Hydrus sat exhausted atop his usual seat at the front of the Study Hall. It'd been a little over a week since his fight with the werewolves, and he'd spent every free minute he had burning through his magic in order to practise his duel and triple casting. There'd been rumours after his brief 'duel' with Blaise that other students were going to try and test their mettle against him, but he'd effectively warded them off just by practising where they could see.

The practice lane furthest from the entrance had become 'his', which meant Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and surprisingly enough Dahlia were currently using it in his absence. Apparently the Malfoy heir had decided the youngest Potter student held Hydrus's favour, and had taken her under his wing. Before Hydrus had finished training for the day he'd been practising his more complicated curses and charms, especially the Patronus Charm and the Villatort Curse. The latter was a bit of Black family magic that he doubted anyone in the club recognized, but it would've been impossible to not see the way it would crumple training dummies like muggle cars caught in a compactor.

Training to exhaustion every day probably wasn't helping the problem of controlling the magic itself, but the results regarding his multi-casting were already evident.

Just as he was beginning to relax and rub the one shoulder he could actually massage on his own, a loud boom shot him to his feet. He ripped power away from Bellatrix who was grading essays in the corner, began to preemptively heal his arm and chest, and cast a massive spell over the area the sound had come from.

"Nebulatorte!"

A massive, synthetic cloud suddenly covered the entirety of the practical side of the Study Hall. There were some panicked yelps, but they were smothered by the cotton-like material that he'd used to suppress any further spells and cushion any potential blows.

It was a spell that had once confounded him. It was the last in a long list of spells Dumbledore had given him before the then-former headmaster had gone out on his own to find the horcrux that went on to kill him. Even Remus and Hermione hadn't been able to help him figure it out, and it wasn't until the dead-handed war leader returned and explained it to him that he managed to pull it off.

The problem had been that he had been visualising it as a conjuration, a charm, when in reality it was a transfiguration. He was transforming the air itself. Despite the trouble it had given him, Dumbledore had said it was just the foundation of what he would someday be able to do with the genre of magic.

That had been before he died though, before he was able to teach Har-, Hydrus, everything he needed to know.

The time-traveller gave it a few more seconds to make sure any potential fires were put out and everyone was settled, then began to undo the spell. He started from the ceiling, then slowly made his way down to the floor, that way anything or anyone in the air would gently land on the ground. Once everything was settled, it didn't take long to spot that the only ones who looked especially out of sorts were his past self, Ron, and Hermione.

"What happened?" He asked, ignoring the squawk of protest Ron gave when he began tilting the redhead's face back and forth to examine him. "What did you three blow up?"

"It's my fault," Hermine said quickly. "I asked them to help me power the runes I was adding to the ring you gave me, and it just blew up. I must've messed something up with the scheme…"

"Doubt it." Hydrus patted Ron on the cheek when he was done healing him, to the Gryffindor's annoyance. He moved over and began looking over Harry. "You two ever done a dual channelling before?"

"A what?" Harry asked, grimacing as Hydrus's power washed over him.

"Dual channelling." Hydrus pulled away from his younger self and glanced about to make sure no one else had been caught up in the small explosion. "When two people combine their magical power to either start a rune array, or work complex bits of magic."

"No."

"Then you probably meshed your magics without a proper visualisation." Hydrus picked up the half-melted ring that Hermione had been working on, and started to try and transfigure it back into its original shape. "Hermione, what do you think it is that truly differentiates your average pureblood from your average muggle born?"

The girl stiffened, and frowned. "I don't know."

"Pureblood magic, familial magic, is 'unique'." He sat the ring down and sighed in annoyance. The spell-proof steel, typically perfect for runework, was making it difficult to 'reforge' the base. "A thousand, two thousand, years ago some wizard was real good with certain types of magic. His power felt more… Fiery, than others.

"He went on to marry a witch who was good at reading bone ashes, and using that for her divination. Their son married a woman who muggles thought was just a particularly good fire-breather in the circus. Their daughter married a man who raised salamanders." Hydrus waved his hand and disintegrated the stupid piece of jewellery, then began to fish about in his pocket for another. "Centuries go by, similarly coalescent couplings happen, and you wind up Albus Dumbledore. A powerful wizard who can manipulate flames as easily as he can breathe."

Hydrus sat the new ring down in front of Hermione, who took it absentmindedly without breaking eye contact with him before saying, "So it's like… Selective breeding?"

"More or less. And it doesn't mean that a muggle born witch or wizard can't be born with similar qualities and abilities, it's just not as…" He struggled to find the right word. "Let's just say it wouldn't be as likely. Now, because those magics are so unique, what happens if Professor Dumbledore and I tried to combine our magics?"

"They would blow up?" a quiet voice suggested.

