Magic Knows No Boundaries But Those We Believe In (Harry Potter)

NonsensicalRants · Jun 17, 2022

Magic Knows No Boundaries But Those We Believe In

Original Story by Cosette-Aimee

Rewrite By NonsensicalRants

Chapter 1: A Stolen Hero

Summary:

Harry Potter liked his new life as a professional Seeker. With Voldemort nothing more than a bad memory he thought his life was finally his own. Waking up in an alternate universe where Tommy still ran amok killed what little optimism he'd discovered since the war ended. But he'll be damned if he wasn't going to eek out a life of his own choosing regardless of fate's interference.

Edited/Proofread by Demon Ging

Harry awoke on a surface significantly harder, and significantly more wet than he was used to.

Past experiences with Quidditch-related accidents that lead to him returning to consciousness in uncomfortable positions with debilitating injuries didn't come without a bit of wisdom. He very slowly and very carefully checked his body for injuries, one body part at a time. He closed both hands into fists, wiggled his toes, and from there worked his way inward, testing the ability of each limb and digit to twist, bend, and turn without unnatural crunching sounds.

He kept his eyes closed throughout the entire ordeal, paying close attention to every sensation. It wasn't until he risked moving his neck that the first sign of injury reared its' ugly head.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh wow!" He moaned as his skull swam and the sound of his heartbeat filled his ears.

He tried to remember what he did the night before. As far as he could recall all he did was fly the usual obstacle course and practice the Wronski Feint a few times before turning in for the night. He saw no reason to wake up in a grassy field covered in fresh, sticky, morning dew with his head feeling like he'd arrived for practice flat-out drunk and suffered an accident involving a failed Feint attempt.

He considered the possibility that he may have actually crashed into the ground during a death-defying dive and dreamt about returning home and snuggling into bed; only now regaining consciousness. It sure would teach him not to practice alone ever again. This idea was dashed when he realized that it wasn't the grass of the Falmouth Falcons' Quidditch pitch currently tickling his neck and ears.

The lack of stadium stands and quaffle hoops was the first hint. The cows staring down at him were the second.

"Oh. Hello there." He greeted the especially obese bull pawing at the earth next to him.

Harry wondered if the horned beast could even see him through the mange of fur covering its face. He further wondered if highland cows were originally a pack of golden retrievers or Irish setters that some cynophobic witch or wizard transfigured into cattle and just used for husbandry from then on.
He liked that idea. He'd have to write Xenophilius with that theory. It would make for a great Quibbler article.

He ignored the bull's warning snort as he got to his feet with another groan.

Taking a deep breath he expanded his senses and tried to ignore the splitting headache. He couldn't feel any magic in his surroundings, not even the echoes of a portkey or recently cast spell of any kind. In fact, aside from the bull's internal debate about the merits of trampling him, he could sense no danger and all seemed right with the world.

Deciding there was no benefit to tangling with the beast next to him, he apparated away.
And immediately regretted this decision as a fit of dizziness and nausea joined his migraine in a conspiracy to ruin his day.

He steadied himself against the entrance to Diagon Alley as he caught his breath again. The brick wall was already opened into the familiar archway, which was strange enough, but the intense scrutiny from the red-robed figures on either side of the entrance was fast making this his fourth worst visit to Diagon Alley.

"Ah, the follies of youth. I miss the days when I could risk drinking on Sunday nights and jog the hangover off before work Monday morning," Said the older Auror with a sigh that was both nostalgic and mocking.

"I'm twenty-seven, thank you very much!" Harry retorted, picking himself up. It was a lie, of course—he was really twenty-eight, but with the average Seeker career rarely lasting past thirty, Harry had recently become as self-conscious about his age as Minerva. "I can jog it off just fine. I just don't feel like it."

With his indignation expressed, Harry walked past the two guards into the nearly vacant street intent on visiting Florean Fortescue. Food would do him a lot of good right now. Sugar was great for headaches, especially in the morning. He patted himself down in an effort to dredge up some loose change from his robes and soon held up a fistful of sickles in triumph. The small sense of accomplishment vanished at the sight of a boarded-up ice cream parlor. A sign in front of it explained that, due to safety concerns, all Fortescue dairy products could be mail-ordered from Fortescue and Fortescue Inc.

The sparse crowd he originally attributed to the early hour took on a more sinister vibe. Small groups of shoppers skirted nervously between what few stores were open with nary a conversation or hint of laughter. As he watched, he noticed that those around him didn't bother to greet him, or each other, as they passed. It all reminded him of Voldemort's return over a decade ago.

It was still only his third-worst experience visiting Diagon Alley.

Deciding to catch up on what he missed during his impromptu nap he made his way back to the Diagon Alley entrance and, ignoring the heckling Aurors, entered the Leaky Cauldron. Tom was upon Harry before his bum even hit the chair.

"Anything I can get you?" The normally friendly hunchback grunted. "Sir," He added as an afterthought.

"Beer," Harry demanded simply.

The bald man raised a judgmental eyebrow at this. It was rather early after all.

"Hair of the dog that bit me and all that," Harry explained. "And a plate of bacon, sausage, and eggs. Extra bacon and sausage, please."

Harry placed the loose change from his pocket on the table and Tom was off to the kitchen with a scoff. Since when was Tom so rude? Had Harry done something to offend the man? Was he mad that Harry hadn't eaten there in, what, three months now? That didn't seem like him.

Tom returned with a glass mug of beer and Harry took it with a smile. He motioned for Tom to stay as he practically inhaled the liquid in long, slow gulps. The landlord/innkeeper/barman looked visibly impressed when Harry handed the mug back to him.

"More please," Harry asked with his winning smile.

Tom finally showed off his missing teeth with that grin Harry was used to and returned to the kitchens. He had that ability with people. The power to make them stop moping, no matter what triggered the depression. Twas a useful superpower.

"And a newspaper please," Harry called after him. "Anything other than the Prophet."

Tom waved in acknowledgment as he disappeared behind the counter and through the doors beyond, returning moments later with another mug of beer in one hand, the plate of food Harry ordered in the other, and a newspaper under his arm. Harry thanked Tom again as the man placed everything on the table.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Three galleons."

Harry stared at the man, careful to keep his face blank. He didn't seem to be joking.

Three galleons? For breakfast, a couple of beers, and a newspaper? It wasn't the most expensive meal he'd ever had, having eaten at fancy restaurants charging ten times as much. But still. The last time he'd been here he paid four sickles for dinner. A dinner with much more food and much, much more beer.

"Here you go, sir," Harry said, handing the barkeep a whole fourth of the money on him. "And how much for a room for the night?"

"One galleon."

Harry gave him that too and dug into his food.

Now he knew what it felt like to be Meroped - A euphemism he himself popularized meaning 'ripped off.' Alternatively meaning "date raped." Which he came uncomfortably close to experiencing by the hand of love potion-slinging groupies on more than one occasion.

If that shakedown didn't make this the second worst visit to Diagon Alley in his life, the date on the newspaper certainly did. He had difficulty reading the headline, what with the front page being soaked in the beer and spittle he'd just sprayed it with in surprise. Either Tom had handed him a twelve-year-old newspaper or his life of traveling with groupies as a Quidditch rock star had come to an abrupt end. And judging by the condition of the newspaper—ignoring the damage he himself had caused it—he doubted it was the former case.

Assassination of Amelia Bones Averted

Harry rifled through the pages only bothering to read the headlines of the various articles. Phrases and terms like 'Many Dead' and 'Death Eaters' and 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' jumped out at him, but none as strongly as 'Child of Prophecy.'

"That's a new one." He muttered to himself.

Harry thought he'd heard them all. Boy-Who-Lived. Chosen One. Man-Who-Conquered. These were the titles he knew. Perhaps the article would enlighten him on why they were calling him by the new moniker.

Scenes of Terror at the Ministry of Magic as a large group of Death Eaters attacked the press conference held by our Savior, Neville Longbottom, colloquially known as 'The Child of Prophecy'.
Thanks to the valiant efforts of his Auror guard who gave their lives during the attack, Mr. Longbottom survived the ordeal unscathed.

Harry had to put the paper down as his migraine returned with a vengeance.

Okay. He could rule out time travel.

Thinking things over, he probably could have ruled it out from the Amelia Bones article. In his timeline, which probably wasn't the correct term, Voldemort and his Death Eaters had succeeded in murdering Madame Bones to death by this point. So, what did that leave him with?

He rubbed his temples as he considered his situation, leaving any planning by the wayside as he brainstormed.

Time travel was definitely a part of what was going on here. He was, after all, stuck in the year 1996, instead of hurtling fast toward 2009. But it wasn't his past. How did that make any sense at all?

Maybe somebody else played around with time travel and made some changes further back in time, and he was stuck in this new timeline? That made more sense. After all, if Neville was 'The Chosen One' in this timeline then the odds were Harry wasn't around. Or at least he hoped he wasn't: he'd prefer to be parentless than have to visit his parents in Saint Mungo's like Neville did. The mere idea of growing up in Neville's shoes made him yearn for the days when he slept under a staircase.

He tried to invent a scenario where time travel would have resulted in his current predicament. His history of increasingly unlikely and nonsensical events had gifted him with an active imagination when it came to such things.

Maybe somebody stunned him in his sleep, kidnapped him for a trip to the past hoping to make him watch his own death as a baby? Knowing his luck, he probably fell out of the time machine a third of the way into the trip and wound up twelve years into the past instead of twenty-seven. The hypothetical culprit would have finished the trip and killed him or his parents before he was born. The problem with this theory was the premise that somebody, anybody, could sneak up on him in his sleep after all he'd been through was laughable.

A more likely scenario was that the culprit went back in time without him, performed the dark deed and the Fates decided to transport him to the new timeline instead of letting him be obliterated with the rest of his original timeline. That sounded like something the Fates would do. They sure did enjoy screwing with him.

He went over the wording of the prophecy for what must have been the ten thousandth time.

'Either must die at the hand of the other' could preclude time travel mischief from killing him. Even if somebody successfully prevented him from being born, he'd just jump timelines. This possibility brought up a whole host of questions. Did the prophecy make him completely immune to the consequences of meddling with time? The Marauder in him was coming up with oh so many dangerous and immoral (not to mention highly illegal) schemes involving a time turner.

He had always wondered what kind of terror would be unleashed if he'd used one to give himself a high five. Best not to tempt Fate. Especially since he couldn't be sure it even was time travel that landed him here. Odds were he was missing something.

He went back and properly read the articles in the newspaper as he finished his meal and ordered a third beer. Apparently, Voldemort never fell from power like he did in Harry's original timeline, if the line "as if to commemorate his 32nd year of terror" was anything to go by. His reign of terror had continued nonstop and England was hurting because of it. Especially economically. The import market was one of his favorite targets, which explained the high price of his meal.

If memory served, 1996 saw Great Britain in the grips of a severe drought, which lead to the four countries in one having to import a lot of food—feed for animals especially. The lack of feed for cows meant meat was worth its weight in gold here. Egg and chicken prices seemed steady though. Nice to know ahead of time what he'd be ordering for dinner.

Could he get away with going back and stealing that bull from earlier? Probably wasn't worth the risk. He'd hate to be the first person lynched for cattle theft since the Wild West calmed down.

A lot of the information about this timeline didn't line up and, when he returned to the article on Neville, the mystery of why Harry was brought here became clear.

"Ohhhh blast it all." He groaned as he banged his head on the table.

Neville had no scar on his forehead—or any mark of any kind for that matter. He was very obviously not the child of prophecy.

This new detail explained everything. This wasn't time travel mischief, and it wasn't a fever hallucination. This was an alternate universe: one without a child of prophecy. Whatever powers that were controlling these things decided to reach across the void and steal one from another universe.
Him.

"Magic knows no boundaries except those we believe in," he quoted as he banged his head on the table some more.

Just when he thought he'd finally settled into his new life and left the suffering caused by Voldemort and Dumbledore and the Ministry behind him, he'd have to do it aaaaaallllll over again.

This was officially his worst visit to Diagon Alley EVER! The hellacious experience of breaking into, and out of, Gringotts and the bareback dragon ride afterward didn't come close.

He hoped he was wrong. He hoped that this universe, or timeline, had a differently worded prophecy that would only require him to take a minor role. Maybe help train Neville as his replacement?
Knowing his luck though, he wouldn't come close to returning to his own world until after he fulfilled the prophecy. Again.

Deciding to leave worrying about what he needed to do for tomorrow, he flagged Tom back over to his table.

"I'm going to need more beer," he said. "A lot more beer."

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NonsensicalRants · Jun 24, 2022

Chapter 2:
A Much Better Day

Harry woke up experiencing two of the three best feelings in the world.

Going to sleep with a headache/cold and waking up without one was the first. Going to bed drunk and waking up, not with a hangover, but instead a slight buzz was the second. Sadly, he had no job and was well rested enough to attack the day, so he couldn't experience the joy of going right back to sleep with the knowledge that he still had hours left before work. The third best feeling in the world.

He did, however, have a long list of things to do if he wanted to have a place to sleep in two days and so with a wistful sigh he stretched and dressed himself.

A few waves of his hand later and the clothes he wore the day before flattened themselves as if freshly ironed and the specks of dirt and dust vanished. Another wave of his hand and the slight stubble on his jaw vanished. He waited until he scarfed down the complimentary loaf of bread before casting a cleaning charm on his teeth and tongue then exited his room. Barely remembering to grab his wands before doing so.

He had taken stock of his possessions the night before and counted his blessings. Not only did he have both of his wands, enough money to last him a few days and his glasses, but he was also fortunate enough to have brought along his handy dandy notebook, snugly tucked away in his breast pocket, and his four color retractable ballpoint pen. Those were a pain in the butt to find sometimes, so he hated losing one. Especially now that he didn't have Bill or Fleur around to enchant them with never-ending ink and never-wearing nibs.

Diagon Alley was much more crowded today but was still a far cry from how it should be. This was especially true considering Hogwarts letters should have gone out yesterday and what shoppers he did see were clearly new and returning students. Mostly new students.

He dodged and weaved between the crowds of parents - Muggle and wizard alike - as if their children were a horde of bewitched knife-keys trying to rip him to shreds. He didn't hate children - and honestly how could anybody? - he just didn't dare risk an encounter with any of his former classmates or their parents. If his math was right, he figured most were only now turning fifteen. That thirteen-year difference in age felt like thirteen decades, and yet he knew he wouldn't be able to keep a cool exterior if he were to meet anyone he knew to be deceased.

He was almost upon the Gringotts bank doors when he realized he couldn't enter.

Well, he could, but he wouldn't live for very long. Goblins weren't very open-minded nor forgiving creatures, and if he walked in with his bank key - which in all likelihood had an identical twin in this world - then an army of serrated knife wielding warriors would descend upon him and feed whatever quivering ribbons of flesh remained of the 'counterfeiter' to the army of kappa they kept hidden in the more watery areas of their subterranean caverns. He probably wouldn't have even made it to the first teller.

What did that leave him?

He had no money beyond the loose change he carried. His vault key was a liability, one he intended to throw away at the first opportunity. He had no friends, family or coworkers to loan him money. To top it all off he was too upstanding of a citizen to break into places he knew would be easy targets (Cough, Malfoy manor!) and steal everything not bolted to the ground.

He needed to make a friend. Harry needed to find somebody that he could not only convince of his nature as a visitor from another world, but who would furthermore be willing to help him AND wouldn't share his secret or prove to be a danger to him upon learning it. The list of potential allies was thin indeed.

"Johnathan! Don't wave that thing around!" A woman, obviously Muggle, chastised her son. "You don't know what it might do."

The boy, Johnathan, was a soon to be first year and had been playing with his newly purchased wand. His mother was right to stop him. Waving a wand, even without intent or incantations, was a one way ticket to the hospital.

He watched as a group of three families and their collective litter of four eleven year-olds entered the same shop that Johnny and his sensible mother just exited. He considered the gold lettering above the door and tried his hardest to think of a more trustworthy person in the world who he could convince of his situation.

He realized there wasn't one. Except maybe Aberforth. That guy's tongue was the polar opposite of loose. Trying to get directions to the bathroom from him required the cruciatus curse, let alone his patron's secrets. If this didn't work he'd go to the Hog's Head.

Ollivander was on top of his game today and had already situated the first child, a particularly short blonde boy, with a sixteen inch wand that he would hopefully grow into. Waving around a wand that's almost a third as long as you are tall looked rather ridiculous.
"There you have it, mister Zeller. And if your sister would come on up here." Ollivander said kindly.

Harry looked and recognized the young Rose Zeller. He vaguely remembered her as a Hufflepuff who had helped Hermione evacuate the house elves during the battle of Hogwarts. She was one of only three students who Hermione managed to kowtow into joining SPEW.

Rose hopped up to the counter where Ollivander's floating measuring tape got to work as he wrote down the results. As he did this Harry stretched out his senses again and felt as his magic flooded into his surroundings.

He could feel every piece of soft fabric on the bodies around him, every hard edge of furniture and deep groove of engraved metal as if they were all his own skin. This was his greatest power, one he had developed unknowingly and by pure accident during his hunt for horcruxes and later evolved into something altogether new. His ability to sense Voldemort's magic grew into the ability to sense magic itself and then the physical properties of things in general. He could even recall recent event in an area or which an object he held had experienced.

Parvati thought it was psychometry. Lavender argued it was clairvoyance. Hermione had a stranger theory still, but Harry knew it wasn't a psychic ability, per se, it was just a magical technique like occlumency or legilimency(which is what he was TRYING to learn when he invented the art.) He still had no name for it, but it was damned useful all the same. What he did know about it was that magic was alive, magic was beautiful and magic did little other that beg to be heard, and his ability gave him ears with which to hear.

He tuned out the breathing and heartbeats of those around him, which was always so loud in his ears when he used the technique, and lightly touched the piles upon piles of wands behind the counter with his magic. Wands felt hot to his senses, like the active coals of a grill, but he kept on in search of one that suited Rose the most. The funny thing about wands is that the magic internal to them tends to point towards the magic internal to those around them, as if reaching out to touch their soulmate. Sadly this only happens if their master was in close enough proximity or else finding missing people would be much easier for him.

More than two dozen wands were doing this now, and not just towards Rose, but towards her brother, her father, the other children and every magical person in the room, and a couple nonmagical ones. Wands are funny like that, they can bond with or want to bond with Muggles, even though said Muggles could never use them. Love like that didn't have to make sense, not when the wand's most sincere desire was to bond with someboy based on character, which they were superb at judging. Several of them matched Rose' signature to varying degrees, but the strongest reaction to her came from a short wand with the fiery magic of a phoenix tail feather three aisles back.

"Hmm. I think we should try something with cedar wood to start for you." Ollivander said to the girl as he pulled a wand from the stack directly beneath the counter.

Harry knew the wands beneath the counter were created for the sole purpose of being 'test wands'. He used them to narrow down what type of wand a customer was most suited to before hunting down the proper wand from the back. The test wands could be used as a regular wand, theoretically, but they didn't tend to last long.

"I can save you the trouble." Harry offered, gaining the eyes of everyone in the room. "Four inches. Alder wood. Phoenix feather core. Three rows back."

Few people have experienced the full force of Garrick Ollivanders' glare. Harry was one of those few, and even he had difficulty not buckling beneath it despite having earned it eight going on nine times before.

"I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside of my shop while I fit my customers." Ollivander said coolly, before growling a vindictive. "Sir."

Harry smiled confidently, no, arrogantly but did as he was told.

"Call me back in when I'm proven right." He said offhandedly as he exited the shop and stood to the side.

He didn't have to wait long. Exactly eighty seconds later the Zeller family exited the shop. He couldn't help noticing that Rose carried the exact wand he described. The smiling girl even went so far as to show it off to him by wiggling it.

"Hey now, be careful with that thing. It's dangerous." Harry told Rose, returning her smile.

She pocketed the wand with a giggle as her father approached him.

"He wants you back in there, but he's not happy."

Harry thanked the Zeller patriarch and prepared to re-enter the shop. He mentally went through his checklist before turning the handle. Chin up. Shoulders back. Chest out. Aaaaaaand STRUT!

Based on the tenth glare he'd ever received from the wand maker Harry would call his efforts in annoying him a raging success. The two remaining children and their parents stifled their laughter as he entered, adding fuel to the fire behind the old man's eyes.

"How'd you do that?" Ollivander demanded.

Harry shrugged.

"I tend to just..." Harry paused dramatically to tap his forehead. "Know things."

Harry noted the familiar vein popping out of his old friends' jaw as he clenched his teeth. Maybe it was time to reel in his attempts at instigating his senior.

"I can try to do it for these two if you like?" Harry offered, correcting his posture into one a bit more deferential.

Ollivander motioned towards the two children and Harry repeated his earlier action of searching the rows of wands with his mind. Thirty seconds later two groups of satisfied customers exited the store, leaving Harry alone with the shop owner.

Harry waited for his gracious host to break the silence and he didn't disappoint.

"Well? Did you just come in here to embarrass me, or did you want something?"

In answer Harry withdrew a wand from his robes, one of the two he carried at all times. He offered it to Ollivander handle first. He took it in the manner of a smith taking a sword for examination.

"Holly." Ollivander observed, carefully listing the wands properties. "Eleven inches and a core of phoenix..."

He locked eyes with Harry, who had to fight the smirk threatening to erupt on his face. It wouldn't do for Ollivander to think him a thief. Harry nodded his head towards the stacks of wands in the direction he knew an identical wand to his own sat.

Ollivander left the original on the counter and disappeared to where Harry indicated. He returned with a box that he handled with shaking hands. Harry hadn't seen the man so nervous since the time he showed him the elder wand. Good thing he hadn't pull that one out by accident.

Harry sat down on the bench as he waited for the wandmaker to compare them. This took a lot longer than it should have. After comparing them visually and by touch he went through a list of pretty much every spell Hogwarts taught. One by one he compared how both wands performed each spell. When he was finally satisfied in the knowledge that the wands were indeed identical he turned to Harry and stared for some time.

"How?"

Harry stood up and took a deep breath. He knew that nothing but the truth would suffice, but he still didn't look forward to it.
"Tell me Garrick. What do you know about multiverse theory?"

Ollivander, with a speed that belied his age, drew the recently unboxed wand and with a few waves layered no fewer than 6 locking spells, 5 privacy spells, 3 wards and a partridge and a pear tree on the front door.

Harry took this time to close the blinds.

"Explain." He demanded.

"My name is Harry James Potter. I'm the son of James Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans from an alternate universe. I don't even know if they or I exist in this one."

"They do. But to my knowledge, you don't."

"Good! Voldemort murdered my parents when I was a baby and tried, but failed, to kill me. In the process 'marking me as his equal' and making me the child of prophecy."

Hmm. No taboo triggered. Interesting.

"A qualification Mister Longbottom lacks."

"Indeed. And until 1994 we lived in a mostly Voldemort and Death Eater free world. He was still around but without a body - long story. That didn't stop him and others from making my first four years at Hogwarts hell. He returned and slowly began to rebuild his forces. I witnessed his rebirth and tried to blow the whistle, unfortunately our Minister of Magic at the time was one Cornelius Fudge."

"Oh no!"

"Oh yes! And for the next year he, most of the ministry and the Daily Prophet ran a massive smear campaign against me, Dumbledore - the headmaster not the barkeep - and anybody who took our side. I'm skipping a lot here but he conquered the ministry, my friends and I had to go into hiding but continued the good fight until I finally killed him. We rebuilt, I became a Quidditch star, woke up in this universe yesterday. It was 2008 in the universe I left."

They returned to their staring contest. It took less than a minute to share his story, even with Ollivander's excellent commentary. He did always make for a good audience to the skilled storyteller.

"If it were not for this wand, I would never have believed a word you said." He admitted, indicating the significantly more worn stick of holly and the scars from where it had been broken and repaired.

"I know."

The old man returned the more pristine wand to its box with a sigh, clearly still digesting the unlikely information Harry just unloaded on him.
"Stranger things have happened." Ollivander finally admitted in acceptance. "But why did you come to me instead of somebody more... substantial?"
Harry waited for Ollivander to return this universe's version of his wand back to the shelf, and explained his reasoning when he returned with a bottle of firewhisky and two shot glasses.

"Aside from the fact I knew I could convince you?" Harry said. "Having worked with you in the past I knew you don't share secrets. Nor would you incorporate anything I tell you into schemes or machinations."

"Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore."

The two of them knocked the glasses back and grunted at the magical and chemical burn as the drink slid down their throats.
"Why couldn't you have just been a wand crafting prodigy who discovered how to magically duplicate wands?" Ollivander bemoaned.
Harry laughed so hard at that one he almost dropped the bottle of whisky he was trying to use to refill their glasses.

"Is that what you thought was going on?" Harry asked incredulously. "That I just, what, broke in here, duplicated this wand, memorized your stock and did it all without your knowing?"

Ollivander could only shrug as he accepted the second glass.

"That or time travel. Either would have made my life a whole lot easier." He admitted before drinking the second shot. "What did we work on together?"

"Experiments involving the twin cores of mine and Voldemort's wands." Harry explained. Garrick was notably nonplussed by his use of the name. "And the Elder wand."

That got him moving. Before Harry's very eyes a safe appeared in the wall. After performing a complicated set of wand movements, putting in a combination code and - most strangely - pressing his thumb into a muggle fingerprint scanner Garrick withdrew a large sack of what could only be magical coinage.

"This is my entire life savings. If you give me the memories of our experiments in your timeline it's all yours."

That was exactly how Harry expected this interaction to go. Minus the fingerprint scanner.

"I'll do you one better. I'll give you all of those memories AND help you with some new experiments." He indicated his wand on the counter with one hand and pointed in the direction of its' counterpart. "We have the opportunity to investigate an otherwise impossible scenario where two completely identical wands interact and are loyal to the same person. A monozygotic set of twin wands instead of dizygotic."
Ollivander offered a hand to shake.

"You have yourself a deal."

"I have one further condition!" Harry said, refusing the hand. "I am only borrowing this money. I will be giving it back to you under the condition that I get a percentage ownership of your future endeavors. You'll need some funding to do proper experiments and apply the knowledge I'm giving you anyways."

Ollivander actually had to consider that. Harry knew giving partial ownership of his company, no matter how small, would be much harder for the pure-blood than trading his retirement savings. He'd never done it before, despite several accommodating and generous offers. But none of them could offer what Harry was now.

"Also deal."

And this time Harry did shake the hand he offered.

"Now I'm gonna have to take this to Gringotts. But I need you to hold on to this in the meantime." Harry handed Ollivander his vault key. "That is the key to the Potter family vault."

Ollivander examined it closely.

"Why would you want me to hold onto... Wait. Nevermind. Stupid question."

Harry could only laugh at his friend as he reopened the safe and hid the key inside. Harry had broke off from asking stupid questions of his own often enough to relate. His laughter died as Ollivander dropped a signet ring on the counter in place of his key.

"What's this?"

"That is my signature stamp." The wand maker answered. "Unless you're planning to contact James and convince him to adopt you, you can't go around using your own name. Until such time as you come up with a new one, you can sign any important documents or purchases with this and claim to be doing errands for me."

Harry nodded as he secured the ring on his pinky.

"They send the documents to me to get a proper signature afterwards so don't go doing anything stupid or illegal with it!" The old man warned.

Harry had the decency to at least act offended at the insinuation.

Harry exited Ollivanders' weighed down with nearly eight thousand galleons. Even with the enchantments on goblin money to make it nearly weightless and the undetectable expansion charm on the bag his belt could barely tolerate the weight of the sack.

He had more than enough money to purchase the blood testing he needed hundreds of times over again, assuming the price of Gringotts' services hadn't inflated along with everything else. That wasn't an assumption Harry was willing to make. At least he had something to put in his new vault if the tests didn't come up with anything, and this nest egg would go a long way to getting his new life established.

As he walked towards the massive marble bank he finally took stock of shops that weren't boarded up, making a mental list of the things he'd need to purchase from them. Flourish and Blotts was doing good business but Gambol and Japes was absolutely booming with activity. After all, dark times called for good humor. He passed the same group of first year children from before coming out of the magical menagerie with matching toads and identical smiles. He waved at them as he passed and the Zeller children positively bounced as they waved back.

Harry froze at Eeylops Owl Emporium.

He must have stared at that door for five whole minutes at the epiphany that struck him dumb. It was a crazy idea, and the odds were almost impossible, but he simply had to know.

He entered the empty shop and the same manager as his timeline looked up from whatever he was reading.

"Welcome sir. What can I do for you?" The manager greeted Harry nodded in way of a hello and hesitated to ask his question.

"I'm looking for an owl." He said.

The manager beamed at him. Business must be slow.

"You're in luck. We happen to sell owls here!" He said in all good humor. "If you'd come on into the back we can find the right one for you."
"Actually." Harry interrupted with a staying wave of his hand. "I'm looking for a very specific owl."

The manager looked him up and down before indicating he should continue.

"I'm looking for a female snow owl. She would be around five years old, maybe a bit older. She has bright amber eyes and is rather irritable."
The manager stared at him some more. Somehow Harry doubted the old man had ever heard such a detailed description from a new customer.
"That was very specific." The manager verified. "And until very recently I had exactly the owl you just described."

Harry's heart sank at the news.

"Well. Thank you anyways. I don't suppose you'd be willing to write a letter to the customer you sold it to on my behalf, would you?"

The manager shook his head and Harry's heart sank even further. If the day became anymore of a disappointment he'd have to dig it out of the ground.

"I didn't sell her." The manager said. "I tried to for years, but nobody would take her. Last year I found out she was mixed with something magical and handed her off to Sarah at the Magical Menagerie hoping she'd have better luck."

Harry barely managed to utter a proper 'thank you' as he ran as fast as he could through the exit, entering the much more noisy shop moments later.
He waited for the saleswoman, a young witch with short, curly auburn hair, to finish with another customer. Harry didn't need to expand his senses to feel the heat rising to her cheeks or increase in her heart rate as he approached. He only now realized his face was plastered with a smile of pure joy. He needed to be more careful about showing off his teeth like that, he didn't want to cause accidents with it. Not to sound like Lockheart, but it happened before.

"Um. Excuse me." Harry said, trying to put on a more professional air. "I'm looking for a magical snowy owl I'm told you have in stock."
"Oh! Are you sure?" The saleswoman, Nichole according to her name tag, backtracked. "She's a bit... temperamental."

"That's definitely her!" Harry confirmed, his smile returning.

Nichole mimicked the manager from Eyelops in skeptically glancing him up and down before relenting. She led him through the towering stacks of cages for several minutes in silence, or as close to silence as things could get in this particular store. Harry had never been this deep into the warehouse-sized menagerie and would have otherwise been ignorant to how gargantuan it was.

"Here we are." Nichole announced as they entered a more open area.

The large stacks of cages parted around a desk on which a single golden cage sat.

Harry fought back the tears at the sight of what sat inside the cage. It wasn't the tears of joy he expected to shed at seeing her, and how could he be happy to see his magnificent friend hunched over, eyes staring at the ground instead of skyward where she belonged? If there were such a thing as a hunchbacked owl, Hedwig looked rather close to being one, and the lack of exercise over the years had plumped her up into an unhealthy shape.
That shape being round.

"Oh no, what have they done to you Hedwig?" He whispered as he approached the desk and kneeled beside her cage.

She didn't even look up at him as he approached, but nor did she shuffle away on her perch. It made sense that she wouldn't recognize the name, as did her sequestering away from the other animals. The owl had never gotten along well with other animals, feathered or not. And as Harry listened to the screeching, squeaking and squawking of the veritable zoo around them the reason for Hedwig's deep depression became rather obvious.

"How much?" Harry asked without looking up at the young saleswoman.

"Um. Are you sure you want her?"

"How. Much." He repeated pointedly, still examining Hedwig's plumage, which was blessedly healthy and clean.

"Oh. I think we charge eighteen galleons for jobberknolls, and she's only a quarter, so she'd come out to twelve galleons."

He reached into the heavy sack on his waist and handed the witch the money. Harry opened the wretched cage as soon as she started counting the coinage. Only then did Hedwig look up at him.

"Come on, girl." He said, putting his forearm out near the cage door for her to jump onto. "I'm busting you out of this joint."

Hedwig blinked at him in confusion. Her head flicked down to his arm and back to his face several times as she considered him with obvious confusion. He knew her to be suspicious and uncooperative at the best of times, and this was decidedly not the best of times.

Eventually she did hop along her cage and onto his outstretched arm. It went a long way to helping him overcome his disappointment at her lack of recognition.

"Oooh, you're heavy." He grumbled as he lifted the owl up to his face.

"Yeah." Nichole said. "We tried to put her on a diet several times but it always ended in disaster."

Harry could only snort at that. Yeah. Hedwig didn't do diets. When she'd gotten unhealthily large in his fourth year from all the bacon he'd been feeding her he had to start helping her exercise. He even managed to train her in several flying formations on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch with the book on hawk training he'd dug up in the library. He doubted that same routine would work on her this time. Could she even fly anymore?

His good humor vanished as Hedwig returned to her earlier posture of staring blankly at the ground. He buried his face in her plumage like he used to do on particularly rough days. She reacted by standing at full height, holding her head away from him. It was a posture that showed clear discomfort, and Harry imagined any one of his other friends would react in a similar way if he came right up to them and gave them such an emotional embrace. He didn't care. Even if it was just for a second he needed to breath in the familiar smell of her feathers and convince himself this was real.

"If you would kindly follow me so we can fill out the bill of sale and transfer ownership to you."

"I would like that." Harry said, removing his face from the part-jobberknolls' chest.

They were nearly upon the front desk and register when he paused and glanced around the shop. Against all odds he had found his favorite animal in the world, one he had seen die in his. The likelihood that his second favorite animal yet lived was much more favorable.

"Crookshanks?" He called out more questioningly than demandingly.

He turned to look at the sound of padded feet on wood and saw the familiar bottlebrush tail descend from a stack of crates near the front door. The part-kneazle walked up to him as if they were already acquainted. The feline didn't act like most cats, and followed instruction from a completely different set of instincts. It's instincts, instead of demanding rudeness at every opportunity like a normal cat, commanded it to obey instruction from those who were trustworthy, which Crookshanks must sense Harry was.

"I'll be taking him too."

Ollivander's signature stamp was a godsend, as no amount of galleons would have earned him ownership of the two animals without naming the new owner. It broke Harry's heart to give somebody else temporary ownership of the two animals, but he'd transfer the deeds to himself at the first opportunity.

"Will you need a cage or kennel for them?"

"Nope."

Twenty one galleons lighter Harry made to exit the store.

"Come on you two. I'm taking you home." Harry commanded them. "You've been kept waiting long enough."

Crookshanks followed him with ease, and neither made a single complaint or sign of intention to run off on their own as they walked down Diagon Alley. Harry took them straight back to the Leaky Cauldron intent on spending the rest of the day with them.

His business with Gringotts could wait.

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NonsensicalRants · Jul 1, 2022

Chapter 3:
Work

Harry spent the rest of that day playing with his animal companions.

His attempts at exercising Hedwig boiled down to playing fetch with a foam ball he bought for the occasion. He'd never seen an owl run after a ball before. It was oddly adorable, especially with their comically long legs. The experiment certainly answered his question on whether or not she could fly anymore. He later cast a weight reduction charm on her but that only served to spook her and make his forearms resemble the wallpaper in the shrieking shack.

Neither were particularly fond of cuddling and so they slept apart. In time he knew Crookshanks would come around to sleeping on his feet, but like any other cat he was nervous in new environments.

Sadly, he had to leave early the next morning as per his agreement with Garrick.

"All right. I left you both enough food to last several days, so I expect to come home tonight to two fully alive animals." He told them. "That means no eating each other."

They both stared at him stupidly. Despite being rather brilliant animals, they were still just animals.

"Okay. Goodbye."

He closed the door and made to lock it but thinking better of it he opened the door again and interrupted a glaring contest the two started in his absence. A few charms later and their claws and teeth/beak were left as dull as a troll. They could settle their differences all they wanted now and Harry could be confident that when he next saw them their worst injuries will be a couple bruises.

He spent his third day in this new world manning the counter to Ollivander's shop. He agreed to take over until such time as Garrick finished studying his memories. Which Harry knew would take several weeks of full-time effort on the old man's part.

On the positive side of things, sorting wands to new students was both fun and easy.

Most of these children waited a day or two after getting their letters before coming to Diagon Alley, especially the Muggleborns whose parents justifiably worried they were being pranked. Harry spotted several Hogwarts professors escorting families towards Gringotts after a short tour of the alley before vanishing to pick up another family and repeat the process. He chiefly observed, from afar, Hagrid, Minerva, Dumbledore himself, Filius, Pamona and Severus. But there were a good dozen other faces he didn't recognize amongst the Muggleborn escorts, one of whom he thought could have been Remus, but he looked far too youthful and put-together to be his favorite Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and quasi-uncle.

He supposed they only took the families that far so they could exchange the currency and work through buying the list of supplies on their own. He imagined it would be one incredible experience making your way through the wizarding market with your parents, like a rite of passage. All of you discovering the wizarding world together. He didn't harass the students or their Muggle parents to ask them about it. He knew they'd be getting those same questions from other shopkeepers and he didn't want to be a nuisance.

