to run back to your Tower, are you?"
"I don't have time for your games, Peeves, I need to get to the Headmaster's Office. Now." I scowled, annoyed by the reminder of that disastrous duel and of my own foolishness. I really didn't have time for the bloody poltergeist and utterly lacked the patience to deal with his mischief right then. "Out of my way, or you'll regret it."
"Hmmmmmm…." Peeves feigned giving the 'suggestion' some thought, but his 'thoughtful'-expression quickly turned into a malicious grin, full of teeth and eyes glinting with vicious glee. "Shan't! Headmaster himself said I should stop students running in the corridors. Told me I had permission to do whatever I wanted to the students out in the corridors tonight. Just have to keep the fires out of Hogwarts, and make sure every student I find stays where they are and doesn't move…" Peeves snatched up one of his icy water-balloons and wound up for a pitch like he was playing baseball (despite never having heard of the sport). "So freeze!"
Yeah, no. Deflecting the water-balloon with a momentary Shield was simple for me, and easily hidden from view of all but maybe Peeves. But there were plenty of paintings around the Grand Staircase that were now drawn to the commotion, and rumors of this spat would likely spread throughout all the school's paintings within hours. Best to look like I still need a wand.
My arm whipped up, wand out and flicked at the poltergeist. "Stupefy!"
...Nothing happened. No flash of red light, no stunned poltergeist, not even the backlash of sparks or a brief kick from the failed spell backfiring in my face — nothing.
Bewildered, I looked away from where Peeves was now laughing uproariously (who made lurid comments about "performance issues, this early!" in between breaths) to the wand in my hand. Only, it wasn't my wand. It was a small, silver blade roughly the size of a letter opener or a tableware knife, styled to look like a medieval sword. It was fairly ordinary, save for the fact that the blade itself was encased in a tiny little sheath and bound up in ribbons to keep it from slipping out.
Right, my Goblin-Made Sword. After having imbibed the blood, marrow and essence of an Occamy earlier this year, it had since been capable of changing its size. It wouldn't actually change shape, but it would now resize to fit anything I intentionally sheathed it in, making it far easier to carry around, even in my Dimensional Pocket. In highsight, I should have gotten more practice with quickly drawing my wand from the Pocket (and not the tiny sword-handle) ahead of time.
Still, no reason to fumble around with putting it back and getting my actual wand out. I could make this work. I grabbed the sheath, the ribbon coming undone with a wordless spell. The staircase was moving underneath me again, and the motion had gotten Peeves' attention to focus on me once more. And there he was, eyeing the distance, winding up another throw with those icy balloons… I'd need to figure out how he got them to freeze right as they splashed, later, it was a neat trick.
But first, dealing with Peeves. This time, I ducked, letting the balloon sail wide over me and over the edge of the bannister. In a smooth, fluid motion as I straightened up, I drew the shrunken sword out of the tiny sheath and loosed it directly pointed at the poltergeist. The same motion facilitated the sweeping hand gesture that made for very easy control of a Banishing Charm that sent the blade rocketing like a bullet… a magical bullet that rapidly began to expand back to full-size as it speared into the maliciously mischievous spirit. I never had managed to get full control of its size-changing. Once nothing was touching the sword, whether that be a wizard or a sheath, it did the same thing most Occamies did: expand to fit available space.
Peeves jerked, spinning uncontrollably in place before regaining control of himself, appearing as if a massive, silver-sword better suited for Hagrid than a 12-year-old (almost 13!) had just sprouted out of his chest like an unnatural tree. As he spun, it was also clear that the blade had gone right through him, the point sticking sharply out the back of his motley jester attire. Settling back, head-up, feet down, facing the right way, Peeves took a moment to look at the now-giant sword sticking through him.
"Huh." I had half-expected it to just pass through him, to be perfectly honest. Peeves was a spirit, after all, even if he was tangible enough to actually touch and move things around. After all, poltergeists are amortal, never truly "alive" nor dead. It's why the Ministry classified them as 'non-beings' — or rather, 'Non-Human Spiritous Apparitions', to be specific. Like boggarts and dementors, poltergeists are magical spirits created from human emotions: they were incapable of dying for they were never truly alive to begin with.
Guess that meant Peeves wouldn't die if a giant sword speared through him. Poltergeists were literally impossible to kill.
Peeves himself had eyes as wide as saucers, staring at the enormous sword with a mixture of shock and wonder. He reached down to touch the sword, as if reassuring himself that it was indeed real, and that it was still going right through him.
"Oh look," he muttered, letting out a slight, uncertain giggle. "I've been impaled."
Then his brows furrowed in concentration, trying to do something. Turning intangible so the sword would drop from his body, perhaps? From the petulant whine of frustration, it seemed like it. "Why am I still impaled?!"
I shrugged. "Magic sword?" I offered helplessly. How was I supposed to know? Nothing in any literature I had found mentioned what happened if you stabbed a thousand-year-old poltergeist with a sword wrought of goblin-silver!
"ARGH! WHY WON'T IT COME OUT?!" said spirit shouted, quickly beginning to panic as he fumbled with the blade, doing his best to slip free of impalement.
In practically no time at all, Peeves had gotten desperate, grabbing the enormous handle and trying to physically yank the sword out of his body to absolutely no avail. It was actually a bit disturbing to look at, for while there was no blood or any indication that he was actually wounded (besides the sword sticking through him), Peeves was remarkably lifelike for a spirit; solid-looking and all that. But with how he was frustrated by trying to pull a giant sword out of his chest like it was a particularly clingy piece of lint that refused to remove itself from one's shirt, there was something oddly comical about the entire scene.
A snort of laughter slipped from me and Peeves' attention leaped back to me, full of venom and anger. "YOU!" He pointed at me with a wagging finger. "You did this! Wait till I - er, till I tell… well, I'll just teach you to mess with me!"
