So, apparently, I've inherited a cult. A full-blown, structured, organized cult.
And worse? They've got officers now.
It started innocently enough. I was just walking to breakfast, minding my own business, when I noticed them—Daphne, Blaise, Tracy, some Ravenclaws, a couple of seventh-years who I swear had never even spoken to me before—all strategically positioned around me like I was some high-value target. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. Maybe everyone was just going the same way.
Then I overheard the whispers.
"Formation secure." "Eyes on Potter. No sudden movements." "Somebody make sure he doesn't trip over his own wit and die."
I stopped. I turned. And with my most unimpressed expression, I asked, "What in Merlin's name are you all doing?"
Blaise, with his usual lazy smirk, responded as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "Oh, nothing, just ensuring the Great Harry Potter doesn't meet an untimely demise due to his complete and utter lack of self-preservation skills."
"Excuse me?" I deadpanned.
Daphne, looking far too amused, added, "We took a vote. You're too important to die from something stupid, like taunting an angry hippogriff or engaging in a battle of wits with a dark lord before you've had breakfast."
"That was one time!" I protested.
Tracy gave me a look. "One time so far."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I am perfectly capable of surviving on my own, thank you very much."
"Uh-huh," said a seventh-year Ravenclaw who I was pretty sure was just here for the drama. "That's what all the greats say before they walk into a trap they set themselves."
I turned to Blaise. "You started this, didn't you?"
Blaise shrugged. "I merely pointed out that, statistically speaking, you're the kind of protagonist who dies in the most spectacular, ridiculous way possible, and someone needed to do something about it."
"So you formed a cult?"
Daphne corrected, "We prefer an organization."
I rubbed my temples. "What does this organization even do?"
"Simple," Tracy said, far too proud of herself. "We make sure you don't do something so absurdly reckless that Hogwarts has to name a memorial tower after you."
"You do realize I'm just trying to live my life, right?"
"Oh, we know," Daphne said dryly. "That's the problem."
This was it. This was my life now. I wasn't just the Boy Who Lived. I was the Boy Who Had A Full-Time Babysitting Service Because Nobody Thought He Could Be Trusted With His Own Survival.
And honestly?
...They might have had a point.
All I wanted was to play with my ancient runes like a proper nerd. Just me, my magic, and some beautifully complicated symbols that whispered secrets of the universe. That was the plan.
But no.
Apparently, my self-appointed guardians of stupidity prevention had other ideas.
I was in my hidden tunnel, carefully tracing a particularly interesting rune set that I was pretty sure had sentience—when I heard it.
"Harry, what are you doing?"
I froze. Closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Don't engage. Maybe they'll leave.
"He's ignoring us. That means he's about to do something reckless."
"Or dangerous."
"Or both."
I groaned and turned around, only to be met with the sight of Daphne, Tracy, Blaise, and two Ravenclaws standing at the entrance like a bunch of overprotective siblings who had caught their toddler trying to stick a fork in a socket.
"Okay, first of all," I said, crossing my arms. "This is a study session, not a death-defying stunt."
Daphne arched an eyebrow. "Oh really? Because last time you 'studied' runes, you ended up in a magical trance that nearly burned your robes off."
"That was one time!" I protested.
"One time so far," Tracy mimicked, grinning.
Blaise just looked supremely entertained. "We're just here to ensure you don't, I don't know, accidentally awaken an eldritch horror while doodling."
I rolled my eyes. "It's runes. Not dark magic, not dangerous—"
"Harry," Daphne interrupted, voice completely serious. "You're glowing."
I blinked. Looked down.
…Damn it.
Yep. My hands had a faint, definitely-not-normal golden shimmer from where I had been tracing the runes.
I sighed. "Look, it's just a little magic—"
"That's what every cautionary tale starts with," one of the Ravenclaws muttered.
I scowled. "Okay, fine, mother hens. What exactly do you suggest I do?"
Blaise smirked. "Easy. You let us stay, so that if—when—you do something magical and stupid, we can prevent actual disaster."
"Or at least document it," Tracy added. "For educational purposes."
I dropped my head back against the wall. "I hate all of you."
"Love you too, Harry," Daphne said, taking a seat.
And just like that, my quiet study time turned into a full-blown group activity. My so-called cult was now a nerd club, and I wasn't even in charge anymore.
All I wanted was to geek out over runes in peace.
Instead, I had an entourage making sure I didn't accidentally ascend to godhood before lunch.