Hydrus turned and saw another girl had joined them. It was the same mousy brunette that had been with the trio when he'd shown them how to fix their summoning charms; Dianne or whatever her name was.

"Exactly. The Potter family magic is like the wind, whimsical yet powerful, seemingly uncontrollable but if directed correctly it can topple anything. The Weasley family magic is more like… A garden. Rich and deep, capable of raising and protecting life itself." He balled his hand into a fist and tapped it against the stump of his wrist. "Hardly anything in common, so the winds rip apart the garden bed or the garden walls block the wind. Either way, they can't naturally work together."

"But you said they can?" Hermione prodded. "You mentioned a visualisation?"

"Exactly. If instead of just shoving your magics together, you envisioned the winds tilling the garden to facilitate growth, then they can come together." He shrugged. "Or you have to be able to completely control and separate your magics whilst still pushing them in the same direction. In theory if one is more powerful than the other, it could just swallow it up, but at that point it'd be so inefficient it wouldn't be worth it to dual channel in the first place."

"What about my magic?" Hermione asked. "I'm… Assuming it's not too unique. What would happen if I tried channelling it with Harry or Ron?"

"It'd work just fine, though if you could envision your magic as mimicking the wind or the garden, it would probably work better." He nodded to himself, thinking back to times spent doing just that with her, testing and experimenting with what works best. "I think you in particular will struggle with it though. Unlike runes or arithmancy, it's a very non-linear, almost-artistic type of magic. For example, my own Black family magic is essentially just evil. Darkness. Cold. How could I converge my power with Draco's? His Malfoy family magic is essentially antithetical to that, it's like a sanctimonious, blinding light."

Hermione locked up, and he could almost see the gears in her brain spinning and smoking. The girl was as brilliant a witch as he'd ever met, he'd yet to discover a puzzle she couldn't solve, but things like this were completely outside her wheelhouse.

"Darkness is an absence of light, but a shadow can't be cast without it." Hydrus glanced over his shoulder and saw Draco had joined them. "The brighter the light, the longer the shadow."

Hydrus grinned. "Five points to Slytherin."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Hermione argued. "For there to be a shadow there would have to be something between the light and where it's cast."

"Does it make sense to you?" Hydrus asked Draco, who nodded. "Makes sense to me too. And that's all that matters.

"Magic isn't just some battery sitting inside you, Hermione. It's an extension of your soul. Draco, cast a lumos spell." The blonde did as he was told, nonverbally to Hydrus's delight, and the time-traveller reached out and held his hand near the edge of the light. "Observe."

He decided to stick with the visualisation Draco had suggested, and imagined the ball of light as Draco's magic itself. He imagined his own power flowing into the glowing orb and slinking back out as shadows, and his magic began to do just that. A blackish purple tinge began to 'corrupt' the light, and a similarly coloured mist leaked out of it. Rather than illuminating the room, light began to fade away, as if it were being swallowed whole by his working.

Then he waved his hand and both his and Draco's magics stopped.

"Like I said. It ain't about what should work, it's about what you believe works." He hummed. "Typically. I once knew an American witch whose magic was like a carnival, and the only person she was able to conjoin her power with was a witch who's magic was like moonlight. Everyone else's just went haywire when we tried to converge."

Hermione was looking at him like he was insane, but that was fine. A small crowd had formed to listen in on his lecture, but he ignored them in favour of making his way over to Bella, who was trying to act nonchalant. When he stepped past the barrier that separated her from the rest of the hall, she let loose a pleased hum that creeped him out since she didn't move her face at all to match it.

"Well done," she said, finally looking up and flashing a casual smile at him. "You moved even faster than I could."

"I'm used to dealing with such things." Which was true, training wandless children to use magic meant for warfare was no safe task. "When you're doing up the incident report, could you mention that Babbling should start teaching third years about channelling? I know its more advanced than expected for kids at that age, but overachievers are always going to bite off more than they can chew."

"Of course, dear." She jotted something down. "And you're alright, right?"

"I haven't been practising for nothing," he said. "How's the dog doing?"

"Still being stubborn. Says he doesn't think you'll do it."

Hydrus nodded. "That's fine. Tomorrow's the full moon. If the human won't listen, then we'll just have to break the wolf."

Once again Bella maintained a neutral expression as a rather erotic sound escaped her lips. 'Next thing I'm doing to this hall is adding a visual privacy charm to this space.'

"The codger wants to see you by the way," Bella said. "Didn't say what for though."

Hydrus sighed. "I'm sure I can guess."


Hydrus sat in Dumbledore's office, cradling a small and featherless Fawkes. The phoenix was chirping incessantly as he magically retrieved another pinch of food that the headmaster had assured him was the familiar's usual fare at this stage. Back when he was responsible for the bird, during their time together in the back-half of the war, he'd just feed it squashed-up worms that Luna would go and find. He dropped the little morsel into Fawkes' awaiting beak and cocked an eyebrow at him when the little fledgling squealed for more.