A pair of those same magical water-balloons appeared in his hands (conjured or not, I didn't have the time to ponder that) and he whirled to fling them at me. This time I did get my wand out of my Pocket, but I didn't really need it. Peeves was horribly unbalanced by the giant sword that had run him through and the balloons went wide, splashing upon the stairs and erupting in bursts of ice where I didn't even need to lean out of the way. I muttered the spells to heat ice back into water just so I wouldn't slip if the stairs turned slick.
"Stupid thing…" Peeves muttered, fuming. Of course, his annoyance and frustration was nothing in comparison to the surprise I felt when the poltergeist immediately turned and flew higher up the moving stair hall. He even shook his fist at me petulantly, promising, "I'll get you for this, Godewyn! Mark my words, you'll rue the day you crossed Peeves!"
It was immensely amusing, to be honest, seeing the poltergeist play to such cliche tropes with such seriousness and fidelity. Of course, when the poltergeist turned himself invisible as he flew away in disgrace, sword and all, I realized he still had my sword stuck through him.
"Hey, wait a second… Get back here!" I roared angrily, chasing after the poltergeist as I rushed to get off the bloody staircase and on a stable landing that wasn't going to move around randomly. My wand jabbed out, magic at the ready. "Accio silver sword!"
A yelp and a litany of curses erupted from empty air as my sword rushed back to me, invisible with the Poltergeist it was stuck on. I held out a hand, mostly guessing how to catch it based on the sound of Peeves' juvenile fury, swearing and shouting every rude word he seemed to know . The solid thump of the massive blade's handle slapping into my open palm was reassuring — that I couldn't wrap my hand around it properly, not so much.
"Hold still, will you? Bloody hell." I muttered as I had to put my wand away so I could use both hands and wrestle with the oversized sword because Peeves kept trying to wriggle away as I tried to keep hold of the sword without toppling over or letting go. "Look, if you'll just turn visible again and cooperate, I can get the sword out of you. But I'm warning you, any mischief, and I'll just charm it to fly you in circles... or hex it so it flies you straight to the Bloody Baron."
There was a slight bit of fear on the poltergeist's already pale complexion at the mention of the Baron, though he hid it well for it only lasted a moment as he became visible once more. The jester in motley-clad then looked contrite and solemnly held up an open hand, saying "Alright. I swear I'll be good. No tricks, no mischief. I swear it. Now, get this sword outta me!"
Yeah, I wasn't buying that. I'd fallen for that trick as a child in my first life, and gotten into a great deal of trouble for it. "And the hand behind your back?"
It should have been sheepish at getting caught, but Peeves' grin was shameless as he revealed the crossed fingers he had hid. So, I hefted the sword, Peeves still on it, and sank the tip of it into a crack in the stonework, letting it slide deep and stick firmly. Stepping back, I let Peeves wiggle around, pinned on the sword but unable to free himself from it, much less get the leverage to pull the sword out of the wall while he was still stuck on it.
"You know, I could just leave you here… pinned to the wall on a sword… forever…" I hummed just loud enough for the poltergeist to hear clearly, putting on a facade of thoughtfulness. Inwardly, I was doing my best to draw on my Occlumency lessons to keep the grin of malicious glee off my face so the poltergeist wouldn't catch on. "It'd be the great new attraction at Hogwarts! I can see it now, frontpage news on the Prophet! Pesky Peeves the Poltergeist, Finally Fixed! A picture of you, right here, unable to free yourself, as everyone laughs at how the famed spirit of chaos was finally pinned."
You could almost see how horrified Peeves was at the prospect, visualizing all the mockery aimed his way. I could just picture how the laughter and jeering he was usually the one making at others would be levied at him as the subject of such embarrassment. For a moment, he truly was white as a ghost! For ages, Peeves had always been the jester. Making him the joke was something his pride could not stand for.
I leaned in conspiratorially, careful not to get too close. "Or I could let you go… if you do something for me. And no one will have to know about this."
"What do you want?" Peeves scowled.
I grinned on the inside, but was careful not to show it. I had him. Besides, there was something he'd said earlier that stuck with me as odd. I needed clarification. "You said the Headmaster told you to help keep students out of the corridors, that you needed to make sure they stayed where they were because there was a fire in the Forest…" Peeves nodded, not seeing the request. I continued. "And you're sure it was the Headmaster?"
"What do you mean, am I sure? Who else would it be? Merlin?" Peeves asked, incredulous. "No one else has a beard that long, do they?"
"What color was the Headmaster's robes, then? When he told you that?" I asked quickly.
"Black, wha-?" he answered unthinkingly, utterly confused by the line of questions.
Yup, definitely Hermione under the Polyjuice. Dumbledore was famous for always wearing colorful attire since he'd achieved life-time tenure by becoming Headmaster, and Hermione wouldn't have access to his wardrobe. She must have run into Peeves by chance while still disguised as Professor Dumbledore and taken the opportunity to sow a little more confusion. That settled that mystery. Still, the greater danger lay ahead.
"Alright, when I free you, I want your help with a spot of mischief." I said, thinking quickly. "Those freezing water-balloons? I want a bucket full of them ready to drop on the next person to walk into Moaning Myrtle's lavatory on the second floor. Doesn't matter who it is, just make sure that it'll drop all of them on whoever first tries to get in and make them cold as a popsicle!"
"... A what?" Peeves asked, confused.
Oh, right. American lingo. What was the older British slang for it? "An iced lolly?"
Peeves still looked confused.
I sighed. Disgusting, magical reference it is. "Cold as a yeti's bogey?"
Recognition finally dawned, much to my exasperation.
Peeves was quick to school his features into that of indifferent confusion, but I had noticed the slight curl at the tips of his lips, trying to itch into a smile as his eyes glittered with the idea of such mischief. "And, pray tell, why would I, Peeves, chief of mischief and prince of pranks, booby-trap poor ol' Myrtle's lavatory? That's being mean to Myrtle, that is."
"Because the next person to walk in will likely be the person that killed her fifty years ago." I said simply.