Oddly enough he got more returning students than new ones. Some came in to use a self-service wand-waxer that Harry somehow never noticed sitting in the corner, others came to check if there was a better match for them in the new stock of wands - something Harry would never have dreamed of checking for himself- and others still came in for replacements or spares.

None bothered to ask him who he was or why Ollivander wasn't manning the counter. Harry figured that they all made their own assumptions regarding his identity and relationship to Garrick. He was happy to remain ignorant of their inner thoughts.

The only real shock he received was when Bellatrix Lestrange walked right through the front door. He was rather proud of his success at hiding his expression when his eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sight of her. At first, he almost thought it was Andromeda, having mistaken the eldest black sister for Bellatrix when they first met. This world's Bellatrix looked even more like her sister. Her clothes were clean, her hair was combed, and she looked... well... Sane.

"Good morning." She greeted noncommittally before tossing her wand on the counter without a care.

"Good morning! How may I help you today, miss..." Harry waved for her to introduce herself.

"Miss will do just fine." She said. "And I was hoping you could repair my wand."

Harry picked up and eyed the wand - more like a club in appearance - but there was no physical indication of damage.

"And what is wrong with it?"

"Lately it has been..." She paused to think. "Disobedient."

Don't imagine her in a dominatrix outfit. Don't imagine her in a dominatrix outfit. Must. Not. Imagine her in a dominatrix outfit!

"What's a dominatrix outfit?"

Oh no! Is she in my head? Legilimens.

"Young man, you are speaking out loud."

Well that cinches it. She knows too much. She must die.

"Bring it on you scrawny little ponce! Wandless and starkers I can take you on any day of the week."

"Well then, now that the joke has passed. Let me take a closer look at this disobedient wand of yours and see if I can find your problem." He sidestepped, liking this version of Bellatrix more and more. She played along with his semi-sane sense of humor, which always earned somebody a few points in his book.

It took all of two milliseconds to find the issue once he stretched his magical senses. But he used this opportunity to examine the woman across from him as well. No dark mark. That was interesting. She still had a decidedly dark aura though, but so do many law-abiding witches and wizards who just favored darker magic. She was still very much a fighter and probably a killer. Her wand testified to such. He could feel the litany of curses, killing and otherwise, to have passed through the wand in recent days. He also found himself surprised by her physique. Wouldn't have imagined her to be fit enough to sport a six-pack underneath that thick Victorian dress. Professional dueler training and good diet will do that to you.

"Well I found the issue." He told her as he gingerly placed her wand back on the counter. "It's good you brought it in when you did. I recommend getting a permanent replacement."

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"Do you know what a wand blockage is?"

She shook her head.

"Imagine a pipe."

"Okay."

"The kind that carries water."

"Got it."

"Now imagine the pipe bulging at a spot because of too much pressure. That's kind of what's happening inside of your wand. There's a buildup of magic inside of it. Whenever you cast a spell the blockage absorbs some or all of it, or counters it completely."

Bellatrix nodded inquisitively.

"That explains why my spells have been weaker as of late. Is there a way to clear the blockage?"

Harry winced at the question.

"Yes, but it's dangerous. I've seen it happen twice. One time I saw a wand clear the blockage by explosively casting golden flames. It was like a superpowered spell and was pretty amazing." He explained, leaving out the fact that it was his wand that did this along with his wand acting of its own will, as some phoenix feather wands tend to do. "Another time I saw a wand clear the blockage by explosively backfiring a killing curse on the caster. It was very awesome, just not for the caster."

The difference with that situation was that the Elder Wand is supposed to have magical blockage along its length. It was one of the defining principles of how the wand worked. It had five such blockages. One for transfiguration, one for curses, one for charms, one for healing spells and one for counterspells or defensive magic. There were actual knots in the thestral hair running along its length tied around splinters of different types of wood. A Fir splinter for the transfiguration knot, an Elm splitter for charms, Yew for curses, Willow for healing spells, and Rowan for protective magic and counterspells.

Whoever designed the Elder Wand was a genius. Each knot would charge when a spell of another knots' type was cast and only expel the buildup when a spell of its type was cast. Harry came to call it the Gambler's Wand because in order to get the best results you'd have to cycle through the spell types in the same order each time and hope your opponent didn't pick up on this trend. If they did they could just wait for a harmless healing spell to mount a proper offensive. Dumbledore was good at using spells that always looked like offensive spells and in creatively using the transfiguration or healing slot and predicting the right time to use a counter.

To design a wand to use what most would consider a dangerous flaw and not just design around it, but incorporate that flaw as a core feature was the epitome of brilliance. And this was just one of the features unique to the Elder Wand.

Of course if you kept using the same type of spell, or the same exact spell in Voldemort's case, over and over again you'd overload the particular knot and probably die. That was the main reason Harry survived that battle with Voldemort. The fact that he was the Elder Wands true master made backfiring even more likely when it was used against him, which seemed like something Dumbledore would have planned for.
"And I'm guessing it's more likely to just backfire on me?"

Oh right. Other people. Those exist. He better deal with this one.

"Most likely, yes. It's possible to remove the blockage by casting a powerful enough spell of a different type, for example some kid tries to cast a patronus and it causes a blockage. In order to cancel it out he would have to cast a dark curse of equal power." Harry explained. "And even then, it takes a lot of attempts to get right and it can be deadly."

The immaculate woman nodded thoughtfully as she stared at her wand.

"Okay. I'll need a replacement, but I want to try and repair it anyways." She concluded.

Harry made a show of raising an objecting eyebrow at her, but stretched his senses to find a match for her all the same.

"I understand if you're attached to it and don't want to let it go, but it really is liable to kill you, or worse, me."

She answered by way of shrugging.

"It's not like that. Not exactly. I'm just curious to see what will happen."

Harry closed up shop for the day soon after getting her a new, hopefully spare, wand and rushing her out. Ollivanders closed well before dark on most days, earlier than most shops and long before Gringotts - his next destination. He tried to tell Garrick he was leaving, but the old man probably didn't hear him, what with his head shoulders deep in a pensieve.

Somehow he'd already come to terms with the fact that most people in this world wouldn't necessarily be like they were in his. In the case of Bellatrix he was pleasantly surprised to discover what he thought was an adrenaline junkie with a proper ladylike veneer. He handled it rather well, or so he thought. Right now his greatest fear was that he might encounter somebody in this world who is reprehensibly evil but fail to act because of how much he loved them in his world, or because he worried that he might be misjudging them based on his prior experiences with their counterpart.

When he found himself chained to an uncomfortable chair across Director Ragnok with five guards pointing an assortment of spears, swords and maces at him he thanked his lucky stars that at least Goblins were the same across dimensions.

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$25 per 500 words for smut/fetish material fanfiction.

$25 per page(250-300 words) for original fiction/nonfiction or anything else that is not fanfiction. I am still looking for my first nonfiction gig so I can move into ghostwriting professionally, so if you have a novel you really want written contact me.

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NonsensicalRants · Jul 8, 2022

Chapter 4:

Banking Troubles

Harry watched Ragnok sift through the documents in his hands as he consulted whatever information they held. He paused only to compare what he read to the devices on his desk. It was a rather nice desk. Mahogany, polished to a metallic sheen, and - most beautifully of all - providing a vast barrier between the righteously angry midget and Harry, though sadly not the armed guard keeping him in the chained chair.

His ability to stretch his senses and examine the devices, or the chains which bound him, was severely hampered by the amazing ward schema of this world's Gringotts. Entering through the front door had been like walking through several layers of molasses, vinegar and olive oil. It was a thing of beauty, so intricately weaved that Harry couldn't discern where one ward ended and another began.
He'd been so enthralled by the overpowering sensation of the Goblin magic that he failed to react in time as an army of guards descended upon him like a rugby team. A rugby team composed of especially tiny, and especially ugly, players; even by the beauty standards set by the average athlete specializing in the sport.

Resorting to using his eyes, of all things, to examine the devices he easily deduced what some of them were. Some indicated vault numbers, others loan eligibility, butone he couldn't make heads or tails of kept beeping and displaying a red light.

"What does the beeping one do?" Harry dared to ask when he gave up on figuring it out himself.
Ragnok didn't look up from his papers.

"It's an alarm to indicate when a person who has stolen from Gringotts has entered the premises." He said simply.

What? But Harry hadn't stolen from Gringotts before. Or at least not this one. So how would the wards here have recognized him? Either the records of his theft transcended dimensions or...

"The wards mark a person as a thief, and that mark stays on the person, not in a magical record kept here." Harry concluded out loud.

This time the old Goblin really did look up.

"Impressive reasoning skills." He said as he placed the documents aside.

He motioned for Harry to continue.

"I'm guessing whatever stain was placed on my magical signature cannot be removed?" Ragnok nodded. "But the wards in the bank proper can be taught to ignore it, or the stain modified if the transgression was forgiven or justified?"

"The latter." Ragnok said simply.

That certainly explained why Harry never had trouble with his own bank in his own world.
"There's just one problem." The branch director added. "The identification markers in your stain also indicates the vault number and the processing ID of the object stolen."

Harry nodded. He could see where this was going.

"The processing ID is for an object that does not exist, let alone in the vault indicated by your mark. Or so says the auditors I sent down to check." Ragnok told him.

And there was no questioning the veracity of a claim made by Goblin auditors.

"A malfunctioning ward then?" Harry offered with a grin that clearly showed even he didn't believe such a possibility.

"My thoughts exactly. Even though such a thing has never happened before. If it were only one ward malfunctioning we would have contracted you to help fix the flaw. Problem is, multiple wards are all saying impossible things, leading us to believe that they are not malfunctioning."

Harry noted the Goblin's use of the word 'contracted' to describe what would have been a much uglier form of employment.

"Tell me mister Potter. What is it that you saw fit to steal from the Lestrange vault in the future?"
A loud ringing sound filled Harry's ears, a ringing sound that had nothing to do with the noisy contraptions in front of him and everything to do with his brain stuttering like a fax machine in his panic.

He racked his mind for some possible explanation for how they could know his name, or lineage. They hadn't taken blood from him for an inheritance test, of that he was sure. They certainly hadn't breached the tungsten missile silo vault door he called an occlumency barrier. As he eliminated possibility after possibility he was left with one, incredibly improbable solution to this riddle.

Eliminate the impossible and what you're left with, no matter how improbable, is the truth.

He surprised everyone in the room with his uproarious laughter.

"You brilliant bastards!" He said between fits. "The blood tests and keys are all a sham! Your wards identify a person and their blood relations the moment they walk through that door."

That was the only explanation. Their wards recognized him as the son of James Potter and likely Lily Evans, assuming she hadn't married in this world. That alone could be explained as him being their lost bastard son, or hidden child, but combined with the nonexistent theft, reconciliation and whatever else they had detected they must have figured out the truth. Just like he had, through a process of elimination.

Ragnok returned his smile with rows of needle-like teeth and Harry knew his friendship with the old Goblin transcended dimensions.

"I assure you, Mister Potter, that they are not a sham. Our wards can only detect immediate blood relations. Providing keys and tests both give a sense of security to our customers and the funds raised from issuing them goes towards maintenance, allowing us to forego usurious practices through fees, rampant stock market speculation or interest rates on credit."

Harry nodded. God, but did he ever love Goblins!

"Formalities hold power over those who believe in them." Harry repeated the ancient Goblin saying. "Or so you once told me, sir."

Ragnok leaned back and waved for the guards holding an array of weapons to his throat to stop doing so. The chains remained tightly fastened to his limbs.

"I see. So we were rather close in your world?" He said more than asked.

Harry shrugged.

"We weren't exactly friends, but I did reconcile with your nation after the theft in question. It was done for purposes of making war, not for personal gain. With much concession, we worked past our differences." Harry explained.

Ragnok nodded, his hands folded in front of his mouth thoughtfully.

"Am I right to feel confident in the belief that you had a good reason for stealing what you had, Mister Potter?" He asked.

Harry hesitated before answering.

"It did save a lot of lives." He admitted. "But it was still a crime and a sin. Only offset by the fact that the item was itself stolen in the first place." Harry explained.

Ragnok nodded. Harry knew the answer he wanted to hear and provided it. All he needed to know was if Harry was a theft risk in the future as well. he didn't exactly have any legal claim on him, not even under goblin law. No crime had actually been committed nor was it at risk of being comitted. As such, the chains keeping him to the chair vanished.

"Very well then. What services can I provide you with today mister Potter?" Ragnok offered. "Seeing as I interrupted your day, I shall assist you personally. do not become accustomed to such favoritism."
That was top notch service indeed. Ragnok rarely did any frontline work himself unless it was for a particularly wealthy customer or to correct mistakes or harm caused by Gringotts itself. This was clearly the latter.

"Open a bank account, deposit my paycheck and buy a matrilineal inheritance test. If you were willing to waive the testing fee I would consider this entire debacle forgiven." Harry told the goblin.

"Then waived it shall be. Send for Inkgots." Ragnok ordered.

A few minutes later the head of inheritance, an even more elderly and ornately dressed Goblin than Ragnok, joined them in the office and made preparations for the inheritance ritual.

Harry recognized the expense and fashionability of the Goblin's clothes not as a pompous display, but as a means of honoring the more senior workers within Gringotts. It wasn't a matter of expense or even dick waving - though Goblins were as guilty of that as humans in positions of management - but instead recognition of his service.

The process was rather mundane. Harry merely had to write his name on a heavily enchanted and potion-soaked piece of parchment with a specialized quill. The writing implement was metallic and wrote in his blood. It took exactly seven drops of the life giving liquid to write out all of the information he needed. The use of the writer's blood was the sole reason the process was legally regarded as a ritual. Harry had already done this ritual before in his own world, and it was just as mind-numbingly boring the second time. The only difference this time was his request to only check and access his maternal inheritance. It would not do for his father to get a bank notice telling him of Harry's existence.

He knew his mother's line descended from a series of Squibs who escaped into the Muggle world in search of a life worth living. As such the squiggly diagram of a family tree the parchment displayed held no surprises. Centuries of either Muggle or female descendants up until this point prevented any claimants to the long unused vaults of certain wizarding families. Lack of male heirs was a huge problem for Goblin run banks. If you had a few hours to spare you could easily broach the topic with a bar hopping Goblin and they will wax on about stagnant wealth going unused and the good in the world gone undone from lack of investment and business loans as a consequence.

It especially enraged Goblins because they, like Hebrews and Naxis, determined inheritance and lineage on the maternal side. Why the sadistic race universally despised Talmudic Judaism - as you could also discover by broaching the topic over a bar table - was beyond him. The only group Goblins hated more was the Jesuits, for similar reasons. Weirdly they had nothing negative to say about Naxis, even though Hermione tried to coax one to at a bar once. Instead all she got was antisemitic ranting.
The ritual eventually concluded and displayed two inheritances.

Morrigan Estate, designated by Lord Nathaniel Gryer Morrigan of the Noble House of Morrigan, 1897
Wentforth Family, designated by Eloise Harriet Wentworth, 1980.

Harry couldn't decide whether to frown or smirk. There had been more names In his world, to be sure, but one of these was new. He didn't even recognize Wentworth as a vague memory, but surmised it was yet another line wiped out by this Voldemort's pointless war.

"That is unfortunate." Inkgot allowed with a sigh.

Frown. Definitely frown.

"Why is that?" Harry demanded.

Both of the older Goblins groaned as they clearly searched for a diplomatic way to share the news.
"All liquid assets and properties of the Morrigan and Wentworth lines were seized by the Ministry in order to provide..." Ragnok paused to think of a word. "Remunerations for 'victims' of DMLE investigations that failed to lead to convictions."

Harry allowed the growl to escape his throat unimpeded. He knew openly fuming at the Ministry's tendency to take that which belonged to others was only outstripped by the similar proclivities of Muggle governments. Hiding his rage at this turn of events would only offend his hosts, who appreciated honest displays of justified wrath.

Knowing that the money and property stolen from him was siphoned off to Death Eaters to recoup their losses from bribing their way out of prison nearly made him lose control of his magic.

A knock on the door interrupted his angsting.

"Ah. And now for the good news." Only it said as a surly looking Goblin youth handed him a stack of folders.

"Both estates did have investments in companies and stocks whose dividends have, up until now, been siphoned away by the Ministry." Inkgot explained.

Harry let a smile grace his face. Wait, this ministry of magic had wealth taxes on stocks and options? Or was this also just a condition of renumeration for Death Eaters?

"And now that I can claim ownership all future dividends go to me?" Harry asked.

The older Goblins nodded.

"If you'd like we can sell the stocks and bonds andopen a vault to store the liquidated assets." Ragnok offered.

Harry looked at his friend in confusion.

"Now why would we want to do that?"

From what Harry knew about them, Goblins despised 'hoarders' as they were called. They believed that people with money should use that money to better the world. Not by giving it away to worthless charities that rarely achieve their goals, and more often than not achieve the exact opposite of their mission statements. Aimless and ineffective philanthropy is a sin.

Fuck all that. Want to change the world? Go loan money to create businesses that will hire people and drag them kicking and screaming out of poverty. Go fund the research and development of new technology that will raise the standard of living to the point that the poor of today live better lives than the kings of yesterday. Fund projects and ambitions to rival the seven wonders of the ancient world and, succeed or fail, at least you can say you were part of something cool. That's how Goblins roll. They believe in a form of philanthropic commerce.

So why was a Gringotts branch manager suggesting he abandon such efforts?

"Well, Mister Potter..."

"Morrigan." Harry corrected.

He needed an alias and it would serve him well to take the name he knew would entitle him to a seat on the Wizengomat and Hogwarts Board of Governors. He'd need to get on top of finding somebody for that.

"Well, Mister Morrigan." Ragnok amended. "Most of your inherited investments have lost value due to recent market forces. We are required to recommend, for your financial benefit, that you abandon these investments."

Ah. So that was it.

"Director. We humans have a term for describing people who abandon bear markets for the safety of mattress stuffing. A term you might like." Harry said.

Ragnok considered Harry for a moment.

"And what do you call them, Mister Morrigan?" He asked.

"Pussies." Harry said pointedly.

Harry soon found himself practicing his new signature on a mountain of documents.

Hadrian Edward Morrigan had officially entered the arena.

Want your Story Written?

I take commissions now! you can pay me to write your fanfiction as three others are currently doing. My prices are as follows.

$25 per 1000 words of fanfiction, with some wiggle room. I don't pad my work. You also get to video chat with me as I type the first chapter.

$25 per 500 words for smut/fetish material fanfiction.

$25 per page(250-300 words) for original fiction/nonfiction or anything else that is not fanfiction. I am still looking for my first nonfiction gig so I can move into ghostwriting professionally, so if you have a novel you really want written contact me.

Prices subject to change in the future. Check my profile.

Become a Patron:
NonsensicalRants

You can also still become a patron for ONE DOLLAR to get access to future chapters 2 weeks early and vote on which stories I update Next. I have higher tiers, but I have no idea what to offer for them now that I lowered everything to one dollar.

NonsensicalRants · Jul 15, 2022

Chapter 7:

An Impromptu Lesson

Ollivander's shop had a self-enclosed garden similar to a courtyard.

Many of the things you could expect in a normal London garden made appearances there. Tea bushes, blackberries, mint patches and leafy greens covered most available ground, but the real stars of the courtyard were the many trees keeping these foodstuffs shaded from the harsh summer sun.
The ancient English oak towered at the very center of the garden with the smaller trees - fir, elm, yew, ash and maple among them - hugged the walls tightly, leaving barely enough room for the windows. Ollivander also kept trees that weren't so native to the isles, but kept them as pygmy trees, made eternally small through the use of a bonsai potion and each kept in a plastic container to serve as a miniature greenhouse.

The witch or wizard with a good eye would notice that every single tree in the garden and on every windowsill was of a type used for wand-crafting. What they might not know is that these specimens weren't particularly well-suited for use as wands and weren't used for the wands Garrick himself made. No, the old man kept them for his own personal study and served to help the wandmaker gain a sense of immersion to his craft. For meditative purposes.

Harry was out here for a similar purpose at the moment. He was meditating. Stretching his senses to feel the fine grain of bark, soft fabric of leaves and deep vining roots.

Trees, above and beyond all other things, are magical. Trees feel. Trees think. Trees are well and truly alive. Even Muggles are capable of experiencing the magic of trees. All you have to do is give one a great, big hug, and you will feel it. Odd that calling somebody a tree hugger is considered an insult to some.

Harry's ability to stretch out his senses into his surrounding came from his studying and meditating beside these very trees. Experiments with wandless magic in conjunction with his study and attempted reverse-engineering of the elder wand led to him gaining the ability to grow his magical core to encompass the world around him and practically incorporate it into his being, just as these trees do.
When he discovered how to feel his core, his very magical essence, he discovered that magic is alive. Magic is sentient. Magic remembers. Trees also remember.

To hold even the remains of a tree, as wood carved into furniture or a wand, opens the door to gain knowledge from them. To tap into their memories. It is one of the most useful functions of his sixth sense. It took a lot of practice, but speaking to the, what some eastern philosophies call kami, of an object or place can yield incredible knowledge.

With enough time he can see every person to have ever sat in a particular chair or slept in a particular bed. It was practically post cognitive in its application and was his best method for comparing the history of this world to that of his own world.

These trees talked freely, as if they recognized him, and shared freely. Every difference he tried to glean seemed so minor that it didn't lead to many answers.

He would strive to search the histories of more important objects and places to find where their histories diverged, but thoroughly hoped they didn't diverge too greatly.

His list of objects and places whose kami he craved to speak with grew exponentially from including the desk in the oval office(and her sister), to the entirety of everything he had already spoken to in his own world.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Harry opened his eyes and turned to look at her, even though he didn't really need his eyes to see. Bellatrix Black was as immaculate as the first time he saw her in this universe. Hair? Perfect. Dress robes? Perfect. Nails and makeup? You get the picture.

"Just meditating. This garden is good for that." Harry told her. "And for testing wands. Hopefully clearing blockages comes just as easily."

With that declaration, one meant to announce his intention to keep the encounter brief and professional, Harry rose to his feet.

"Before we get into that, mind explaining to me where you get off using your defective wand in a dueling tournament despite my warnings?" He demanded in his best McGonagall impression.
She sighed.

"Tournament rules. I have to register my wand ahead of time and there wasn't enough time between my wand developing a blockage and the preliminaries." She said. "There may be enough time before the official tournament begins to register my new wand, but the time they say it takes to finish the paperwork on their end and the time it actually takes are entirely different in practice."

Ah, beurocracy! Putting people's lives at risk as always. First law of economics and civics, all regulations and government intervention cause more harm than they solve, assuming they do not achieve the exact opposite of their intended result. Surely the answer is more laws and regulations, as always.

He could see why she was so adamant on restoring her original wand then. As if mere sentiment weren't good reason enough.

"Very well, let us begin. Clearing a wand blockage is a simple, but dangerous affair. All you need to do is determine which spell caused the blockage and cast a spell of equal power but opposite wavelength." Harry explained. "Are you familiar with the wavelength of spells and their reactions with each other as described by the arithmetist John Vendile?"

"Er, remind me?" Bellatrix said.

It was the kind of phrase one used when they didn't want to admit they did not know a thing. A small part of Harry, the part that couldn't separate this woman from the one who murdered his godfather, goaded him into teasing her for it. But no, there is a time to tease a woman and a time to be respectful.

"Well, simply put, all spells can be imagined to exist on a hexagon." Harry said.

"Hexagon?" Bellatrix asked.

"Hexagon. With each vertice, or point, representing one of the six types of spells. Charms, transfiguration, hexes, jinxes, curses and healing magic." Harry simplified. "Counter spells are really not a branch of magic so much as a reverse-engineered and wavelength swapped version of a particular spell. Some have surprising uses as spells in their own rights, but that is neither here nor there."

Bellatrix nodded in understanding.

"So, if you cast a powerful transfiguration spell at somebody could they annihilate in midflight by simply casting it's opposite?" She asked. "Kind of like a wand stream connection mid duel, but without the struggle over dominance?"

Harry had never thought of that.

Thinking back to the duel in the graveyard he knew that in a normal scenario where two spells intercepted, thereby connecting the wands, then the more powerful spell would simply rip through the other. Twin core interaction notwithstanding, what would happen if equally powerful, oppositely tuned spells intercepted?

"I suppose they would pretty much cancel each other out. Not necessarily annihilate like matter and antimatter if that's what you were imagining."

She actually blushed at that.

Clearly that's exactly what she was imagining. Could you imagine the energy released by two spells if they could actually undergo annihilation? Harry could. The conversion rate between magical energy and matter was close to infinite, hence conjuration, the art of creating matter from nothing. It would be like annihilating an entire chair or couch worth of atoms.

Goodbye Europe. And all life on Earth, really.

"But it's a moot point, in order to properly counter a spell so perfectly you'd have to be able to identify the spell being cast, know it's perfect opposite, cast that opposite and do so with the exact same amount of force as your opponent." Harry said.

Bellatrix had a faraway look to her the more Harry explained.

Was she actually considering this as a possible tactic? He knew she was a professional dueler, so identifying her opponent's spell as they cast it and casting one of her own was child's play. It was knowing how much force her opponent had put into it that she had no hope of knowing or countering.
But he could.

With that dangerous thought Harry came to mirror her glazed expression. He could! With a little - okay a lot - of training as a duelist and even more experimentation he could easily obliterate a spell midflight with its opposite. Hell, if the spell was weak enough, he could do it wandlessly, morphing the magic around him into a perfect, specialized shield against specific hexes and jinxes. With enough experimentation he could use this method to craft a counter to the killing cur...

No! Bad thoughts!

It's a law of arithmetic every spellcrafter knows. Don't try to create counters to the unforgivables. Too many people have wasted too many years of their lives trying.

"I think we're getting off track. All I need to know is what type of spell you used and, if we're lucky, it has a perfectly opposite spell you can cast to clear it."

She returned to reality but adopted a more demure and hesitant posture. Harry found this thoroughly disturbing.

"It was a curse." She confessed.

"Good, that means you'll have to cast a charm to clear it, and charms are the most numerous of any branch of spells. So, we are more likely to find a match."

She didn't offer any more specifics.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Which spell was it?!"

"I don't really wish to disclose that. Do you perchance have a hexagonal graph depicting every spell and it's opposite?"

"Yeah! In my head by way of arithmetic deduction!"

"Well pull it out of your head and put it in a pensieve! I'll figure it out myself!"

And so, their shouting match continued. This was turning out to be terribly unproductive and unprofessional.

"Look." Harry stopped the argument, taking a deep breath. "If you're worried I may judge you or report you if you tell me the specific spell, know that I have cast two of the unforgivables before." He explained.

She seemed unimpressed.

"On people." He clarified.

She gasped. That was an incredibly stupid thing to confess to somebody. Life in Azkaban and all that.
"Truly?"

"Yes."

And one of them was on you, you child-torturing, godfather-killing, cruciatus-slinging whor... Deep breaths Harry. Deep breaths. This isn't her.

"So, if it was an unforgivable, I swear to you I will hold your confession sacred." Harry promised.
He gave her his most sympathetic smile and she positively melted. This had more to do with him attempting to influence her emotions through wandless manipulation of her aura than any inherent charm - the one thing Riddle hadn't seen fit to transfer to him - but it was still incredibly effective.

"Imperius." She said all but at a whisper.

"Excellent!" Harry clapped. "Because the other two don't have a counter. All you have to do to clear your wand is cast a patronus." Harry told her.

"A patronus?" She clarified.

"A patronus." Harry confirmed.

"The patronus charm is the opposite of the Imperius?" She asked, sounding unconvinced.

"One protects the mind from dark influences of emotions, the other influences the mind through dark influenced and emotions." Harry told her.

Most people didn't know that. The Imperius isn't a mind control spell, it's an emotion controlling spell. A thing it had in common with the patronus, and the other unforgivables, was that it's an enthused spell; a spell that works on emotion and plain old will to cast. No need for complicated wand motions. Just point and shoot.

"But what if I can't cast the patronus?" She asked with a glare that seemed to be daring him to criticize her for her lack of ability.

"Then somebody else who the wand recognizes as it's master could do it. Has anybody ever bested you in a duel?" He asked. "Perhaps this Figg girl?"

She glared at him.

"Once or twice. It's part of being in a competitive sport." She said.

"Then if you can't cast it, invite one of them to do so." He invited.

"No." She refused.

"Didn't think you'd go for that. In that case I'll just have to teach you the patronus." Harry decided.
She scowled at him.

"That could take weeks!" She complained.

"For most people it takes months." Harry correct.

"I'm not most people." She boasted.

The cool, deep voice she said it in, beyond being sexy as all hell, left no doubt in Harry's mind that she wasn't overstating her ability.

"Plus I also started learning it already, but stopped." She confessed.

"Hm? Why did you stop?" He asked.

She didn't answer right away.

"I... experienced a barrier to casting it that I couldn't overcome." She admitted.

She didn't need to explain further. Harry had a similar experience. It's hard to cast a spell that requires a happy memory, when you have so few to choose from and none powerful enough.
Fortunately, he had the workaround.

"I find... That it doesn't need to be a real memory to work." He explained slowly. "It can be a fantasy, a delusion, but it has to be a powerful one. Imaging a lost loved one alive and just... doing the normal daily routine with you is the one I see works most often."

She considered him thoughtfully.

"Like what? Household chores and mealtime talk?" She asked.

"That's exactly right!" He told her. "When we lose the people we love, the things we miss the most is just the comfort of their presence during the most mundane moments. By imagining that again we can cultivate the most brilliant light of happiness in our hearts."

As he explained it his mind turned to George, as it always did when he gave this speech. It was through this exact method that he'd helped the man who lost his other half regain the ability to cast the patronus. It was a spell he couldn't sleep without casting before bed after the war; a nightlight many of the survivors resorted to. Harry included.

"Expecto patronum." Bellatrix whispered.

Nothing came out of her wand. Not even the fizzle that could be expected if she had put too little or too much force into it to counter the blockage.

"Say it like you mean it!" He said.

"Expecto patronum!" She said more forcefully.

There it was. A spatter of white and transparent sparks.

"Good. Do it again." He instructed.

She did, and more sparks followed.

"You'll need to put more power behind it." He course corrected.

She did, and an outright fountain of magic sparks erupted.

"Good. From here you need to adjust how much to put into it. Right now, you're putting a bit too much behind it." He told her.

And so began the tedious task of trying to incrementally decrease how much power she was putting into the spell to match that of the blockage. It helped that Harry could sense exactly how much it needed. It didn't help that it was impossible to convey that through words and so all he could do was instruct her to increase or decrease how much strength she was putting into it.

Her training as a duelist was a huge blessing to the endeavor. Most people can't judge how much magical power they were putting into their spells. Duelists were very good at it. Mostly because they ran endless drills where they varied the force behind their piercing, bludgeoning and cutting hexes at targets to create larger or more precise damage. Along with dodging, ducking, running, aiming, sidestepping, countercursing, blocking, quickcasting and spell identification drills. To name a few of the microskills they had to master.

"You're really close, just..." Harry began.

But his warning fell on deaf ears.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" She roared.

A glorious white falcon erupted from the tip of her wand and rocketed across the courtyard with a loud bang!

Harry reeled from the sensation it had on his sixth sense, and it was only his experience fighting off the Imperius curse that prevented him from falling under it then and there. He was much more sensitive to some spells, like the imperius and cruciatus, when he had his magical senses stretched out.

If she had waited for his warning she would have known that the end result would have been an unnatural fusion of the original spell and the new one and he could have braced himself.

All the same, Harry had never seen a patronus so large or vibrant, but then again, he had never seen one cast through a wand blockage either. His own patronus when cast with the elder wand came close, but the sight of her falcon made Harry wish he'd have reserved the Azkaban courtyard, because if any spell could kill a dementors, it was this one.

The cool, calming euphoria of the imperius curse mixed with the heart-lightening effects of the patronus like a phoenix song.

"I. We. Wow." Bellatrix, who had worked up a real sweat in the quarter hour of excursion, fell to her knees.

Harry momentarily marveled at her ability to collapse into such a ladylike and poised position, before the eight-foot-tall falcon faded into a shower of sparks. If only he'd had the presence of mind to bring a gordian bottle to this meeting. He could have captured it for later experiments involving a caged lethifold.

"Takes a lot more out of you when you cast it successfully, huh?" He asked as he offered the not-a-death-eater his arm.

He turned away from her as she wiped her face clean of tears, after all she was a warrior, and warriors demanded dignity. With that finished she grasped his elbow gently and allowed him to lift her up.
She patted out the wrinkles in her dress robes and bowed slightly, exactly as a noble lady of the ancient house of Black would have been raised to do.

"Thank you, Mister Morrigan, for your services." She said graciously.

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't tested to see if the blockage is fully removed." He warned her.
"I am confident that it is." She said. "You have earned such confidence."

She was right, of course. He had stretched his senses back out the moment the imperionus(tm) faded, and the blockage was indeed gone.

"Please send an invoice with the price by owl to the Tonks estate and I will ensure you receive proper compensation for your help." She told him.

Harry, jolted by the address given, didn't recall his manners until she already reached the door back into Ollivander's shop. He had to jog to catch up with her in order to do the gentlemanly thing and open it for her before leading her through the shop.

"Thank you for your patronage, and never shy away from coming to Ollivander or myself for help in the future." He said by way of goodbye as he held the front door open for her to leave.

She curtsied politely before exiting.

He closed the door intending to get a good look at her behind only to spot a young man with perfectly coiffed, platinum blonde hair approaching Bellatrix. Harry could recognize Draco Malfoy in any dimension. God he completely forgot that they had once been kids. And such awful ones at that, both of them.

Unable to resist, he held his hand to the glass panel of the door and altered his perception to instead feel the vibrations of the air outside. It took an immense amount of concentration, but with practice he had discovered how to "hear" conversations with his sixth sense too. It was still more of an art than a science.

"Thank you for your patience, Draco. Have you gathered all of your school things?" Bellatrix greeted her nephew.

"Yes auntie. Have you finished your platonic date with Ollivander's catamite?" Draco countered.
Aaaaaaand Harry was done eavesdropping for today.

You'd think he would be used to the wonderful and bizarre rumors that sprouted up in his wake by now, but Harry had hoped such things were behind him in another universe. Rumors of his batting for the other team were easily ignored when it arose due to his constant rejection of fangirls, but what stung about this one was how reasonable it was.

After all, what was everyone supposed to assume when a reclusive, elderly, never-married man suddenly had a handsome, slightly feminine young man working in his shop?

Harry cringed at the visuals. He'd have to make an effort to avoid any Hogwarts aged girls with fantasies about his homophilic tendencies in the future. What was yaoi again? And why were teenaged girls in teh 2000s so obsessed with it?

With a sigh he locked the front door and plopped down on the seat behind the counter. The notepad, pen and pile of newspapers were all as he left them, and so he got back to work circling ads that interested him and writing down the pertinent information as he went.

"What in the blazes are you doing boy?" Garrick demanded.

Harry turned to Garrick with a glare.

The old man had really let his hygiene slip in last week. Spending fourteen hours in a pensieve each day and sleeping for the rest left little time for the man to shower and shave. Or eat, by the look of him.
He'd have to intervene soon enough for the wandmaker's own good.

"I'm looking for a job, what the hell does it look like?" Harry snapped.

"It looks like a damn waste of time is what it looks like." Garrick snapped back.

"And why is that?" Harry asked.

"Because who in their right mind is stupid enough to hire a man with no owl or newt scores, let alone history of any kind?" Garrick countered. "Let alone a job better than the one I gave you."

Harry smirked as that question hung in the air. Soon enough the insinuated answer to that question dawned on his mentor.

"Oh, you can kiss my ass. And after all I've done for you since you got stranded here." Garrick bemoaned as he threw his hands up in exasperation.

Harry chucked at the old man's expense, but relented.

"I know. I'm kinda up a creek without a paddle in that regard, but I have to try. You can't have expected me to apprentice under you and take over the shop when you eventually keel over."

Ollivander paused and made the oddest simpering sound as he motioned around the shop.

Oh. Apparently, he had expected Harry to do just that.

"Oh damn, I'm sorry old man." Harry said sincerely, getting up from his seat to put a comforting hand on Garrick's shoulder. He would have hugged him if it weren't for the smell. "I didn't mean to mislead you or anything, but wand-crafting really isn't in my blood. You'll find a proper apprentice soon, I've seen it."

And he had. Being trapped in the Malfoy dungeon with a loony girl had gained the Ollivander of his universe a brilliant, if odd, apprentice to impart his knowledge onto. An apprentice that Harry had enjoyed learning beside. Even if it had ended in such brutal heartache.

Back to the present Harry, come on!

"You're not going to tell me who?" Garrick pleaded in a sad whisper.

Harry grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"Nope. But I am going to make damn sure she finds her way to you." He promised.

Garrick snarled at that.

"Great. As if the rumors going around with you as my apprentice weren't bad enough, how bad are they going to be with a young woman down here?" He bemoaned aloud.