"I think that's enough," Dumbledore said, smiling gently. "He'll take you for all your worth if you let him."

"I'm sure." Hydrus vanished away the remaining gunk on his fingers, and tucked the phoenix away in the pocket of his robes to keep warm. "I'm assuming you didn't just call me here to feed your familiar?"

The headmaster hummed in acknowledgement. "I just figured we had time for another talk. Remus told us about your escapades with him, regarding young Mister Williams."

"Not much to say there." Hydrus shrugged. "Just took care of business."

"Mmm." Dumbledore nodded, his tone giving away nothing. "Tell me, Hydrus, how many people have you killed?"

The time-traveller blinked. "I… Don't know for certain?

"If you mean how many have directly died by my hands? Somewhere in the several dozens. If you mean how many deaths I've called for and received? Hundreds." A melancholic feeling took hold of him. "How many deaths am I directly responsible for? How many lost lives can be laid at my footsteps? Thousands. Perhaps even millions, if you wanted to be particularly blameful."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't want that. And, knowing what I know, I wouldn't 'blame' you for any of them. You could blame me, however, and I could blame my father, and he could blame someone else, so on and so forth."

The younger man actually didn't know all that much about his former mentor's father. He knew about his sister a good deal, what had happened between her, Dumbledore, Aberforth, and Grindelwald. Beyond that the man had never shared much about his family.

"What do you want then?" Hydrus asked.

Dumbledore shrugged. "Just to understand you, and your perspective on things, better."

Hydrus waited for the man to continue. He needed to maintain some amount of control in these conversations.

"You killed three more people last weekend," Dumbledore said. "Does that bother you at all?"

"No," Hydrus said. "They stood against me."

"And so they deserve to die?"

"I didn't say that." Hydrus glared at the headmaster. "It's not about what they deserved, it's just a consequence to their actions."

"You are, and could continue to be, a great man, Hydrus." Dumbledore's stare speared right into the time-traveller's soul. "And great men are those who stand against and divert consequences. You could have spared their lives."

"How?" Hydrus asked, trying not to grit his teeth. "Let them take the kid and say 'thems the breaks'? I was in a muggle space, surrounded on all sides, working with nothing but one fucked up arm and a man who isn't half the fighter I knew."

Honestly, the only person he knew of that was the same fighter he knew was Dumbledore. Above him proportionately were Sirius and Bella, both of whom could trounce their other selves. Everyone else he'd met thus far had been disappointments.

"You could've asked for more help." Dumbledore folded his hands together and rested his chin upon them. "I would've been there for you in a heartbeat. So would Professor Black. So would your father."

Hydrus took a long, hissing breath. "The whole point of what I'm trying to do is make sure people like you, and people like him, don't have to get involved."

Hydrus's hand cut through the air like a beater's bat, like he was knocking away the suggestion itself. Something about how the old man had named everyone who ran through his mind a moment ago bothered him. Was he using occlumency on him?

"Somehow, someway, this world doesn't have Voldemort in it," Hydrus said. "It's beautiful! It's wonderful! And you, and him, and her, and everyone else I care about getting to enjoy it? That's all that matters to me.

"I've already got more blood on my hands than anyone else I know. Nothing is going to change that." He had been picking up steam with his diatribe, but was trying to reel it back in now. "I don't mind being the boogeyman who gets down in the muck to keep things safe. To save children who are about to be kidnapped by werewolves. It's too late for me to be a great man; I am what I am and it's too late to change that."

"No." Albus shook his head. "It isn't."

"You of all people should know you're wrong." Hydrus regretted the words he was about to say before they even came out, but he couldn't stop himself. "You are wrong about me, just like you were wrong about your mass-murdering, sociopathic, evil-to-his-core lover."

His magic unconsciously rose to the surface, as if waiting to lash out in retaliation. He gripped the chair's armrest like a lifeline, the hairs on his neck and arms rose up, and he prepared to stand.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, did nothing.

"You should heal your arm," the old man said. "You're bleeding."

Hydrus settled back down. He healed his arm, and whilst that spell was going, vanished away the blood. Something about that interaction had left him feeling like he'd lost.

"I think I'll take my leave now, Professor." He stood. "See you later."


Apophis slithered over the forest floor, his sense telling him that he was surrounded by fear. His gigantic, crimson plumage marked him as king of all he saw, and the other beings of the forest recognized that authority. The air was cold, but he could manage for a short trek like this.

The female human hadn't spoken to him yet, but he could tell she could. There was just something wrong with her.

Finally he reached the small clearing where she resided, and as usual she was just sitting on the ground. She stared up at the sky and stars, her face almost frozen with some sort of weird, human expression on it. Apophis's father knew how to understand both snakes and humans, but the future emperor still struggled to pick up on human signals that didn't come with scents. This woman didn't smell at all though.