Peeves didn't have a response to that, furrowing his brow in disbelief, searching my expression for falsehood. Though I could draw upon my Occlumency to put on a perfect facade of truthfulness, I didn't need one to state the truth. And Peeves, childish trickster and spirit of chaos, was experienced enough to recognize that truth. He wasn't a ghost himself, but Peeves was a spirit and made much in common with those departed souls. Though he had never been alive and would never experience death, Peeves in his natural state of being a force of nature and barely-bridled, childish mischief was still capable of empathy, no matter how alien his mindset.
Peeves didn't like Myrtle Warren, likely never had, whether in life or death. But she was a ghost and Peeves had lived with ghosts in this castle since the Founders had walked the halls. Despite the reputation of some poltergeists, murder was something anathemic to Peeves' existence. Centuries of living besides ghosts and I gambled on there being some sliver of empathy born from all that experience, despite all the differences between Peeves and the many ghosts that haunted Hogwarts. And if I reached that miniscule aspect of Peeves, then he would do as I asked.
"Deal?" I asked. "Agree, and I'll pull the sword out of you and let you off to set up that prank."
The poltergeist made a big production about thinking it over, hemming and hawing to himself as he pondered the positives and negatives of each option before him. This took two seconds and some rapid mumbling to himself that I suspected were either condemnations of someone (either me or Peeves himself, really) or just curses in general.
"Deal." Peeves answered, raising a hand to me. "Shake on it?"
I glanced at the hand, skeptical. "There's a balloon in your other hand, isn't there?"
Peeves blew a loud, wet raspberry at me. "Spoilsport," he accursed. "Now, get me off this oversized letter opener!"
Best I was going to get, sadly. Of course, doing so was easier said than done. Peeves was really stuck on the blade, impaled as he was. It ended up needing me to keep a foot on the parts of Peeves' torso that wasn't currently impaled by the enormous sword that was about as wide as my head. I needed that as leverage to keep Peeves pinned to the wall while I pulled on the crossguard to jerk the sword out of the wall and poltergeist together. It didn't come out as smoothly as either of us would have liked as the sword seemed insistent on keeping Peeves stuck where he was on the sword, requiring me to keep yanking on sword over and over while horribly unbalanced because I needed to keep a foot raised and planted to keep Peeves pinned to the wall for the necessary leverage to actually remove the gigantic blade.
The instant the sword finally came free of the poltergeist, Peeves let out a whoop of joy and surged into the air, sending me toppling over as I lost balance utterly. It was all I could do to keep a hold of the enormous sword's handle to keep it from trying to expand further in size, scrambling to get a better grip now that it was freed of Peeves and the wall. Peeves himself, naturally, decided to disappear the instant he was free to do so, absolutely unharmed and his clothing unmarred by the impalement. Invisible, Peeves flew off, leaving only the sound of his echoing laughter to waft through the stair hall of the Grand Staircases.
Well, at least the laughter sounded like it was heading downwards, maybe to Myrtle's bathroom, but who could tell with all the echoing? He might have just lied and decided to do something else, who could tell whether he would listen to my request or not.
It took a moment for the sword to settle for the grip of my hands upon the hilt, finally beginning to shrink down. Tightening my hands on the sword's handle slowly coaxed the sword into rapidly adjusting to accommodate what it perceived to be a shrinking grip. Squeezing and squeezing until the sword was back to the size of the letter opener, I was able to keep it in one hand while raising the other and muttering the Summoning Charm under breath to call the tiny sheath I had dropped on the moving staircases. Snatching it out of the air when it flew to me, I carefully slid the shrunken sword back into the tiny sheath, sending a small wisp of silent magic to the ribbons to bind it once more. Judging by how Peeves had been stuck after being impaled by my sword, I suspected that my sword might have imbibed something from Peeves' essential nature as a Poltergeist, but I didn't have the time to experiment right now. Maybe later (over the winter holidays, perhaps) I could investigate what new properties it possessed. But for now I would let it "digest" as I stored it back in my Pocket.
Drawing my actual wand out (for certain this time), I made the decision to continue on my way. I had lost a whole load of time dealing with Peeves' shenanigans and then the aftermath of my Goblin-made silver sword decided to stay stuck inside Peeves, but judging by the fact that I seemed to still be the only one on the Grand Staircases at the moment, the Professors were likely still outside, contesting the blaze of cursed flame. That meant that Riddle!Hermione was still loose. It was a game of cat and mouse now… only in this instance, the mouse is a 13-year-old girl being possessed by a 16-year-old dark wizard who happens to be a highly-intelligent (if increasingly desperate) murderer likely bent on retrieving his Horcrux/Diary.
I needed to get to the Headmaster's Office and hope that whatever defenses Dumbledore employed to safeguard Riddle's Diary were enough to stymie the shade long enough for me to arrive in time.
~o0o~
A/N: It's definitely been a while. Got super busy with stuff beyond fic-writing on account of having to finish a bunch of papers and projects to complete my degree. I also ended up doing another writing challenge that ate up some more free time. Then when I got my degree, the job-hunt took up focus, so the bits and pieces for this chapter's draft languished for months while I added in little by little. Figured I'm finally in a somewhat stable position to clean up the draft and make an actual chapter out of it. Hopefully it won't be so long until I'm able to finish the next chapter, seeing as I'm no longer burning out as a writer from a bunch of research papers and essays.
Terribly sorry about the nine-month gap in chapters. The next chapter (or two) should hopefully be enough for me to finish the climax of this arc. To all my long-time readers, thanks for your patience. To the new-ones, I really hope there won't be such a lengthy hiatus again.
Lawgiver of a New Age [RWBY/Exalted] "Look out Remnant, there's a new Hero on the block, and he has no idea what he's doing!" (Hiatus)
The Clone Connection [YJ/Superboy SI] "When Superboy woke up in Cadmus, he was faced with the impossible - not everything he knew was programmed." (Temp Hiatus)
The Wizard Errant [HP/? SI] "The adventures of an errant magician and his adventurous attempts at finding the true meaning of life amidst the nonsense of an often silly multiverse. Of course, nothing ever goes quite according to plan..."