Harry hadn't thought of that. In his universe nobody would have dared make such a suggestion about the two, after what they'd gone through together. After the bravery they'd shown in the fight against Voldemort.

He suspected the people here wouldn't be nearly as understanding.

"A bridge we'll cross when we come to it. Now, is there any chance you can help me get a job to make some proper coin?" He asked. "Quidditch tryouts are long since over or else I'd be demolishing the European league right now."

Garrick wiped the self-pitying expression from his face and picked up the notepad of candidates.

"I can write an outstanding letter of recommendation, but good Lord is this a terrible job selection. Why are you picking such low-skilled jobs?" Garrick asked as he flipped through the notebook.

"Er, because I have no documentation or newt scores with which to apply for good jobs?" Harry asked pointedly. "As you just kindly reminded me of not thirty seconds ago."

Garrick turned from the notes and stared at him. It was that way of staring that always made Harry feel like he was being x-rayed. Examined like a product.

"I assume you are aware of recent and old attacks on the ministry of magic?" Garick started.
"Yeeees?" Harry confirmed hesitantly.

"Well, as you would expect when a building containing all of magical Britain's records is attacked, some people's records have gone missing or were destroyed." He explained.

And then it clicked.

"So naturally it is our responsibility as citizens to inquire if our records were retained or if we need to go in and help replace them!" Harry concluded. "And retake exams if necessary."

Garrick beamed at him.

"Quite right. And if they ask why you waited so long to come in since the last attack, just give them a spiel about how you wanted to avoid the chaos of other people immediately following the attempt on Longbottom's life."

Sometimes things in life really do fall into your lap. Despite how good this prospect looked Harry still had to consider the downsides.

"I'm not so sure I want to retake my exams." He confessed. "Those examiners are good at gauging your abilities, no matter how hard you try to hide your skill."

Garrick looked at him inquisitively.

"And you don't want people thinking you're as exceptional as you are because..." Garrick asked mockingly.

"Because certain actors may take an unhealthy interest in my abilities." Harry explained.

"Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore."

In the end Harry decided to walk down to the owlery and mail an inquiry to the status of his non-existent documents all the same. When the negative response inevitably came back, it would be no time at all before he was called in to retake his exams.

It was time to hit the books.

Want your Story Written?

I take commissions now! you can pay me to write your fanfiction as three others are currently doing. My prices are as follows.

$25 per 1000 words of fanfiction, with some wiggle room. I don't pad my work. You also get to video chat with me as I type the first chapter.

$25 per 500 words for smut/fetish material fanfiction.

$25 per page(250-300 words) for original fiction/nonfiction or anything else that is not fanfiction. I am still looking for my first nonfiction gig so I can move into ghostwriting professionally, so if you have a novel you really want written contact me.

Prices subject to change in the future. Check my profile.

Become a Patron:
NonsensicalRants

You can also still become a patron for ONE DOLLAR to get access to future chapters 2 weeks early and vote on which stories I update Next. I have higher tiers, but I have no idea what to offer for them now that I lowered everything to one dollar.

NonsensicalRants · Jul 23, 2022

Chapter 8:

Written Exams

The ministry had finally responded to his request to "retake" his newt exam by the following weekend. Which was a miracle considering he'd never sat for his newt exam in the first place; neither in his home universe, nor this one.

But with the Ministry of Magic being constantly under attack by Death Eaters, and other parties opposing Voldemort and not affiliated with Dumbledore who presented a whole host of problems to consider later, was it any wonder educational records tended to be casualties of war? Not if you considered the fact that deliberate targeting of financial and personal records by all of these parties was a regular occurrence, as the need to hide paper trails leading to dark business dealings and erasing the history of people they "disappeared" outstripped the need for criminals to know the qualifications of his latest recruit.

The written response signed by a Mrs. Tufty specified the day and time of the appointment and Harry - ehem - Hadrian made haste to prepare for it. A few dozen galleons at Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions netted him a lovely set of black and green dress-robes to match his hair and eyes. It was a little too Slytherin for his tastes, but he'd long come to accept that Salazar's choice of house colors looked damned sexy on him.

His only remaining stop for the day was to the book store to pick up a study guide; hopefully one with a practice test in the back. He wasn't worried about failing the test, but it paid to take a quick refresher and put in a few hours of cramming the day before any exam. It was good enough to get him through Hogwarts, so it ought to be good enough for this, right?

Unfortunately fate decided to sour his morning with a kerfuffle in front of the book store he'd set his eyes on.

"Geroff me!" A young man, no older than seventeen, exclaimed as he was bodily thrown out of the bookstore.

One of the two larger men who had done the throwing spat on the ground separating them.

"You know our store policy, Mutt! Same as everywhere else. If yous be needing a product then you owl order it." The spitter warned.

Harry took a moment to assess the situation. By the state of the young man's tattered clothes, scarred body and the use of "mutt" as a slur the conclusion he came to was an ugly one. He'd have to ask Ollivander about the state of Werewolf relations when he got back to the shop. Or maybe after his test the next day.

Maybe check-in on Dolores while he was at it? Might be taking too many cues from his old universe, but his Umbridge had earned enough bad Karma for every counterpart of hers across all dimensions. At least enough for him to drop by this one's house like he had the original's after the war ended.

"But how am I to know what I want to order without taking a look, see? What's wrong with browsing?" The boy simpered deferentially.

He had the air of the bookish type too. Came across as the kind of person who loved the smell of ancient and slightly molded paper, wood polish of shelves and dust covered bindings. There were worse character flaws, to be sure, but that alone was enough to earn him the kind of treatment he was getting at the moment. But instead these bozos were bullying him over a slight case of magical rabies? He simply had to step in. It was the principle of the thing!

"Come here!" Harry snarled as he snatched the kid up off the cobblestone street and dragged him away from the shop.

When he was out of earshot, but still in view of the bouncers, which every store seemed to have these days, he lightly slammed him against a wooden pillar.

"You gotta be careful and choose your fights kid." Harry said gently, still holding him roughly by the scruff but relaxing his facial features to show he was a friend.

Kid caught on to what was happening quick, and gave him a seemingly frightened nod, betrayed only by the gleam in his eye.

"What book are you looking for and where should I be sending it to?" Harry demanded, showing off his teeth in a fake snarl.

"Study guide for a proctored newt exam." The young werewolf answered.

Hm. Small world.

"And the name's Romulus. I'm the only person in the country whose dad was stupid enough to give him such a name so you don't need my address. Any office owl can find me."

Fair enough.

"And how much does the book cost?" Harry asked.

"Two galleons." Romulus answered simply.

A moment later Harry felt a slight weight in his robe pocket and knew the young man had slipped the coins in with a slight of hand. Damn but was this kid trying to make Harry like him or what?

"The name is Hadrian Morrigan. Keep an eye out for a delivery owl." He conspired, before grabbing him by the scruff yet again. "And don't let me catch you in civilized company again!"

He shoved Romulus down the street and he scampered off. He nailed the kid with a stinging hex to the ass just for extra show. And because he was sure the kid had done something troublesome enough to deserve it recently. Had that Marauder air about him.

He turned around and shoved his way past the bouncers, ordered two copies of the same book, and made the trip back to Olivanders. On the down side it was a much thicker and heavier volume than he expected to have to sift through. On the up side it looked like Hedwig's fatass was getting a workout today.

On the pls side Romulus had added a few sickles on top of the cost of the book, probably as thanks for the service, so he had a nice cuppa to go with his studying.

Having his fingerprints taken upon entering the Ministry Of Magic was a first for Harry. The aura scanners and wand inspection, on the other hand, were par for the course. The pat down and metal detector scans were just dreary and too big of a reminder of the Orwellian, not to mention wholly unnecessary and ineffectual, TSA that the Muggle government across the pond had implemented after the "Saudis" decided to fly a plane into the twin towers.

God what shitshow. The ridiculous measures that the entire world went through to try and cover up the magical involvement in that incident. Ranging from seers shorting plane company stocks the day before, to the terrorists having actual enchanted objects like indestructible passports. There was the obedience ward that forced the pilot and military-trained passengers to surrender to some hicks with box cutters. Not to mention the two planes enchanted to be invisible to avoid detection for seven hours but failed to decloak before hitting building seven and the pentagon respectively. And that was just the fuck-ups on the wizarding side, that intelligence agencies from Mossad to the alphabet agencies in America all had forewarning but failed to act was an even bigger fiasco, to say nothing of the racist dancing Israeli's and Muslims who were celebrating the attack AS IT HEPPENED!

There were also quite a few wizards involved in the incident throwing around quite a few imperius and confundus curses.

Yeah, when 2001 rolled back around he'd be sure to prevent that entire fiasco. Partly to prevent the pointless loss of life, mostly so he'd never have to be felt up at an airport ever again. He had liked plane travel up until then. Only way he could travel internationally wihtout craving death.

Now if only he could go further back in time and prevent the magical terrorist attack on Chernobyl. Some wizard supremacists saw Muggles developing a method of safe, reliable and unlimited energy and managed to turn a nuclear reactor into a weapon of mass destruction. It was an incident that was truly impossible to repeat with any other nuclear reactors. this was partly because of Communist mismanagement of the facility and willful negligence combined with magical interference. Then again, that Muggles were stupid enough to be tricked into throwing away the perfect energy source over an incident that killed maybe a few dozen people and stick with coal, which directly kills millions every year, really gave credence to the wizard-supremacist point of view.

But if Muggles ever found out about the existence of wizarding society, an inevitability in the long term, then they would be rather angry to discover that the answer to most mysteries or conspiracies amount to "A wizard did it."

Chernobyl and September 11th? Wizard terrorists. JFK? It really was a magic bullet. The Philadelphia experiment? Wizard/Muggle scientist collaboration gone bad. The list goes on. But it does raise the question of why so many wizard terrorists kept committing acts likely to expose the wizarding world and instigate the genocide of everyone they loved.

Wizard supremacists weren't great at long-term planning.

The Aurors manning the checkpoint near the floor entrance, and the telephone booth Harry opted to use instead, issued him a set of thoroughly unhelpful directions for reaching the exam room. Go to the elevator he understood. Taking the elevator down to floor 3c1 he did not. Fortunately a balding, tiny old gentleman in the lift helped him with that. Two levels down, two levels right, one level forward... However this lift system managed to move in all three vectors was beyond him, but interesting.

"Thank you sir." Harry said to the elderly gentleman as they exited the lift.

"It's what I do." He said with a chuckle. "If the three-dimensional lift system tripped you up, might you also need help checking into the correct booth?"

It was only then that Harry properly took in the examination room, and blanched. The place was a cubicle farm that would make the most soulless corporation shudder at the artificial and soul-crushing nature of making human beings work in such environments. If you could take the room of hidden things and fill every inch of it, including rising vertically along the walls and covering the ceiling, with wooden office cubicles, this is what would result.

"I think I would appreciate that very much sir." Harry confided in the helpful ministry worker, before offering his hand to shake. "I'm Hadrian Morrigan by the way. My appointment is with an examiner named Alastor Marchbanks."

"I'm examiner Alastor Marchbanks. I happen to have an appointment with an examinee named Hadrian Morrigan." Marchbanks greeted cheekily as he took Harry's hand and shook.

Again, small world.

Examiner Marchbanks led him down the aisles of cubicles and Harry couldn't stop himself from looking up to see if people were walking, sitting and working on the ceiling above. Indeed, they were, and he was overcome with a sense of vertigo at the strange type of space optimizing magic employed here.

Fortunately Marchbanks' cubicle was safely on the ground so they didn't wind up having to walk up the walls, literally or figuratively. His was as tidy as could be expected, and the neat, evenly-spaced stacks of examination tests layed out looked to be pre-prepared for Harry in particular.

"Today you will be doing a written exam in the disciplines you specified." Marchbanks' preempted, before pointing at every stack of exams in turn and listing off the subject. "Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration, Muggle Studies, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, Astronomy and, of course, Divination. Is that correct?"

"Yes sir." Harry confirmed politely.

Harry had studied Ancient Runes while he was helping with the creation of a new sport back in 2003, and he felt reasonably confident in that and arithmancy, which it turned out was mostly mathematics through calculus mixed with numerology and runes for spell and potion engineering. Muggle Studies would be a doddle.

"That seems to be nearly every subject offered at Hogwarts, save for one. What about history of magic?"

"What about history of magic?" Harry retorted derisively.

"Fair enough I suppose. Now before we go on I do need to ask one very important question." Marchbanks continued "Are you Muggle-born?"

It was only his experience dealing with this bullshit in his home dimension that allowed Harry to answer without showing any shock or offense at the question. Best to stick with the truth.

"No sir. But my mother was. And I was raised by her extended family." Harry said.

"Ah, Muggle-raised? Excellent! That means we can get through the Muggle Studies test much more quickly." Marchbanks cheerily exclaimed, surprising Harry to reveal the question was asked not out of discriminatory purposes, but for making his job easier. "All you have to do is perform two distinctly advanced Muggle tasks that no wizard-raised person could ever accomplish."

And with that ominous declaration Marchbanks began weaving his wand like a symphony conductor and produced one of the most impressive displays of transfiguration Harry had ever beheld. Piece by piece he conjured different types of metal alloy and shaped them into mechanical contraptions that on their own were wholly alien to Harry, but taken together formed the recognizable shape of a Ford Model T; One small enough to fit on top of the desk and seat a toddler.

"I realize it's not in fashion to be driving such a vehicle today, but I find the electric razors on wheels seen on roads recently to be abominations and insulting to the beauty and style automobiles once exhibited." Said Marchbanks. "Still, a car is a car, and a wheel is a wheel. And a spark plug is a spark plug. All you must do is change the tire, and by that I mean switch one tire with another since there is no spare, and change the spark plugs OR change the oil OR change the fuses. Without magic, save for conjuring materials you will need, obviously."

Harry was sufficiently impressed. He would have to make inquiries at Hogwarts to find out if the head of Gryffindor house wasn't a spinster carrying her maiden name of McGonnigal, but a married woman carrying the name Mrs Marchbanks.

"Okay, but what if I can do all of those things?" Harry asked.

"Can you do all of those things?" Marchbanks asked with interest.

Verily, he could. In fact, Harry went so far as to conjure up his own fuses which he then had to shrink to fit, and a duplicate of the spark plug the machine had. He knew full well that conjured and transfigured materials don't take on the chemical or electrical properties of the material intended, as such the Model T would never be able to run or start for that matter, but it was still beautiful work in his opinion. He conjured an aluminum pans to drain the oil, and then just poured it back in as the point was to show he could do it.

"Bravo! Bravo! I think you've earned an outstanding on your Muggle Studies. And if you can write on the theory behind conjuring and transfiguring materials as well as your wandwork would suggest I expect another O on your transfiguration newt as well." Said Marchbanks.

He was right.

Seven hours later Harry finished his last written test with a bad case of carpal tunnel, and an impressive set of grades.

He expected to get at least an Exceeds Expectation or higher on everything except arithmancy and astronomy, so that would make seven passing grades. Some would argue that an acceptable was a passing grade, but not at the newt level. No employer will hire for anything below Exceeds Expectations, and even then that's only if the E is in a subject only tangentially related to the job as opposed to the primary focus. Like Herbology for a potions brewer. Otherwise you better have an O in the primary focus. Like potions for a potions brewer.

And so, finally, he was onto divination. Harry was fully expecting a failing grade as, like with the Muggle Studies test, this one was actually practical instead of written. He knew this because Marchbanks provided a fully-enchanted crystal ball as soon as he finished shuffling away the stack of math questions.

Marchbanks chuckled at Harry's over-exaggerated groan.

"Yes, yes. You were expecting another written, but honestly there's no point in having a written exam for divination. You are either able to divine the future, or you aren't." He explained. "Besides. I do so enjoy the looks on people faces when they flunk out of what they thought was an easy E to pad out their newt scores."

He was onto him! Damnit! And to think he and Ron were so sure none of the teachers would figure out that was their motivation in picking Divination and Care over Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Oh well, he'd just have to cheat. Good thing he had a tool capable of making him appear to be a skilled diviner.

"Now. I'm going to place the crystal ball and all you need to do is speak of whatever it is you see, feel or otherwise sense about the present, past, or future. Begin when ready." Marchbanks instructed.

Harry was born ready!

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and relaxed into his seat. The first step to divination is to always relax, clear your mind and dull the senses. Something he learned through his own independent studies.

He reached out his sixth, magical sense and allowed the world around him to fill his soul. The curvature of the armrests of his chair. The cold hardness of the filing cabinet. The dustiness of the carpet and curtains blocking off the entrance to the cubicle. Each and every place and thing had a story to be told and they shared them willingly to those with ears to hear, but his interest was in the man opposite him.

His eyes snapped open and he stared, unseeing, into the crystal ball. He ignored the cloudy coalescing masses within and focused his attention on the story Marchbanks' aura told.

Recent events tend to stick for a while, linger like scratches on a record. Harry could pick up on those scratches and, if he focused, translate them back into the five senses he was more accustomed to.

He ignored the recent and superfluous facts about his egg, ham and hash breakfast. He ignored the overflowing joy and warm fuzziness that he still got every time his wife kissed his cheek goodbye in the morning, even after sixty years of marriage. He ignored the deep rest he got sleeping beside that woman with the warm weight of their way-too-old and way-too-fat basset hound laying across his feet.
He did not, however, ignore the threatening, whispered voices from days earlier.

"You should be honored. It is not every day I make such an offer in person."

It sounded healthier and more human than Harry remembered, but he recognized it all the same.
"You have been approached by the Dark Lord." Harry said simply.

Marchbanks nodded without hesitation, but Harry was too enthralled in the past to pay any attention to the present.

"I doubt you have much of importance to be getting on with. War's a bit fizzled out at the moment, so I can't imagine you doing much besides plotting and recruiting."

His response earned Voldemort's thrilled, high-pitched laughter.

"Indeed. And I come bearing gifts. Gifts of fire, and death."

Harry felt the lingering touch of something powerful. Something hot and sharp. Not a spell, but an object of ancient make and forgotten power.

He also felt Marchbanks lust for the object, and the feel of the rosary on his fingers and he clasped it in surprise at the sight of whatever it was Voldemort sought to bribe him with.

"He has made you a very generous offer. One that would turn many of your faith and line of research into accepting." Harry went on.

Marchbanks nodded again but this time Harry was overwhelmed by a new sense. Like the dizziness that heralds a fainting fit, or precipitates sleep. But it stayed with him, held him in that state and the coalescing smoke in the crystal ball parted to show him the future.

It was a bloody scene. Scorched gashes in walls, severed limbs and a significant amount of blood. Blurry, but obvious in meaning.

"You will not accept." Harry managed to gasp as he pulled himself away from the vision.

He discovered that he was clammy, sweating and out of breath.

"No. I will not." Marchbanks nodded solemnly, though his eyes betrayed a razor-sharp focus and cunning that most people would miss.

"His retaliation will be terrible." Harry warned.
Marchbanks motioned back towards the crystal ball and leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Do you see... Death?" He asked in a whisper.

Harry shuddered at the word. He could feel that it wasn't meant with a capital D, but allowed himself to sink back into the trance that had never let go of him, and returned to the scene of violence and mayhem.

He saw flashes of places. Siren lights. Hands, so many hands. And then, white hospital sheets and curtains of the highest cleanliness through which morning sunlight streamed and a subtle breeze blew.
Harry felt the smile of relief grow on his face before he even returned to the land of the present.

"The event will stay with you forever, but you will live." He told Marchbanks.

He saw a similar relief to that he felt spread onto Marchbanks' features and posture as he slouched back into his seat.

It was only then that Harry realized he may have been goading Harry into lying, giving a fake warning of death as many so-called seers are prone to do. But something in his voice or smile must have tipped Marchbanks off that his prediction was genuine, if still not to be taken as gospel.
"You've put an old man's mind at ease, Mr Morrigan. I thank you for that." Marchbanks told him. "And I'll be sending the final results of your test scores in a week's time."

It took Harry a moment to remember he was Morrigan and stood up to shake the examiner's hand goodbye.

"I have to share the results and my testimony with the others on the board. A precaution to ensure no favoritism towards examinees or manipulation towards examiners. But assuming I'm not under some advanced Imperius spell and this all isn't a hallucination, I can say with some certainty that you tested rather well."

Harry practiced his new signature again on the last of the paperwork and was sent on his way.
As he climbed into the elevator he became lost in his own thoughts.

What had just happened?

He'd been able to predict the future before, certainly. If you see a plate falling to the ground, it's easy to predict it will break. With his ability to re-experience recent events he could collect enough chaotic information to make an informed opinion of what will likely happen. He could predict in the purely literal sense, but he'd never had a vision before!

This was an entirely new and alien ability to him.

While he always used to joke about his ESP with Hermione, she knew it was a more reasonable and, dare he say, scientific ability. This new development was wholly mystic and beyond actual understanding, so he settled for the next best thing to understanding.

Acceptance.

So preoccupied with his thoughts was he that it wasn't until he flood back to the leaky cauldron that he discovered a note slipped into his pocket. A note signed by the old, eminently likeable Catholic.
Romulus could learn something from him.

You are exceptional in a way I cannot place, but in a way that will entice Him. He will come for you. He will find you irresistible. He will want you by his side, or dead. I hope you show the same strength of character you seem to think me capable of, because he is more terrible than you can imagine.

Harry crumpled the note and reduced it to carbon in his hand with a nameless burst of magic, one that didn't even make heat.

Oh, he could imagine it. He could imagine it very well.

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NonsensicalRants · Aug 12, 2022

Chapter 9:

Practical Exams: Part 1

The following day brought with it a sense of anticipation and excitement for the practical exams.

He prepared that morning by drinking the entire pot of coffee and dictating a letter for Bellatrix as he soaked his hand in ice and murtlap juice. Ollivander was none too happy with being forcibly recruited into the role of calligrapher for the morning, but he'd get over it.

"I have nearly finished retaking my NEWTs and find myself suffering from a sudden and unexplainable case of carpal tunnel syndrome. So extreme, in fact, that I decided I will be unable to cook my own dinner this evening and so will be going out on the town." Harry said as he stretched his aching fingers. "I am writing to you because the serving sizes at restaurants are far too large for me to eat by myself and would appreciate it if you joined me for supper. Pee ess, Ollivander sends his love."

The unloving old man in question snorted at his presumptuous addition.

"You're goddamn Cassanova reincarnate, you know that?" Ollivander grouched as he dotted the I's and crossed the T's.

He neatly folded the letter before hurling the finished product into Harry's lap and fleeing from the room. Harry unfurled it with his free hand and read it as the curmudgeon retreated to his workshop and whatever experiments lay within.

Dear Bella.

Go on a date with me?

Sincerely, Hadrian Morrigan.

Harry was slightly disturbed at how perfectly Ollivander had forged his signature at the end but couldn't bring himself to care. He was overjoyed at the exquisite accuracy and faithfulness with which his boss had lovingly transcribed every single word to paper. It was perfect.

He sealed the letter with some melted wax from a candle and stamped it with the ring Ollivander had given him for good measure before tying it to Hedwig's talon and sending her on her second ever delivery. He somehow managed to do it all one-handed and felt an inordinate amount of pride at the accomplishment.

As soon as she left, he did the last of his morning routine, feeding Crookshanks. After magically cleaning the entire shop and living area, pressing his clothes, making the food and so forth as a means of practicing his wandless casting he went on his way. He barely remembered to take his wand from this universe and put his original in the box instead.

The last thing he did before heading to the Ministry of Magic was stop by a Muggle Pharmacy to purchase a wrist brace. With his thumb locked into an uncomfortable, but less pained, position he strolled to the all-too-familiar phone booth.

Harry's practicals that day were going to be with a Mrs Professor Tufty and he hoped finding her would be as easy as it had been finding Mister Marchbanks.

Going through the ministry security for the second time was still just as big of a hassle, though this time he actually carried a wand for them to scan. He hadn't needed one the day before, and he would be damned if they caught whiff of his mastership over the elder wand. An alternate universe's elder wand to boot. He also couldn't afford for them to find out that the wand he supposedly received from Ollivander a few weeks ago had apparently been in use for over a decade and a half. Neither of those revelations would have boded well for him. It was bad enough that the goblin nation knew about his interloping, but having the Unspeakables breaking down Olivander's door looking for him would be a nightmare.

With the checkpoint hassle finished he was directed to 3a1 and managed to instruct the lift there himself. Three floors down, one floor over, one floor forward. Turns out, that was one floor forward too many and he had to go back one. He was only supposed to go three floors down, one floor over and stay there. Apparently the system of organization was only zero based with the up/down levels not side or front. The software engineers must have been out on sick leave when the third dimension was added.

The room he found himself in was a large, round antechamber with white-tiled floors, a ceiling like an undecorated Sistine chapel and blank walls. The only things in the room were an enormous dresser and an elderly lady in a purple dress.

"Mrs Professor Tufty I presume?" Harry called as he approached.

"Believe it or not, it's actually Mrs Dr Professor Tufty, but I'm not so conceited about titles." She said with a polite smile as she offered a hand for him to shake, which he did.

Ah, she was one of those types. A witch who went to the muggle world for a college doctorate in addition to a magical mastery, which was actually the equivalent of a doctorate in magical society. It was the equivalent of getting a PHD and an MD and insisting on being called Doctor Doctor Potter. Such people were usually massive assholes, but Harry wouldn't judge her as such just yet.

"Can we start with something non-wand based? My hand is still a bit cramped from yesterday and I'd rather give it a little more time before I cramp it harder." He told her, indicating the wrist brace which held his right hand.

"Not a problem, not a problem. From what Alastor told me you didn't test that well in potions, so let's see if you can make it up with practicals." Tufty informed him.

For a moment Harry's brain stalled as he thought she was referring to Mad-eye, before he remembered that Marchbanks also shared his first name with the old Auror.

"Right! Yes, I'm a fair hand better at application than theory." He told her.

Two hours later he had proved it. Studying the Half-Blood Prince's diary for a year had made him into an excellent potion brewer, in practice. But it turned him into a terrible tester on account of certification boards and the like demanding specific answers. In other words, he learned the best method to do things, which were not synonymous with the government and academia approved method of doing things. This should be shocking to absolutely nobody.

However, that handicap only affected him when doing written exams. When doing practicals? With an actual human being present? One who cared about skill and results over a checklist? In that environment he excelled.

Tufty had opened one of the cabinets on the dresser and removed a table, cauldron and box of potions ingredients. After setting up the test area she had him complete the final stages of brewing a Felix Felicis potion, which has always been a bitch of a potion to brew. These were the last stages to be done before the six months of condensing it would have to go through before becoming a single spoon's worth of drinkable content out of the gallon of material. He was under no delusion that these were the actual ingredient of the potion, just cheap substitutes meant to create similar coloring and smell to the actual process.

"Excellent work! Where did you learn to use conjured fool's gold as a separator before adding the powdered unicorn horn?" Mrs Dr Professor Tufty congratulated him.

"I read it in my school bully's diary." Harry answered honestly. "He was an arse, but a very inventive potioneer."

"Hmm." Tufty agreed. "It can be a shock to learn of people with special talents, greatness can be found in the most unexpected of places."

Harry was struck by how "Dumbledore-y" that statement was, before he found himself nodding in agreement.

"Well then! Let's move onto charms. How's your wrist doing?" She asked.

"Aweful." Harry answered.

"I'm sorry, but you can't wear that wrist brace during exams. If you're in too much pain to go on we can reschedule but you may have to pay the testers fee a second time." She informed him.

"It's fine. I'll push through." Harry told her.

He removed the brace and shook his hand as if trying to dry it without a towel. As he did this Tufty opened one of the cabinets on the dresser and took out a gym bag of sorts and set up a second table. A few seconds later she had placed a miscellany of seemingly random objects on the table.

"Okay then. To start, please cast a color swapping charm on the platonic solid blocks, next use a switching charm on the walnut and pecan so that their insides are swapped, a weightless charm on the block of lead with the weight amplification charm on the feather and a tickling charm on the puffskein." Tufty instructed.

Harry did so. The blue octahedron turned red, the red tetrahedron turned blue, the pecan shell burst open to reveal a walnut, the walnut burst open to reveal a pecan, the block of lead floated away, the feather flattened at the sudden increase in weight and the puffskein giggled uncontrollably. This all happened at once.

"Uh dear, I meant with a wand?" Tufty said awkwardly after his display of wandless magic.

Most people reacted with much more shock and awe when they witnessed him use magic without a wand. The fact that her response to him doing five different spells simultaneously, using each separate finger as if each were a wand said a lot about her composure. The trick to doing multiple spells simultaneously is to prepare them ahead of time and hold off casting until they were all ready. It was a trick inspired by the lessons he learned from mathemagic, which he stopped using when he realized he kept getting the wrong answers compared to when he wrote the math out, where you calculate the answer in your head as the person is asking the question.

In other words, he silently cast each charm in his head as she called them out but delayed their casting until after she finished. It was a great party trick but that's all it was. The concentration needed to do even two spells simultaneously made even walking a difficult challenge. It was useless in a duel, save for surprise attacks where stunning four enemies at once can cause shock and awe. Lord knows Harry had been impressed when Dumbledore did the same trick on Kingsley, Dawlish, Umbridge and Fudge. He shouldn't have been, considering how much time Fudge had given him to prepare the trick with all of his monologuing and posturing.

Another downside was that it was impossible to cast the same spell multiple times simultaneously, making it the only situation anybody would use a stunning spell other than stupefy, the generic and board approved stunning spell.

"Do the rules specifically require me to use a wand to cast the spells for the test?" Harry goaded. "My wrist is such that wand movements would be a little hard on me, wandless casting won't aggravate it."
Tufty smiled at him before shaking her head and giving him the next set of instructions.

After that she had him summon and banished a baseball, which was ironic, asthey were the first two spells he ever learned to do without a wand. With that done Tufty gave up on the list of spells. Throwing away the list for demonstration she began to absolutely vibrate with anticipation of something only she could see. This caused Harry no small amount of concern.

"Well you certainly seem able, so what d'you say we make this more interesting?" She preempted. "Why don't you cast the most advanced and complex charms you can do wandlessly and we call it a day for charms and move on?"

The suggestion was significantly less 'interesting' than his usual morning workout of running through a forest dodging killing curses or breaking into goblin banks. Still, never accept gift horses from Greeks and all that.

"Is that a valid method of marking?" He asked warily.

"Not really." She shrugged. "But I can't be bothered to go through the entire syllabus. And seeing as the whole of the ministry takes advantage of the chaos to cut corners why should I pretend to do things properly?"

"Fair enough." Harry relented.

He started with his best spell. The patronus. A spell he could do better wandlessly than even with the elder wand.

The white mist poured out of every sweat gland and hair follicle before coalescing around him like a protective wedding veil. Then, it rose above him like steam to form the mighty prongs. Tofty clapped and cheered as the stag galloped around the antechamber before he let it fade and moved onto the next spell.

Next he tried to enchant the ceiling to mirror the sky outside. Tried being the operative word, seeing as one needed to actually touch a ceiling with their wand many times over again to accomplish this feat. He stretched his magic and senses out until he could feel every smooth slab of granite up there, but by the time it got that far it was stretched too thin to affect the entire ceiling, so he focused on a single square slab instead of all hundred or so. It was still a most impressive feat, or so Tufty assured him.
Finally, for charms at least, he placed the octahedron from the set of platonic solids in one of the drawers of the wardrobe before removing a quill, inkwell and piece of parchment from that same drawer.

He wrote the secret he was about to hide on that scrap of paper.

The test octahedron is hidden in the second drawer down on the left-hand side of Professor Tufty's wardrobe of fantastical test ancili.

He showed the note to Professor Tufty, who raised an eyebrow at what he was claiming he was about to accomplish, before igniting the parchment and rubbing it between his hands. The ash on his palms evaporating into transparent silver vapor that glittered with magic. At his mental command it coalesced into a single mass and rushed to strike the drawer like a light from the deluminator.

The drawer glowed with a soft hum for several seconds before returning to normal. Appearing to them both as it had before.

"If you are the caster, and I am the secret keeper, then how do we test if it was successful?" Tufty asked.

Harry blanched as he realized his error, but Tufty laughed it off and walked to the lift and left the test room. She returned less than a minute later with a young secretary Harry recognized from 3a2 when he went forward one floor too many.

"Helena dear, would you be so kind as to open every single drawer in the wardrobe? It would help us greatly." Tufty asked politely.

Helena huffed before doing as instructed, and as she opened each drawer both her eyes and hands passed right over the drawer Harry had cast the fidelius charm on as if it weren't even there. By the end only seven of the eight drawers were open.

"Thank you, Helena, that will be all." Tufty dismissed the girl.

She looked at them both suspiciously. No doubt she expected they were having a go at her, but she eventually shrugged and returned to the lift. This left Professor Tufty satisfied that he had accomplished the fidelius charm.

"How large of a space can you cast the charm on?" Tufty prompted as she marked his sheet.
"A garage or a shed, wandlessly. With a wand, a small cottage or one-bedroom house." He answered honestly. "I have neither the power nor the skill to accomplish it on anything larger. "

Every now and then he would learn a piece of more advanced magic, like the fidelius charm, and become that much more impressed with men of Dumbledore and Voldemort's caliber. Both men were in a league far above his own, even accounting for the significant age difference. Even should he reach Dumbledore's age, Harry doubted he'd be a match for either of them. If he just devoted his life to study and training and did nothing else? Sure. But he had sports to play, skirts to chase and money to earn; each of which was a full-time endeavor. So yeah, that wasn't going to happen. But unlike them he did fight dirty.

"I suppose that settles whether or not the fidelius you cast was successful. And that is more than enough for me to score you on charms." Tufty spoke as she made marks on her clipboard. "Why, if I didn't know better I'd think you were currently working on your charms mastery beneath Filius."

That may have been the most flattering thing anybody had ever said to him. And that was saying a lot, considering the fanmail and publicity he'd received over the years.

"Now. Transfiguration." Tufty prompted.

He had never really learned any advanced transfiguration like animation or the like, so he just snatched the list of spells she was meant to test and performed them all. Inanimate to inanimate. Living to living. Inanimate to living. Living to inanimate. Conjuration. Vanishing. It was all more than doable wandlessly, if slightly imperfect, but he never claimed to be above average in transfiguration. By now the wow factor of doing it wandlessly had probably worn off on the doctor professor, but it would probably still count for something in his scoring.

He expected an Acceptable, but hoped for an Exceeds Expectations.

It was just as she finished marking him for transfiguration that another young lady entered the room by way of the lift.

She was maybe a few years older than Harry, with short, curly brown hair, light skinned but not pale and had the smallest peppering of freckles. Something about her seemed oddly familiar. Visually he thought he recognized her light brown eyes along with the shapes of her face, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Ah! Ariana. Welcome. You're just in time." Tufty greeted.

Oh. That would explain why he recognized her.

"Mister Morrigan, this is Auror Ariana Figg. She is a class A duelist and has agreed to help test you in defense against the dark arts by way of a duel." Tufty explained. "I managed to send word for her while stealing Helena earlier."

So that's why it had taken so long!

"I see." Harry said as he examined the young woman.

Her stance, even in the ease of their surroundings, was a hair trigger away from being ready for a fight. As his extended magic touched hers Harry sensed the wide array of fast, brutal offensive spell chains she practiced religiously every morning with her workout routine. A disciple of Moody, it would seem. The cool confidence in her smirk betrayed the playfulness in her expression as she pouted in such a way as if she were pleading him to accept.

How could anyone say no to such a face? Especially when he had already seen her fight.

"I accept." He said with a confident smirk of his own.

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NonsensicalRants · Aug 19, 2022

Chapter 10:

Practical Exams Part 2

Arabella Figg's daughter, Ariana, reeked of the dueling circuit. And kneazles, but that goes without saying. He suddenly wished he had paid more attention to her spar with Bellatrix, but didn't lament it too much, for if he had, this wouldn't be half as interesting of an experience.

His short stint in professional dueling wasn't as disastrous as that time Dudley convinced him to try out lightweight boxing, but it was a close second. And it was for completely different reasons. Whereas his pitiful boxing career ended with a concussion and broken jaw for him, his time in dueling ended with him being disqualified one too many times for nearly killing his opponents and spectators with spells that were technically within guidelines, but so overpowered that the referees and ring warders couldn't do their jobs effectively.

And he also got his ass kicked a lot too, seeing as all of his opponents were far better trained and had far more experience. He lost the tournaments but won the battles. So yeah, all around a failure.

Most of his other forays into professional sports, both magical and mundane, fared a bit better but he naturally landed on Quidditch. He had tried to deny himself said career, but he simply couldn't defeat fate.

Moirai : 2

Harry Potter : 0

Voldemort : -2.7 going on -4.4

And now here he was facing a duelist who he could feel, in his bones, was as much of a natural at her sport as he was at his. No way was he going to beat her fair and square. So, in the words of the great Lord Draco Lucius Malfoy of House Malfoy; time to play by whatever rules benefited him most.

"Scared Morrigan?" Arianna asked with a grin.

"You wish." Harry grinned back.

"Alright! Both of you to your separate corners." Tufty ordered.