Great. Fantastic. There's no off switch. I guess I'm just a glowing man now.
Thanatos is never going to let this go.
"Oh, look at you, little human," he hisses from where he's draped over my shoulders. "Shining like a divine beacon. Maybe now the world will finally bow before your magnificence—oh wait, they already do. My mistake."
"Thanatos, I swear—"
"No, no, continue. I simply must hear how you plan to explain this one."
Meanwhile, my fan club has fully transitioned from concerned babysitters to disappointed lecturers.
"Harry, what did we just say about experimenting with unknown magic?" Daphne sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"To not do it?" I offer, entirely unrepentant.
"Yes. Exactly that."
Blaise smirks. "And yet, here we are. Watching you glow like a human Patronus because you just had to touch the runes."
"I barely did anything!"
Tracy waves a hand at me. "You're literally illuminated, Harry."
One of the Ravenclaws squints at me. "I think it's getting brighter."
"Brilliant," I mutter. "I always wanted to be a bloody lighthouse."
Daphne sighs and stands up, dusting off her robes. "Alright. I'm getting a book. Someone needs to figure out what, exactly, you just did."
"Yeah, yeah," I grumble. "But can we at least admit this is kinda cool?"
Thanatos snickers. "Oh yes, the coolest. Nothing says 'stealth' quite like radiating enough light to blind your enemies."
I am never going to be left alone anytime soon.
Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Not only am I a walking lighthouse with a lecturing fan club, but now—now—I've got baby rune ducklings following me around like I'm their mother.
Floaty, glowing, completely useless little symbols, just… hovering around me. Doing absolutely nothing.
"Oh, this is rich," Thanatos hisses, barely containing his amusement. "First, you shine like a celestial being, and now you have a loyal flock of ancient squiggles? Do tell, oh Glorious One, what other absurdities shall we witness today?"
I scowl at him. "You know, for a companion, you're alarmingly unhelpful."
Daphne crosses her arms. "Harry, you definitely did something to those runes."
"You think?" I gesture at the hovering symbols, which bob happily in response.
Blaise is outright grinning. "Well, congratulations, Potter. You're now a magnet for magical hieroglyphics. Maybe they'll spell out your fate in real-time."
"That's not funny."
"It's a little funny," Tracy says.
The Ravenclaws are fascinated. One of them reaches out, trying to poke a floating rune—only for it to boop them on the nose and float right back to me.
"Oh, come on," I groan. "You don't do anything?" I wave my hand through them. They scatter, then regroup like stubborn little fireflies.
"Congratulations, Harry," Daphne says dryly. "You're officially the Pied Piper of Runes."
"I hate this."
Thanatos snickers. "Oh, but it loves you."
I drag my hands down my face. Fantastic. Just fantastic. I wanted to study runes, not adopt them.
I've accepted the glowing. It's whatever. I'm a human lantern now, I can live with that.
But these squiggles?
These mischievous, bothersome little runes? They're here to stay, and let me tell you—they are absolute menaces.
I don't know what kind of ancient magic daycare I've been roped into, but every time someone comes near me, my floaty little rune ducklings react.
And not in a helpful way. No, no. That would be too easy.
If it's a student? The runes judge them. They flicker like they're sizing them up, shift their formations, and sometimes even hover closer like they're about to whisper ancient secrets. Which would be cool—if they actually said anything.
If it's a teacher? The runes correct them. Correct them. As in, they change shape and start silently scolding actual professors. Flitwick walked past me, and they rearranged into an alternate wand movement. McGonagall? They flickered disapprovingly at her Transfiguration notes.
If it's a ghost?
Oh, that's when they get really weird.
Because apparently, my new floating entourage thinks the ghosts shouldn't exist. Peeves came by, and they chased him. Chased him. Like angry little bees. He ran off screaming. Nearly Headless Nick floated over, and they blinked in confusion, like they were trying to calculate his mortality in real-time.
But the worst part?
When Snape loomed over me in Potions, probably about to sneer something, the runes reacted like a grandmother watching her grandkid get scolded.
They huffed.
They shifted into a wall in front of me, like some kind of magical protective barrier.
They wobbled in place, as if saying, Excuse you, how dare you speak to our precious glowing child that way?
I have never seen Snape look so close to hexing the air itself.
I slumped forward on my desk, staring at the ceiling.
This is my life now. A glowing human rune magnet with floaty, judgmental symbols acting like an overbearing magical grandmother.