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kenmadragon
Sep 23, 2021
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kenmadragon
kenmadragon
Oct 23, 2021
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#182
Chapter 22
There exists this peculiar limbo state where urgency wars with the fading of adrenaline.
That limbo was what I experienced as I made my way through the corridor of the seventh floor. The urgency of needing to stop Riddle's machinations was at the forefront of my mind, but after the spat with Peeves was resolved, it was difficult to muster up the same level of frantic drive that I had but minutes before. The surge of adrenaline and accompanying high that had seen me through the encounter with the poltergeist, the spirit's subdual and brief interrogation had withered away. I wasn't running at full-force as I had been, but I was still moving briskly through the corridors after mounting the flights of Hogwarts' stairs.
In a sense, that dissonance between head and heart might have been a good thing. Slowing down a bit let me keep my breath steady and keep my wits about me. It occurred to me to think about more than just heading to the Headmaster's Office, but to also watch for any other "surprises" that Riddle might have possessed or tricked Hermione into setting up. Or if he… she… they(?) managed to recover the Horcruxes from Dumbledore's Office and were taking a circuitous route to flee.
It occurred that I had never confirmed exactly how Dumbledore had elected to protect the Diary and the Locket. All I knew was that he had obtained them and was keeping them close by and secure. Given the fiasco in the underground chambers where he had laid the gauntlet to protect the Philosopher's Stone, I imagined he would prefer to keep the Horcruxes close at hand. That was part of the trouble of trying to maintain a conspiracy with the Headmaster; our correspondence was primarily through use of letters sent in the dead of night which were burned upon receipt. He never really said where they were outright. I only "knew" the bloody things were in his office because I had to read between the lines as Dumbledore attempted to retain some measure of crypticness in his writing.
I'm fairly certain that particular quirk was intentional and meant to be endearing, but I suspected that the old wizard also wanted to preserve some measure of distance between my pre-teen self and the plot to see the Dark Lord meet a true-death.
...Didn't mean it wasn't a little bit endearing when his weekly letters also contained some manner of useful advice with regards to magic or life in general, regardless of his crypticism and veiled phrasing. Guidance for those in need, it seemed, was more than just a vocation to the man.
Anyways, dissonance at this juncture might have been a blessing in disguise. Without the heat of emotions and the panic of being too late overtaking my thoughts, I could approach the situation more thoughtfully. The trick was to focus on rushing without allowing it to consume me, lest I start overthinking everything and getting lost on tangents as my mind spun in circles, dreaming up hundreds of scenarios and what-if's in preparation for what should otherwise be a rather simple goal: to stop Riddle.
Of course, as with all things, precision was important. "Stop Riddle" was simple, but how to do so, and what would constitute as fulfilling that goal… those questions were enough to distract me if I let them.
Thank all the gods and my Benefactor for the Occlumency perk and my father's instruction on the subject over the summer. Ordering one's thoughts is hard when you have a natural tendency to analyze and inspect everything that catches your focus. Compartmentalization of one's thoughts and emotions was difficult for even the greatest of minds, requiring a level of introspection that was both familiar and strange all at once. The Occlumency perk and my Essence of the Archmage made doing so much simpler to accomplish, though I wasn't quite a master of the technique yet.
Another advantage of slowing a bit as I reached the gargoyle statue that guarded the stairwell to the Headmaster's Office: I could catch my breath, make sure my wand was out, my bag and cloak were shrunk and stashed in my Dimensional Pouch, and that I was ready for pretty much anything.
"Sherbet Lemon," I said, waiting for the gargoyle to leap aside and let me onto the moving staircase. The tension was almost tangible as the stairs led me up, and it took measured breathing exercises to keep myself from having a white-knuckle grip on my wand.
No, wait. Those were goosebumps, actual goosebumps I was feeling. The prickle of those small hairs rising on one's nape that was just now coupled with the faintest sensation of passing through faint mist. The sensation only lasted a moment and would have been utterly undetected to others. But my senses were honed to their peak by the Druid's Essence, bordering the unreal, and my mind could process that incredible quantity of sensory input into understanding.
That slight shiver would have seemed inconsequential to any other, but I recognized it as a thin film of magic — one that tingled in a spectrum beyond even my acute perception when the moving staircase moved me through it. A sensory enchantment of some kind, I surmised, put up to warn of unexpected visitors.
Professor Dumbledore never bothered with such, having far more faith in his instruments than to set up an invisible enchantment made of mist the thickness of a soap bubble which would have been unnoticed during the winter months at Hogwarts. The man was subtle in his precautions, but not that subtle.
Riddle knew I was coming.
I half-expected a curse to come sailing down the staircase, but given the stair beneath my feet continued its spiral ascent with nary a hitch, I kept my guard up.
Be ready for anything, I told myself over and over, readying myself to throw up a Shield Charm or dive for cover at the first indication of combat. I could think about all the "What If"s I wanted to in the next couple seconds, but the only truth I had to rely on was that I had no real idea of what to expect beyond "Hermione is possessed and Riddle wants his Diary back". Imminent combat seemed like a reasonable assumption.
Before I knew it I was at the top of the stairs, staring at the heavy oak doors with the brass door knocker shaped like a griffin.
I took a breath, raised my wand, and—
The doors swung open. I immediately ducked behind the door frame as a bolt of coruscating red shot right for where I had been standing a moment before. Too close for comfort, I thought, and pressed by back against the wall beside the door frame, heart thumping and senses wild as I readied for the fight of my life. Stunning spell, I guessed.
"Who goes there? Show yourself," demanded the wizard within the Office. Male, certainly, but not the Headmaster's. If Hermione was truly using Polyjuice as I had suspected, her hour of transformation should have ran out by this point. Ergo, she should no longer be wearing Dumbledore's face, but instead her own. That the voice within was neither Hermione's nor Professor Dumbledore's was concerning.
Had Hermione already obtained the Diary and restored Riddle to physical existence? Something didn't feel right about that, because I shouldn't truly know what Riddle sounded like as a teenager. Yet, this voice was familiar, I just needed to hear it again to place it.