Twenty paces each and they made it to their opposite ends of their "ring" and turned back on one-another. Harry realized his strides were quite a bit longer than Arianna's so he had to close the distance by a lot before they could begin. Much to Arianna's giggling amusement.

Then Tufty began the countdown, from ten to one.

Giving him a countdown before a fight was a dangerous thing to do, as it gave him plenty of time to prepare a barrage of simultaneous spells. One for each finger, on both hands.

Now, ten different spells would be a bit too much, even for him. But ten similar spells? That was easy, especially wandlessly.

You see, without the tricky movements and incantations a wand requires, all you need to cast a spell is concentration and the feeling behind a spell. A feeling that declared intent. Like the feeling of making somebody else giddy charging a cheering charm, or the genuine belief that the victim of your cruciatus deserves to suffer.

He naturally went with ten different fire spells. There are countless different ones that worked differently, including one that specifically uses water as fuel. And what's 70% of the human body made of again? there was also one that uses carbon dioxide in place of oxygen. What do humans, and fire, exhale again? And of course, there was one that just eats other fire. Incendio was just designed to create regular old fire, and there were dozens of different spells that did exactly that.

But as different as these different incendiary charms and curses were, the intent and feeling behind them were always the same. And could best be summed up with two simple words.

BURN BABY!

"ONE!" Tufty announced the ending of her countdown.

Harry let loose all ten streams of fire and they barreled at her in a nice series of arks. If he could solidify the flames into ice they could be an art piece, but more artistic still was Arianna's defense against the onslaught.

She created three entire shields in concentric domes around herself.

The first was a vacuum bubble. A tricky piece of magic where you create a gap in the air around you and vacate it of all air, thus creating a vacuum through which fire cannot pass. But the heat and magic of it could.

Hence the second and third barriers. One sapped heat away from her towards the ceiling, where it would rise and dissipate on its own, and one cloaked her entire body to soak up any residual magic. The third was a bit overkill, essentially a full-body protego to block any residual magic behind the fire spells, a spell echo as it were, which could rarely ignite the clothes she wore if not accounted for.
Clever woman. He smelled Alaster on her.

By the time the spells hit her first shield both of them were already moving. After all, to stay still in a fight is to die. Both were carving the air with their wands in preparation for hteir next clash.

Harry threw off a couple stunners and a cutter with his wand, as he could do so with far more power than with his mere fingers. But by now he was already splitting his focus between the wanded magic and the wandless carving charms he was weaving with his off-hand. It took an extra toll on his focus as he was using his extrasensory abilities to carve the runes necessary beneath the floor tiles and under the bricks of the walls and pillars about them. As such his opponent got him with a slasher that took off his half his cloak and left a nice, thick gash in his shoulder.

She taunted him after the hit landed, but he was so deep in his concentration that he didn't even register her words. In a normal duel he'd be flinging her around by blasting the floor beneath her, but he couldn't risk damaging the runic array he was so carefully drawing around them. Like a cage that would seal this match. So instead, he followed it up with some conjured ropes, razor wire and chains that he animated with a silent bit of parselmagic.

Turns out legilimacy with parseltongue was so easy that even he, a genuine nitwit at the art, could perform it on even the most foul-tempered viper. Or conjurations slightly transfigured to have the heads of snakes. Same thing according to parselmagic. He didn't bother questioning such things anymore.

Arianna tried vanishing them, no doubt thinking they were simple inanimate objects bereft of the magical imprint of life, but quickly discovered they were a tougher cookie to crack. Harry actually took pity on her after the thick, boat-chain viper batted her so hard with its tail that it sent her into a complete backflip to land on her face, by calling off the barb-wire vine snake with a mental command. Arianna took the time she gained from the delay of his pity to reduce the rope anaconda to ash with an incendiary charm of her own.

By now he was nearly finished with the runic array and merely commanded the two metal serpents to block the barrage of incoming stunners, cutters and piercers, which they did up until the point of their own total demolition. By which time, the array was complete and the duel was won.

All of a sudden and without warning, to Arianna at least, gravity ceased its hold on the arena and the two floated into the air as if they were suspended in water. Their hair floated about their heads like ghostly lion manes, and their cloaks, or remnants thereof, billowed behind them like jet trails.

Ariana recovered surprisingly quickly and shot off a stream of firework sparks in his direction, only to be pushed back from the momentum the spell created against her. Harry fired off a simple gust spell to the side and the momentum likewise pushed him, this time out of the way of the oncoming spell.
Funny story behind this runic array. It was one of only a few he could carve without a guide, but that's because he himself created it. With a hell of a lot of help from Bill, Fleur and Hermione of course.

It all started back in 2001, when he and Dudley got into a bit of a war over Teddy's affection. You see, both of them adored the little tyke, and he adored them in return. Both the godfather and goduncle would take Teddy on all kinds of adventures and bequeath unto him all manner of gifts. Dudley had been winning with the use of a secret weapon that Harry simply couldn't compete with.

Video games.

And in July of 2001 Dudley had purchased a video game that would capture Teddy's undivided attention for the remainder of that year. But Harry had his own secret weapon unavailable to Dudley. And using that weapon, magic, obviously, he took the fantasy of the digital world that had nearly stolen his godson from him and brought it into the real world.

A simple ward field that gave air the consistency of water and made those within it weightless. That was step one. Step two was to throw in an oddly shaped ball charmed to be frictionless with the air/water. Step three was to introduce two teams of eight players. And so, a new sport was born. A sport that wizards, Muggleborns, Muggle relatives to the first two, half breeds and more would all play and mermaids in particular would dominate. A sport that, by 2008, would start to encroach on Quidditch' dominance of magical entertainment.

Blitzball was born, and his godson was to become a star player.

Harry wasn't exactly a slouch in it either, but Quidditch was where he belonged and so it was where he stayed. But never again did Dudley get it into his head that he could usurp Harry's position as Teddy's favorite father figure. No sir, that never happened again. Draco and Ron were smart enough to not try in the first place.

Harry considered toying with his opponent now that she was completely flatfooted, but knew she was exactly the kind of survivor who could adapt to such a change in battle conditions in mere moments, so he got serious. As such, he swam through the air towards her, and he swam with the kind of intensity and force that would put anybody into a panic, so it was understandable that she would go with a kitchen sink tactic.

A kitchen sink tactic is when you threw every random, and different, spell you can think of when up against a situation you can't work out. It was actually a very good tactic to use when trying to nail an opponent while being flung around by the force of your own spells. Or when facing a creature or enchantment you've never even heard of before.

Unfortunately for her, Harry had enough training in blitz-dueling, because of course people got it in their heads to try dueling in zero gravity. Harry bombed at that too. Thankfully, he was at least skilled enough to dodge everything she could throw at him. Which included a few spells that were definitely tournament illegal. But it didn't matter. Within moments he was upon her.

A twist of her wrist here, a push on her head there and he had her in an armbar lock. Just in time too, because it was then that the runic array for the blitzball field lost what little charge he could give it on short notice and gravity reassured its dominance.

They fell together, with Arianna in the unenviable position of being beneath Harry. He gathered magic around them and, shutting his eyes tight in concentration, cast a cushioning charm beneath Arianna so as not to shatter her skull, neck and rib cage as she landed face first. Another bit of wandless magic and be pushed a simple stupefy through his skin into hers, stunning her instantly.

"Bravo!" Professor Tufty congratulated with much clapping.

Yeah. It was a pretty fun fight. Now that it was over though he kind of wished he had saved that trick for a more worthy opponent. With another Voldemort running around every dirty trick he kept secret could be the difference between life and death. He really needed to start thinking of these things instead of barreling into fights without planning long term deceptions. Now that Draco wasn't here to scheme for him. He had rubbed off on Harry enough that he could do short term scheming, but long term was more valuable.

"Now, move over so I can run a few diagnostic charms on her." Tufty commanded.

He did as she instructed, and she did as she promised. When the diagnostics showed nothing was broken or ruptured, she cast a quick rennervate.

"Welcome back to the world of the living Arianna." Tufty greeted the woman as she rose to her feet.
Harry felt his eyes nearly pop out of his head in horror at the sentence. He suddenly felt very glad that neither of the Dumbledores were present to have heard that particular combination of words. It hurt Harry in the chest hearing them and might kill either of the old goats.

"Oweeeee." Arianna groaned as she rose from the floor.

"Where are you hurt?" Tufty asked, concerned.

"My pride. It aches. Owie." Arianna goofed.

Harry allowed himself a small chuckle at her expense. She regained her composure and turned on him.

"You're something else, you know that Mister Morrigan?" She said in lieu of congratulating him.

"People keep telling me that, but somehow I can't seem to see it." He deflected the compliment. "And please. Hadrian."

He offered his hand, and she took it jubilantly. Every freckle on her face seemed to shine with that smile.

"You're going to have to show me how you set up that ward field." She said. "Did you somehow put it up while we were fighting?"

Hmmm. To lie, or not to lie. That is the question. Inspiration struck and he decided to lie after all.
"Actually, I set it up beforehand." He told her. "I knew you were coming."

That got Tufty's attention.

"How?" She queried. "Did you put some eavesdropping spell on me when I left to get Helena?"
Harry shook his head.

"Nope. I just knew. Ask professor Marchbanks how." He turned to Ariana. "And I'll teach you all about that ward under one condition."

Arianna nodded enthusiastically.

"I need you two to keep it a complete secret." He said in a conspiring whisper. "It's actually a trade secret I'm not supposed to show off. It's for a new sport I've been creating. I haven't patented anything yet and don't want competitors to try and steal the idea from under me."

Ariana nodded enthusiastically some more, but Tufty huffed.

"If I keep it a secret, I won't be able to give you extra credit for your runes score you know?" Tufty said.
"And with that display, of something you clearly invented, I'm sure I could raise you up to an Outstanding if you got an Acceptable or better in the written."

Ouch! That was tempting. But the possible advantage it could give him in a fight was too powerful of a motivator. To say nothing of the fact that he didn't need a good grade in runes for any of the work he wanted. Especially seeing as an O would give employers drastically high expectations of his abilities that he simply wouldn't be able to live up to. Then there was the little fact that he didn't want to take full credit for the invention of the blitzball field, when it had been a collaborative effort of four people, of which he was the least important.

"I'm sure. It's vital that you keep the blitzball field a complete secret." He told them emphatically, deliberately exposing the name.

Ariana perked up, exactly as he expected.

"So that's what it's called? How's it played?" She asked.

"I promise to tell you all about it some other time. But only if you promise to keep it a secret." He promised.

She made a zipping motion over her lips and threw away the imaginary key.

"Alright! Go on and get!" Tufty ordered the younger woman.

And so, Harry's encounter with the youngest Figg came to an end. He honestly looked forward to meeting her again. She was a breath of fresh air. Reminded him of someone.

"So." Professor Tufty commanded his attention. "I won't bother telling you what your final grades are, because even I won't know until my evaluations are compared to Marchbank's, but I will say this. Most testers can expect their average grades to drop slightly after scrutiny from outside examiners. If yours stay the same, or even rise above what estimate Marchbanks gave you, well, let's just say I won't be very surprised."

Was he blushing? He might have been blushing. Old people praising him always did that to him.

"You're dismissed." She said with a distinct tone of finality.

Harry apparated back into Diagon alley to see a figure standing alone in the dark in front of Ollivander's shop.

At first, he thought it might be a hunchback, but once he got closer he could see it was a woman propping a rather large aluminum container against her hip. An aluminum container whose contents he could smell from the entrance to the alley. It took a great deal of resistance to overcome the temptation to use his abilities to feel what was underneath that aluminum foil.

Instead, he focused on the woman who, now that he was close enough to make out her face in the dark, smelled almost as amazing as the food she carried.

"Bellatrix?" Harry asked. "What are you doing here?"

Even in the dark he could see her roll her eyes at the silly question. Right, of course. He had asked her out and all that.

"Well, funny story about that." She said. "I was visiting my sister and niece for dinner, when a terribly fat white owl carrying a letter arrived. A letter detailing how Diagon Alley's latest bachelor was…"
She retrieved the letter from a pocket and held it up to read against the meager moonlight.

"Suffering from a sudden and unexplainable case of carpal tunnel syndrome, and wouldn't be able to cook his own food, yadda yadda, come have dinner with me." She summarized the letter he had sent her that morning.

That whiskered old wanker! He had actually written his letter exactly as he dictated. Must have cast an illusion charm over it. If Harry had bothered to check it he would have seen through the deception but was in too much of a zany mood to be bothered. Ollivander had pulled one over on him. And he'd have to find a way to get him back. Problem is, benevolent pranks - that is to say, pranks which benefit the victim instead of harming or humiliating them - were tricky things to pull off. He'd have to sleep on this.

"And after much heckling, Andy and Nymphadora finally convinced me to bring you leftovers." Bellatrix finished her explanation. "So, are you going to invite me inside? This is a great deal heavier than it looks."

He knew she was a witch and fully capable of a weightlessness charm, but perhaps it was the weight of having to abstain from eating such delicious-smelling food as she waited on him that was the true ordeal?

"Yup. Hang on a sec." Harry fumbled with the keys to let them both inside.

A flip of a switch and the lobby to Garrick's shop was lit up. He held the door open long enough for her to deliver the meal to the store counter before he locked back up. He didn't even need prodding from her to take her coat and hang it on the coat rack.

She wasn't dolled up in anything fancier than usual for her, which was still significantly fancier than his usual attire, so he believed her story that she had come straight from Andromeda's place.

He excused himself to the kitchen and fetched two wine glasses and a bottle of red.

"Do we need serving utensils? Plates or bowls?" He called back through the hallway.

"Just forks will do." She called back.

Harry shrugged and walked back into the store to see the remnants of a rotisserie chicken, scalloped potatoes and mixed greens on full display. Yup. Andy had definitely cooked this.

"No harm in eating like savages once in a while." She welcomed him back and reached out to pluck one of the forks out of his hand.

They were both hungrier than even he suspected because they dug right in. Soon they were so deep in conversation, and gluttony, that the wine was left forgotten and unopened to the side.

"... So that by the time this bird was finished in the oven, Theodore and Nym had already worked themselves up into a tizzy at the idea of any man being suicidal enough to ask me out on a date." Bellatrix went on. "So naturally I wasn't allowed to eat with them, since they wanted me to wait until you came back from your exams."

Harry hummed.

"No wonder you're as hungry as me. Having to sit at dinner and watch your extended family stuff their faces must have been torture." He said.

"Did you eat at all today?" She asked him.

"Nope."

"Then save the pity and fill your belly." She commanded as she got down another fork full of spinach and kale.

Harry couldn't quite place what Andromeda had used for the dressing in this salad. It reminded him of mediterannian food, some of the spices used for lamb shawarma, but with the distinct tinge of vinegar and sweetness of honey. Really helped the kale to go down. He probably wouldn't have been able to stand the greens otherwise.

"Tell me more about the Tonkses." Harry asked.

And the starry woman obliged. And oh, did she go on and on about her little metamorph niece. The girl who constantly confused her aunt for her mother as an infant and would steal her makeup despite never having had any need for it. Just so she could feel more like her mature and distinguished aunt by trying to imitate her without the need of her shapeshifting abilities.

It's the most Harry had ever heard someone talk about the mother of his godson.

Andromeda had become a shell of her former self in his world. With Theodore, Remus and Nym dead, and the other scars of the war running deep, she had little to hold on to. Little Teddy was to become the one light in her life helping her to stay from that dark abyss that had swallowed so many others, and everybody had come together to surround that light and help it blossom in order to save Andy.

She and George were the two that everybody, absolutely everybody, made time in their days to see and chat with. From Draco funding outings and trips and fancy dinners, to Bill calling in every favor imaginable from other curse-breakers to bring over experts and artifacts that either of them might find interesting. And in the end, both had healed about as well as anybody else after the war, and became human again. But it had been a long, dark road and Harry never dared reopen those old wounds by digging for stories about the dead.

Bellatrix though? She was full of pride over the niece that had flood to Grimmauld place on her first night at Hogwarts because she had lost control of her abilities in front of the great hall. Wound up walking to the sorting hat with eyes of two different colors, legs and arms of mismatched lengths, buck teeth and a wild bird's nest of hair.

Oh how she had cried and pleaded not to go back to school. This was back when her appearance simply couldn't take hold of one thing at a time for very long, and she was such a shy little thing. It was a side of Tonks he'd never had the pleasure of glimpsing, but perhaps little bits of it had peeked through in what little time he had known her.

Eventually the food was all but gone, and their bellies were overly full, and so they both decided to call it a night. Bellatrix let him put her coat back on her before allowing him to lead her to the door.
Once through she turned back to him and seemed to realize something.

"Oh no!" She groaned and covered her face with both hands in shame. "We spent all that time talking."

She peeked a deep indigo eye through her fingers.

"And we never once talked about you! I'm such an inconsiderate date." She complained.
Harry couldn't help laughing from the belly at that one. She lowered her hands from her face and folded her arms around herself defensively instead.

"Not at all. And even if you were, I think we're both out of practice when it comes to dating." He consoled her and reached out to take one of her hands, which she reluctantly allowed. "So let's feel things out and discover how to date each other as it happens. Our own adventure."

With that he planted a kiss on her knuckle and bid her a goodnight. Without skipping a beat, she appirated away with a smile.

He closed the door and walked past the old man who was now scarfing down what little remained of their meal and drinking a now opened bottle of wine. He ignored his snide remarks thanking him for not having loud raunchy sex on his counter and walked up the stairs hidden behind the stacks of wands. A short trip down the hallway, into his room and he finally flopped onto his bed. Exhausted and full of family cooking, he fell asleep without even removing his shoes.

Today had been a most excellent day.

The weekend passed by in something of a haze. This was partly because he kept falling into daydreams about a certain raven-haired heiress to the house of Black... and partly because people started acting oddly around him.

Young ladies kept showing up with boyfriends, or pictures of boyfriends, and asking him if they were to live long happy lives together. Then there were the elderly asking him about their impending deaths, which wasn't macabre at all, and some hedge fund manager Goblins asking him for stock advice.
That last one in particular sent his suspicions so high that, after assuring them that shorting Muggle tech companies like Google and Apple was an excellent endeavor, marched down to Ollivander's workshop in the basement.

"Garriiiiiick." He all but snarled at the men currently winding a thread of manticore heartstring into loops over his first attempt at a gamblers wand.

"Calm your tits, I didn't tell anybody you were from the future." Ollivander said without turning away from the soldering kit-like device he was using to work on the wand.

"Then why…"

"Because the whole town has a bugaboo about you being a seer." Ollivander preemptively answered his next query.

Uh oh. Was it because he got a get well soon bouquet for Mr Marchbanks in anticipation of the upcoming attack? Or had one of the examiners leaked something? Did he need to pay the Figg family a visit?

"And where did they get that idea?" Harry dared to ask.

"Probably from your seemingly supernatural ability to know instantly what wand is suited to a person just from looking at them. And your uncanny "talent" for making people feel like you already know them intimately." Ollivander explained. "Your poker face is awful."

Oh yeah! He did sort of fail to mask his foreknowledge of people's personalities and his rapport with them. That was a pretty big giveaway. At least they were going with the whole "he's a seer" angle instead of the "he's played around with a funky time turner" angle.

"Well alright then. I have a wizarding world to go screw with, so I'll leave you to it." Harry said in lieu of an apology as he closed the workshop door and made his way back upstairs.

Oh, it was too sweet of an opportunity to pass up. With people thinking he had special insight into their futures he had all manner of choices to make. He'd have to come up with bullshit predictions that would both irritate people, but also improve their lives down the line. But first, he had errands to run. Namely, he had to check the afternoon newspaper for job ads. Unfortunately the very first article, at the top of the front page, in big, bold flowery letters ruined his good morning.

Sybill Patricia Trewlawney Sacked. New Divination Teacher Wanted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Harry glowered at the newspaper.

Hmmmm. He recently had his first full-blown vision while taking his NEWT exams, half of Diagon Alley believed him to be a seer and a position at the premier school of magic in the country, and nexus of all major events in the world for some god damned reason, is in need of a Divination Teacher.

"What, could the universe POSSIBLY, be trying to…"

Just then a small tawny owl flew in and dropped a letter right onto his face, before flying back out.
"... tell me." He finished his rhetorical question and sighed.

The envelope was signed by both Professor Marchbanks and Professor Tufty.

He didn't even bother opening his results from the examiners. He simply placed it into another envelope and skipped writing any form of letter of introduction. Instead letting the envelope speak for him.

From:

Harold Edward Morrigan, Candidate for the Position of Divination Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

To:

Professor Minerva McGonnagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

He sealed it tight, cast a few protection charms around it and called Hedwig down from her perch. It was going to be one of those days. Or weeks, more likely.

Moirai: 3

Harry Potter: 0

The Order meetings as of late had been solemn events, as article after article of horrendous news came in. Today's was even more so than usual, with the news that Professor Marchbanks, an old friend of Albus', had been attacked and nearly killed by Voldemort personally during his trip to France.

The man had worked in the time room of the department of mysteries for decades, and Albus was under no delusions as to how great of a setback in the war it would have been if he had accepted Voldemort's offer. That everyone from Frederick to Severus merely shrugged at him when he revealed the news was disappointing, if to be expected.

"I just don't get why it's a big deal. Is he important?" George asked.

"It doesn't matter if you understand or not, Weasley, it matters that Dumbledore believes it is and so it is." Came Severus' snide remarks.

"Oh go jump off a building Snape!" Fred countered.

"I will remind everyone here that I have called this meeting into order and expect the professionalism that entails." Albus interrupted the match.

That reduced everyone back down to a simmer. Now that tensions had calmed back down, though reluctantly for some, he continued down the itinerary.

"I see the significance of Voldemort attempting to recruit Marchbanks is lost on you all. I suppose that may be for the best. But I'm sure the news of the attack on our colleagues has hit closer to home?" Albus queried.

The sight of their pale faces and withdrawn temperaments was all the answer he needed. The war had changed everybody, and even he was straining to hold onto a last glimmer of hope. That those who remained were still holding strong was a testament to Albus's ability to select allies.

Albus motioned for James to report on the incident and he took the floor.

"I'm happy to inform you all that there have been no casualties. Both Alice and Frank managed to activate their emergency portkeys to get away in time." Said the last Potter. "I propose we devote resources to finding out how their location was discovered."

"A leak within the ministry perhaps?" Kingsley queried, before flinching as his words caused him to stretch the still healing wound on his cheek.

Alastor gave his usual indignant harrumph.

"The ministry is so full of holes it could be used as a pasta strainer." Said Moody. "If we devoted all of our resources to trying to plug those leaks, we'd be at it for another century, and by then the war would already be over."

Albus hated to agree with such a cynical viewpoint but agree he did. Their resources would have to be spent somewhere else. But every option seemed to suggest similar impossibilities.

"We must find adequate safety measures for them somehow." Arthur Weasley said from his seat at the heart of his brood of redheads.

This was the first meeting they'd attended since the dreadful news of Charlie's disappearance had reached English shores. He was still missing, and now presumed dead. The now broken family had yet to recover from the blow.

"Neville is, after all, our last hope." Arthur finished.

The room responded with a collection of murmurs lamenting the poor boys fate, or long-winded sighs of malcontent. Severus was in the latter group and made this point known.

"The boy is an idiot. He can barely hold a wand and any potion he touches explodes. Completely incompetent." Severus said.

Even Minerva, the head of house belonging to the boy in question, couldn't offer up much of a defense. Though she tried.

"He's barely sixteen. We should hardly expect him to be at the level of a dark lord." She said.
"And yet look at what other great wizards have managed to accomplish by his age." Severus countered. "At sixteen I invented and published no fewer than forty two innovations for advanced potions. Longbottom? He's near the bottom of his class in most subjects."

"Perhaps if we gave him a more… regimented training program." Alastor broached a topic he knew by now was taboo.

Dumbledore stamped down on that train of thought before anybody could consider it.

"We are not turning Longbottom into a living weapon." He said definitively. "I have seen what those kinds of "training" programs do to men. And it will not be the craft of black operative assassins that is the power the dark lord knows not."

Moody, and several others, groused under their breath but acquiesced to his authority.

Remus was the first to muster up the bravery to continue the conversation.

"I do agree with Severus." He said. "We must stop putting all of our hope into a boy barely on the cusp of manhood and begin considering the possibility that he either is not the subject of the prophecy, or that the prophecy simply wasn't legitimate."

"I agree." Albus confessed, much to the horror of some present. "In fact, I've changed tactics into working from that assumption for some time now. Hence why I fired Sybill this morning."

That caused a new wave of confused shouting between his allies, and so Albus got up from his chair and moved to the kitchen where he poured himself another cup of mint tea. By the time he sat back down the arguments had calmed back down.

He turned his attention to Severus and James.

"What of Lily? Will I be having my potions master back in time for the new school year?"

Both men shook their heads.

"She keeps herself locked up in her lab, experimenting with that thrice-damned charm." Said James. "She doesn't even talk to me anymore. Although I can hardly tell the difference…"

Severus jumped in where James left off.

"She asked me to cover her school duties again this year." Said Severus. "As much as I despise the title of substitute teacher, and the duties it entails, it looks like your students will have to suffer me for at least a few more months."

Albus nodded.

"Kingsley, despite the daunting task, since you are on light duty from your injuries I am assigning you the job of trying to find the leak which nearly led to the Longbottom's, and your, death." He commanded.

Kingsley nodded.

"It will be slow work." He said.

"Story of my life." Sirius scoffed.

Before he could add to the thought they all heard a commotion outside as someone entered Grimmauld Place. Soon the telltale signs of a late member trying to get past the charms on the door let them all know it was a friendly, before the familiar face of Ariana Figg popped through the doorway.

"Sorry I'm late everyone." She said as she closed the door behind her and put the charms back up. "I've been hitting the dueling pit like a madwoman all weekend."

She kissed her mother on the cheek, gave Nymphadora a high five, and made her way over to Sirius, whose lap she soon occupied.

"But BOY do I have some amazing news for all of you." She preempted.

"Who died?" Moody asked.

"Nobody, you morbid arse! Geez." Ariana said.

"Well, get on with it woman." Moody countered.

"Okay. So. Friday a young man came in to sit, or re-sit, his NEWT exams. He must have been homeschooled or something because I've never seen or heard of him before." She explained. "Anyways, the examiners were so impressed with his abilities that they decided to switch things up and have me duel him. Just to see if he was up to snuff."

"Okay, that's fun, but what's so diverting about that?" Fred asked curiosity. "Not that it isn't an interesting story and all that, but how is it order business?"

Ariana beamed at him.

"Simple. Because we are going to recruit this guy." She said.
Silence met her declaration.

"Um. Why?" Perceival asked from his place beside Arthur.

"Simple." She answered. "Because he kicked. My. Arse!"

Everyone had something to say at that.

"But I've seen you duel! You're amazing!" Said George.

"You beat aunt Bella not two weeks ago!" Said Nymphadora.

"You seem rather cheerful about the loss, dear." Said Sirius.

"Well he was a whole lot better than me. Bellatrix's wand started acting all funky or else she would have wiped the floor with me." Arianna calmed down their disbelief easily. "And of course I'm happy! I learned so much about what areas I need to improve on. Been working on them ever since."

"Okay, I admit this man is interesting." Fred continued in his usual skepticism. "But is there more to it? I assume you wouldn't bother recommending we recruit him if he was just a good dueler."

"Right you are Freddie." Said Arianna. "And I think we need to recruit him because he doesn't need a wand."

"Huh?" Several people said at once.

"What do you mean? He has his own wand?" Minerva asked. "Doesn't everybody? Presuming they can afford the ludicrous price hikes on everything these days."

"Oh no, I mean he performed most of the magic in the duel wandlessly." She explained. "He still used a wand, and his spells were more powerful with it, but I'm eighty five perfect sure he could have still beaten me while wandless and naked."

Once more, silence met her claim.

"Impossible." Molly said simply, putting all of their thoughts into words.

"We're witches and wizards. Nothing is impossible." Arianna retorted.

Everyone turned to the headmaster. He had been enjoying the interruption, and the opportunity it provided him to enjoy his tea.

"I have seen feats of magic in my life that even I still have trouble believing happened." Dumbledore said carefully. "I have witnessed people shatter time and send into existence a tangled web of alternate timelines. I have seen people reach across the veil separating the living from the dead and bring things back from the other side. I have seen gateways opened into umbral planes to unleash greater demons on armies that could do little in fighting back with heavy artillery."

He allowed his words to sink in before continuing.

"And while I have never encountered anybody capable of doing wandless magic at a higher level than second year spells, or a single fourth year spell, it is nowhere near being beyond belief for me." He finished. "There are people out there with inborn talents that are just as amazing, from natural born legilimens'' he paused to indicate Severus " to natural born metamorphmagi."

That got everybody to sit back and, he hoped, allow themselves the privilege of expand their definition of possible just a smidgeon.

"And this man's abilities are things we have all heard of existing, so why be surprised?" He queried. "History is replete with men and women uncommonly powerful with wandless magic."

"But surely those are myths and legends?" Said Mel Bradley.

"No smoke without fire." Sirius shrugged. "And if my woman says that's what happened, then that's what happened."

Severus nodded. Even he couldn't have doubts about Arianna's contagious honesty.
"Needless to say, we need to recruit him." He said.

"Why so?" Dumbledore asked.

That actually threw Severus off center, and so they all got to witness the rare event of him sputtering.
"Be-cause he is very powerful?" Snape said slowly. "And we cannot allow him to fall into enemy hands?"

Dumbledore made a non-committal noise.

"He is unique, but that does not mean he is powerful." He explained. "Just because he can do wandlessly what each of us can do with a wand doesn't mean he can do it with greater skill or finesse, nor that he is capable of any magic beyond any of our abilities."

It was a rather long-winded way of saying "let's not make any assumptions about him beyond what we actually know", but he liked the sound of his own voice.

"What was the young man's name?" Molly eventually asked the obvious question.

"Hadrian something or other." Arianna answered.

Both Nymphadora and Romulus perked up at the name.

"Hadrian Morrigan?" Nymphadora offered.

"Yeah! That was it." Arianna confirmed.

And then Nymphadora broke down laughing.

"Ollivander's apprentice?" She specified.

This time Dumbledore and Minerva perked up. This was news to them.

"Garrick has taken on a protege?" He asked, allowing his genuine surprise to seep into his voice.
"Meh. More like an assistant." Nymphadora said. "He has an uncanny ability to match people with wands instantly! Better than Ollivander can. The whole town is convinced he's a psychic of some kind."

Arianna perked up at the last part.

"That explains it!" She exclaimed. "Whenever I cast a spell, even from a blind spot of his, it was as if he knew it was coming ahead of time! Like he could sense it! Maybe he has some kind of battle divination?"

"I've never heard of Divination being used in such a manner." Remus countered dubiously. "And one borderline unheard of, near impossible talent I'm willing to believe. But two? Advanced wandless magic and, ehem, battle divination?"

Again they all turned to Dumbledore.

"Tom Riddle was a natural born Parseltongue, a natural born occlumens and a natural born legilimens." He countered. "Two extremely rare abilities is hardly unheard of, though my skepticism rises."

"That's hardly the most unbelievable thing about him." Nymphadora drew then all back in, and Albus felt himself bracing for a bombshell, and yet still was not ready for the next words to come out of her mouth. "He's banging my aunt."

Half of the room choked on their own spit at the revelation, but none harder than Sirius.
"Bella?" He asked.

"No! Aunt Cissa is having an affair on Lucius' smarmy ass with Ollivander's errand boy and let me catch wind of it. Of course Bella!" Came Nymphadora's scathing sarcasm.

Albus couldn't decide which scenario was more scandalous, but knew he wasn't going to get anything productive done while the entire order meeting descended into giggles and speculation. And so, he tuned them out and finished his tea.

As they went down the rabbit hole of conjecture Albus noticed one of their youngest members, Romulus Lupin, wore a pensive look on his face. Quiet and inquisitive was his normal mode of operation, but the deep suspicion thrown in told Dumbledore just as much as a legilimency probe would.

"Romulus? Is there something you would like to share?" He interrupted the chatter and brought the boy out of his reverie.

"Err." He said hesitantly and looked to his father.

Remus nodded in encouragement and Romulus started.

"This man, Hadrian, did he have wild black hair and deep green eyes?" He asked Arianna.
"Yup." She confirmed.

"Tall and lanky? Gave off the impression like you had known him your entire life and were already friends?" He clarified.

"That is an excellent choice of words." Arianna confirmed. "Describes him to a tee. You've met him?"

"Yeah." Romulus nodded, sharing a look with his father. "He helped me buy a book the other day. A newt study guide, ironically enough. The doorman at the store wouldn't let me in so he pretended to rough me up, while conspiring to help me get a copy of the book I needed."

This Hadrian fellow really got around. Alastor put Albus' feelings into words better than he could have.
"I know I say this a lot, but damned this is suspicious." Said Moody. "A man claiming to be a member of a lost family, who is potentially dangerously powerful, suddenly shows up in our world and manages to warm up to the premier wandmaker of our country and the two premier duelists of our country, even going so far as to date one of them. He also manages to become acquainted with two order members, a close relative of an order member and sister in law to one of the highest-ranking Death Eaters in the dark lord's forces. To top it all off, he shows sympathies to the plight of werewolves. All while remaining completely under the radar, so well that we're only learning about him because one of our best wants to recruit him."

It was a suspicious set of circumstances indeed.

"Oh right!" Sirius explained with a snap of his finger. "The Morrigan family are one of the fourteen aren't they?"

"Were." Mel piped up. "The last lord died out in world war one."

"Correct." Said Severus. "And they are related to Rowena Ravenclaw. Descended from her cousin I believe. If he has proper claim to the family name, he could become politically powerful as well. He could be entitled to a seat on the Hogwarts board of governors and the Wizengomat. Or at least the right to assign a proxy to either or both."

More suspicious with every new detail.

"William, I am assigning you the task of sniffing out any information you can on our mysterious friend. If anybody has information, it'll be the goblins." Albus ordered.

Just then a massive white owl flew in through the kitchen window to land on the table in front of Minerva. The whole room went silent, either at their own stupidity for forgetting to ward the window for eavesdropping, surprise at the fact a snowy owl could be that overweight and still fly, or anticipation was anyone's guess.

It proffered a letter to the Headmistress and she promptly took it. She simply stared at the front of the envelope with her usual stern expression.

"I will give you all three guesses as to who it's from." She said. "And the first two don't count."

"Oh I don't need to guess." Said Nymphadora. "That's Morrigan's owl. She delivered a letter to aunt Bella while we were making dinner."

"What does he want?" Moody asked skeptically.

"Well he signed it as "Candidate for the Position of Divination Professor for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" so I presume it's an application." Minerva said before opening the envelope.
Inside was… another envelope. He noticed her smirk at the inner envelope before tearing it open too.

"It's just his newt results." She said. "This cheeky bastard sent an application that consisted solely of his unopened, and uncopied newt results."

When she unfolded the card inside her eyebrows jumped up to her hairline.

"Seems like a rather arrogant thing to do." Ronald commented.

"He is right to be arrogant." Minerva said before passing the piece of parchment to Albus.

When he received it one look at the results was enough to make his own eyebrows jump high enough to be confused for hair as well.

"Alastor?" He said to the retired Auror. "Add "is a perfect candidate for a job at Hogwarts" to the list of suspicious circumstances regarding this young man."

After all, it wasn't every day that Marchbanks or Tufty rated somebody as deserving a Mastery in any field, let alone in divination. And while they were not qualified to dish out a proper mastery diploma, an M in your newt report card in place of an O was the next most impressive thing.

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NonsensicalRants · Sep 17, 2022

Chapter 11:

Networking Part 1:

"I really appreciated the bouquet, but you didn't have to visit." Professor Marchbanks told Harry as he entered his hospital room.

The all-white curtains, linen, walls and floor matched his full-body bandages perfectly. Harry never would have recognized the older man were it not for his voice.

"I disagree. It was completely necessary." Said Harry as he placed a gift basket of fruit on the end table. "I feel strangely responsible. Like my warning wasn't enough to protect you."

Marchbanks chuckled in a wheezing way.

"Nonsense. If you had made the prediction and it helped me to avoid the eventuality you foresaw, then would it have been a prediction at all?" He asked.

The man had a point. But he would have rather been a failed seer than to have a good man put in such a pitiful state after an attempted murder.

"So, what was it that he offered you?" Harry asked.

Marchbanks nodded to indicate a box at the foot of his bed. Harry could already feel something… light coming from it. Whatever was inside gave off a similar impression to his magical senses that an old, abandoned chapel would, or an even more ancient set of ruins in an archeological site might. It was warm and bright but like unto dust.

"May I?" Harry asked, indicating the box.

Marchbanks nodded and Harry opened the container.

Inside was a beautiful sword of copper and stone magically fused into a new material, but a weapon had been shattered as if it were made of glass. Touching it revealed to him what it was.

A sword of fire. One of divine purpose and religious origins.

"The sword of Gabrielle." Marchbanks said. "The one set at the entrance to the Garden of Eden to keep us children of Adam from ever returning. A garden sunk beneath the Persian gulf after the great flood."