Thanatos, the useless snake, is barely breathing from laughter.
"Oh, Potter," he hisses, voice full of glee. "You truly have ascended. Not to godhood, no—far worse. You have become a cosmic joke, and I am honored to witness it."
I groan. "Someone, please, just kill me."
The runes flicker aggressively, like I just said a swear word.
Fantastic. Now I'm censored too.
Good news: I am no longer a walking lighthouse.
Bad news: I am still a rune magnet.
Worse news: The runes have gotten comfortable.
At first, I thought they were just floaty little annoyances, following me around like lost ducklings. Oh, how naive I was.
Because now? Now they have preferences. They have attitudes. They have—Merlin help me—personalities.
They don't just hover around me anymore. No, no. That would be too simple. Now they settle on my robes, my arms, my face—like magical stickers with opinions.
And they're picky.
If my robes are not to their liking, they rearrange themselves until they look like some kind of arcane battle armor. If I try to brush them off, they just float back smugly.
And if anyone tries to touch me?
Oh, the dramatics.
Daphne went to poke my shoulder—one of the runes flared up and turned into an ancient warning sign. Blaise flicked my sleeve, and a rune hissed at him.
Hissed.
Like a jealous pet.
And if that wasn't bad enough, the lecture mode has gotten worse.
Flitwick mentioned a tricky spell in class? The runes helpfully floated over to him, shifting into an older, more complicated version of the spell. Just casually correcting the professor.
McGonagall sighed at me when her lecture was interrupted by a particularly smug rune hovering next to her notes.
Snape?
Oh, Snape is one breath away from committing a crime.
Because the runes don't just hover protectively anymore. No, they've escalated.
They've started snapping at him.
Like little magical disapproving aunts.
He looms over me? They vibrate threateningly. He insults me? They shift into mocking words in Ancient Runes. He deducts points? They turn into a giant middle finger in old Norse.
I don't even know how they learned that.
And Thanatos? Thanatos is having the time of his life.
"Oh, Potter," he hisses, barely holding back laughter. "You have truly outdone yourself. Not only are you a wizard, but now you are also a walking, talking, cursed artifact. Shall I start bowing now?"
I scowl at him, slumping in my seat.
This is my life now. A rune-covered human magnet with an overprotective floating entourage.
Kill me.
I've learned to love my floaty rune baby teenager brats. They may be chaotic, opinionated, and prone to starting magical fights with my professors, but they're my chaotic, opinionated, magical little menaces.
They've even stopped actively trying to ruin my life. Mostly. They still rearrange my clothes when they think my outfit lacks "power," and they absolutely refuse to let Snape breathe in peace, but hey—that's just their way of showing affection.
But while my runes have somehow become a dysfunctional found family, my cult following is still a problem.
Not because they're creepy. Oh, no. If anything, they're too devoted.
They act like I'm some sort of reckless, unteachable gremlin with the survival instincts of a mayfly. (Okay, rude, but accurate.) Their solution? Shadow me like overbearing parent figures ready to throw themselves in front of danger at any moment.
It's like having a bunch of highly concerned babysitters who think I'm one bad decision away from dying.
Which… okay. Fair.
But the real change?
House rivalry? Dead.
Pureblood nonsense? We laugh at it now.
Even the purebloods themselves have started treating it like some sort of inside joke.
The first time someone tried to pull the whole "I'm a sacred 28 pureblood, bow before me" act, everyone—including other purebloods—just laughed them out of the room.
Daphne, bless her ice-cold heart, even leaned over and whispered, "You sound like an inbred pigeon. Please stop embarrassing us."
Blaise? Oh, Blaise had jokes.
"Yes, yes, we know. Your family tree is so pure it's practically a straight line. Good for you."
Even Draco—Draco Malfoy, poster child for 'my bloodline is better than yours'—has stopped taking it seriously. The other day, some first-year tried to throw blood status around, and Draco just sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered, "Oh, Merlin, not this again."
It's glorious.
Hogwarts isn't just divided houses anymore. It's chaotic—people mixing, sharing magic, learning real spells beyond whatever limited traditions they've been taught. It's wild and messy and brilliant.
And the best part?
No one knows what to do with me.
Am I a dark lord in training? A rune-wielding academic menace? Some sort of magical Robin Hood? A kid who just really, really likes breaking magical norms?
The professors don't know. The students don't know. The ghosts? Also confused.
Thanatos? Thanatos just watches the world burn and laughs.