"Lower your wand and I'll grant you the courtesy of at least talking things out," I offered, testing the waters as my wand flickered through the casting of a multitude of silently cast spells: one to dispel and unravel the sensory enchantment I had passed through, another for the Human-Presence Revealing to show where Riddle stood in the room (by where I recalled Dumbledore's desk was), and the last a Shield to defend myself for the next spell.
"Kenneth Godewyn?" the wizard seemed incredulous. "What on Earth… no, I should have expected this. You did prove surprisingly competent for a second-year, I remember that much."
"Is that a compliment I hear?" I asked idly, still trying to place the voice. I knew for certain I had heard that voice recently, but the way the wizard talked was apparently quite different from the original. Attempting to conceal his true voice? Perhaps.
"And yet I also recall you damaged your own memory through that memory extraction spell. Though, I see that problem seems to have corrected itself somehow. Astounding, really. If only we had the time for me to extract that secret from you." The wizard seemed almost regretful at that, much to my disbelief.
Even so, that had been enough to have things settle into place. So that was how it was. Finally managed to place the voice, though I can't say I had seen this twist coming.
"I don't suppose we could have this lovely chat face-to-face, could we, Professor Lockhart? Or should I say, Tom Riddle?" I asked with feigned nonchalance."Seems a bit rude to do this while you're standing in there, and I'm out here."
"Oh, and we wouldn't want to be rude, now would we?" Riddle shot back with Professor Gilderoy Lockhart's voice, the typically silky smooth voice of a charming huckster now used for snark and venom. Based on where it came from, I could tell that Riddle was moving around the room, likely trying to get a better angle on me. He was going to attack again, and I'd need to move quickly when he did. "But if you insist, toss your wand into the room first, then enter when I say so. I promise I will not curse or hex you if you do."
I scoffed. "Fat chance. I'd ask the same, but you're not stupid enough to try that. You're famous for being an exceptional duelist. I'd rather have my wand on me, thank you."
Riddle hummed thoughtfully, and I could finally see the sliver of Lockhart around the door-frame, finally in view. "Then I believe you will recognize this one. Expelliarmus!"
I twisted out of the way, unleashing the Shield Charm I had prepared to deflect the Disarming spell. There was no room to maneuver much beyond the doors to the office itself, so into the office I dove.
"Rictusempra!" I slashed my wand, the spell ricocheting off a hastily conjured shield from Riddle as I tumbled into the office and rapidly got back to my feet. Dumbledore's office was not quite so large that we were far from one another within this one room, but there was now some distance from us. It also gave me a better chance to get a better look at the state of the Headmaster's Office.
In short, the place was a mess.
The small, spindly tables placed haphazardly around the office had been ransacked or pushed over, their contents shoved aside, drawers pulled open and recently-rummaged. Books and papers that were stacked on every available surface were now strewn across the floor. Bookshelves were similarly devoid of half their contents, which now were strewn across the floor or other tables in Riddle's search for his Diary.
Fawkes' brazier was enclosed by an iron cage, a shackle of which also bound the hatchling phoenix, his cries magically silenced. Similarly, a miasma of dark smoke and shadow that reeked of dark magic was spread like a fog around the walls, concealing the various portraits of former headmasters from view (and likely the reverse).
But most importantly to me was that Dumbledore's claw-footed desk had been shoved aside so that Riddle could get at the thing that now stood where Dumbledore's own magical portrait ought to have hung, a blanket of some shimmery-material pooled at its foot— the Mirror of Erised.
I could have laughed at the sight of it. Of course that's how Professor Dumbledore would protect the Diary and the Locket.
But there were more pressing matters to attend to than admiring the old warlock's thrift and cunning. Case in point: the dark wizard standing in a borrowed-form near where Fawkes' cage was. It was very disconcerting to see Gilderoy Lockhart wearing such an odd smile. Lockhart's smiles were usually all pearly white teeth, but with Riddle in control, it was a far more quiet affair.
It was a bit more like my own, strangely enough; one side quirked in a perpetual smirk that felt so natural, as if you knew something no one else did, and couldn't help but smirk about it. But perhaps more noticeable was not the smirk that had no place on Lockhart's face, but rather the long, plain black robes that garbed his form — a far cry from Lockhart's usual wardrobe of loud, flashy colors — and a pointed black hat placed firmly upon his head that I don't recall the DADA Professor ever bothering to wear before. But again, more pressing matters to attend to.
"Petrificus Totalus!" shouted Riddle with Lockhart's voice, though I was just a hair quicker.
"Protego!" The shield held strong against the Full Body-Bind Curse, deflecting it. A pile of fallen books erupted into motion as the spell affected some, causing their spines to straighten and covers to snap shut. I didn't let that distract me from gauging the distance between myself and Riddle - not much. Dumbledore's office was certainly a sizable room, but it was not a dueling ring suited for magical battle. Also, not only did I have to mind the short distance between us but also any collateral to the office — I doubted the Professor would appreciate further damage to it.
I needed a plan, fast. It took me just a moment to come up with a few ideas, none of which I liked, but I took my gamble on one. Whether it worked or not would depend on whether I could pull it off in a duel against the memory of 16-year-old Tom Riddle.
A pale blue ray shot from my foe's wand, a nonverbal spell, but I was shorter and quicker. Dodging, I cast secrecy aside in return for speed. A wordless Disarming spell flew from my own wand as I navigated the fallen books and random, broken silver instruments on the floor. Riddle, bewildered by a second-year capable of nonverbal spellcasting, only barely brought up his own guard to deflect the charm, growling in annoyance and surprise.
The dark wizard returned with another spell of sickly yellow light but a twirl of the wand and a slight variation on the Shield Charm caught and dissipated it in a blaze of sparks. I immediately seized the momentum to cast a hex of my own, but had to duck under the blaze of a purple scythe arcing through where my head should have been.
"I thought it was mere exaggeration on her part, the complaints of a lesser mind, but you truly are impressive." Riddle scowled. "I might actually need to put some effort into this."