It was certainly ancient enough that Harry could almost believe the story. It had been used in rituals for going on eight or more millennia. Ranging from the cutting of marriage bonds to human and animal sacrifice. It told such great stories of tribes ranging from the Hebrews to the sea people, and even those wholly unmentioned in religious or historical texts of any kind and whom Harry and never heard of. There was so much history and devotion in this object, all of it lost and nothing more to his magical senses than a whispered echo in a language he could never know. But one thing was certain to Harry.

"It's not the genuine article." He said. "It doesn't predate creation like the divine beings and their tools would."

"I know." Marchbanks confessed. "But a replica with its own history holds value almost as great as a genuine article, minus the dangers to health and sanity."

Harry looked at the wounded man curiously.

"You would risk your life for a mere replica?" He asked in disbelief.

"Absolutely. Each copy of the testaments of Jesus, or the dead sea scrolls or the lost gospels hidden and abandoned by the church are hugely valuable and belong to the whole of humanity." He said."Our history, our ancestors put their faith and devotion into this. It was valuable to them in the same way as common wisdom, folklore and other things meant to be passed down to their children are. Only they haven't been passed down but forgotten. Lost heirlooms. And that is a tragedy most horrible."

Harry was not a man of faith. Which said more about his hard-headedness than his nonbelief. Especially considering his ability to literally feel the power of faith permeating in places of worship and religious value, not to mention his run-in with a literal demon that one time. He just couldn't put his faith in others, not even God, like that. Trust issues and self-reliance and all that. But he could respect it.

"Was it broken when Tom gave it to you?" Harry pressed on.

"Ohoho! Somebody knows more about the dark lord than the average bear!" Marchbanks said with a wink. "And no, it was intact if a little frayed around the edges. It broke taking the killing curse meant for me… after I used it to fend off two of Tom's best."

An impressive man. To not only draw Voldemort's attention, but to fend him off too. Even if it left him half alive.

"You are a formidable man, Professor Marchbanks." Harry said honestly. "May we never cross wands."

"The same to you, Mister Morrigan. I have another visitor coming soon." The older man said by way of dismissal.

Harry placed the ruined artifact back into the box and bowed slightly and left the private room and down the hall. It wasn't a particularly busy day in Saint Mungo's so he didn't encounter anybody on the way to the elevator.

He was rather surprised when he pressed the button to call the lift, for who should step out of it, but Albus-bloody-Dumbledore. Neither he nor the headmaster showed any indication that they recognized each other by their posture or facial expressions.

"Professor Dumbledore." Harry greeted with a nod.

"Mister Morrigan." Dumbledore reciprocated with a nod of his own.

They passed each other, each going their opposite ways, when the old man piped up.

"Oh, and since I have your attention." Albus said. "I have accepted your application and I will be interviewing you personally this Wednesday, as my deputy headmistress will be indisposed and cannot do so. A letter detailing the time and place should be waiting for you at your residence by now."
Harry nodded.

"Brilliant! I look forward to it." He said.

"And is Alastor well enough to be accepting more visitors?" He asked.

"Fit as a fiddle, if a little melancholy and strangely satisfied with himself despite his condition." Harry answered truthfully.

"That is most excellent news! Well. I won't take up anymore of your time. I'm sure you're a very busy man." Dumbledore dismissed him.

"Says the man juggling three eighty-hour per week jobs!" Harry retorted with a wink as he pressed the button to the first floor.

As the door closed Harry barely managed to spot the old man's own wink and he finally let the avalanche of emotions flood his body.

Joy at seeing his grandfather figure alive mixed sadness at remembering his tragic life and death in his own world was easy to place. The nervousness at the possibility of being found out doing the many naughty things he was doing by an authority figure was too. It was a psychological tick that few Hogwarts alumni ever overcame. Above all what shcoked him the most was, well, the shock. Shock at seeing the dead brought back to life. And not the faux shades of the dead brought by the resurrection stone, which he himself confirmed weren't actually the souls of the dead and Hermione double-confirmed with her own experiments.

He had to brace himself against a wall control his breathing. It was all so overwhelming. To see a man he adored and cherished so much throw him a wink and joke in his old man humor. To say nothing of the smell. Every person, especially old people, have their own smell. And when that person is a loved one a single hint of that smell can bring up all manner of memories all at once.

He would need to spend the rest of the two days until the interview bracing himself to not break down while getting the third degree from the headmaster.

He managed to calm his nerves with a deep breaths before the lift doors opened and deposited him onto the first floor of the hospital and made his way out. He had many more errands to take care of today, and it didn't do to drown in melancholy.

Besides. He learned an important new piece of information that he needed to place into the bigger picture Voldemort was still collecting magical artifacts, which implied he may not have finished creating all seven horcruxes yet.

"So." Began Ragnok. "Is there a particular reason you advised one of my premier hedge fund goblins to short two of the largest and fastest growing tech companies in the Muggle world during an economic boom specifically surrounding said tech industry?"

And like that the meeting he requested with the goblins went from optimistic to being reminiscent of sitting on the wrong side of a teacher's desk. This was decidedly not what he had come here for.
"Well, you see, I'm not a qualified financial advisor and can't be held liable for…" Harry began.
"That's not going to fly with me." Ragnok interrupted.

"Okay fine! I was annoyed that everybody kept coming to me asking for advice on everything and I started screwing with people, as I'm wont to do when people annoy me." Harry confessed. "Happy?"
"No!" Ragnok answered. "They took your advice to heart and lost millions!"

"Well, the advice was still good. There is a bit of a crash coming soon. With a bit of cleverness, you can make a bit of profit. A large bit of profit." Harry explained.

Ragnok was silent for a little while.

"Elaborate." He demanded.

He did.

"Well there was, or er, is a bubble right now. Dot com bubble I think it's called. I think it burst in 1996 or so." Harry explained. Then checked his mental duel calender. "So about nowish. But it lasted a good half decade. So, you guys have five years of fun ahead of you."

Ragnok leaned forward in his chair.

"Is it a slow burn or a sudden crash?" He asked.

"Well, you know how the old joke goes." Harry said. "How did the former millionaire go bankrupt? At first very slowly, and then very, very quickly."

Ragnok nodded with a wicked grin.

"And if you think that has the potential for capitalizing on, wait until I tell you about the housing crash!" Harry went on.

"Let me guess." Said Ragnok. "The American administration's subprime mortgage mandate, forcing banks to give out loans to people who can't afford to pay them back is going to backfire spectacularly? So badly, that housing will become overpriced fifteen fold, that foreign entities and crime syndicates begin buying and selling houses as a form of money laundering leaving fewer houses for people to actually live in and inflating the prices ever further, and from there the banks, desperate to make a profit on the terrible investments they were forced to make by government regulation, will concoct quasi-legal debt-selling schemes thus spreading the crisis to the investment market?"

Gee Ragnok. When you say it like that it almost sounds as if this kind of thing has happened before and that anybody with a basic understanding of Austrian economics ought to be able to see it coming a decade ahead of time. Why, it was almost as if your own economic analysts in the bank already see it coming. But that's just crazy talk!

"On the bright side if you save properly in the leadup to the crash, you'll be able to buy up a tonne of properties around the world for dirt cheap." Harry went on. "And you could use them as an added benefit for curse breakers. Better lodging during their trips to the worlds deadliest places."
Ragnok hummed dismissively at the idea.

"And if you want me to, I can give you the information I know on which companies will be going out of business so you really can short them and invest long-term in the stocks of companies I know will survive and thrive."

Ragnok outright snarled at that suggestion.

Gringotts didn't, or wasn't supposed to, take part in short term stock exchanges. Least of all shorting companies. It went against persuading excellence, of achievements over profits. Especially shorting, betting against a company or country and the livelihoods of those therein was dishonorable in the extreme.

Harry was under no delusions that the goblins who took his malicious advice were still employed. Or at least not in their former positions.

"So. Economic woes ahead of us?" Ragnok surmised.

Harry nodded.

"And what was it you called people who shy away from chasing fortune and excellence in economic downturns?" Ragnok asked.

"Pussies!" Harry repeated. "And speaking of chasing fortune and excellence during economic downturns, have you had time to read the proposal I wrote?"

Ragnok reached into a drawer and pulled out the large manilla envelope he had sent with Hedwig. More as a challenge for her than the necessity of a speedy arrival.

"You wish to liquidate what investments you have in order to invest in a large parcel of undeveloped land to grow, and I quote, 'aconite, giant moonwarts, Commiphora myrrha, and possiblt hops and marijuana.' As well as a property in Hogsmeade for the purpose of serving as a shelter for werewolves." Ragnok read aloud.

"That is correct." Said Harry.

"Okay. I have several questions and even more misgivings." Ragnok said. "I understand that aconite, moonwart and myrrh are the primary ingredients for the wolfsbane potion. But why hops and marijuana? The latter of which you need a very difficult to obtain license to grow."

"Well, have you ever encountered an asshole who thought it would be funny to get their dog drunk on an ale?" Harry asked.

"Can't say that I have." Ragnok said.

"Well, it turns out drunk dogs are incapable of doing much of anything besides whimpering and pissing themselves. Same for werewolves. Marijuana calms werewolves down the same as it does humans. They're the best alternatives for people suffering from lycanism who have bad reactions to wolfsbane." Harry explained.

Ragnok nodded.

"And with the profits from selling my ingredients to potioneers who want to make other potions that use them, I'll be able to fund the shelter when my initial funds run dry." Harry finished.

Ragnok nodded again.

"You must know that I already set a team to dismantle your business plan and poke holes in it, right?" Ragnok asked.

"I'm all ears." Said Harry.

"First of all, marijuana grows best in temperate climates, which the United Kingdom is not." Ragnok listed.

"Marijuana is the least important item on the list, and honestly? It will probably boil down to procuring it through medical dispensaries and have a properly licensed mediwitch or wizard administer." Harry admitted. "But I do hope to grow some myself this next summer, along with hops. For the autumn and winter I'll just have to buy drink and thc for the customers. But I should be able to grow the potion ingredients year round."

Ragnok made a note on one of the pages in the envelope.

"And what countries would you be most interested in buying this parcel of land?" Ragnok asked.
"Whatever will give me the most land for least cost." Harry answered. "Quantity over quality. None of these things require particularly good soil or warmth. And greenhouses exist for a reason."
Ragnok made another note.

"The best bets are Scottland and Iceland then, but I would advie against Iceland as shipments from there are regularly attacked by Voldemort and his forces."

"Iceland it is then." Harry concluded.

Seeing Ragnok sputter in confusion at his unintuitive decision was always great fun.

"You want your shipments to be attacked by Death Eaters?" Ragnok concluded.

"Quite." Said Harry. "Amateur Death Eaters are easily dealt with, and I will time my shipments on weekends so that I can ride along and defend my property. Quicker shipments to the U.K, I get some exercise, the Death Eaters have fewer resources with which to harass other shipments and Voldemort's forces dwindle. Win, win, win, win."

Ragnok pinched his brow in frustration.

"Okay! Okay. I will approve that half of the business plan." Ragnok conceded. "But there are even bigger problems with this shelter for werewolves you proposed."

"Lay them on me." Harry said.

"Well for one, homeless shelters are scams that do nothing to help the homeless and only ever serve to enrich the organizers and make volunteers feeeeeeel like they're doing good without actually doing a damn thing to reduce homelessness." Ragnok ripped the Band-Aid off.

"... Huh?" Harry said dumbly.

"Oh yes. There has been a whole host of scientific studies comparing the benefits of homeless shelters, food programs and the like compared to just handing the homeless money." Ragnok went on. "Canada did one where they just straight up gave a number of homeless individuals 7500 dollars and acted shocked when, instead of using it to overdose on crystal meth, they used it to get their lives back together. And that's just one of many such studies, all of which show the same result."(AN-1)

Harry had not been aware of that. But was it really surprising to learn that a bunch of assholes used faux charities to enrich themselves and justified it by promoting bullshit stereotypes about the downtrodden? Hardly. Something something Clinton foundation stealing billions from the Haiti relief effort, something something Catholic Church, Mormons and Jesuits hoarding the wealth and properties bequeathed to them by widows. Yada yada. Assholes everywhere taking advantage of good people's charity.

Speaking of, he better put some preparation in place to aid Haiti, New Orleans and other places due for a natural disaster in the next decade. Or better yet, put safeguards to minimize the damage ahead of time. He pulled out his handy dandy notebook and put that down.

"The same is true for food banks and jobs programs for the homeless." Ragnok finished. "Usually government food stamps programs, again just giving the homeless money, proves more effective."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not making a homeless shelter." Said Harry. "I am creating a shelter specifically for werewolves to self-quarantine near the full moon and only during the full moon. Nothing more."

Ragnok made yet another note in the stack of papers.

"That will significantly reduce the cost I estimated for your charity." Said Ragnok. "I would be tempted to approve your nonprofit on that factor alone if it weren't for untoward elements in the werewolf community."

That put Harry on edge.

"What kind of untoward elements?" He asked, fully expecting an anti-werewolf rant.

"There is a large subgroup of werewolves who are intent on spreading their condition through a whole host of tactics." He explained. "Doping water supplies with saliva, blood and other bodily fluids in the leadup to the full moon in the hope that it will mutate outside of their bodies under the moonlight, thus infecting anybody who comes in contact with it."

"Does... Does that actually work?" Harry asked.

"Consensus is out on that one. But worse, there are non-werewolves obsessed with catching the disease themselves. So you would have to be very discriminatory in your hiring practices."

Harry both groaned and cringed at the revelation.

"Great. There are bug chasers and gift givers in the werewolf community." Harry concluded. "I'll have to root them out and blacklist them. And boy will that be tough."

"Gift givers?" Asked Ragnok. "Bug chasers?"

"Gift givers and bug chasers are terms referring to a large section of the homophiliac community in America." Explained Harry. "They intentionally go around spreading or catching HIV, often intent on collecting multiple strains of the virus in the hopes it will mutate and become airborne. In fact, the first ever confirmed aids patient deliberately went around to bath houses spreading it to other homophiliacs."

The look of disgust on Ragnok's face was harrowing.

"That is borderline apocalyptic." He said in horror.

True, there was no proper cure for aids, either magical or mundane. And the closest humanity has ever achieved was prohibitively expensive. Bone marrow transplants from the rare person immune to hiv might be more easily achieved by magical means though. Prodigious use of skelegrow and whatever bone marrow transplant magic was used in wizard hospitals could probably end HIV in a few decades. He added that to the list of things to prepare for when the statute of secrecy eventually broke.

He added that to his notebook too.

"So how do you plan to counteract these... gift givers and bug chasers in your shelter?" Ragnok asked.

"By hiring people I know I can trust." Harry answered. "And beating into the heads of everybody there about the dangers of these... bioterrorists?"

Yes. That was a good word for them.

"It will be one hell of a trial." Ragnok warned.

"Story of my life." Said Harry. "And nothing I've ever done worth doing was ever easy. Why would this be any different?"

Ragnok approved both his business plan and nonprofit proposal. Or at least the first stage of both. His assets were liquidated later that day and Griphook was assigned the task of hunting down an appropriate parcel of land for his agricultural pursuits. They negotiated the rates for the goblin accountants to register his LLC and begin the process of finding trustees to begin the process of forming his charity. But that was something to deal with later and would hardly be difficult.

Ragnok also recommended fund raising with some pureblood elites, as they always held parties for such. He had already planned to write letters to the elder Crabbe and Goyle in friendship anyways, so why not try to invite himself to their next big shindig?

For now, he had to find a property for housing werewolves near the full moon. He already had the perfect place in mind to purchase.

The weekend came and went in a blur.

He received a letter from Bellatrix Saturday morning inviting him to come watch her practice. While the idea of watching her run drills in gym clothes all day sounded like a great way to spend a weekend, he had to refuse with a letter of his own. He was sure she would understand his need to prepare for an interview for one of the most prestigious jobs on the planet. Especially with the interviewer being Albus Dumbledore himself.

For the rest of the weekend he hit the books, catching up on his divination. He had mostly skipped the subject in the prep for retaking his NEWTS. He pretty much gave up on it as an A at best, and yet now he was being railroaded into it as a field of specialty. Joy.

Unfortunately, his studying was constantly interrupted by owl after owl from seemingly everyone in Britain. Some were expected, some were pleasant surprises, and some were unpleasant surprises.
Hearing back from both grandpa Crabbe was a treat.

Mister Morrigan.

I was eminently pleased by your willingness and desire to take up your role in society as effectively as possible. Know that I, and most other purebloods, are more than willing to help you if you sinply reach out. If you wish to join my family for dinner to learn dining etiquette, we eat most nights around 6pm and have already cleared you to floo in. This is usually an area outsiders are lacking in and an easy one to remedy whilst also having an enjoyable time.

Your Acquaintance,

Valentine Crabbe

He wrote a simple letter of acceptance and asked to join him Wednesday evening, with the request that he be able to bring a date.

Grandpa Goyle, on the other hand, was a bit more aggressive.

Dear business-illiterate asshat

After our delightful and illuminating introduction at the preliminaries, it came as quite a surprise to learn that you decided to start your tenure as head of an ancient house by liquidating everything and exiting the business world. News travels fast in the business world and half of the purebloods have already come to the conclusion that you are simply cashing out and running for the hills.

This is not a good look. And I hope to learn that you have other intentions in mind.

Hildebrand Goyle

Harry had suffered a long fit of laughter from that one. He hadn't thought of that, but the man was right. He wrote back as urgently as he could manage between snickers.

Dear Mister Goyle.

I liquidated everything with the intention of pursuing a new business venture that I saw was sorely ignored by wizarding Britain. Nature abhors an empty niche, and I as an outsider had the perspective necessary to notice it.

I think you'll be pleased with it when you find out what it is.

Your acquaintance,

Hadrian Morrigan.

With that out of the way he spent the rest of his Saturday relearning and practicing tea leaf reading and dream interpretation.

Sunday started with a host of truly unexpected letters. The tone for the day was set when an unregistered pigeon delivered him a bleached envelope signed Snuffles. He knew he was in for a good time before even opening it. So, open it he did.

Dear Hadrian Morrigan.

You are aware that there are nearly three billion women on the planet, are you not? Nearly a hundred million of whom are witches, several million more of whom are veela, and all of whom are saner and more attractive than Bellatrix Black.

Are you blind, deaf or the word for describing a person with no sense of smell that I can't seem to find in the dictionary? You must be one or all of the three to even tolerate her, but there are magical remedies for each I suggest pursuing.

Yours sincerely,

A concerned citizen

Ah, Sirius. To think the man had nothing better to do on the weekend than pick on his older cousin. Oh well, time to show off his skills as a seer and make the old dog sweat.

Dear Sirius Black

I have taken your concerns to heart, and written Bella with as venomous of a rejection letter to her date invite as I could manage.

I let her know that you brought to my attention her horrendous body odor and haggish looks in such fine detail. Your description of the rancid pustules on her inner thighs were rather vivid and left nothing to the imagination. I transcribed it perfectly in my letter to her.

Thank you for saving me from the horrible fate of suffering her company any longer.

Yours sincerely,

Hadrian Morrigan.

Let him suffer under the fear of her finding out he tried to meddle in her romantic life so maliciously for a few days. He didn't actually tell Bella about it, mostly because he was sure she had done something in the past to bully him to warrant bullying in return. He so hoped Sirius went to apologize to her thinking he had. The added bonus that he would come to the conclusion that he discovered the man's identity through divination would only add to his own mystique.

He was significantly less surprised, but equally pleased, with the package he received during his lunch break from pyro-osteomancy. The three W's written in colorful calligraphy told him he was in for a treat. Literally and figuratively.

"Hell yeah! Canary creams would really hit the spot right now!" Harry decided as he opened the package.

They were not canary creams. According to the instructions at the bottom of the box they were "All you can eat dodging dodgers" which vanished from your stomach after eating. The perfect diet deserts. His Fred and George never made those. Nor did they make the second and third prank snack, Batty Battenberg and spotted dick. The Battenberg cakes caused an effect similar to the bat bogey hex but from a random orifice on the face, save for the eyes. The spotted dick was completely normal spotted dick. Because sophomoric humor never got old.

Harry wrote back with an inquiry into investing into their company. He would need to do the math later on what the inflation rate for one thousand galleons was compared to his time.

The rest of the day was pretty tame. Aside from a letter from Bellatrix saying she understood and wishing him luck. He also got a letter from Valentine Crabbe confirming his dinner with them for Wednesday night and permission to bring Bellatrix Black in particularly as his date. Because, naturally, the whole wizarding world had already caught wind of them dating. And it had only been one date. In private.

Monday and Tuesday was just more invitations to lunch and the like from the examiners. Marhcbanks sent him an open invitation to have breakfast at his home and Tofty wanted him to come for weekend brunch and tea with the rest of her old lady crew. He accepted both with the caveat that he didn't know when he could join, but to roughly pencil him in for later that week and next weekend.

He also got a lurid letter from some woman named Helena inviting him, in so many words, to come live with her. For the life of him he couldn't remember meeting a woman named Helena since arriving in this world. It wasn't the cute girl from the pet store that had been drooling over him, of that, he was sure. Either way, he sent a polite rejection letter to the unusually forward woman.

Beyond that his Monday and Tuesday was spent at the counter with his nose in the books dealing with the rare customer.

Dumbledore climbed the stairs to his brother's bar in his search for the private room he had reserved. He had been looking forward to this interview with the enigmatic Hadrian Morrigan despite himself and upon finding the correct room he reached out to knock.

"Enter." Morrigan's voice called out before he could make a single rasp on the aged wood.

The shade of his former lover glanced at him.

"I think he's expecting you, Albus." Said Gellert.

Arianna's shade giggled at the humor. He always had a way of charming her.

He opened the door and greeted his interviewee.

"I take it you 'foresaw' my arrival." Dumbledore asked jokingly as he entered the room.

For a split second a look of horror crossed Hadrian Morrigan's face at seeing him but it was gone so fast that Albus assumed he imagined it.

"Not at all." Said Hadrian in a friendly manner. "I heard your footsteps outside and it just so happened to be exactly 630 on the dot, as your missive detailed. Half of a man's ability to predict the future comes solely from deduction."

"Ah. Good." Said Gellert. "He doesn't use mentalism or attribute common sense to some mythical inner eye. He's either a decent seer or smart enough not to try that nonsense on you."

Indeed. The basics of mind tricks, reading people and their body language and speaking to them with sophistic tactics were well-ingrained in him, and he knew how to do battle against them.
"And the other half?" Albus asked as he took a seat opposite Mister Morrigan at the lonely table.

Arianna's shade took this time to go kneel near Hadrian's legs and stare up at him with her best owl impression. If Mister Morrigan could see souls brought back by the resurrection stone Albus was certain he would either find it adorable or annoying. Seeing as he couldn't, there was no harm in her childish behavior.

"At risk of sounding like a hippie, believe it or not, most of Divination, or at least my particular brand of it, can be boiled down to going with the flow." Hadrian explained. "The world around you, if you know how to pay attention to it, will always push you in the right direction. Call it fate, call it god, something is always looking out for you. With the right frame of mind you can walk into any situation with complete confidence that everything is going to be alright. And it will. Things do have a way of working themselves out. It does not do to dwell on fantasies of what may or may not be and forget to live."

Albus perked up at that turn of phrase. It smacked of stoic philosophies and life experience. He may very well have to steal it.

"So, having the sight has little to do with your style of Divination?" Dumbledore summarized.

"It's definitely part of it, just not a core aspect, especially if I'm going to be teaching." Hadrian explained. "When teaching somebody to fight you don't teach them to kick, you teach them how to punch, block and dodge, as they are far more effective, whereas professional martial artists strongly debate if kicking is effective in a fight at all. So, I would prefer to teach my students how to recognize when destiny comes knocking on their door and how to follow her instructions, then to try and peer into her mind and gain the rare privilege of glimpsing her horrifying machinations."

Albus found himself nodding in agreement, and approval, despite himself. This man knew his stuff. And he knew his stuff in a manner Albus wouldn't have been able to conceive of before this meeting.
"I strongly approve of this man." Said Gellert's shade. "But I don't have experience hiring for the premier magical school in western Europe."

Albus refrained from correcting the Durmstrang alumni and reminding him that it was the premiere school in ALL of Europe. It would not do to have an argument with the dead in the presence of a man who could not see them.

"I don't understand most anything he's saying." Admitted Arianna, still staring playfully at the man.

"I don't suppose you can display any ability in the more applicable skills of divination while we're here, could you?" Asked Albus.

"Certainly!" Said Hadrian. "Don't expect me to make a fully-fledged prophecy on demand, or anything like that, but I think I might be able to knock your socks off."

He rolled up his sleeves and motioned for Albus to give him his hand.

Albus hesitated on which hand to proffer, as one bore the Gaunt family ring and the other bore a curse taking his life. He opted for the one with the ring, as it was not gloved.

"Your other hand, if you'd be so kind." Hadrian corrected him.

"If it is your intention to read my lifeline, I think it would bode better for you to use my left." Albus complained while still offering his right.

Hadrian did not dignify the joke with a response as he peeled away the leather glove hiding his wound. The moment Hadrian's skin touch his own Albus could sense the other man feeling him. It was a most strange sensation, like a legilimancy probe but of the flesh, and both flinched away from one-another.
If his ability to feel magic by touch wasn't so refined he probably wouldn't even have noticed it. He put his poker face on as to not let on that he had caught wind of whatever ability the man had just displayed. He was confident that his prospective new professor hadn't caught anything, as he was shaking off the trauma of experiencing the cold agony of the withering curse eating away at him.

"Okay. Let's try that again." Hadrian insisted and indicated he was ready to take the headmaster's hand again.

Albus offered it back to him and this time he focused intently on the feeling of Hadrian probing his flesh. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, or even heard of. As if, for a time, their flesh and spirit was as one and Hadrian had complete bodily and mental awareness, not of his own body and mind, but of Albus'. Stranger still was that this ability was completely one-sided, as Albus could not feel anything from Hadrian's side of this connection.

Morrigan squeezed his eyes shut as he did whatever it was he was doing and so thankfully missed the look of awe and wonder on Albus' face, but it remained there as the man sitting opposite him dug his senses deeper into the wound. Beyond feeling the physical pain that Albus himself now lived with every day he started to draw upon the past. Echoes of what had been seeped through his hand into Hadrian's and he stole from Albus every smidgeon of information about the wound so thoroughly he might as well have been using a legilimancy probe on a baby.

Whispers of the past several days since their meeting at Saint Mungo's flowed freely through magic. His taking down of the wards around the Gaunt shack. The battle with the inferi worm(A-N 2) that guarded the treasure there. The putting on of the ring. All of these memories were now his as if he had been the one to experience them himself. And there was nothing he could do to defend himself from it.
His next words shattered Albus' world.

"You obtained this wound destroying a soul." Said Hadrian. "One piece of seven."

Albus couldn't stop the look of horror from dawning on his face, and he didn't care that Hadrian saw it as he opened his eyes and released his hand.

Seven horcruxi? Seven?! He had thought there was only the one, and he had come across it by pure happenstance. Voldemort was still immortal, and truly mad to have shattered his soul so thoroughly.

This man, Hadrian Morrigan, was going to be a trump card in this war. Dumbledore simply had to have him. Even if he didn't fully believe Arianna Figg's testimony regarding his battle divination abilities, which he now did, his power of sight alone could win it all.

"You really are a true seer." Dumbledore concluded.

"Really?!" Squeeled Arianna Dumbledore's shade. "A real psychic? What number am I thinking of?Why is the sky blue? Why was our family dog named spot? Why, why, why, why why?" (A/N 3)

Albus barely kept a straight face at his sister's antics, but failed completely when Hadrian turned to the little girl and looked her dead in the eye.

"No idea. The sky is blue because air oscillates light in the blue spectrum faster than red, plus our eyes are more sensitive to blue light and usually when a dog is named spot it's either because they have a great big spot on their coat or left a great big spot on the carpet." Hadrian answered the shade he shouldn't be able to see in the first place.

He then turned to Gellert's shade and gave him a wink.

There was dead silence in the room for nearly a minute.

"I shouldn't be saying this before the board of governors have approved you for the position." Began Albus. "But allow me to formally congratulate you on being hired onto the position of divination professor."

Albus made to leave but just before he opened the door Hadrian stopped him.

"I don't mean to patronize you, especially considering how little time you have left in this world and your much greater wisdom than mine." He began. "But I would advise caution in using the resurrection stone, especially considering your possession of the elder wand and ease of access to the cloak. Do not seek to request that your friend loan or give it to you and unite the three that ought to remain separate."

Dumbledore looked to Hadrian with confusion.

"You know where the cloak of invisibility resides?" He asked in surprise.

"You don't?" Hadrian asked in equal surprise.

Albus shook his head.

"I presume somebody I know owns it based on what you just said." Albus concluded.

"Indeed. But do not seek it out. It is by far the most dangerous and unnatural of the hollows and is best buried instead of used." Hadrian warned
Albus nodded.

"You have given me enough reason to take your advice seriously. And so I shall take it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have another meeting to be getting to in the next room over." Albus excused himself.

Hadrian nodded and Albus left. Just as he closed the door he felt Hadrian cast a litany of privacy wards on the room. A curious act, but one he wouldn't pry into.

As soon as Harry finished setting up the wards, he allowed the emotional dam to collapse and broke down then and there. Openly weeping without shame.

Dumbledore, the man he considered a grandfather figure, the man who had risked the fate of the entire world just to save Harry's life and give him a chance at happiness. The man who orchestrated the most complicated set of circumstances to allow Harry himself to return from death, through a combination of him being the master of the deathly hollows and playing into Voldemort's own character flaws.

And how did Harry repay him now that he had the chance to see him alive again? By killing him.
That cursed wound? That agonizing disability slowly draining the life out of the headmaster, hadn't been there days earlier when he encountered the man on the elevator. And in failing to warn him, like he should have known to, he had killed him. He had less than a year to live and it was all Harry's fault.
And for what? Because he was too much of a coward to trust and put his faith into a man that, in another world, put all of his trust and faith into him.

His decision to shoulder all of the responsibility in this world instead of sharing what he knew, even if only selectively, had just cost him dearly. And now he was committed. Now he had a time frame with which to complete his mission.

Voldemort was going down. And he was going down within the next year. Albus Dumbledore's sunset on life will be as a man gazing out at a world without a dark lord, with the war concluded and a bright future ahead of it. That would be Harry's gift to the old man. That would be Harry's sole mission from here on out, even if it killed him.

No more screwing around. No more stalling. No more hesitating in trying to determine what is and is not different in this universe. His hope that Voldemort had not made the Horcruxi had now been shattered and he knew what he had to do. But it would take so much more than to simply hunt down the artifacts and destroy them.

There were Death Eaters to woo into switching sides, people on the Muggleborn side of the war to teach empathy and assimilate into a culture they have been awful guests in and an economy to lift, kicking and screaming, out of a depression. Not to mention werewolves, vampires and other beings who go bump in the night to reiinfranchise. And he was the man to do the job, but from now on he wouldn't be doing it alone.

It was time to go to war, but not war as it had been done in the past. The peaceful war he had spent the last several weeks contemplating and scheming, until every man, woman, child and beast opened their eyes to the love they secretly held for each-other and stopped their lunacy, turning as one against the sociopathic bastard that twisted the legitimate concerns and suffering of the pureblood community into something ugly and unnatural.

"Dumbledore. Prepare to sit back, relax and enjoy your final days as I take care of everything. You've worked hard enough." Harry said with conviction as he wiped away the errant tears.

He cast a cooling charm over his eyes to get rid of any puffiness and washed his face in the sink over in the corner. He canceled the privacy charms now that he was finished with his much-needed mourning and exited the room.

Walking to the next room over he knocked on the door.

"Enter." Dumbledore's voice invited him in.

The look of confusion and worry on his face at seeing him again got a quick chuckle out of Harry.
"Right then." He said. "Let's discuss the purchase of the Shrieking Shack. I think you'll like what I plan to do with it."

Dumbledore's genuine laughter was enough to make the hefty price tag on the property worthwhile all on its own.

(AN-1)

- I will not tell you which organizations to donate to if you want to be charitable, but I will suggest that you be charitable to individuals in your community first. So far, the only legit organization I ever found was the innocence project, who try and prove the innocence of people wrongly convicted of crimes they did not commit. But there must be others. Just be careful. There are evil people who prey on the nature of good people. Find people in person who need help. Help them, one at a time.

A-N 2

- Go read "The Unforgiving Minute" by "Voice of The Nephilim." One of the best fics ever written. Period.

A-N 3

- Any Rolly Polly Ollie fans here? No? Okay then.

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NonsensicalRants · Nov 23, 2022

Chapter 12:
Networking Part 2

Sometime in 2003:

The trio exited the Las Vegas night club in a fuss. Harry, as usual, was the most fussy of the bunch. Loud, crowded places with unwanted sexual attention never suited him. And yet his friends kept insisting on trying to acclimate him to it.

"Seriously Harry. We're sorry." Said Dudley. "We're just trying to share what we enjoy with you. Never again."

Draco handed him an ice pack he conjured.

"Never seen that happen before." Said Malfoy. "Where did that girl get off accusing you of spiking her drink?"

"Might have had something to do with me rejecting her really atrocious attempts at flirting." Harry answered as he put the ice pack to his forehead where that asshole smashed a bottle of irish rum on his head. "If you consider groping a flirting tactic. Can't say I've ever tried it myself."

He understood the attention from girls they got when they went out. There was Dudley, built like a brick house from years of professional boxing. There was Draco, with his aristocratic aura balanced with the heavy serving of humble pie and wit he'd developed over the years. And then there was Harry who was… still just Harry.

"You showed a lot of restraint in not beating that guy into a puddle of sludge." Complimented Dudley.

"Same to you." Quipped Draco.

"Can we just go somewhere quiet to enjoy the lights and stars." Pleaded Harry. "I'm tired of talking about drunk idiots acting like drunk idiots."

Draco knew a place and led them there. A place he himself owned.

Ever since finishing their post-Hogwarts studies they got bored with Europe very quickly. They would still visit whenever they wanted to be surrounded by women who weren't fat, but otherwise the United States of goddamn America was their playground. Wellz their favorite playground at least. They got up to plenty of mischief in other countries.

The boxing, mixed martial arts and club scenes were what enticed his cousin on his mother's side. The unlimited opportunity for entrepreneurship is what enticed his more distant cousin on his father's side.

In just the few short years since the war Draco had become something of a schizophrenic business tycoon. Schizophrenic in the sense that there was absolutely nothing he wasn't willing to try. He would make a fast food restaurant where customers used the ingredients of the establishment along with recipes to cook their own healthy meals one week, and a straight up toothpick factory the next. Believe it or not, both were equally profitable.

The goblins absolutely loved him, not for the money he brought in, but for his creativity and business acumen. To say nothing of his name constantly being attributed with excellence. Harry was convinced the Malfoy heir could walk up to any Gringotts bank, ask for a loan to open a sex shop for nuns, and they'd approve it just to see if he could pull it off. He probably could. The man had the ever elusive "it" that made salesmen into millionaires and innovators into billionaires.

Good thing he hadn't had this weaponized force of personality during their Hogwarts days, or Harry most definitely would have landed in Slytherin.

Harry though? Harry still hadn't figured out what to do with himself. One day they would be in Florida snorkeling with manatees, the next they'd be in the gulf of Alaska surfing waves exceeding 30 feet, only to end the day enjoying shots of high quality tequila and margaritas in Mexico while ogling the scantily clad, yet still somehow classy, latina sweethearts. He'd then follow it up with a cooking class in Italy the next day, a blacksmithing course in Nippon, a belly dancing course in India and… well, you get the point.

He couldn't find his purpose. With Voldemort dead and gone his destiny was fulfilled and he was aimless. His time studying under masters of different crafts in the wizarding world - from wand making with Ollivander, to potion making under the same man who trained Severus Snape himself - all went rather well. But none of them really spoke to him.

And now? Now he was in a funk that Draco and Dudley were doing everything in their power to try and get him out of.

"Alright, third floor up here." Draco said as they came upon a highrise like any other in the city of sin.

They took the elevator and were spat out into a football stadium sized patio you never would have known was there from the outside. A quiet lounge, where people sat in booths to eat and talk. Each booth sat beneath a tree that mutated between species constantly. Harry saw one turn from Japanese cherry blossoms, to purple westeris, to sweet at magnolia, to weeping willow and a blue wisteria tree as they walked along. Each blooming with their vibrant displays of color and raining petals down on the customers where they vanished into particles of light upon touching them or the tables.

"My worldwide lounge." Draco announced. "Private booths for people to relax, talk, and meditate. No alcohol, no junk food or any other poisons of the body. Just a place to be at peace with a healthy mix of beautiful nature and classic architecture, none of that horrific brutalist crap."

He looked at Harry.

"You inspired the idea." He explained. "There are a lot more people in the world who, while despising the loud music and blatant sexuality of night clubs, still want to go out and socialize, but in a more reserved manner. I saw that nobody was capitalizing on the market and decided to fix that. I plan to have one of the capital cities of every state and country in the world."

Goddamnit Draco! Why do you have to keep throwing curve balls and impressing me like this?!