"Hello," he hissed. "Are you able to speak yet?"

As usual she didn't acknowledge him.

"I know you can understand me," Apophis continued. "Why won't you answer me?"

She reminded him of his adopted ancestors, the ones his father claimed were really dead. But when those humans came to him, he could almost feel the connection between himself and them. They were bound together with invisible strings that he could never quite catch. This woman was like them without the strings tying her to the snake.

"Is that why you refuse to speak?"

Again, she remained silent.

The spot she sat on was dead. There was no grass, no insects, no anything. There were a few old, rotten leaves clustered atop it, but beyond the human herself there was nothing. Apophis leaned in close, figuring if she wouldn't talk to him she probably wouldn't stop him, and began to prod at the dirt with the tip of his nose.

"No!"

He turned to look up at the woman. Her voice had been… Growling? It was hard to describe the ways humans butchered their tongue, none of them spoke it as well as his father did.

"Why?"

"Don't touch him, he's fine." The woman tried moving the dirt back into place, but her hand passed through the dirt. "My baby is fine. He's fine."

As she continued to try and push the dirt back into place, Apophis decided to take pity on her pathetic attempts and patted the ground back down. The woman finally settled back down, though now she was staring at the dirt rather than the stars.

"Is your baby beneath there?" he asked. "Why did you bury him?"

"I didn't…" she whispered. "It wasn't me. It wasn't my fault. It was him. He did it. He was a bad man. He hurt him. He killed him. I know he didi. I know he did!"

The woman shrieked, and Apophis rose up and roared at her. She didn't stop though, the screaming only grew louder and louder, till it was actually hurting him. Him. Unable to stand the torture any longer, he opened his eyes for what felt like the first time in his entire life. The normally dull and yellowish tinge the world held for him disappeared, and instead he was greeted by clear and beautiful sight.

The shrieking woman's voice caught in her throat, and her entire body locked up. Apophis expected her to keel over, but she remained locked in place; her mouth and eyes wide, her hands balled up into fists, translucent tears frozen in place on her cheeks.

Apophis blinked. It wasn't just the tears that were translucent, it was her whole body. He cautiously poked his nose into her torso, and he went right through. He pulled back, a long-suffered riddle finally making sense to him.

"No wonder Father doesn't understand why I can't tell the difference," he said to himself. "Lord Grandfather Salazar!"

He called upon the human who'd helped him understand the human tongue, as well as many of his strengths, and the ancient wizard appeared. Just like the woman, he was completely see through. If anything, he was even more hard to see, like wisps of smoke that had formed together into a roughly human shaped figure.

"What a pity," Salazar said, staring down at the woman. "A flower cut to root for the crime of its seed."

"You know her?" Apophis demanded. "Who is she?"

"It is no longer a 'she', it is a banshee." The wizard lifted his chin up, and Apophis could at least recognize that the expression he was making wasn't a happy one. "One of your master's ilk."

"I have no master!" Apophis hissed. "Mind your tongue, human."

"I have no need to fear you, child," Salazar said, his brows pointed downwards at him. "You disturb my rest and expect too much."

"I have no master."

"Say what you will, we all have a master." The human waved his hand through the air, leaving a trail of vapour in its wake. "You should inform your father about this. A banshee has no place in my lands."

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't." Apophis certainly would, but his ancestor didn't need to know that. "Be gone."

Salazar faded away, and Apophis turned back to the strange creature. She was still sitting on the ground, locked in place. He leaned in close and gave her one last sniff, but still there was nothing besides the smell of death and the forest.

"Goodbye, Miss Banshee."

He turned and made his way back to the warmth of the large man's domicile. The cold had set in, which meant he was moving slower than normal, but he doubted there would be any problems. He ignored the terror around him that he usually revelled in, his thoughts still stuck on the creature who spoke his tongue but looked like a human. Just as he was about to break the tree line, he realised his eyes were still fully open.

A brief struggle broke out inside him. The world was so much more vibrant without his eyes being filtered, but it would make his father unhappy if someone died because of it. He might even kill his father accidentally. His tail snapping in frustration, he finally settled on closing the yellowish eyelid, and returned to the duller world he was used to.

'Father is lucky I love him.'


BBaRtS


Sorry for 25 being much shorter than normal, only 4k words, but I've either got Covid or a very inspired and ambitious flu. Been getting my ass kicked by it all week, and as soon as this is posted I'll be grabbing a nyquil cocktail and going back to sleep. This chapter hasn't been super edited so there might be mistakes, no review-reviewing this week, but I love you all, thanks for all the kind words, lessthanthree, see you next Saturday or sooner depending on how much longer this things gonna be using me as a punching bag.