I wasn't sure what to feel about the compliment. Instead, I picked at his phrasing. "Her? I've been meaning to ask about Hermione. Whose body is that, really? Hers?"
"My own, soon enough." Riddle smirked, seeing my miffed look.
He added to that annoyance of a non-answer with a sharp word and a lance of shimmering green. I threw up a Shield to block, but found that Riddle's spell was far more potent than expected. The green lance of magic shattered the barrier in an explosion of thunderous force that sent me stumbling back, though uninjured and still in the direction I intended.
Well, damn. I fired a stream of Stunners at Riddle, casting over and over as quickly as I could, attempting to overwhelm him with a barrage of spellfire, but his own Shield charm was more robust and lasting than mine was. When my focus faltered upon seeing his defenses so resilient, a pause in the assault to catch my breath, Riddle smirked and flourished his wand before slashing down, speaking an incantation I didn't recognize.
I narrowly dodged the ribbon of smoke that erupted from the air above and went screaming like a ghostly wail towards me. As the ribbon hit the ground, the smoke coalesced into a small cloud that lunged at me once more in a stream of unearthly miasma, forcing me to throw up another Shield to stave off the tendrils of baleful smoke. A good thing too, as the smoke seemed to sizzle and burn at the edges of my spell, forcing me to twist my own wand to make my Shield collapse destructively, taking the vitriolic smoke with it.
In that time, Riddle had not been idle, having taken command of the flames in the fireplace. I could hear the muttered Engorging Charm he used to make the crackling fire erupt into a towering inferno. Another spell sent the flames blasting out of the grill like the belch for a dragon before flickering like a floating tongue at Riddle's command, coalescing and forming into a molten serpent of living flame.
It seemed that in lieu of deflecting fireballs, Riddle wanted to see how I handled being crushed by an enormous snake made of fire. It was somewhat reminiscent of the cursed flame-serpent from the fourth movie, but far smaller and formed of more mundane flames than the dark magic meant to slay Dumbledore. The fiery snake crackled and burned bright against the smoky miasma that clung to the walls of the office then lunged at me.
For a moment, I contemplated how much sanity Riddle must have had to use a fiery serpent as a weapon in an enclosed office with all these books strewn across the floor. It ended up being less than a mere moment because I still had the fire-serpent of doom to deal with. Luckily, it wasn't cursed fire, so I had just the spell for it.
Roaring the incantation of the Flame-Freezing Charm, I whirled my wand-arm around me, casting the spell wide before silently re-casting it in a more focused manner upon myself. Not a second too soon for the serpent of living flame crashed into me with an incredible rush of heat, enveloping me in fire.
Thankfully, I had practiced that particular spell extensively enough that instead of suffering horrible burns, I only felt the pleasant sensation of a hot summer wind briefly brushing over me as it splashed across me and the floor.
Seizing the opportunity, I stole the heat from the leftover flames after the dissipating serpent had spent itself futilely upon me and spat, "Glacius!" From the point of my wand erupted a focused blast of utter-cold, stealing away heat from the air, snuffing out the fires and coating everything in its path in ice and frost. Riddle conjured a Shield to defend himself, then shattered it when the magical defense was itself coated in a layer of rime.
"You truly are remarkable. It's almost like looking at myself three years ago… or perhaps fifty-three?" Riddle mused softly, breathing deeply from the exertion of dueling in an unfamiliar body. "It truly is a pity that someone of your breeding and skill was placed in a House like Gryffindor. If only you weren't standing in the way of finishing Slytherin's noble work, we could have worked together. I could have shown you many secrets I have found in the Dark Arts…"
"Noble work?" Incredulous, I couldn't keep the outrage off my face at the suggestion that unleashing a Basilisk upon a school full of children for a campaign of genocide could be considered 'noble'. "Slytherin's views on Muggles are nearly a millennium out of date. Hermione's the top witch in our year and strong enough to keep the shade of your memory going for months without access to your Diary. Clearly, blood purity is not a sign of magical talent and you know it!"
"And yet, you are her superior. A pure-blood raised among the magical, a genius beyond your nominal peers. Look at yourself, using spells beyond your years," Riddle pointed out. "How could a mudblood girl compare?"
"Constant study and practice beyond the standard curriculum." I brushed off the excuse. "Hermione's only failing is her belief that excellence in class is equivalent to true mastery."
Riddle gave a near triumphant smile at that, a twisted thing upon Lockhart's features. "And yet, here you are, using nonverbal spells to stand against me. A wizard of noble blood and exceptional talents honed by the need to attain mastery, the drive to seize greatness…" It was strange to hear the wistful sigh in Lockhart's voice, but Riddle's impassioned words sent a shiver down my spine. "Such potential… Is this what he felt looking at me all those years ago? I think I understand now…"
"We're not the same." I interrupted, firmly, breaking Riddle from the mists of memory.
Riddle quirked an immaculate eyebrow, as if my words were ridiculous. "No? It feels like looking in a strange mirror to me. Talent and potential, the brilliance of one destined for greatness… But you shy away from it. Still too hesitant...too weak to seize it." His words were a hiss, a smirk of malicious intent, yet so full of certainty. That confident grin widened and I could see the glitter of Riddle's zeal behind Lockhart's eyes. "Not yet, at least."
I… I couldn't accept what he said as true. No matter the similarities in our prodigious talents for sorcery, the insinuation that I was just a reflection of Tom Marvolo Riddle, as shown by the 16 year old murderer immortalized in the memory of a stupid diary… That sparked my temper into something fierce.
Anger brimming within me, I couldn't keep the disgust out of my voice. "I'm nothing like you… You're a shade of memory possessing a body that was never yours — just the remnants of a boy running in fear of death!"
"I fear nothing." spat Riddle, brow furrowed and raising his wand warningly… threateningly.
"You bloody named yourself after your fear!" I shot back. There was a fire in me now. I could feel it, the hot rush of anger and outrage that had given me such troubles in my first life's childhood. Temper roused, emotions inflamed. Before, I might have thought to quell it, but now… now it was but fuel. It was drive and will. "I'm practically fluent in French, I can translate your stupid, childish, little moniker. It's obvious you're terrified of dying! Why else would you mutilate your own soul?"