"The capital of Nevada is Carson City, you dolt." A pretty waitress commented as she passed by with a tray of hot tea.

She planted a friendly kiss of greeting on Draco's cheek and waved to Harry and Dudley before continuing on her way.

"Well. Populous cities of the world." Corrected draco. "Which usually equates to capital cities, except in the states. Tokyo's is almost finished if you feel like visiting Sue and her fiance next week?"
He hadn't seen the quiet Ravenclaw in forever, so he agreed to the date instantly.

Draco led them up a spiral metal staircase to a raised catwalk with more booths, these ones fancier than the rest and with a much better view of the Vegas skyline. There they sat down and sunk into the unnaturally soft cushions.

Harry noticed dials on the armrest of his seat and pressed one to discover that each one was also a massage chair.

"How do you keep the cost down to have a more ruffian clientele." Dudley asked as he surveyed the booths around them.

Indeed, many looked to be more of the blue collar worker variety than upper class such a lovely place would suggest.

"The Thrasher Trees, named after birds that can mimic sounds by the way, are really expensive to produce but I can sell them at a high enough profit to richer clientele who want them in their gardens." Explained Draco. "This really helps to keep the cost down as I can charge less here. And my employees are all trained to be able to transfigure the tile and booths. Most are dropouts so I don't have to pay them as exorbitantly as many more well-trained trasnfigurstionists, but I still pay them well and a lot leave more skilled than when they arrived to get better jobs. Plus without needing to pay licensing fees to serve alcohol, tobacco or food keeps the cost down.

Harry was sure the business tycoon had left out at least a dozen more cost-cutting techniques and profit motives around the business. He resisted the urge to tell Malfoy that he didn't need to reassure him that everything was not only legal, but considerate and beneficial to his employees. They were so far past that.

"And where do these Thrasher Trees come from?" Asked Harry.

"I had the idea and commissioned Pomona." He confessed. "Now that Longbottom is taking over most of her duties in his apprenticeship to be the new herbology teacher she has a lot of free time to work on her own projects. And oh boy did it turn out she's been hiding her true power level all these years!"

This was true. And if professor Sprout considered Neville to be a prodigy by comparison to her then he shuddered to think what kind of masterpieces of biology and herbology he could come up with decades down the line when he himself retired. The future was a bright and interesting place.

"Speaking of, " Said Dudley. "Have you considered trying to work with her and see if you find your calling there? You said yourself that you're intent on dipping your toes into every little thing the world has to offer, after all."

Harry pulled out the handy dandy notebook he kept in his breast pocket, turned to the bookmarked section on possible careers, and added herbology to the list. He still had a couple hundred to go through. From restaurant dishwasher to astronaut, but he was sure he could fit "creating abominations against god and nature with Pomona Sprout" somewhere between the two.
Another server came by with a tray of jasmine tea and, after giving Draco a fist bump, served them before leaving. The former ponce was a king in all of his domains and if not friendly with then at least respected by all of his employees.

Just then the thrasher tree of their booth turned into cherry blossoms again.

"Why do you two do this?" Harry asked.

He elaborated when they looked at him quizzically.

"Why do you guys put so much time and money into helping with all…" he made a motion about his head. "The problems I have up here."

They weren't the only ones who did everything in their power to drag him, often kicking and screaming, out of his man cave at the refurbished Grimmauld Place, but they were the most insistent.
It was a funny story, actually. After the war he had taken on so much responsibility trying to help everybody else recover from their wounds, physical and spiritual, that he forgot to take care of himself. Reuniting lost lovers, raising Teddy, and all around just helping people with the wars within themselves; it all kept him so busy. He must have kept a really good poker face as he did so, because it was years before somebody thought to ask themselves "Hey! Now wait a minute. This guy who gave the most, lost the most and hurt the most during the war… maybe he isn't alright?"

And he wasn't alright. But once one person figured it out, they all found out. The speed at which everybody in his generation, from all four houses and beyond, switched gears to make time for him was so very heartwarming if a bit annoying at times. Not to mention confusing, as each person tried to share their coping mechanisms with him.

Dean would take him out to the ball game(any ball game really, but usually football). Hermione kept wanting to share her joy of learning, but eventually gave up on making him read dry scientific journals and instead watch documentaries on movie nights. Ron was great. He would invite him out and they would just sit there. Quietly.

Then there were the girls. Several tried dating him and a few succeeded. However, something about a girl dating you because they think you're broken and their "divine pussies" will somehow cure it turned out to be creepier than it sounded in hindsight. Most of them were worse lays than the fangirls he, regrettably, allowed into his life. So he quashed future attempts at that. Especially after a few weeks with Daphne "I design my own lingerie and you have to see/touch me in ALL of them!" Greengrass. She actually cut it off herself when she realized she was a bit too much for him to handle. Her unashamed and unrestrained sexuality nearly fried his much more shy and demure brain to a crisp She was still sweet to him years later though.

He stopped dating entirely after that. Between his experience with the idol-worshippers, the pitt fucks and Luna when he was studying with Ollivander, he realized he had no business dating. It was inconsiderate in the extreme to waste other people's time building relationships you weren't ready for because you haven't worked your own shit out yet. So he didn't.

There were more people who tried to help him, but everyone was a bit too busy adulting to put too much time into him. All recently married, pregnant or raising their new kids. Everyone except Draco and Dudley. Together they were the three "manchildren" as the bitter girls they refused to marry called them. And boy did they have fun. The concept that men didn't have to marry women on women's time schedule but could choose to do so on theirs was just a foreign concept to many. They planned to stop enjoying the bachelor life if and when they wanted to, thank you very much!

"That's a ridiculous question." Said Draco. "We owe you."

"Everyone owes you." Added Dudley. "I barely get around to Diagon or Hogwarts to substitute in Muggle Studies anymore, but I know people haven't forgotten about you or how much you've done."

Harry shook his head.

"No! Like. Why do you guys put so much more time, effort and energy into it than anybody else?" Harry elaborated. "And don't say because you have the free time, between your thousand side hustles and your constant training and boxing matches you're both a lot busier than you pretend."

The two blonde men shared a glance. Dudley nutted up first.

"Harry. My childhood was pretty much perfect." He explained. "I was too spoiled, too fat and too happy. And that happiness came at the proveable cost of your happiness."

… it wasn't the worst explanation. Dudley wanting to make up for all the Harry hunting and sleeping under the stairs made sense.

"A bit of the same for me honestly." Added Draco. "My parents should have been imprisoned at the end of the first war, not the second, and our mostly-misbegotten wealth distributed to victims on both sides of the conflict much earlier."

A lot of people were suspicious when Draco liquidated his entire heritage of his own accord and spent it all helping to rebuild the magical world after his parents went to the newly built(and dementor-free) Azkaban 2.0. But that new leaf he turned over was genuine. And after living with his aunt and Harry for a little while, helping around the house and being an extra parent to Teddy, he decided to get up and leave in order to build up a new empire of businesses, small and large, brick by brick when one day he just decided that he missed being rich. But he wanted to earn it this time.

He really did just get up one day and announce to Harry and Andromeda "I'm tired of being a bum. I'm off to go get rich again. See you in a few months." Before walking out the front door with just the clothes on his back. And forsooth, when they next saw him, four months later, he had a budding real-estate business and a produce shipping company. He was already expanding into other little things even then.

"Instead I grew up in one of the richest families in the country. To say little of how awful I was to you in our school days." Draco finished.

"And there's the little, teensy-weensy fact that you saved my life and soul!" Bellowed Dudley. "Literally and figuratively."

"A lot of the former literally for me, even more of the latter figuratively." Draco amended.

Harry considered this. He'd saved a lot of people's lives, and several people's souls over the war. Both literally and figuratively. But none of them had such a sordid history of benefitting at his expense. So yeah, they sort of did owe him, but that didn't mean he wanted it. He was about to say as much when Draco's next words shut him up completely.

"Everything I've built up from nothing. All of my wealth, resources and contacts. All of it and my life belong to you." Said Draco. "If you merely ask I will hand it over to you or burn it to the ground and start anew."

Harry was so starstruck by the heartfelt confession that he could only glance at Dudley.

"Oh yeah, no, what he said." His cousin added before sipping his tea awkwardly.

Harry was so touched by the declarations of fealty that he could do nothing but drink his tea in silence. A silence which they respected until the tea was gone.

"Oh by the way, the Harpies are in town training for their match with the Arizona Phoenixes." Draco said. "Ginevra invited me, and by extension you, to spend the weekend playing pickup games with them."

Oh Ginny and her team were here? Well who was he to deny an ex-girlfriend the chance to pummel him in a Quidditch match.

"Who else will be playing?" He asked.

"Viktor is dropping by since their current seeker is out of it and they asked him to help train her up." Draco explained. "I also got George, Lee and Angela to take a break from running the joke shops to join us."

"So you want me to play seeker while you and Angelina play chaser and George and lee do the beating?" Harry summed up. "Against the Holyhead Harpies, who have three of the best chasers ever to play in the circuit, not to toot Ginny's horn too loudly…"

"Her horn deserves tootin, but continue your whinging." Said Draco.

"To top it off they will have the single greatest seeker in the world playing on their side." Harry summed up. "Are we going to follow it up by accepting an arm-wrestling match with Hagrid?"
Draco kept that unbearable smirk on the entire time Harry let loose his diatribe.

"Well for one we have one of the best beaters to have ever lived, and yes I actually crunched the numbers on George's fitness tests and it was in the top ten." Draco said. "I'm just shy of being a professional level chaser myself. And Ginevra will be playing on our team."

Harry was silent for a moment. That was almost a fair matchup.

"It's just practice isn't it?" Said Dudley. "They're not inviting you to humiliate you but to help build up their new guy."

"Girl. They only have girls in the Holyhead Harpies." Draco corrected.

"Can't they get sued for discrimination?" Asked Dudley.

"Nope." Draco answered without further explanation.

"I'm in." Harry said before their conversation could go any further. "But my old firebolt is hardly up to modern professional broom standards."

Draco looked like Sylvester after successfully catching Tweety bird. He reached underneath his seat and pulled out what could only be described as a motorcycle helmet designed for war in space.

"We have also been recruited to test out the new prototype Auburn brand racing brooms."

"The car company?" Asked Dudley.

"Yup. Both teams will be completely fitted, but just for these practice games." Draco explained. "We get to fly the most dangerous brooms yet designed, and they get data with which to make them less dangerous. Win, win."

When he said it like that it sounded like a really good deal. But there was a part of it he wasn't quite catching.

"But why the helmets? Won't we be playing with nets and cushioning charms anyways?" Harry asked.

"Oh of course! We're insane, not stupid!" Said Draco. "The helmets and suits aren't to protect us from impacts. They're to protect us from the air catching under our eyes or noses and ripping our faces off."

Suits? He looked at the helmet and figured there must be some nascar-like onesies to go with them. He'd worn dumber things in the past.

But what he said was true. There weren't any charms or enchantments to help with wind resistance, at least not ones you can put on human skin. And if there were they would be banned in professional Quidditch as performance enhancers anyways, same as the impervious charms he needed to put on his glasses during particularly stormy games. Or at least used to, before getting lasik surgery. He still wore glasses most of the time, but they were dummy lenses and more for comfort than anything else. If you spend the first 20 or so years of your life wearing glasses you'll feel naked when you no longer need them too.

"It sounds like you might be overselling me on how impressive these brooms are." Said Harry.

That weekend proved Draco was not, in fact, overselling him on the capabilities of these experimental brooms. The first time he went full speed he nearly went into cardiac arrest(exaggeration, but only barely) from the sudden change from zero to six g's. With that lesson learned they were all ready to play ball again.

Maybe it was how great it was seeing Ginny, George, Lee Jordan and Viktor again. Maybe it was just that he missed the sport and maybe it was just because he ABSOLUTELY DEMOLISHED the Holyhead Harpies' backup seeker and managed to make Viktor sweat for his win. But by the end of that day he was sold on his career path, even if he was in agony the next day from being so out of practice and having overexerted his body. So he would need to be trained back up.

He happily crossed off "creating abominations against god and nature with Pomona Sprout" from his handy dandy notebook. Along with every other possible career path, big or small, he had yet to try.

Quidditch really was in his blood. And on that day he discovered what so many people had meant when they had told him "you have to start working eventually."

The usual remark he refrained from making was something along the lines of "I inherited the fortune of the Black family, I don't have to work a single day for the rest of my life unless I so choose." But work makes the souls sing and keeps a man humble and strong. Not to mention sane.

Viktor and Draco had him starting a three-month Quidditch bootcamp a week later.

This was all rather surprising considering their team had lost, and lost badly.

August 1996, Different Universe

Dumbledore led Harry around his new property and seemed to be trying his hardest to downplay how great the property is.

Harry knew full well, even without his expanded senses, that the structure was in far better condition than it appeared. The cracks, chipped paint and dirt, not to mention boarded up windows, were all surface level. The equivalent of soaking paper in coffee to make it look more aged than it was.
Harry himself got tired of Dumbledore's obvious and humorous charade about the place being haunted and the multiple contradictory stories about the horrors that had taken place there. The man was deliberately making it obvious that he was lying just to be cheeky. And so, with a wave of his hands Harry began his first display of wandless magic for the old man.

Clearing out all of the debris, trash and rocks in the first thirty meters around the property and following it up with a weak, large area of effect cutting charm to remove the overgrown weeds, grass and bushes. After a few minutes they all sat neatly in a pile on the newly cut lawn. From there he ripped every single board covering the windows and doors of the house, nails and all. That last one had taxed him enough to make him sweat and start to breathe laboriously. So, with calm, deep breaths he focused on slowly levitating the unwanted boards and nails from their individual places in the sky down into the same pile of stone, trash, grass, weeds and bushes.

He only had one last thing to do on the exterior, save for clearing out the remaining debris, trash, rocks, trash, weeds and bushes in the three or so acres of land surrounding the shack. He allowed his magic to slowly wash over the exterior surface of the building and crawling along it. He proceeded to peel away the ancient, ruined paint. This wasn't a spell, but wild, focused magic bending to his will and skill as opposed to any magical foci, years of theory and practice. It was the magical equivalent of scrubbing a house down with an invisible sheet of sandpaper.

When he was done the shack, which itself was a perfectly livable home, looked almost ready to move into. The dark wood exposed to the air was nearly pristine and needed only a new paint job. A proper one, done by hand.

"Whoo! I need to exercise more." Harry joked when the exhaustion finally hit him and he bent over to catch his breath.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been trying to impress the old man, and the look of approval on his face showed it had worked. Damn, did that feel good!

"That was such beautiful magic, mister Morrigan." Complimented Dumbledore. "Thank you for giving me the privilege of seeing it."

"Stick around. You haven't seen anything yet" Harry wanted to say but refrained. He needed to remain humble, so instead he said: "I foresee seeing much more beautiful magic, and beautiful acts, come from you in this, your final year." He said in all honesty. "As the sun sets on your life you will see the world you love begin to live up to the great promise it always held."

It was always a great pleasure leaving old folk speechless with flattery, especially when it wasn't a lie to butter them up.

"Is that a deduction or divination?" Dumbledore asked.

"A little bit of both." Harry answered half-honestly. "Door?"

"Hm? Oh!" Said Dumbledore as he fumbled for the key to the front door.

Finding it, he unlocked the entrance and swung the door open. The air suddenly reeked of dust, disrepair and neglect. Dumbledore motioned for Harry to stand back before drawing the elder wand.
With a few swishes through the air, he created a delicate gust of wind that he sent inside. Harry wasn't familiar with the spell, but it was loud. He heard furniture being thrown aside, dishes crashing, and curtains being torn asunder as the whirlwind tore through the building.

Dumbledore had the gall to hum a cute tune and twiddle his thumbs the entire time.

"Ah! I think it should be safe to enter." Said Dumbledore when the spell ended.

As they did so it was to find a home in disrepair but bereft of dust and furniture. The wallpaper would all have to be replaced, as would most of the plaster from the deep claw marks Remus had left during his monthly confinements here. Plus, the wood, all of it, would need to be sanded and polished.
There goes his weekend.

"Would you mind opening a few windows?" Harry asked.

With a wave of his wand Dumbledore opened every last one and they continued the tour. From the entrance hall to the living room, where the whirlwind had deposited all of the ruined furniture and dust of the home into a pile reminiscent of the room of hidden things. Everything was in far better condition than could be expected. The cellar which he had never been in was large enough to serve as a storage area for all the potion ingredients he would ever need and the food pantry beside the kitchen was nearly as large as the master bedroom, which he planned to turn into military style barracks. Same for the living room and the other bedrooms.

"It's perfect." Said Harry as they exited the attic, which he would of course be converted to an office.
"I'm glad you like it. But might I ask, of all the buildings in the world to turn into a refuge for werewolves near the full moon, why this one?"

Harry shrugged.

"Walked past it one day and got the overwhelming feeling that it would be a great place for a werewolf to hide." He said. "And then as I thought about it, I realized with the wide-open spaces around it and proximity to Hogwarts it would allow a good range of visibility to see any would be hunters and make it more plausible for younger people afflicted to attend Hogwarts, if parents could be assured that their children would be safe during those days. But that's a bit further down the future, isn't it?"

Now he was outright lying, but he had the excuse of being a seer to lean on when he needed to explain how he knew things he shouldn't, so you're damn right he was going to abuse it! He didn't mean to make Dumbledore's eyes twinkle so hard as to be blinding.

"I can vanish the old furniture unless you want to repair it?" Dumbledore offered as they passed the living room again.

"Oh no! I'll burn it in a bonfire tonight." Said Harry. "Vanishing things makes me… uncomfortable."
Dumbledore looked at him curiously.

"Whatever does it do?" The old man asked.

"Are you familiar with the laws of thermodynamics?" Asked Harry.

"Of course." Dumbledore hummed.

"Well, many a wizard has asked if matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed, then wherefore does matter erased through magic go?" Harry explained. "And some have found the answer. It is horrifying. I'd rather not talk about it."

Dumbledore nodded consideringly.

"I'll have to look into that myself then." He eventually said. "And I shall refrain from vanishing to dispose of things until I find the answer. Is there a similarly terrifying answer for the origins of conjured matter?"

Harry scoffed.

"You know as well as I do, conjured matter isn't real. Just magic shaping into a form of our imagining and imitating the properties we want it too, and all conjured things eventually return to nothing." Harry recited as if by rote from his NEWT study guide.

Dumbledore nodded approvingly, and only then did Harry realize he was still being interviewed, this time in his theoretical knowledge in regard to transfiguration. Albus Dumbledore had always been openly biased in favor of skill in Transfiguration as the mark of a great wizard. He had good reason for the bias, but bias it still was.

"Well, the transfer in ownership for the deed is signed and sealed and sent off to Gringotts." Said Dumbledore. "As soon as they approve the transaction and transfer the money, I'm sure they will allow you to pick it up."

Harry nodded and shook Dumbledore's hand goodbye. For now, at least.

"And if you need any further help setting up your nonprofit, I know a few people who would be happy to help." He said before leaving with not a crack, but a whisper on the wind.

Harry immediately re-entered the shack and began checking for any residual magic with his senses. Wards, spying charms, cursed objects, anything. When those turned up squat, he went down the back hall to where the passage to the whomping willow ought to be. There was no trapdoor, nor was there anything beneath the flooring where the trapdoor ought to be. He could feel that it had once been there but not for a very long time.

He would have suspected Dumbledore of having sealed it up ahead of time knowing he might be selling the property but threw that idea aside. More likely, with the war of attrition going on endlessly and being a more worldwide phenomenon than strictly English, as it had been in his world, the headmaster likely sealed it up after Remus graduated. It would not do to have an easily accessible passage into the castle. He wondered to himself if the others had been sealed up too. To his knowledge, all of the Marauders were alive in this universe, and allied with Dumbledore. They were bright men and would surely have shared their knowledge of the passageways with him.

He breathed out a sigh of relief as he advanced onto the living room. With a flick of his wand he levitated all of the crap and dust and guided it all through the front door. Depositing it onto the now doubly large pile of trash to be burned. He took a deep breath and sat on the grass.

And like that all motivation to do work left him.

Even though he was nowhere near magical exhaustion, dealing with Dumbledore had taken its toll on his mind and energy levels. Be wanted to fall asleep and never wake up again, so stressful had his meetings with the old man he loved dearly.

It was then that he heard the fluttering of wings and looked up to see Hedwig, significantly slimmer than when he purchased her, coming in for a landing. He smiled as she glided to his side and nestled into his side.

Their familiar bond was finally starting to form. His old Hedwig could always tell when he needed her comfort, which had been often. He stroked her feathers as he got lost in thinking about nothing.

It was a lovely afternoon. Warm sunlight with intermittent clouds and the smell of freshly cut grass all around him. Shame he only had Hedwig to share it with, seeing as crookshanks wasn't the cuddliest. Plus he didn't feel like picking him up from Ollivander's and coming back.

"Expecto patronum." Harry whispered, then spoke to the stag which appeared. "Bellatrix: I just purchased the Shrieking shack. If you aren't too busy, won't you join me here? Please bring a blanket if you can."

He sent off the message and eased back into resting on the ground. For a few minutes he continued to enjoy the silence in his mind when a loud crack announced the arrival of his impromptu date.
"Must you keep a lady waiting!" She called once she reached earshot, a thin picnic blanket held to her chest. "I've heard nothing since your letter the other day!"

harry smiled wanly at her, knowing her real complaint was that he had yet to invite her to dinner with the Crabbe family. He was certain word had gotten to her that he has asked Valentine if he could bring a date. Seeing as he knew who he had in mind, it wasn't a leap word had somehow gotten to her through whatever network of gossipers connected the two. And so, he made no excuses but instead scooped Hedwig into his arms and stood up to introduce them.

"This is my familiar, Hedwig." Said Harry. "We met just a few weeks ago, and I've been working overtime on helping her lose weight. She's doing great."

Bellatrix smiled at the amber-eyed owl and stroked her brow with a single finger in greeting. Hedwig did not object.

"Is this a comfy place to put down the blanket and have a lay down?" Bellatrix asked. "I presume the interior is not yet presentable?"

Harry nodded and soon he, Hedwig and Bellatrix were sitting together. Him sprawled out and propped up by his elbows, utterly relaxed and her with her legs folded beneath her and sitting upright like royalty. They sunbathed for a few minutes, but the conversation simply had to begin anew.

"I really am sorry about not writing to you earlier." Said Harry. "I've had a rather busy week thus far and only just caught a breather."

"Oh, you don't need to tell me. I'm a lady, don't you know?" She said mysteriously. "And we can tell when a man, any man, has had a very stressful day."

She looked at him crookedly and held a finger to her bottom lip as if deep in thought.

"You present me with a difficult choice here. I have two sisters in very different marriages. One takes her husband having a bad day as the opportunity to whine and make it worse, mostly for her own amusement but also to get things out of him. The other moves mountains to make him feel heard and wanted." She explained. "Which one should I imitate?"

Harry grinned at her joking and had no difficulty guessing which sister was which.

"I think I shall take my lessons from the sister who has built a loving home and family, one that can be happy with or without the finer things in life." She decided. "Here you are exhausted, and here I am with a perfectly soft lap to lay your head. Come. Rest, and tell me all about your day."

She patted her lap and he took the invitation. With one beautiful bird laying in his arms, and he laying in the arms of another beautiful bird, he spilled his guts. He told her the truncated and selectively edited version of his day. How he had come to Hogsmeade to interview with the great Albus Dumbledore and got the position, only to then also convince the old man to sell the Shrieking shack. This then led the conversation back around to the nonprofit he was trying to make.

Bellatrix kept quiet the entire time, making no judgement or criticisms of his plans, even as he went into detail about them. Keeping her promise to listen.

He considered telling her about Dumbledore's impending death and how sad that had made him, but he wasn't sure if he trusted her enough yet with that information. She was after all still Bellatrix Black. And knowledge can be dangerous.

"I'm probably going to spend the rest of the day cleaning up the interior and then tending to the grounds.A nd tomorrow I have to go back to Gringotts to meet with the board of nonprofit funding." Harry finished. "But tonight I have a plus one dinner invitation with the Crabbe family, and I would like you to be my plus one."

That was the one thing she couldn't bite her tongue over and audibly winced.

"I don't want to shoot down your aspirations or anything, but maybe reconsider that meeting." She said. "That board hasn't approved funding for any nonprofit in… ever."

Harry looked at her. Half-amused at her sidestepping his invitation for a date, another genuinely curious at her reasoning.

"Really? Why not?" Asked Harry.

"They're goblins. They will not invest in a thing if it does not make money, and the whole point of a nonprofit is to be unprofitable." She explained.

Harry frowned.

Neither of those statements were true in his experience.

Goblins care about profit, sure, but they care more about success and doing great things no matter the expense. If they failed to approve any charities in so long, it's because none of them showed promise in achieving their mandate.

As for charities being profitable, plenty of places have tried and succeeded in giving free food in exchange for a smidgeon of labor, usually dishwashing or cleaning, and even Draco had options available at his healthy cook-it-yourself restaurant for those who were broke. Cook the food for ten others, get a meal for yourself. Hell, some people became de facto employees this way and wound up with a paid, full-time job.

And like that the possible applications of a hundred fully lucid werewolves as laborers suddenly struck him… Holy shit, if only he had his Draco there right then so they could hash it out. He had planning to do.

"I bet you they'll approve mine." Harry said with a devilish grin.

"Oh yeah, and what is it you're betting?" She challenged.

"I bet you one long, wet sloppy kiss" he tapped his cheek "right here."

"I see." She said, returning his grin. "And what do I get if you fail?"

"I'll clean your house, or, er apartment?" He asked.

"I rent my own apartment." She confirmed.

"I'll clean it top to bottom, and in men's lingerie." He finished his bet. "But for your eyes only."
She didn't even bother to consider it before offering her hand.

"Why Mister Morrigan, I do believe you have yourself a deal." She said as they made for the world's most awkward handshake due to their body positions. "Now go back to Ollivander's and get dressed, you are nowhere near presentable enough for a dinner with a pureblood family."

Harry never understood the obsession with dressing for dinner. Sure, Muggles used to do so as recently as a half century ago, but not to the point of putting on their Sunday best. Especially since wearing your best clothes for a meal always risked ruining said clothes with a wine spill or the omnipresent splatter of spaghetti sauce, even when paradoxically eating mashed potatoes and steak. The eternal paradox of "When the hell did I get spaghetti sauce on my shirt?!" seemed like much less of a concern for people with cleaning charms that could find and erase even the most obnoxious of mustard stains, so there was that.

And so, he left Garrick's shop that evening in the same green and black robes as before. They were the closest thing to dress clothes he had and would impress nobody, but he was at least presentable. Dumbledore might approve of a regular dress shirt and slacks with tie, but the Crabbes wouldn't. Besides, He knew Valentine would let them know to go easy on him as n outsider to pureblood society.

And so, when he flooed from the leaky cauldron to the Crabbe estate he was pleased to see a younger, and very much alive, Vincent waiting for him in tones down dress robes.

"Welcome to the Crabbe estate, Mister Morrigan." Vincent greeted. "I will take your coat if you have one and escort you to the living room, where your date is already waiting."

Seeing as it was August and hot as hell, they skipped hanging his fictional coat and Harry let the polite young man guide him through the familiar building. He'd only been there a few times, and it was nice to see it in such decent shape. When they reached the room it was to find everyone waiting for him.
"Morrigan! Welcome." Valentine greeted, standing up from where he sat beside his son and daughter in law. "And congratulations on your interview and purchase.

He approached for another handshake as everybody else stood at his arrival and approached in time to exchange handshakes of their own.

"Vincent Crabbe senior, at your service." The Death Eater greeted with a handshake of his own.
And he was a Death Eater. Harry could feel the taint of the dark mark on his wrist through his sixth sense, and a similar one on Mrs Crabbe who offered a white satin glove hand for him to kiss, which he did. The gloves went all the way up to her elbows and was strangely all the fashion with pureblood women these days. But aside from the mark she was lovely. A chubby woman, the kind who wound up shapely with all the padding inexplicably filling her cheeks into big, soft rosy smiles.

Positively adorable, that woman.

"I hope Belaltrix didn't burn through what few interesting conversation topics I have to share while waiting for me." harry said as the woman approached him.

Again, white satin gloves. It so didn't match the black dress, honey. But ladies gotta cover for each other, don't ya know?

"Of course not, Hadrian." Bellatrix said. "I only got here a few minutes ago. All I had to tell them was that you interviewed with Dumbledore and bought a house. I'm so looking forward to you sharing the details that you barely gave me earlier."

That was fair. He had been pretty sparce, only giving her the generals of what happened. Not necessarily the why.

"Well we have an entire meal with which to get those details." Valentine said. "If you would follow me into the dining room, we can get started on that."

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NonsensicalRants · Dec 20, 2022

Chapter 13:

Networking Part 3

The entourage of purebloods, plus Harry, entered the lavish dining hall and seated themselves around one end of the table. Vincent Senior took his seat at the head with his wife to the right and son to the left of him. Valentine sat on the seat next to his grandson and Harry next to him. Bellatrix sat directly across from Harry, leaving a seat empty between herself and Mrs Crabbe.

As soon as they sat down food appeared on their plate and bowl. A simple salad and what Harry recognized as cream of potato soup. Beside each bowl was a glass of white wine.

The philosophy of pureblood dining matched the traditional European philosophy of dining. Fill up on vegetables, savor the meat afterwards. Cherish the desert at the end.
Harry was at least cultured enough to know a salad fork and soup spoon amongst the cutlery on his placemat, so he dug in.

"I understand you interviewed for a Hogwarts professorship." Valentine began the conversation. "How do you intend to juggle that along with your duties as a head of house? Being on the board of governors and wizengomat are both full time jobs themselves."

"Simple." Said Harry. "I don't. I have no business dictating how Hogwarts should be run, seeing as I'm not even an alumni. Hence the professorship. A few years or decades of that and then maybe I can take it up. Same for the Wizengamot. I'm not Dumbledore, I can't juggle three full-time jobs and a war."

"Do you intend to leave those seats vacant?" Mrs Crabbe asked. "They've remained so for long enough, don't you think?"

Translation: You're leaving a lot of power and influence on the table.

It was a sensible observation. If he put all of his focus on balancing his seat on the Wizengamot and board of governors, he could make some serious changes. Be the feather that tilts the scales as it were. But in combination with all the other things he needed to focus on that would be too many things to juggle. He would only wind up doing each poorly.

"I plan to find proxies to take my place for both within the next year, but it will be a long time before I'm suited to do either. No, right now I need to establish myself through my own works. Whatever those works wind up being. I need to become laser focused on one or two things for now." He explained. "Besides, what's the rush? I can expect to live another century, my own capacity to get into dangerous situations notwithstanding. I can take up these other roles in five years or fifty years. I have a lot of life left to live before I'm ready to do so."

Valentine nodded with every word in approval of the wisdom in them.

"Is that why you sold off all of the Morrigan stocks and bonds? To relieve yourself of the extra work of managing so many accounts?" He asked.

"Partly. Also because all of those investments were made by people far more business savvy than me, but they did so a century ago. As such, most were very likely to be poor investments by now. But as with the wizengamot and board of governors I lack the knowledge and experience to judge them. Better to do away with all of them and use the funds they freed up for building a life for myself." Harry explained. "I can rebuild such investments at a later date. Once I start working, I can start putting money into stocks based on wise advice from a financial firm or mentor down the line."

Vincent senior stepped in.

"But what of the lump sum you just received from cashing out of the stock market?" He asked. "Why not just reinvest it using your seer abilities and drown in galleons?"

Bellatrix and Mrs Crabbe both snorted into their wine at that question.

"You mean beyond the fact that using divination for financial investments being illegal and easily tracked?" Harry asked rhetorically. "I'm not that kind of seer. I'm more of a personal seer. More postcognitive than precognitive. I can see and feel the histories of people and objects, rarely their futures. Current emotions and states too."

It wasn't lying when everything he said was technically true.

"Then what are you going to do with the sudden wealth you've found yourself with?" Mrs Goyle asked.

"Well, I bought a house." Harry said. "Can't exactly live in Ollivander's spare room forever. Besides, isn't it a requirement to participate in politics that I have to own property? Be invested in the land."

"That hasn't been the case since before I was your age." Valentine said. "Back then it was also a requirement to be married with children. The logic being that if you are both financially and genetically invested in making a better future, you will make choices they believe will ensure such. It did not always pan out that way."

Yeah, the assumption that a man or woman will actually love and cherish children and property they only created or developed out of duty was a patently incorrect one. Plenty of pureblood heirs and heiresses squandered the family wealth or took part in corruption for personal gain just to leave the children and spouses they hated with nothing but the ill-reputation the individuals responsible earned them.

"I think I want to bring that back." Harry declared after a moment of consideration. "Not by law, but as a personal standard. I think I'll wait until I've successfully raised and kept a family before getting into politics. Raise at least once child to adulthood. Should give me plenty of time to get established and build a reputation so everybody knows how to work with me. Plus seeing Hogwarts from the perspective of a parent as well as a teacher will make me all the more suited to taking my place on the board of governors."

"My goodness, mister Morrigan. You certainly do work fast." Bellatrix said in a teasing voice. "Here I was thinking we would at least date for a while, yet here you are skipping right over the courtship and marriage and going straight to putting children into me."

Harry had the good manners to blush almost as deeply as Vincent junior at the teasing and laughter it elicited. The unexpected foot rubbing against his leg, on the other hand, made him nearly jump out of his skin.

Down girl! This isn't the time for that sort of thing.

"At least you have a time frame in mind." Mrs Crabbe continued the teasing. "That gives you, what, seventeen years and nine months before you're ready for the full duties of your lordship?"

This time the joke seemed to be at Bellatrix' expense, based on the scorching glare she sent Mrs Goyle's way. It was the eldest present who came to the rescue.

"Ladies, we are at the dinner table. Let's not get into verboten topics." He asked with a placating hand gesture.

"Well, I mean. We've spent the entire time so far discussing politics and finances, so why not add sex and religion to complete the whole quarfecta of forbidden dinnertime discussion topics?" Harry said.

And with that zinger even Valentine broke from his usual stoicism to laugh.

After that the conversations sizzled down to more polite topics. They asked about his new home and he droned on about the work he had left to do on it and how he would have to spend the rest of the week repainting it and buying new furniture. Not to mention curtains, rugs, appliances and gah! They sympathized with him. His explanation for working for Ollivander, that he merely needed somebody to work the desk while he did some cutting edge research, was readily accepted. Though, the disappointment in learning that he was not, in fact, his apprentice and successor surprised everyone, especially Bella.

"I may be good at matching customers with wands and identifying issues with them, but making and caring for wands? Far beyond my ability and Garrick could tell that from the beginning. No, I really was just there for the busy summer." Harry explained.

From there Vincent junior was the chatterbox, talking his ear off about his experiences taking divination classes at Hogwarts and how he couldn't wait to have a competent teacher in the subject. The little worm was trying to weasel into his prospective teacher's good graces. Still, it was good to see the young man having a good time. Not to mention alive and not reduced to ash by fiendfyre. That was nice too.

Harry started his Thursday by exiting the wizarding world into Muggle London for the first time in far too long.

It was an overcast day with a light drizzle and hefty fog, which was rare weather for London (sarcasm). But transparent umbrella in the other, and a smile on his face. He made his way towards a store he had not visited since his time dating Daphne when she would draft him into escorting her to boutiques to sell her creations.

A custom lingerie store.

This one usually took design recommendations, more appropriately called commissions, from customers and hired out designers like Daphne to make them. But they still had a few stock brands that sold often. Everybody with a sex life needs to buy prophylactics and blindfolds, after all. One never knew when a good blindfold could come in handy.

Harry went into the tiny corner reserved for male lingerie, chuckled at the mannequin decorated in Tim Curry's transvestite outfit—makeup, perm, and all—and nabbed two pairs of underwear. One ostensibly looked like a banana hammock but felt far more comfortable, and the other was a pair of silk boxers. Outside of a well-fitted suit and tie and oddly specific fetishes, these were pretty much men's main options for lingerie in the eyes of women. Picky, those creatures.

The teller rang him up with a bored look on her face and Harry sympathized. He had that same despondent look of boredom with all things erotic after a few weeks with Daph. Being oversexed will do that to a person.

Last he heard of the blonde she was engaged to Dennis Creevey of all people. He imagined their relationship involved a lot of light whipping, bindings, and the formerly tiny boy being stepped on with high heels while blindfolded; or at least, that's how he imagined their tamer nights. People used to really feel for Dennis over his brother's death. People in the know came to envy him.

But speaking of being stepped on while wearing a blindfold.

"One super soft pair of blindfolds while I'm at it." He requested.

And like that he was back on his way to Diagon Alley.

He made a quick stop at Ollivander's to put his things away—in the incredibly unlikely event that he lost his bet—then down to Gringotts. Business/nonprofit proposal in hand.
His waltzes through Diagon Alley had become increasingly less dreary with each passing day. Even on this particularly dreary day, he received more smiles and waves from the denizens of wizarding Britain's favorite shopping center than he had the day before. From shop owners to the increasing number of children being allowed to play in these streets again to the parents watching said children with a protective eye.