Lockhart's face paled faintly when I mentioned how a Horcrux was made. Riddle quivered with indignant rage, rapidly beginning to lose his veneer of cool-headed calculation as his wand now pointed at me. "How do you know about—"
"About how you bloody well died the first time around? Hah!" I laughed mockingly. "You tried to kill an infant and were killed by the very thing you never understood. Because Lily Evans knew the power of love, unlike your Squib moth—"
"Enough, you little—Oscausi!" Riddle spat, wroth writ clear as his wand blazed with fury.
But I had not put hours upon hours into practicing the Shield Charm for nothing. The defense wouldn't have held easily against a curse backed by such malevolence, but I only needed a moment to dodge out of the way and ensure it was deflected safely in the moment it did hold, concealing my true aims in the shifting stance.
"You're pathetic! You resent your mum for dying, don't you?" I needled, feeling a malicious glee at the faint sound of grinding teeth as Riddle positively vibrated in fury, all the while I inched closer and closer to my goal.
"Shut up! Silencio!" His voice was now a shout, but his wand quivered and I was able to deflect the spell with far less effort. Hot damn, it was working. Riddle might have been far more skilled with magic than I was, but this wasn't the Dark Lord in front of me, just a memory of his teenage self stuck in an unfamiliar body…
...And I knew that teenager's biggest buttons. Perhaps it was cruel… but considering who Riddle was, is, and would become? I didn't give a damn about the psychological scars I was reopening in the mind of Riddle's shade. I was finally in position. I just needed him mad enough to make a stupid mistake… A mistake right about—
I couldn't help the mocking grin that came to my face. "Is that why? All this, because daddy didn't want you and mummy couldn't be bothered to stay alive, not even for you?"
Riddle snapped.
— now.
"Crucio!"
I was already moving the moment his wand began to burn red. But instead of ducking or dodging or putting up a Shield… I instead threw myself to the side, tumbling into a messy heap of parchment rolls and cast-aside books behind Dumbledore's desk.
The ragged scream that tore its way through Lockhart's throat filled me with both vindication and horror at the success of my impromptu gambit. It was like a dying animal, howling in inarticulate agony, and filled with nothing but pain. Then, there was a loud thump as Riddle collapsed, spasming in a heap on the ground.
Most of my "combat training" was ill-suited to being used in Dumbledore's office, especially if I planned on pretending to still need my wand. Nonverbal magic was a reluctant card to show from my hand, but still, I wasn't used to dueling other wizards in general. Riddle was a more practiced duelist in general, so even with all my advantages, I gave him decent odds of beating me in a "fair duel".
Since I had no intention of fighting fairly against the Dark Lord, and Riddle would have likely attempted to cheat if he had the options, defensive casting it was as I probed his skills and came up with a plan.
The plan had been reckless… but worked.
Step one, navigate my way across the room so I was standing before the Mirror of Erised, and Riddle was opposite me. Thankfully, footwork and positioning is something the suits-of-armor drilled me on very strictly for mute constructs animated by magic.
Step two, rile Riddle up until he casts something that would likely overwhelm me.
Step three, jump out of the way and hope to God that the spell ricochets off the Mirror of Erised and hits him with his own spell. The Cruciatus was not what I had in mind, but I'd gladly thank whatever deity might have been listening that that gamble had paid off. The spell had missed me by inches… my skin still felt tingly from the near miss.
Later, I would probably need to deal with the fact that I had likely caused Hermione's body to experience the Cruciatus… But for now, I would take the momentary reprieve and opening for what it was.
Leaping back to my feet, I flourished my wand at the prone form of the body Riddle had possessed, Disarming him. A wand flew from twitching fingers into my waiting hand. Huh. This wasn't Hermione's wand; it was Lockhart's. Interesting.
"..Y-you…" Riddle grit out, shaking in his borrowed skin from the aftershocks of absolute pain. He was recovering remarkably quickly, getting his feet back under him. There was a war of emotions on Lockhart's face, almost as if Riddle were trying to maintain composure but his host body's pain kept leaking through. His control over the body was slipping, though his host was not quite free.
But I was watching carefully in slightly muted shock at how he gripped himself and was trying to stand again, and I noticed what he was trying to hide in the motions. Riddle had a second wand and hoped to draw it before I could notice it hidden amidst the shaking.
Unfortunately for the shade of memory, while he was trying to draw it out, mustering the focus for a spell, I already had my wand out. "Petrificus Totalus."
His limbs snapped shut, back straightening and the wand that was half-drawn fell out of the pocket. Riddle fell to the ground once more, this time stiff as a board. I gave the wand a glance; so that's where Hermione's was. I looked at the face Riddle wore. He glared at me with enough venom that were he capable of it, he would be spitting venom in my eyes. Deeply unsettling to see from Lockhart's face, honestly, but…
Hold on. What's that?
There was something strange about the hair. Polyjuice wouldn't have mimicked the kind of products Gilderoy Lockhart doubtlessly used on his own coif, but hair shouldn't glint like that in the light of Dumbledore's office. Right around the brim of the hat, one set awfully low on the head now that I think about it... that wasn't the glint of golden blond hair, it was metal.
My heart sank in dread.
I moved over to Riddle and kneeled down to get a closer look. "You've gotta be kidding me…" I muttered, pulling the pointed hat off his head to see the band of silver that circled it.
The Diadem of Ravenclaw.
It looked nothing like the elaborate prop from the films. The movies had portrayed this artifact of the school's founders as an intricate tiara of gleaming silver and wire wrought in the image of a bejeweled eagle whose body was formed from an enormous blue sapphire, two more of the jewels dangling to hang over the brow. It was a beautiful thing in the films, and perhaps well suited to being a symbol of nobility for Lady Ravenclaw, wrought of her artifice and befitting her position as a powerful witch and noble matron.
In truth, the Diadem of Ravenclaw was not the pristine and beautiful piece of jewelry the movie and the books would have had one expect. It was silver, sure, but it was tarnished silver. It did not gleam in the light of the hearth, but instead was dull, muted by time and age. It had the look of oxidation, I think: similar to what I recalled from my mother's jewelry in my first life, though the magic of the Diadem meant that such an appearance might have been intentional on Ravenclaw's part. It wasn't wrought in the image of a silver eagle — Ravenclaw's colors were blue and bronze, after all, but silver was better for mental enchantments according to my aimless research on alchemy — but instead just a band that would wrap around the head. A bit plain in overall shape, but functional and elegant in its simplicity.
The front-face of the Diadem was thicker than the rest and there the silverwork was most intricate, formed into the swooping swirls to indicate higher forms and the ascent of mortal thought into idealized truth and the descent of divine wisdom in turn. At the center, these markings framed a blue gemstone just a bit larger than my thumbnail which I couldn't recognize. The dark silver diadem seemed almost battered, weathered by the millennia and perhaps the dark powers that had been wrought upon it.
I reached out with my wand, brushing aside the blond hair to better see the band of the Diadem, looking for the inscription I knew should be there. Instead, I found a small line of 10th century Gaelic script inscribed upon the band. After a moment of observation, the tiny etchings seemed to shift and move, rearranging themselves into more "modern" English that I could read: WIT BEYOND MEASURE IS MAN'S GREATEST TREASURE.
Clever. A translation charm of some kind. That explained a lot, really, but considering the Diadem had been initially enchanted in the 10th century, it was absurdly impressive that it could alter its inscriptions to form a coherent message in a language Ravenclaw wouldn't have spoken — modern English wasn't that old. Rowena Ravenclaw had been utterly brilliant.
But, its presence on that golden-coiffed head raised many questions. For one, how did Hermione get it? I'm fairly sure I changed where it was actually hidden in the Room of Hidden Things and Voldemort had enchanted his Horcruxes to resist Summoning… Much less, how did she manage to find the Room? She didn't follow me to it, I was very careful about covering my tracks and evading tails when navigating Hogwarts' halls to and from the Room, especially when it came to Harry, Ron and Hermione. Riddle certainly shouldn't have known about it until after he had made his Diary, if I recalled the timeline correctly.
Actually, was this Hermione? It might have been Lockhart all along. He was also there at the bookstore when Lucius Malfoy ditched the Diary to avoid Ministry raids. It's justifiable that he would have gotten his hands on it…
No, that didn't seem right. This was Hermione. Even if he were possessed, Lockhart would never keep a set of black robes in his wardrobe, much less robes so plain and forgettable as what Riddle wore now. If Riddle were possessing Lockhart, he would be wearing Lockhart's robes now, not this drab ensemble. The buttons were also fastened on the wrong side, too. I also remembered Parvati mentioning that Hermione had spent time at Lockhart's bedside in the Hospital Wing — perfect time to nick his wand and some hair for the Polyjuice.
Still, if Hermione was the host of Riddle's memory from his Diary, why was it still around to possess her after all this time? Did Hermione somehow feed the shade, allowing it to persist beyond being separated from the Horcrux when Dumbledore and I conspired to have it stolen away on the train? I was almost certain the shade possessing Hermione must have been from the Diary — nothing that Riddle had used indicated the sheer skill an adult Voldemort would have possessed. Plus, the Diadem was Voldemort's last (intentional) Horcrux, and likely contained the least fragment of Riddle's soul beyond his spectre.
It didn't have the supernatural influence that his other Horcruxes had had in the canon story — Harry had handled it during his sixth year without even realizing it after all. I had barely even thought about the Diadem beyond keeping well clear of it lest I be tempted to put it on and subject myself to whatever subtle effect might have been worked into it, but Hermione wouldn't have had such compunctions. Even so, it shouldn't have the strength to possess anyone. Slytherin's Locket hadn't shown such powers during the final book either, and the Diadem was younger than the Locket. So how…
It occurred to me that I had the answer to nearly all my questions before me. The only problem was that Riddle was likely still in control and wasn't willing to talk. But, Riddle was merely a shade of memory possessing Hermione… and while Riddle might have had a formidable mind, Hermione's was unpracticed in the mental arts. Meanwhile, I had some rudimentary practice in Legilimency as part of studying Occlumency with my father to hone my "natural talents".
Was it enough?
I couldn't say… but while Riddle and Hermione both still felt the itch of the Cruciatus' lingering effects upon the human body, though frozen by the Full Body-Bind, odds were likely I might be able to get some answers from their mind. Maybe. Hopefully.
Of course, I was going to have to be forceful about it… Circumstances weren't ideal, the longer I waited for their mind to re-stabilize, the harder it would be to gather anything, much less find something useful. Plus, my experience actually using Legilimency on others was mostly limited to animals and my father, an Occlumens, so I didn't have much confidence.
Still… I supposed it wouldn't hurt to try. The longer I tarried, the more chance Riddle had to either arrange a mental defense or even retreat into the depths of Hermione's mind. I fixed my gaze intently upon Riddle's. Lockhart's eyes stared back at me with contempt, hatred and lingering pain. Yeah, this was going to be tricky.
"The Diadem of Ravenclaw, Hermione. How did a second-year get her hands on it?" I asked, to Riddle's visible confusion. After all, he was paralyzed by the curse and could not speak. I didn't give him the chance to realize why I'd asked a mute the question when my wand glowed at the nonverbal incantation.
Legilimens!
The room around us seemed to fall away as I dived into the pools of blue that were Lockhart's eyes, behind which lay the mind of Hermione Granger and the shade of Riddle's memory that dwelled within it.
~o0o~
A/N: Bit of a cliffhanger, but this seemed like an adequate stopping point for now. Been a month since my last chapter. Not as soon as I had hoped to have it out, but it's better than the previous gap between chapters, eh? Next chapter should hopefully wrap up the rest of this arc and then put in the leads for the next one. Look forward to it!
Last edited: Oct 24, 2021
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