Some people had confided in him that, for some reason they couldn't explain, the world at large had started to seem like a much brighter place recently. As if the war of attrition that had taken so much from them—spiritually, financially, physically—just didn't matter as much anymore. Like it was such a silly thing that they ought not spend every second obsessing over.

Harry had no idea where this new outlook was coming from, and he would continue to deny any such knowledge if asked. but he would continue doing his work to make this trend continue.

It was a baby step, especially in this world where Voldemort had spread his more insidious war to every nation on earth instead of just focusing on Britain. He was only one man and couldn't smack people back into reality at a pace anywhere near fast enough. The hundred thousand or so wizards in the U.K. were within his reach. But the tens of millions worldwide? All of whom speak different languages—if not literally then culturally—and whom he didn't have the local sensitivities to reach out to? For that, he'd need to recruit some fellow men of zany character.

He knew exactly where to start when the time came, but first, his mission into the depths of Gringotts.

He entered the complex of marble and stone only to be quickly led into the backrooms. He passed winding corridors of offices, private board meeting rooms, and even less pleasant places. It was all just as confusing to navigate as the maze of caves below ground. Somehow getting lost up here seemed like a more dangerous proposition than getting lost down there. In the tunnels, he could blast his way through any obstacle that tried to confront him. Up here he might be cornered by a ministry official of the Percy Weasley variety, and manners would prevent him from killing them like he would kappas.
With his worst nightmare at the forefront of his mind, he stuck close to the poor goblin in charge of guiding him. The short guy walked deceptively quickly.

"Here you are," the guide said in front of a pair of ornate double doors, "I will come to fetch you when your meeting is over."

He then bowed and walked back the way they had come.

"Welp. Here goes nothing!" Harry said as steadied himself and pushed the doors open into...

A ballroom. It was a ballroom. An enormous one that reminded him of the Yule Ball. It was filled to the brim with tables organized into pairs and trios and on each table was a mountain of boxes, folders, and documents. At the very center of the room was a long table at which sat five glowering goblins, the leftmost two looking positively ancient and the rightmost looking younger than any other goblin he'd yet to meet.

He'd never seen a baby goblin, as it was considered to be inconsiderate by goblins to bring an infant out into public where their fussing would disturb other people. Bringing a baby onto a plane or into a theatre was about as inconsiderate as screaming racial epithets in a crowded place to them. Goblin culture had some excellent policies.

"Mister Morrigan. You may enter," the leftmost and eldest of the goblins called across the vast room by way of greeting.

Harry returned the greeting with a nod and shut the double doors behind him before approaching the long table. He blinked in confusion at the name tags.

Smicklehook, they all read.

Harry assumed they were five generations in the same family. Nepotism much?. It helped that they skipped delineating which was which with numbers next to their names, but instead by left-to-right in order of their seating arrangements.

"Let's get straight into business. You are here to try and gain additional funding for your non-profit," said the middle Schmicklehook, "a homeless shelter for werewolves."
Harry nodded.

"Then before you begin your attempt to persuade us to your way of thinking, might I direct your attention to the trio of tables to your left," the eldest Schmicklehook said.
Harry looked at the tables to his left.

Of all the tables in the room, it was by far the most ill-balanced set. Two had the tallest piles in the entire room. The third had a single stack of clipped-together paper, appearing to all the world like the script proposal to a play.

"On the left table is a list of every charity made to end homelessness but had no effect. On the right is the one that succeeded in ending homelessness," Schmicklehook the Middle continued.

Harry bypassed his curiosity about the back stack as he walked to the right table that held the single document.

"Really!? What's in there?" Harry asked as he picked up the file.

"Oh! It's blank," said the second youngest Schmicklehook, "we just put it there so that people would know there are, in fact, three classifications."

He said this all without a hint of humor, so Harry was unsurprised when he flipped through it like an animation book to discover a sea of splendid white.

Message received.

"And I suppose the back stack lists those that made homelessness worse?" Harry concluded.

"Indeed," said the second eldest Schmicklehook, "so you understand our hesitation to invest in yet another homeless shelter. After the trillions upon trillions wasted in everything from good-Samaritan-funded soup kitchens to the Great Society programs that failed so terribly that they increased poverty exponentially."

"We cannot fit the number of attempts at tackling poverty, in all of its forms, that not only failed but also worsened it, into this room," said the eldest.

"So, we ask you again," asked another member of the board, "why should we invest in your shelter, when all others have failed?"

Harry considered the five goblins.

"For one, it is not a homeless shelter," he started, "but before I begin my tale of woes, may I browse through some of the stacks? I want to check a few things."

They all nodded or made some "be-my-guest" gesture.

"Feeding the needy?" Harry asked.

He was directed to a trio of tables right next to the one on sheltering the homeless.
He did a sermo revalio—the word search spell—for "Al-Capone'' on the stack of successful ones and found what he was looking for when a document lit up like a Christmas tree. It was a document detailing the gangster's soup kitchen which fed thousands a day during the height of the great depression. It was marked as unaffiliated with the bank.

Then he simply dug into the pile. Food drives, military aid, and volunteer shippers during natural disasters and times of strife made up the majority of the pile's building blocks, all of which, save for military aid, received funding from Gringotts due to internal requests from other goblins to do so, usually through Muggle intermediaries. There was also an absurd amount of approved aid to Gurdwara's serving langar to the needy. Godly work, those Sikhs did.

Then he found what he was looking for. A non-profit request from a private wizard to set up pre-emptive food banks on every continent. Fresh food, not canned, and kept for months or even years under preservation charms to be distributed when the next hurricane or earthquake left people bereft of a home or even a city to live in. Harry recognized the wizard's name, as he was the foremost producer of magically enhanced refrigerators; Gerald Fortescue.

This cinched it for Harry.

These five goblins, this family sitting before him were not greedy. They weren't self-interested, and they most certainly weren't cruel in their habit of denying funding. They were disillusioned.

And yet in this one stack was all the evidence in the world needed to dissuade the most pessimistic scrooge of his hesitance to believe in the efficacy of charities. Everyone from murderers to saints had given time, sweat, and money to feed those in need whether funded by Al-Capone's blood money, the taxpayer coffer, the church's plate or rich socialites. There was just so much love in the world, more than even Dumbledore might be willing to admit.

Whenever a truly devastating hurricane hits a Muggle city and lives are at stake, wizards, witches, goblins, house elves, mermaids, and even centaurs dropped what they were doing and ran to provide aid. From the shadows, of course. And while this aid was often confused as divine intervention from unseen angels by the Muggles who received it, Harry always saw in it a miracle of another kind.

He had personally seen unreformed pureblood supremacists, namely Goyle and Zabini, dig a Muggle child out of a sinking wreckage in the aftermath of the autumn 2000 floods.
"We're better than them Potter," Zabini had said when Harry confronted him about the perceived change in character, "and part of being better is to rescue them from death by water, as opposed to slaughter them in death by fire as they regularly do to one-another."

Pureblood supremacy could be a strange and confusing ideology to understand sometimes. Most of the time, really.

But what he knew now was that he had the advantage here.

These five men wanted to help him. Wanted to help the world. They had enough love and goodwill towards their fellow man to spare. Why else would they be put in charge of the English branch of Gringottes' charity fund? They were just hesitant and, rightly, concerned about giving that money away to the undeserving.

He wasn't just here to prove to them that his proposal would work but to prove he wasn't a monster. Not a crook intent on lining his own pockets, or the pockets of his cronies, with the funds from the goblin's investment. Not some creep planning to traffic the vulnerable werewolves to perverts the world around or use the shelter as a brothel of sorts for those same perverts. These are the kinds of things many charities or foundations were a fronts for, and it was made all the more disgusting as they were usually funded by well-meaning suckers who thought their money was going to a good cause.

On a similar note, he was there to prove he wasn't an airhead idealist who wanted to save the world but has no understanding of the problems he saw. Those ones tended to do even worse damage on a macro level than the thieves and sex traffickers.

These men wanted to help end hunger, homelessness, and the abuse of vulnerable groups like werewolves. Maybe even more than for the righteousness of it, but so they can put their name on it and say "We didt hat! That was the Schmicklehook family's doing!" For what greater achievements and ambitions are there?

Most importantly he had to prove to them that his plan would work. The many people who come to Gringotts with plans to help the world but would only make them worse. This family famously turned away a man who wanted to create a paper recycling plant. When the goblins not-so-politely informed him that recycling paper was absolutely terrible for the environment and booted out.

That man returned a month later with a business proposal to create a paper mill and tree farm and got approved. That he did his research and learned that paper companies plant more trees than they cut down, turning deserts into forests, and that recycling paper polluted rivers and airs with toxic and smelly chemicals, deeply impressed them. The more obvious realization that normal paper was readily biodegradable while recycled paper was not, might have helped him too.

He just had to apply that kind of thinking to how he worded his proposal.

Harry had to prove he meant it. He had to prove he understood the problem. He had to prove that it would actually help the werewolves and he had to prove it was sustainable under its own might. This was going to be a piece of cake, minus the sugar. Sweet-sounding platitudes would get him nowhere fast.

Two hours later saw Harry hovering against the outside wall of the Shrieking Shack. He held and brush in his hand and a paint bucket levitating beside him as he gave the old building a lovely coating of baby blue.

Or at least, he was trying to paint it. But the woman sharing his broom with him and planting increasingly sloppy kisses onto his cheek was more than a little distracting.

"Gross! What are you trying to do to me?!" He managed to say with as much anger as would pass through his giggling.

"You said sloppy!" Bellatrix replied tersely, "and I need to practice my grandma kisses anyways."

Grandma kisses?

"You have children?!" Harry said in surprise, "and they're having children!?"

Bellatrix scoffed at that.

"Hardly! No, I have a niece and a nephew. The former is a bombshell in a workplace full of hot bachelors. The latter is the prettiest of pretty boys to ever pretty boy. It will be a miracle if he doesn't make me into a great aunt before graduating from Hogwarts." She explained.

Yeah…don't hold your breath on that one, Bella. Draco was too smart to knock some girl up and had confided in him once that he never planned to have any children of his own. Which was something Harry couldn't comprehend.

It was after they visited Sue for her bridal shower that Draco learned it was common for Japanese businessmen to adopt young men who they saw as potential apprentices as their own sons. Adult adoptions to carry on the family name. And for some reason, Draco thought that was a brilliant idea.

"Give me ten young men with the hunger to create, industrialize and innovate and I'll create the billionaires of tomorrow!" Draco had once said after having too much to drink. "They will be my sons, ones worthy to rebuild the Malfoy name from the gutter it sits in."

But Nymphadora? Bellatrix might be onto something there. Harry might have to poke his nose around the Lupin and Tonks households to see if he could make that magic happen.

"But that would make you a great aunt. Not a grandmother." He said.

"If my sister is a grandmother then being a great-aunt is practically the same thing." She said back as she planted a sucking kiss on his ear.

He'd have to be more careful about the terms and conditions of future bets. Winning might be worse than losing.

When she eventually calmed down in her kissing attack, she quietly watched Harry paint with the fist-sized brush.

"Why don't you animate several brushes to do it for you?" She asked.

Because I'm pants at animation charms and grew up accustomed to manual labor.
"Catharsis and to burn off energy mostly," he said his half-truth, "I call it active meditation. Clearing your mind by doing menial tasks."

She considered this idea.

"Like with occlumency?" she asked.

"Nope. Opposite actually," he said, and left off the explanation until she glowered at him. He elaborated, "Okay! Have you ever been in the company of a man while he stares off into space and you got the overwhelming desire, as a woman, to break him from that peace?"

Bellatrix laughed at his phrasing.

"Once or twice," she admitted.

"And what was the usual answer?" He asked.

"Nuffing," she said in a mocking impression of a man, or at least a very full one.
"Well, would you believe me if I said they were telling the truth?" he asked, "They really were thinking about nothing, but thinking about it very hard."

"Huh!?" Was all she could say as she looked at him as if he were a madman.
"Okay! Imagine if instead of clearing your mind by emptying it and being calm, you instead cleared it by…not feeling the need to think. By being at peace while your body works automatically."

If Ron couldn't get Hermione to understand this topic, and the importance of leaving men alone when they're in this state, he doubted he would get it across to Bellatrix. Amazing things happened when men were left in that state for long enough. Epiphanies, sparks of genius like invented laser disks, or impromptu naps.

"Is it like the resolute silence that goes through your mind when you're caught unexpectedly in a fight, or warzone," she asked suddenly.

"Yes! A little bit," he confessed but backtracked, "although now that I think about it, they're very different feelings of inner peace."

As soon as he finished saying it, he regretted the words. Now she knew he had seen real battles before, not just dueling. If he had been less concerned with getting his point across, he would have spotted the real intention behind that question a mile away.
She didn't show any signs of being pleased with her victory but appeared for all the world to see as if she were deep in thought.

"Do you have a second brush?" she finally asked.

And so, they spent the remainder of the afternoon painting the outside of the house by hand. Sure, they could have used bigger brushes or rollers. But that would mean less time sitting on a broom together, with her head on his shoulder, as they both making the monotonous movements to put paint on the wall.

Having this woman around, even if she did put him on edge with her probing questions, was doing so much to keep him grounded in reality. To see somebody so changed by different circumstances and choices, and changed for the better, helped him to hope that maybe, just maybe, he could actually save this world. Only this time, not doing so too late to avert the worst damage and make the wounds of the war and ideological divides insurmountable for eternity.

The Order meeting had already begun and yet, for some impossible reason, Romulus Lupin was put on guard duty at the front door instead of sitting in.

This was surely a meeting entirely about "Hadrian Morrigan" and all of the information Dumbledore, Bill, and Kingsley had managed to gather on the interloper. Romulus was of the opinion that he was the most entitled to know these details. For some reason, both dad and James disagreed.

He had spent the better part of twenty minutes grumbling to himself about the injustice of it all when a quiet knock reached the front door. Frowning, he wrenched it open and discovered his being put on guard duty had been a ruse.

"Uncle Peter!" Romulus said as he embraced the man.

"Ohhh! There's my favorite godson!" The rat animagus bellowed as he lifted Romulus in a bear hug.

Romulus took immediate notice of how much thinner his godfather was since he left for his mission, and knew that was never a good sign. The pessimist in him wanted to wager that Secret Agent Wormtail's latest mission had been a failure. But for now, he'd wait to find out.

"Order meeting already underway?" Peter asked.

"Yup. And boy did you miss out on some interesting goings-on!" He told his godfather as he dragged him to the kitchen.

He barely heard his godfather's less reassuring response.

"Oh, I think I've been kept avail of a little too much goings-on." He mumbled.

They entered the kitchen uninvited and the Order, or most of it, gave the usual fanfare when one of their own returned safe and sound after months away. Molly took one look at Peter and frowned, before rushing past him to the kitchen to whip up a massive meal from leftovers. Attagirl Aunt Molly!

As she busied herself, Peter's fellow Marauders welcomed him home with hugs and pats on the back. He even got a few pecks on the cheek from Tonks and the younger Figg.
They found their seats at the table and Mrs. Weasley dumbed a platter of soup, pastries, and fried vegetables in front of the emaciated man. He barely managed to mumble a sincere thanks before digging it.

"Now that everyone is here, and our prank is set off, I call this Order meeting into session," Dumbledore announced, "and while we let Peter settle in from his long trip, I think the first business item of the day is England's mysterious new bachelor."

A series of grumbled agreements echoed around the room and Dumbledore went on.
"Excellent! I held an interview with the young man, but unfortunately, most of it I cannot share," the headmaster went on, "he is a charming and considerate person. Humble, but tries to hide it behind a facade of self-confidence. But it is misplaced as he shows incredible wisdom for his age."

This was all a bit more abstract than what they were all waiting for, of that Romulus was certain.

"Sadness and remorse envelop him wherever he goes but he has such a great sense of humor to overcome it that I am confident in his inner strength," Dumbledore must have noticed the bored expressions on all of their faces because he cut to the chase, "he is also a true seer and casts wandless magic with the ease of a tree swaying with the wind."

The room erupted with debate—and a few I-told-you-so's from Arianna Figg—at Dumbledore's pronouncement. They bombarded him with questions: How can you tell he was a true seer? Was it truly wandless magic and not a trick? All the while Romulus's godfather ate his meal slowly as he listened in visible confusion.

"He is a true seer, and he saw something that only I and one other person on this planet should know," Dumbledore explained. "That would have been enough for me to know he is the "real deal", as they say, but he made a second prediction that I'm still coming to grips with myself. I wish I could share what he saw but it is vital to the war effort that no more people gain this knowledge. It's quite possibly the one piece of knowledge that could win or lose this war, so long as it remains secret."

Alastor Moody spotted a problem with that.

"If it's so important then is it really safe to allow this unknown element to walk around with it in his head?" The retired Auror asked.

Romulus had been thinking the same thing.

"I had a similar concern. In fact, were I as cutthroat as I was during my days fighting Grindelwald during world war two, I would have slain him on the spot," he confessed.
The sobering and frightening revelation the kindly old man just shared with them nailed home exactly how serious this situation was. Well, now Romulus just HAD To know!
"Any information on the young man's past?" Filius squeaked.

Dumbledore shook his head.

"I was too preoccupied trying to learn the extent of his abilities, and was focused on interviewing him for the position as well," Dumbledore sighed, "and besides, any personal history he might have told me if I pried would likely be a lie or lacking in all details. He is secretive, of that, you can be sure. I just hope I made the right choice in trusting him to keep the secret he shared with me."

The room went quiet, before all at once, turning towards Bill Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"I found Jack with a side of shit," Bill said simply.

"Me too, except Jack left town," added Kingsley.

And like that, they were back to square one with this guy. A ghost who just appeared to the world at large from thin air and began making waves. Romulus had no idea how James and Remus were keeping straight faces because he was finding it impossible.
"How do we even know if he's on our side?" Asked Tonks.

"He isn't," said Severus ominously and with complete confidence in the statement.
Romulus had to roll his eyes at the dour pronouncement before leaning back in his chair and folding his arm.

"Are you saying you have information that he may already have… loyalties?" Sirius asked.

"He is not one of the Dark Lord's either," Severus elaborated, "think about it. Think about this man's actions since surfacing, and who he has chosen to associate with. His first point of reference in the wizarding world was to become a helper to Garrick Ollivander, a man who has repeatedly thumbed every attempt to restrict him in who he can and cannot sell his services to and should either the Dark Lord or Dumbledore ever walk into his shop with a broken wand he would replace it for either of them."

Bill took over.

"And then think of who he chooses as his romantic interest." Sirius dded.

Tonks perked up.

"I think I see where you're going here," she concluded.

"Bellatrix Black," said James, "a woman who managed to keep her sisters together even as they drift towards opposite ends of the conflict. A woman who remains a loving aunt to both Nym and young Draco."

Sirius growled, and it came out a little too dog-like.

"Right. A bastion of family integrity and neutrality that one," he said.

"Sirius," Remus said in a warning tone.

The Black heir backed down but seemed to barely hold his tongue.

"I agree with Severus' analysis," Dumbledore concluded, "he has surrounded himself with people that, in one way or another, are neutral or ambivalent to the war. We are either witnessing the work of a peace-maker intent on healing the schism in our society or…a new player intent on rivaling or replacing Voldemort and myself."

That quieted the room.

A third faction in the war? Well, fourth counting the ministry, and honestly, who did? But still, another faction?

Why would he collect those of the wizarding world either neutral or antagonistic to both sides of the war under one banner? Was it his intention to fight against both or let them duke it out and conquer the victor?

It was something Romulus couldn't imagine doing. It made him wonder. Was Dumbledore leading them astray, intentionally or otherwise? Were their tactics for this war going to cause devastation instead of victory? These were questions he never pondered before and was uncomfortable now that "Hadrian" was forcing him, through his actions, to do so.

"Which do you think he is?" McGonagall broke the silence.

"It might be my intrepid optimism, but I think it's the former," he said, "or at least, he seems to want to be the peacemaker between the two sides. He says, and I believe him, that he does what he does because he believes fate is pushing him towards a certain path. I just worry he doesn't realize how dangerous and difficult that path is."

"Needless to say I will not be trying to recruit him into the Order," Dumbledore concluded, "but he is a godsend in terms of a teacher. I just got a letter from the Board of Governors confirming his appointment and will send the good news to him promptly."

Damnit! That means Romulus wouldn't be able to track him down and interrogate him once the school year started. Yet another boring year of homeschooling with Uncle James and Aunt Lily until she too returned to Hogwarts. Joy.

"I have many questions," Peter broke his silence now that his meal was finished, "but the information gleaned from my spying might be more important, and I'm sure my godson will fill me in later."

He wiped his mouth with a conjured napkin and gave his reports.

"The vampire tribes, all 12, are on the cusp of joining Voldemort," he ripped the bandaid off all at once. "What few distrust him are becoming less and less inclined to get their food through legal, non-fatal means. Stirrings of dissatisfaction echo through the underlings and the leaders can't snuff it out. Attacks on Muggles have already begun to increase."

"And I have on good authority that two leaders already swore to Him. I'll give you three guesses which two, and the first guess doesn't count," he finished.

He had spent half a year of shuffling across Eurasia and Africa, sneaking past customs and borders and listening in on known vampires in his rat form. It had clearly taken a toll. That wasn't even getting into the illnesses he must have caught along the way, from coming into contact with other rats and fleas the world over or the omnipresent danger of getting caught.

Romulus really admired the man.

"I'm afraid things are similarly bad with my werewolf contacts," Remus added, "more and more are going feral, living short and brutal lives in lost forests across Europe. Those that are still taking part in society are either too financially desperate to make waves, or leaning towards joining Voldemort."

More grumblings.

"But what werewolf in their right mind would join a regime with open animus towards them?" asked Peter.

"I think it's more a matter of 'the ministry is our biggest threat, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is the second, and the resistances are either feckless or worse than Voldemort in their tactics," Arthur Weasley hypothesized, "so from their perspective they may be considering You-Know-Who just for the pleasure of fighting for him and getting a bit of revenge against society."

"Right in one," confirmed Remus.

The bad news just kept coming. And yet Dumbledore looked oddly amused.

"In Greater Britain, at least, I foresee the werewolf issue becoming much less of an issue fairly soon," Dumbledore announced, "as is our current funding problem, for the foreseeable future."

He then dropped a sealed contract of some kind—a title or deed maybe?—and a fat coin purse of galleons onto the table.

"Mister Morrigan purchased the Shrieking Shack from me and the transaction was approved," he announced.

The predicted response from everybody in the room, save for the Marauders themselves, was wondering aloud what that had to do with anything.

"And why would he purchase that?" Asked Tonks. "Wait, you're the owner of it?!"
Dumbledore chuckled.

"When I asked him he said, and I quote, I just got the feeling that it would make a great place to shelter disenfranchised werewolves during the full moon," Dumbledore explained, throwing his hands up as if giving up on explaining.

Remus, Peter, James, and Sirius chuckled together at that one.

"The Shrieking Shack used to be my prison during the full moons while I attended Hogwarts," Remus explained, "which this stranger couldn't possibly have known.
Well, it was a well-kept secret. Was.

"And he intends to refurbish it, and turn it into a nonprofit shelter during the few days around the full moon for werewolves to stay," Dumbledore explained, "he intends to provide as much wolfsbane as he can for those who can take it, and other aids for those who cannot."

It was then that a familiar white owl flew in through the window. They really should stop invoking his name like this. Surely this man couldn't have a taboo on his own name, could he?

Dumbledore retrieved the letter Hedwig was carrying and read it. His smile got even brighter as he read it and the document to come with it.

"And I have even more excellent news." He announced as he turned the document around showing a bright red 'approved' stamp on it. "The Gringotts fund for Charitable Acts just approved additional funding for his shelter program."

"What does the letter say?" asked James.

"Well, you might be interested to learn that he is asking me if I can recommend five people interested in being trustees to help get his program approved. And maybe volunteer on or near the full moon."

James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Romulus all stood up in perfect synchronicity.

"I figured as much," Dumbledore hummed as he sent Hedwig off with Morrigan's confirmation as the new Divination professorship.

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NonsensicalRants · Jan 24, 2023

Chapter 14:

Meeting the Faculty

Sunday morning, August 31st, 1996

Harry finished his last week of unemployment by having breakfast with the Marchbanks. Alastor had been released from Saint Mungo's the night before and his wife, Laura, was taking good care of the bandaged man.

"The good doctor recommended light breakfasts," Alastor told him, "namely, berries and hot cereals."

Just then, Mrs. Marchbanks dropped three plates loaded with eggs, Polish sausages, and sauerkraut onto the table.

"But my wife loves me enough to shorten my lifespan against the doctor's best wishes., Alastor finished as Laura kissed him on his brow.

They sat down and dug in while watching Crookshanks' continued attempts to instigate Teddy, the Marchbanks' ancient basset hound. The fat, lazy dog couldn't be coaxed into lifting its saggy head no matter how much the cat of indeterminate age swatted playfully at his snout.

"Thanks again for agreeing to catsit Crookshanks for me," he said between bites, "I wanted him to be close to Hogwarts, so I can deliver him to his new owner."

"And when did you say you would be able to do that?" asked Laura.

"Monday at the earliest," he said, "I need to time it just right."

"Just right?" asked Alastor.

Harry smiled.

"Are you familiar with the concept of a broken fate?" Harry asked rhetorically, seeing as it was something he made up. "It is when something is fated to happen but through some astronomical statistical aberration, didn't. As if the Fate's made an accounting error and it needs to be corrected. Kind of like a time anomaly. Well, this cat was fated to be joined with a young lady three whole years ago, but somehow wasn't."

Alastor and his wife listened intently at his explanation.

"What is so terrible about fates being broken? Surely many fates are terrible and some people should want to break them." Mrs Marchbanks asked.

"For the same long and complicated reasons that time travel is terrible." harry said with a shrug. "When the threads of fate are severed it can unravel the world, for every future fate is predicated on the previous fates coming true. As you two were fated to be married, every future event that only became possible with your union, like the birth of your children and their future actions and children, fall down like Jenga pieces. So on, and so forth. So, when a broken fate is found, it should be remedied as much as possible. I will be doing that this week."

"And something as simple as a person having the correct pet can have those kinds of butterfly effects?" Alastor asked.

"Of course." Harry said. "Just as the smallest change to the timeline through chronomancy can."

Alastor glared at him suspiciously and answered Harry's bait only by chewing more slowly.

"Sometimes really important work is deceptively easy. Unfortunately the other work I have planned is not so." Harry changed the subject.

'Teaching can be a tough job. Especially at Hogwarts." Alastor conceded.

"I was more referring to tracking down an affordable plot to grow wolvesbane ingredients and the shelter for werewolves I'm building." Harry said. "I spent the last few days buying furnishings for the place and it was long, boring work. Don't suppose you can help me with either tasks?"

Alastor motioned with his hands to indicate his broken and healing body. Even going so far as to lift the bandages over one-half of his face to show the burns beneath.

"Oh nooooo!" Harry mocked in his best Mr. Bill impression, "I'm just a frail old man, I couldn't possibly survive trekking around the isles. Says the man who fended off Lord Voldemort with nothing but a FLAMING SWORD OF GOD!"

Alastor didn't take that praise laying down.

"Well, when you say it like that it sounds very impressive, but it's much less so when you consider he and his goons were unarmed. Not a wand between them," he said, "sign of good faith negotiation."

Harry considered him with visible confusion.

"Then how'd he cast a killing curse for you to block with a sword in the first place?" Harry asked.

"He cast it wandlessly," Alastor answered.

That was a concerning claim. Were it anybody except Voldemort Harry would have said it was impossible, but even still the claim strained credulity. Harry was certainly capable of casting the Killing Curse, but casting it or any of the Unforgiveables wandlessly was far beyond his ability. The only exception to S-class spells he could sling around without a wand was the Patronus, and that was only because Harry had such an outstanding affinity for that spell in particular.

Maybe if Voldemort had a similar affinity for the killing curse? That was a frightening possibility, but a possible one. Plausible, even.

"And where did the burns and wounds come from?" Harry asked, "did he manage to summon Fiendfyre wandlessly as well?"

"No, the sword's magic turned on me when it exploded. Got a face and chest full of stone and copper shrapnel," Alastor explained, "the sword didn't appreciate being used as a weapon, strangely enough."

That warranted further investigation. That artifact really ought to be in the Department of Mysteries so the Unspeakables could try and decipher the inner workings of its magic.
"I insist you work with him, dear," Mrs. Marchbanks insisted.

"Why should I go?" Mr. Marchbanks insisted in return, "when he has a hot duelist girlfriend who'd do much better in my place?"

"Well, she barely has enough time as it is to even date me. What, with all of her dueling practices, competitions, and social events. So, joining me for weekend trips across the country is out of the question, as is caring for werewolves for a few days per month." Harry explained, "That and, not to downplay her abilities, but she never fought off the most powerful dark lord in history with a FLAMING SWORD OF GOD!"

Teddy must have gotten worried from all of the yelling because he was at the table now with his head on Harry's lap. He whimpered just like Fang too. Harry patted the frightful thing in order to console him.

Harry gave up on trying to convince the older man and decided to leave it to Laura to nag him into it over the next few weeks. For now, he settled for finishing the excellent breakfast, apparating to the Shrieking Shack and walking to the first home he ever knew. It was time to return to Hogwarts.

The moment Harry stepped past the boundary separating the courtyard and the entrance hall he stretched his magical senses as wide as they would go. The castle welcomed him, as it welcomed all who came here, with an embrace of ancient dust and promises of adventure. It almost fooled Harry into thinking it recognized him, but more likely it recognized his nature and merely approved of him.

He was home.

"Professor Morrigan, I presume," Minerva's thick accent greeted from behind him.
"Ah!" Harry yelled in feigned fright. "Oh, it's just Minnie. Sorry, something about your stern voice made me think I was about to get a paddling."

She made what may have been the most severe expression he'd ever seen on her face in his own universe. Either this Minerva was much more stressed out, or he hit a home run with that joke and she was trying to hide it. He was leaning towards the former.

"The rest of the faculty is meeting in the staff break room, and we are all eager to meet you," she said simply before walking away.

Definitely the former, then.

Assuming she wanted him to follow her, Harry went in the completely opposite direction. Working from memory alone he descended into the dungeons and took a secret passage that opened up into a slide. Riding it deeper into the dungeons he exited near the Slytherin dormitories. What most students didn't know, but probably suspected, is that there was a passage near every common room which lead directly to the private quarters of their head of house. Each of these passages was only accessible to said faculty member and the headmaster.

Unless one spoke parseltongue, in which case hissing a quick "open" to the passage near the Slytherin common room and the exit near the corresponding faculty bedroom. Another feature common to all faculty members was that each of their private quarters was situated right next to another secret passage leading to the headmaster's tower. Each was only accessible to said faculty member but, again, Salazar put parseltongue loopholes into all of the passages he himself crafted.

And so, Harry hissed another 'open' at the wall adjacent to the private quarters of...somebody who wasn't Snape, based on the smell of flowery perfume, and climbed a spiral stone staircase until he exited the portrait of Salazar Slytherin into the hallway leading to Dumbledore's office. Turning away from the office he walked to the door he knew led to the staff meeting room.

"I was under the impression Minerva was to escort you here," Filius greeted the moment Harry opened the door.

Harry blinked as he examined the room. He recognized a few old faces, but just as many he'd never seen before. Filius Flitwick, Pomona Sprout, and Severus Snape were all a given, as was the rough and tumble Elvira, but aside from those the only familiar faces were Hagrid and Professor Sinistra. Oh, and for some reason, Remus was here too. That left three strangers and three empty seats, ignoring Minerva and Albus' absences.
"She sort of just wandered off and left me to my own devices. Must have had more important business to attend to," Harry lied with a shrug.

The more gullible staff members shared concerned looks.

"Anyways, it's nice to meet you all. Don't everybody introduce yourselves at once," Harry went on.

After a short round of indulgent chuckles, they began with the introductions and Harry made his way around the table, shaking each hand he was offered. Which, seeing as those present was polite and professional even at the worst of times, was everyone.
"Professor Flitwick, charms," Filius introduced himself.

"Rebecca Pomfrey, school nurse," Pomfrey introduced herself.

Harry examined the stern woman and wondered what relation she had to the Poppy Pomfrey he knew and adored. Regardless, she had big shoes to fill, but they were shoes that definitely needed filling. He hoped the thirty-something-year-old was up to filling the seventy-something-year-old's position.

"Aurora Sinistra, astronomy," the beautiful dark-skinned woman greeted.

"Elvira De Santigo, survival skills instructor," The duelist introduced herself.

"I know, I saw your duel with Madame Bones. Great stuff." Harry said.

Harry had neither heard of her nor her class before. The long years of war must have made the necessity of branching out from the traditional class structure clear to even the Board of Governors if they deemed it necessary to deviate from the millennia-old curriculum. That or the population of this magical Britain was much greater than his and so Hogwarts was better able to provide additional electives.

All in all? If he wasn't already involved, he would have chased her like many of her teenaged students likely did. He had a thing for gals who could kick his ass.

"Rubeus Hagrid, groundskeeper," greeted the friendly giant as he nearly crushed Harry's arm with a handshake.

Now that he was up close Harry could see how badly scarred his first friend was. He held his arm in a sling and had two black eyes and a nasty cut above his nose. Still, the gentle soul peered through those beetle eyes just like Harry remembered from before.
"Severus Snape, substitute potions teacher," greeted Snape curtly with a short handshake.

Harry blinked at the man.

"Substitute?" Harry couldn't stop himself from saying, "you give off the air of a man capable of much more in potions than your job title would entail."

Severus' look was a combination of disdain and dissatisfaction at being reminded of his station, but Harry could feel the intention behind it through his magical senses. He was hiding his pride at his own abilities from Harry's disguised compliment behind that sneer in place of abashed humbleness. Why were Slytherins so weird?

The man beside Severus cleared his throat, breaking the two out of the odd social interaction.

"Remus Lupin, defense against the dark arts," Remus greeted.

Harry gave Remus his most genuine smile, so glad was he to see the man in better health and nicer clothes than he'd ever seen the Remus from his own world. Also alive. Very good improvement there.

"Professor Maven is currently at Saint Mungo's from a Death Eater attack, and also missing are our Muggle studies professor, Andrew Hannigan, and our healing arts mistress, Emma Grey. You'll meet them this evening when they arrive," Filius finished, "oh, and Professor Binns, our history of magic teacher, is never seen outside of his classroom. You can go meet him whenever you feel like it."

Professor Binns was rather forgettable, yes.

"Right, and Professor Maven teaches Arithmancy and Runes then?" Harry asked.
"Right in one," Sinistra nodded.

That sounded taxing, teaching two whole subjects. But they did seem like the most likely to be merged into a single course. Honestly, if the Board of Governors wanted to, they could do the same with Divination and Astronomy. Or History and Muggle Studies. He'd have to put that on the agenda for when he got a surrogate to sit on the board.

"That just leaves..." Harry thought to himself, "Do you not teach care of magical creatures?"

"We have split up the duties related to magical creatures between defense against the dark arts and survival class." Said Elvira.

Efficiency is the word of the day, it would seem.

"So. Tell us all about your trip up to Hogwarts!" Pomona egged the conversation on as soon as Harry found his seat beside Sinistra.

"Oh, it was lovely," Harry said honestly, "an early morning trek from my new property in Hogsmeade through the woods was a fine start to the day. The pre-dawn mist and singing of wildlife would be a boost to anybody's mood."

The other professors shared confused looks, as something about his statement must not have added up to them.

"Morning walk...in the woods?" Severus clarified.

"Yup," said Harry, " You know, the big plot of trees between Hogsmeade and here?"
The meaning of his words must have finally registered because almost everyone's expression changed from confused to concerned.

"You don't mean to tell me you walked through the Forbidden Forest on your way here, do you?" Elvira practically seethed.

"Yeah. Why? Am I not allowed to do that?" Harry asked in genuine confusion before he remembered that this version of the Hogwarts staff wasn't familiar with his many adventures in and familiarity with said forest.

"That is highly dangerous!" Little Pomfrey—which is the nickname he will henceforth be thinking of her as—reprimanded as she pulled her wand out and approached him to cast diagnostic charms.

"Really? I thought it was a lovely walk. The thestrals were polite, if a little over-curious and the other denizens kept a safe distance, but weren't as good at hiding as they thought," Harry said as he allowed the young woman to check him over.

That answer earned him a nod of approval and a gracious smile from Hagrid, who had just now finished making him a cup of tea.

"How did the Aurors stationed on the perimeter not spot you?" Elvira pressed on as Hagrid placed a hot mug in front of Harry.

"Oh, they did. Tried to arrest me too. For some reason they found a stranger coming out of the forest in the early dawn suspicious. I ignored them and entered the school," Harry told them, "A young Miss Tonks there helpfully waylaid the ones trying to arrest me: had to explain to her co-workers that I was expected."

"They can be tedious, yes," Sinistra hummed in agreement while trying to hide a smile behind her mug of tea as she took a sip.

Harry got the feeling that half of his new peers thought he was insane, and the other half thought him lying for the sake of humor. And the half questioning his sanity probably didn't believe him either. They would learn soon that every word of it was true.

"Do you have any experience teaching?" asked Lupin when the chuckles and weary looks abated, "I am starting this semester too, and admit I'm rather nervous."

Well yeah, you should be. It's the jinxed job position after all. But it won't be for much longer. But how to answer? Half-truths? Half-truths.

"I used to lead a study group for defense against the dark arts for an entire year when we didn't have a competent teacher. My fellow homeschooled kids picked me because of my...rough experiences. And because I was able to cast a corporeal patronus by the age of thirteen and they found that very impressive," Harry explained.

Harry almost missed Flitwick's jaw hit the floor.

"I find that very impressive myself," the charms master stuttered.

"Everybody has that one spell that just comes to them naturally. For me, it was the Patronus. Or, well, it didn't come easy. But when it did come to me, I was very good at it. Same for the summoning charm. Both hard won but doubly rewarding," Harry explained "Once I finished with my homeschooling and took my NEWTS for the first time, the town decided to hire me as Defense teacher for all of the students."

"At such a young age?" Professor Sprout questioned, "And how did that go?"

"It was a disaster," Harry answered honestly, "I was completely overwhelmed, not by the workload mind you, but from the multiple panic attacks I suffered from trying to herd children and teenagers into a class where they learned to cast curses at each other as well as the methods for defending against or countering them."

Flitwick, Pamona, and, oddly, Snape all permitted him sympathetic nods at that confession.

"And what makes you think you'd be better able to handle the work now?" Remus asked.
"You mean aside from my being nine years wiser?" Harry asked, "The fact that I'll be teaching a subject that doesn't have children waving wands around and casting offensive spells at one another. No panic attacks for me this year. No sir!"

"But there will be quite a bit of hair-pulling, I assure you," Elvira assured him.

Oh boy, was he ever expecting that to be true.

"I actually swore that I'd never take a teaching position again after that. And yet here I am," Harry finished his tale of woes.

"And why are you here: breaking your oath?" Filius asked.

"I felt pushed into taking the position," Harry said honestly, "received several signs that I was supposed to do so."

Several of the faculty either perked up as they reached the subject that fascinated them the most about the enigmatic Hadrian Morrigan or rolled their eyes in anticipation of wobbly divination bullshit. Harry planned to disappoint both teams.

"What kind of signs would that be?" Sinistra asked, her entire attention focused on him.
"Well, let's see," Harry ticked off his points on his fingers, "Between the entirety of Diagon Alley thinking I'm Nostradamus for some reason, me suddenly discovering a hitherto unknown talent for divination while taking the written exam, and seeing an ad in the paper looking for a new Divination professor, I got the hint. And wouldn't you know it, just as I finished reading said classified the owl with my new NEWT results flew in and dropped it right on my face. Whoever claimed the Fates are subtle is a liar."

Based on the nervous laughter at his humorous tale, he could tell they didn't know if he was joking or serious. Frankly, he was a bit of both.

"Is that how the Fates usually talk to you?" Severus said in his most demeaning voice.
Oh, we were going there? He didn't care very much to "defend the honor of his chosen field", but he was always up for a match with Snape. He had over half a decade of repressed aggression towards the man to let out.

"Well no, usually I just know things I shouldn't. I can sense people's nature, or past and future, all things that freak people out if I comment on," Harry said honestly, "Most of the time I have to make a concerted effort not to use these abilities, kind of like how a natural Legilimens, like you, has to consciously suppress the ability in order to respect other people's privacy."

Snape waved off that "reading" with a hand motion and a snort.

"Then make a reading on me, one that isn't common knowledge, unlike my skills with the mental arts" he challenged.

"Did you miss the part where I said it freaks people out?" said Harry, "I'm here to build bridges, not burn them. And sharing private information about somebody in front of his colleagues is a good way to lose friends. Not quite as good as calling your best friend and the only woman you ever loved a mudblood in front of all of your classmates. But a close second."

Before Harry even finished that scathing remark Snape had already stood up from his seat and calmly walked out of the meeting. If Harry were to extend his senses now, he would surely feel the rage wafting off the man like fumes from a freshly baked habanero and lemon pie. It tastes a lot better than it sounds. It was one of George's best inventions for pure disgust factor.

Minerva came in exactly as Snape left, and glanced back and forth between the congregation and the man who nearly bodied her in his haste to get out of Harry's presence.

"What was that? And...wait," she started before noticing Harry's presence, "how did you even get here before me? I looked everywhere for you!"

"Oh, you know. Youth. Spryness. Quicker pace of movement from having strong hips and longer legs," Harry said offhandedly, "and Severus needs some time to cool off. He chose to get into a verbal duel with me and it didn't end well for him."

Minerva looked to Filius who was still holding a hand over his mouth to try and hide his shocked expression, then to the confused looks of those present. The only person who Harry knew for a fact knew the meaning behind that statement was Remus, who was staring at Harry with something akin to awe and terror.

"I believe you may have just made a mortal enemy out of one of the most dangerous men in Britain," Remus told him.

Most dangerous men in Britain? If he were to make a pyramid of people it was unwise to get into a fight with, Harry'd put Snape an order of magnitude above Bella, Molly, and Alastor(Moody) and right beside Minerva and Filius, who themselves were an order of magnitude below Voldemort and Dumbledore. If he were honest with himself though, he'd put Severus closest to Albus and Tom out of the three teachers.

With another half-century of life, Snape could come close to rivaling the two, as could Harry, if either were to devote their entire existence to achieving parity with the powerful mages. But that would never happen. Snape was too focused on potions and Harry was too focused on sports and mischief. The kind of mischief that led the people of Cheran, Mexico, to pick up arms and drive out the cartels and corrupt police and politicians. Good times.

"Oh, we aren't enemies," said Harry, "that was just a warning shot. I know that man can be extremely antagonistic if you show him any weakness. I can also tell that he is a truly good man deep—and I do mean deep, deep down—inside. But I don't take kindly to bullies or people who want to test me. If he ignores the warning and tries to escalate, I will too."

He took a sip of his tea as he allowed his coworkers to digest that declaration. He then clarified.

"I'm not interested in starting wars or rivalries. But I'll happily end them."

Sure, he respected Severus and his abilities. But it would be a cold day in hell before he actually liked the guy.

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NonsensicalRants · Jan 24, 2023

Chapter 15:

Meeting the Students

Sunday morning, August 31, 1996

"Welp!" said Hadrian, "I need to head on up to my quarters and classroom. I have a lot of unpacking, organizing, prepping, and planning to do."

He got up and made to leave.

"Not to mention the paperwork, rules and regulations, and code of conduct you need to finish signing," reminded Minerva.

"Don't forget the health and safety protocols," added Rebecca.

"Albus apologized for not being present: he planned to walk you through it all. I could help in his stead—should you need assistance," Filius offered.

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," Hadrian said before exiting and leaving them all to each others' company.

There was dead silence for a long while as they all absorbed the typhoon in human form they just met. Elvira was the first to break it.

"Ten galleons says he gets lost and doesn't reappear for an entire week!" The survivalist announced.
"I'll take that bet," Remus said. "After all, he got here from the entrance hall just fine by himself."
Minerva glowered at that.

"I turned my back to lead him and must have spent forty whole seconds talking to thin air before I realized he wasn't following me," she said, "how in the world did he get here by himself?"

Remus couldn't help himself.

"Stab in the dark. Maybe he's psychic?" he said cheekily, "could have doused his way here."
Rebecca and Sinistra both took his suggestion in good humor but seemed satisfied to smile and watch the goings-on.

"It's more likely that Peeves decided the only way to surprise us was to be genuinely helpful to somebody," suggested Pomona.

"Now that's a thought," Remus mused aloud. He'd have to track down the old poltergeist and ask, though whether or not the hellion would answer was a shot in the dark.

He turned back to Elvira and said warningly, "don't you go backtracking when he arrives for dinner on time. I have those ten galleons right here and a room full of witnesses".

She winked at him and the bet was on.

"Nope," Harry grimaced as he tossed aside yet another piece of junk, "not a diadem."

He threw aside the bust and tore apart the nightstand it stood on. He banished article after article of clothing, rug, curtain, furniture, container, vial, weapon, and more into separate piles but he couldn't find the diadem. He found A diadem with amethysts and cursed with a skin-melting spell, but definitely not a Horcrux. He destroyed it anyways.

"It must not be here," he finally surrendered.

This sucked. This was the only Horcrux he knew how to get to and destroy. Aside from the locket in the cave—a cave Albus never thought to tell him the location of in his world—all the others were unknown. Well, aside from the ring in the Gaunt shack, but Albus already took care of that.

He sighed in defeat and surveyed the room of hidden things and made to leave. He kept his eyes peeled during the hike back through the mountain of junk, but no glint of silver caught his eye. He finally caved stretched his magical senses, bracing himself for the horrific feeling the horcrux would undoubtedly bring when his magic touched it, like wading into melted tire rubber and doused in bile.
The feeling of such terrible dark magic never materialized, and he was forced to conclude the horcrux really wasn't there.

He exited the room of requirement and sighed. He had a familiar urge to peruse the map and while away hours scouring every nook and cranny of the school. He really wished he'd had the thing on him when he awoke in this world, it would be interesting to see if it worked in this universe and what it would show his name as.

"Oh." Harry gasped at the sudden realization.

The map. He had completely forgotten about the map. And if it worked at all like the wards at Gringotts, reading the aura mark of people placed in Hogwarts, then he was one hundred percent certain what it would show his name as.

There was a knocking at the door.

"Anybody gonna get that?" Fred hollered from his workbench where he trying to solder a billywig stinger into a whoopie cushion.

"I'll get it!" Lee said.

He saw his discolored triplet put down the measuring cup and flour before running ti the door and wrenching it open. He turned back to his current ill-advised project assuming it was just another customer. They were finally getting busy.

"Hello Mister Jordan. Aren't you going to let your new benefactor in?" A cool but giddy voice greeting Lee from the front door.

"Um... Are you Hadrian Morrigan?" Lee said after a moment.

Everybody in their miniscule apartment dropped everything and stumbled to the front door. George and Angelina charged in from the kitchen, covered in flower and still wearing their aprons and oven-mits. Katie put down the mixing bowl she was currently mixing and the sound of Alicia stumbling out of bedroom and knocking over yet another mountain of boxes they would have to re-orgnaize later.
But they all made it to the door where the swarmed the young professor.

Messy black hair? Check. Green eyes? Check. Air of mischief and Dumbledore-y all-knowingness? Double check. Facial expression crazy enough to make you believe he'd willingly date Bellatrix black? Oh yeah.

"Come in! Come in! Plenty of packages to sit on if you don't mind getting baking ingredients all over your clothes." Fred commanded.

They parted and let the man inside where he found one such pile of boxes waist height to pop a squat.
"It does smell lovely in here. I came here expecting a joke shop being run out of a tiny apartment, and instead find a pastry shop running out of a tiny apartment." He teased.

"Yeah. It's the best we can do even on six part-time incomes. But business is finally picking up." George said. "Did you like the box we sent you?"

"Loved it!" He said. "Was a little disappointed not to receive any canary creams."

Fred and George looked at one another with matching consternation. Psychic show off.

"What are canary creams?" Katie asked.

"A failed experiment from two years back." Fred said. "We couldn't get them to actually turn people into oversized canaries. The beak and eyes weren't right, and they made you grey instead of yellow."
Morrigan hummed.

"I would recommend switching the canary feathers for crane feathers, and for color add extract of golden tentacula. Dilute it as much as humanly possible though." He advised. "But anyhoo. Instead of talking products you will be releasing in the future, let's talk business. I want to invest in your little business endeavor."

It took a lot of self-restraint not to fist pump into the air at his pronouncement, but somehow George managed.

"What did you have in mind, sir." Katie asked.

"Please, please! Let's not get bogged down with the honorifics like sir... call me professor." he said with a grin.

George and Angelina snorted at the joke. But Morrigan stopped smiling at his own humor in favor of frowning at Katie.

"Miss Bell, shouldn't you be attending Hogwarts for your final year?" He asked.

Katie shrugged.

"I bailed. My fiancé already offered me my second choice in dream job, and with the war going on getting NEWTs seems less important than working and building a family." She explained. "Besides, as you showed I can always just take them later and with a few years of self-study I'll probably score higher."

Morrigan nodded at this reasoning.

"So, let's address the elephant in the room far too small for an elephant." Morrigan moved on. "You all need larger facilities to operate out of. This simply will not do."

Ouch. If he was about to propose investing enough to purchase or rent a proper store, then the percentage of dividends he would demand as a result might break the bank. There would be no profitability for the rest of them.

"And as I'm sure Albus told you in the last meeting, I recently purchased the Shrieking shack from him. it is yours to operate out of." Morrigan said.

Now that was an unexpected windfall.

"But I thought you were going to run a werefwolf shelter out of it?" George pointed out.

"And I shall. Three days out of the month. The rest of the month will see all of that space going unused. And worse, now that I'm a professor at Hogwarts with my won quarters, it is also going unlived in for the rest of the month as well. This is an enormous security risk, as there are many out there who would wish to do werewolves harm, or else sabotage the project." Morrigan explained. "With you six operating your shop out of there, that would add an additional layer of security and put my mind at ease."

Fred nodded along with his reasoning.

"So, it'll be our store for all of the month except the days of the full moon?" Fred summarized. "Do you also require us to volunteer at the shelter?"

"Only if you want to, but I would prefer you didn't." Morrigan said. "I know you six work twenty-four seven, as most new business owners do. Six people working eight hour shifts in pairs. I suggest instead you take those three days per month off. How many business owners can claim to get monthly vacations? Oh, and you should know the attic is essentially my apartment, and shall now be your apartment. When does your lease here end?"

"It's a month to month. We can technically end it now and move in tomorrow." Angelina said.

"That is excellent. The place does need some work to be a proper store. I have filled nearly every room with military style barracks, but they can easily be enchanted to have a switching transfiguration to swap between being bunk beds and store shelves. And the place does need a woman's touch, in fact it could even require three ladies to complete the task of making it presentable." He explained. "I will pay for any such improvements, in addition to a storage shed to put your products during the full moon."

Wow. This was by far a better deal than they could ever have hoped for. It almost seemed too good.
"And what do you expect in return for this business relationship?" Fred and George said at once.
Morrigan leaned back in though.

"Well, let's see. In exchange for renting out both a living space and workspace, I will already be getting your services as a layer of security and any work you put in to add equity to my property value. That is already almost enough in return. But I would also like to fund your future research and development as needed. In exchange for that I want..." He paused and pretended to count everyone in the room, pointing at them one by one until he landed on himself. "Seven. I want one-seventh of all profit. Not gross! Profit."

That was a steal, although taking into account the other benefits he pointed out that they were providing him it did seem close to fair, if slightly benefitting them. Fred was ready to reach out a hand to shake on the offer when his twin dropped a bucket of cold water on them all.

"Cut the crap." George said angrily. "What is the extra catch you want in return."

Morrigan lost all jovialness and returned George's serious expression.

"There are two." Morrigan admitted.

Here we go.

"In the likely event I die, I want you all to take over the shelter." Morrigan started. "Which is a huge addition to your workload, but I would word the contract that you are left in charge of who to pass it onto. Essentially, I will be making you the executioners of my will."

Oh. Well, that wasn't too bad.

"This of course comes with the added benefit That the Morrigan estate and the value therein will fall equally between the six of you." He explained. "Which I think should make up for the added headache this catch will bring you."

that was a bit much. It explained why he offered such a sweet deal up front.
"And the second catch?" George pressed.

Morrigan sighed. He clearly wasn't looking forward to their reaction to this one.

"There is a piece of parchment in that drawer over there." Morrigan said, pointing to George's workbench. "I want it."

Katie rolled her eyes.

"We all know about the map, professor. You can speak openly." She said.

"Oh, thank god! yeah I need the map." He said, his cheerfulness returning.

"How do you even know about it?" Lee asked.

"I'm about to lie to you. I need you to pretend to accept it." Morrigan said. "I saw it in a vision. That was the lie. Now for a truth, I require it now that I'm at Hogwarts, and you do not now that you're out of it. It is also no secret that Hadrian Morrigan is not my real name, as I only just inherited it. I need my true name to remain a secret or else I cannot succeed in my mission."

Finally! The mystery of this man was at their fingertips. And yet he was asking them up front not to open that pandora's box?

"What is your mission?" Angelina asked.

"The question on everyone's mind lately." Alicia said. "Watch him try to skirt around answering it."
"Voldemort." He said. "I am her to destroy Voldemort and end his war. that is my only purpose. I am even willing to subject myself to an unbreakable vow if that's what it takes to convince you, but my identity must remain a secret, even from you, and the map will be an invaluable tool for me regardless."

Fred whistled at the confession. It made sense, if they so much as peeked at the map during the welcome feast later that evening the cat would be out of the bag. And that he was willing to go to these extremes meant his identity might be significant enough to lose the war if it got out. He seemed Ernest, was a man of good humor, and was trusted or at least liked by far more scrupulous and wise people than them. Hell, Garrick Ollivander as a character reference was close to proof enough that he was on the side of good, wherever that side was. Speaking of Ollivander.

"Meet us at Ollivanders in ten minutes." Fred said. "He will perform the vow, and he can be a legal witness to our verbal contract until we can have the goblins hash out a proper contract."

Morrigan nodded, stood up and left without another word. When the door closed they immediately went into crisis mode.

"I want to trust him! I really do!" George admitted.

"Same. But I also really, really want to solve the mystery of Hadrian Morrigan." Alicia said.

"Professor Hadrian Morrigan." Katie corrected.

"It's a moot point. We will never get an offer that good again in our lives." Lee pointed out. "We have to accept it!"

"That doesn't mean we have to like it." Angelina finally said.

"The unbreakable vow is the only reason we should accept." George said.

"Oh right! Because having our own mansion, dream store and inheriting the power of an ancient and noble house aren't reason enough!" Katie countered.

They all had to concede to that point.

Harry entered the divination classroom rubbing the marks on his hand from the unbreakable vow. They would burn for the rest of the day, but at least it wasn't his writing hand. He would need that.
Upon entering, he confirmed what he already suspected.

"Might as well have a big neon sign saying 'Sybill was here'," he muttered to himself.

Thick, raggedy curtains that had seldom been dusted covering the many windows? Check. Tea tables stained and unpolished covering every inch of floor not hidden by ugly hippie-design rugs? Check. The only thing missing was the bat's collection of hideous teacups. Good riddance.

He walked behind the desk where another set of nasty curtains hid his new private quarters and discovered—with no small amount of relief—that it looked unlived in. Trelawney had been sacked and moved out of her own free will not murdered. In the latter case, he'd have had much more disposal work to be getting on with.

Seeing his suitcases were already there, he made his way back to the desk where the paperwork awaited him. He promptly ignored it.

"May I speak to the house-elf present?" he called out to the room while staring squarely at where his extended senses told him one stood hiding.

She popped into existence with an 'eep!' and sputtered out her response.

"How can Tofty be helpings you today, Professor Morrigan sir?" she asked.

Tofty? That sure was one peculiar coincidence. He'd have to mention it to the other Tofty when he finally joined her for weekend tea.

"Hello, Tofty. I will be doing some redecorating today and I was hoping you and a few of your friends could help me." He told her. "I will be removing these curtains, rugs, and likely the furniture. If you and some of the other house elves would transport them to the room of hidden things and bring me suitable replacements you would have my supreme gratitude."

By the time he finished his request, she was vibrating on her toes in excitement. Before he even managed to stand back up from kneeling to talk to the old creature, the curtains and rugs were gone. Just vanished, as if by magic. He had to let his eyes adjust to the sudden flood of sunlight, but when they did, he gasped at what the zealous little house elf had revealed.

The lack of curtains revealed identical pairs of glass doors at different intervals around the tower. Outside each of the doors was identical, circular patios with ornate metal railings and tarpaulin covers. He walked through the nearest set and smiled at the gorgeous view of the Black Lake and Forbidden Forest beyond.

"That woman had her students cooped up in there instead of sitting out here?" He said to himself in bafflement.

He could understand her methods to an extent. A hot, humid room filled with the vapors of many herbs in order to get her students into a drowsy state was certainly a valid way to open the mind. Especially since children were more susceptible to sensing the greater universe. But it was hardly the only way, nor one that would be effective for every student.

"Which curtains would Professor Mordrian like, sirs," Tofty's voice called from behind him.
Mordrian? He liked it!

He turned around to discover she had brought a dozen specimens from the room of hidden junk and splayed them across every available surface. Most were boring shades of brown, black, or white. He was very tempted to use a set of transparent curtains with twinkling star lights embedded into it, but it seemed more suited for a garish ball dress or a nightgown than curtains. He quickly settled on a set of baby blue curtains.

"And I would like them to be pinned to the sides of the glass doors, not covering them, if it's all the same to you." he instructed.

In short order, the patios were all furnished with metal tables and chairs matching those in some of the greenhouses, and all of the furniture inside of the classroom, save for his desk, was gone. Tofty tried to ask him what type of rugs he would like to have installed over the stone flooring, but he simply couldn't decide between all of the awful samples she brought along. And he still wanted to put some kind of paintings around the room.

For now, he opted to put it off for later and settled into his office chair to read through the documents. Oh boy were they extensive.

The first was a simple agreement to obey the law while on Hogwarts grounds. Which seemed a bit superfluous.

What was the punishment for breaking the laws inside the grounds? Same as breaking them outside of the school plus extra fines. It was kinda like traffic laws meant to prevent vehicular death or property destruction. Murder/manslaughter and arson were both already illegal. So why all the traffic stops and fines? Of course, everybody knew the real answer to that leading question.

The next one detailed proper conduct in front of students. It was all simple stuff. Avoiding four-letter words, crass statements, and discussing sex lives or in-depth personal history. Pretty obvious. There was also a dress code that explicitly forbade showing cleavage, legs or backsides for women and abdominals, chest, or codpieces for men. There was also express denial of perfumes and colognes—especially erotic ones and those dosed with magical aphrodisiacs—and of course any kind of violent behavior towards students.

The long list of violent acts ranged from slapping to spitting to pretty much every spell aside from the disarming jinx, shielding charms, and the Glisseo charm. After reading that particular bit of information, he went back and discovered "tripping" students was not mentioned on the list of physically violent acts that were forbidden. Noted.

The document did hold a disclaimer that the contract did not, in any way, restrict his legal rights to defend himself or others against deadly force with an appropriate level of retaliation from anybody. Also noted.

The dress codes and some speech codes carried with them a punishment of termination on grounds of sexual harassment, which Harry thought was a bit extreme until he thought about the way many women dressed in Muggle jobs he had worked and imagined how quickly the men in those places would have been fired if they were dressed half as provocatively... Yup, having your tits half hanging out and a skirt short enough to straight up your birth canal in a work or school environment is most definitely sexual harassment. Of course, in the Muggle world that could easily be solved by having a dress code that amounted to "Everybody must wear a suit and tie! No exceptions!" which was the dress code that the male half of the population was usually subjected to anyways.

If he ever got a job in a Muggle place again he'd have to try out wearing cod pieces and other sexually provocative clothes. It would make for easy suing on discrimination grounds if he was fired for it while his female coworkers got a free pass on their unacceptable manner of dress.

After signing that first document with the provided blood quill, it vanished to who-knows-where and he moved on to the next document.

Mediation between faculty members was also pretty simple. Keep disagreements private. Let no students see or hear about any such conflicts and if it cannot be dealt with privately, a third-party mediator—see, Albus bloody Dumbledore—will mediate it for you.

Signed and vanished.

The document detailing the proper methods for removing house points or assigning detentions and acceptable reasons to do so was rather revealing. Particularly the part detailing that all such detentions had to be observed by a third party. Usually in the form of a watchful ghost, portrait or house-elf so as to ensure that nothing untoward happens between students and faculty in private...and to ensure there were extra witnesses incapable of lying to the Headmaster in the event a student claimed something had.

Signed and vanished.

Then came the privileges of the position. It was the shortest document yet, and it detailed his right to move freely into, out of, and around the Hogwarts grounds anywhere except the private quarters of faculty and students except to guarantee said student's safety. Only heads of houses usually had any cause to enter students private quarters anyways so he didn't have to worry about that. It also specified that he had free reign over the restricted section of the library—so long as he followed the library rules—and that he had the right to know all current passwords for any and all passages such as common rooms and the headmaster's office.

Signed and vanished. He would need to ask Albus about getting copies of the documents for intermittent perusal and refreshers.

The final one, which probably should have been the first one, was an oath of secrecy. One which would magically bind him into keeping his silence on every internal practice of Hogwarts and her security measures, such as passwords, Auror, ghost and prefect patrol routes, and so forth unless directed to by law.

He didn't even hesitate on that one.

With the paperwork finished he was now a member of the Hogwarts faculty.

Right then was probably a good time to be a responsible adult and tackle the legal and financial challenges of trying to claim his entitlements as the heir to the Morrigan family. He really needed to get on top of that. Hire a surrogate to perform his duties in the Wizengomat and Hogwarts board of governors. It was either that or pull a Dumbledore and somehow manage to do all three full-time jobs at once.

Like hell!

But it was his last day of freedom, he had nobody in mind for either surrogate position and he simply didn't want to. So instead, he spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up and redecorating. Whoever said Harry Potter didn't have a feminine side obviously didn't know him.

Everyone seemed rather surprised to see him when he arrived for the welcoming feast. They looked at him as if he were a complete stranger who had somehow broken into the castle.

For a split second he wondered if he had hallucinated the entire morning or walked into yet another alternate universe—that was until Professor Santiago passed a handful of galleons to Remus.

Ah. They had expected him to get lost in the castle. It was a reasonable concern, he supposed.

"I take it the castle didn't give you any trouble on your way up or down from your classroom?" Albus greeted.

Harry took the open seat between Severus and Filius before answering.

"Well, I'm definitely getting my cardio in, and I'm sure my knees will pay the price if I do this job for very many years, but for now, Hogwarts is lovely," Harry answered honestly.

"The school hasn't got you with a trick step, trap door, or switching staircase yet?" Elvira asked suspiciously.

"No! Why would she do that? She likes me," he exclaimed, coming to Hogwarts' defense.

A few of his fellow teachers shared concerned looks, obviously fearing for his sanity.

"You speak of the school as if it is a person," scoffed Minerva, "as if it can talk."

"Well, talk is a bit of a stretch. I would say communicate. The castle can communicate," Harry said with certainty, "but yes. She most certainly is a person."

Dumbledore stepped in.

"I find it enlightening to start conversations like this by defining our terms," he said, "despite all speaking English, we sometimes find ourselves in situations where we are talking in completely different languages."

Harry refrained from elaborating on Albus' pointing out he was thinking of Epicurus, not himself, but decided against it as he didn't want to derail the conversation. His colleagues would either descend into the minutia of which ancient philosopher said which. Which would add nothing to the discussion.
"I get exactly what you mean. Personhood, I think, is a rather broad term that should encompass more than human beings," Harry elaborated, "centaurs, giants, house elves, and even trolls are certainly persons, though trolls might be a bit of a stretch."

His fellow teachers began to nod in agreement to his statement.

"But those are all flesh and blood and I would expand my definition even further. Ghosts and even portraits display all the characteristics of 'Personhood' as well, do they not?" he asked rhetorically to another round of nods, "and in muggle fiction, even machines of the far-off future can think, communicate ideas and desires, or have unique personalities. By this definition I argue Hogwarts is a person."
The nodding eventually stoppe
d as he began sharing topics most of his peers weren't familiar with.
"Hogwarts, the castle, can think, feel, express ideas, and has a personality?" clarified Remus.

"Absolutely! A place this flooded with magic? Having witnessed so much history, tragedy, and beauty? She was bound to become more than a mere construction of stone and mortar eventually," he explained.

He received frowns for that one.

"That was an explanation for how such a thing could have come to be true, not an argument that it is true," criticized Pamona.

Harry thought on that. Yeah, he had segued into a bit of a non-sequitur. He would have to be careful about making arguments properly around these people. They were, after all, teachers. They would not tolerate poor grammar, rhetoric, or logical fallacies; Intentional, or otherwise.

"If I may be so bold, may I make an argument for it myself? It seems like a fun topic to play devil's advocate for." Asked Filius.

Harry nodded.

"Evidence for the castle being capable of thought, emotion, and express ideas and a personality?" he hummed to himself, "well, I would argue that the best evidence of that are the very trap doors and switching staircases we discussed earlier. They should merely be random, and though this could be chalked up to situational bias, the changes don't always feel particularly random, do they?"

Remus cut in.

"Sometimes the stairs only ever switch on you when you are in a rush, but most of the time the tricks of the school seem to be conspiring to get you into some kind of trouble," the werewolf observed, "and yet never too much trouble."

"In my experience," Minerva chimed in, "when the castle leads me on a trip I had not planned I find myself in a situation gone wildly out of control. Students fighting or lost or trapped or in some other manner it is obvious that I am needed there."

Harry had to resist the urge to nod. He wasn't from Hogwarts. He shouldn't hint at having those exact same experiences when he wasn't supposed to have never set foot there before, just that as a seer he knew the place itself was alive.

"So, the castle's personality, if we were to take this as a sign of sentient thought on the castle's part, is mischievous, but protective?" suggested Remus.

Wow. Completely missed the mark there, Remus.

"I don't think that's quite right," Severus countered, finally weighing in on the conversation, "it is a school, one intermittently meant to train warriors or well-adjusted adults. For that purpose, it does not want the students or faculty to die within its walls, but it does want to expose them to dangerous situations."

A bit closer to the mark, but a bit too pessimistic.

"So parental, but not babying." Minerva summarized, "I don't know. It does always seem more playful than it does resemble a mother falcon kicking its chick out of the nest to fly or die. I think we must be missing something."

It was then that Albus perked up.

"Wonderment," he explained in a word, hitting the nail on the head, "Hogwarts castle, above being a place of learning or safety, is a place of wonder. And her mischief-making is intended either to harden, educate, or—most importantly—expose the people in her walls to as many wonders as possible."
That about summed it up.

"Yes, I think that's right," agreed Remus, "the situations I landed in through little or no fault of my own, rare though they might have been, always led me to meeting the more interesting characters or places. To experiences that either hardened me, led to helping others, or simply inspired my imagination in ways that mere magic never could."

Harry's poker face broke as all around him everyone smiled and nodded in agreement. This was exactly the conclusion they had settled on in his original universe of how the castle conspired against her residents most of the time. If this was the caliber of conversation he could expect during mealtimes, then he was in good company to do what he loved: wasting mealtime away by discussing hypotheticals without committing to anything.

"I would very much like to have some pensieve parties with you all." Albus proposed, "and see if we could find any commonalities leading up to our wily adventures around the school. If we had done or said something to either offend the castle or make her think us deserving of reward leading up to any incidents."(A-N 1)

That did sound like a fun time. Unfortunately, none of them would have the free time to all get together and do such a thing anytime soon. As if to beleaguer that point, the first students to have taken the carriages walked into the Great Hall.

"Perhaps during the holiday break," Filius amended, "it would help to settle if our experiences here can't be chalked up to randomness and coincidences. For now, perchance we should be more conscientious? Let us try and notice any patterns in how Hogwarts treats us."

"And determine if Mister Morrigan's claims are true," Added Minerva, as a second carriageful of students walked in and took their seats at the different tables.

From there the conversation died as most of the teachers waved hello to the returning students. Or in Snape's case, return stink eyes to those who weren't happy to see him returning. Harry imitated Remus in sitting up stoically as the curious eyes of children and teenagers judged their worthiness. He failed miserably at remaining expressionless when he expanded his senses to try and feel the vibrations of conversation like he had with Bella and Draco only to hear comments about "the hot new guy sitting next to Snape." He needed to stop eavesdropping, because now his old habit of slouching in on himself when getting attention returned and he didn't need the extrasensory abilities to hear the giggles of young girls from the nearest table at his expense.

Was he blushing? He might have been blushing.

"I recommend caution, Mister Morrigan," warned Severus, the gigglers drawing his attention, "little girls with crushes are quaint. Teenage ones are terrifying and, more importantly, dangerous. Take it from a potions master."

Whether the man was trying to screw with him in retaliation to the vicious oratory bitch-slap from that morning or giving him a fair warning, Harry didn't know, which was why he didn't respond with the many retorts amounting to "I sincerely doubt you have any experiences with students having crushers on you". That, and he knew for a fact it wasn't true. God, he had to wonder about girls like Pansy and Romilda sometimes.

When the Great Hall was so full of students that their conversations were loud enough to make it impossible for the young ones to listen in on their elders, the chatting between staff members resumed.

Filius started a conversation with Albus about a recent paper discussing a theoretic charm meant to redirect the opposite force produced against an object when acting upon another object so that all of the force was directed on that second object, thus undoing the third law of thermodynamics. It was a fancy way of saying you could hit a rock with a sledgehammer and the rock would be twice as damaged, but you'd feel no recoil. Pretty neat, but well above Harry's ability to follow along.

"So, Severus." Harry began to start a friendly conversation to make up for that morning.

Snape looked up from his daunting task of glaring down any student who looked his way.

"I heard of a potion that was rumored to exist but was never confirmed. And I wanted your opinion on if its effects are even possible," he began, trying to tempt the academic with new knowledge.

Severus raised an eyebrow, which Harry took as a sign that he could continue bothering the man.
"It was called Liars Heartstone (AN-2). Supposedly, if you ingest the potion it makes you immune to Veritaserum," Harry explained, "with the catch being it stopped your heart dead if you were dosed with Veritaserum afterward. Reversible with palpitations combined with the antidote for Veritaserum, of course."

Snape blinked in confusion and seemed to suffer from a case of whiplash at the description. It was the kind of expression that said "what?!" more succinctly than words ever could.

"While I love the idea of a pre-emptive cyanide capsule in the event of interrogation," he began, and this time it was Harry's turn to blink and shake away a sudden case of whiplash, "I cannot think of a single combination of ingredients that would have that effect. The ingredients for Veritaserum itself affect brain chemistry—not anything that could affect hormones that increase or decrease the heart rate—and in fact has a soothing effect on the mind. I could probably come up with a potion that would have that effect if taken before a love or arousal potion, for what should be obvious reasons, but Veritaserum? Not a chance."

Harry smiled and nodded as the theories Severus was talking about went right over his head.

"Where did you hear of such an absurd potion?" Severus finally asked after failing to come up with a plausible answer to Harry's brain teaser.

"Town in Columbia," Harry admitted, "The small wizarding community there acted as a hub for the illegal movement of narcotics, animals, and human beings. They allegedly started making and taking the potion and were dying under questioning under Veritaserum, which disrupted authorities' efforts to end the trafficking. So, for years, Veritaserum was banned in interrogations."

Severus perked up and showed the rare sign of excitement.

"So, the potion is real? How does it work?" he asked eagerly.

"Oh, it was a complete farce," Harry admitted, "a farce that not only fooled the authorities into banning the use of Veritaserum and hamstrung their interdiction efforts but also tricked every lowlife criminal into buying and drinking the snake oil."

Severus blinked rapidly for a few seconds without speaking. Harry began to worry when he saw Snape's expression looked like he was in pain as his eyes watered slightly and his normally pale skin turned just a smidgeon red Until Harry realized Severus' face was straining against the laughter that threatened to spill out as he considered the hilarity of dozens if not hundreds of people being stymied by a fake potion.

Harry'd wanted to share that story with his original Snape for a long time. He had very nearly snuck away into the forbidden forest in order to retrieve the Resurrection Stone just to do so. He did eventually go back for it, but for very different reasons.

"But then how was it that the two wizards died?" Elvira, who sat on the opposite side of Snape, chimed in.

"They were both hand-picked to be fall guys with a history of heart problems and were both dosed by the same Auror. Or whatever magical law enforcement is called in the land of cocaine and caffeine. As you night have guessed, she didn't give them Veritaserum at all, but a small dose of chloroform laced with blue coral snake venom. Instant paralysis and heart attack," he explained, "thus, a years-long charade began."

Severus finally lost his battle and was forced to hide his laughter in his goblet by masking it as a coughing fit in need of water to cure.

Oh yeah. Harry had Snape's number.

"I believe it may be time to go meet the new students," said Minerva, excusing herself from the table, "I will return shortly."

She walked down the center aisle, past where the Sorting Hat and stool already sat, and strode through the large double doors.

Harry took this time to observe the excitable students who had filled the room almost to capacity. It took him mere moments to find the people he was looking for.

Ron, who was clearly not a prefect, sat near the end conspiring with Dean and Seamus in hushed tones about something or other. Probably rule-breaking or wartime information. He looked...softer, was the word that came to Harry's mind. Softer in this world than his own. It would seem that without Harry's influence, he hadn't become as much of a warrior at heart or in appearance. No giant chess pieces using you as a whiffle ball, Ron?

Hermione was a bit more difficult to spot, but there she was, hiding amongst the seventh years instead of the sixth. Her back hunched, her head in a book, and her person isolated from the other students. She seemed totally alone in the midst of the crowded table. Nobody talked to her. Nobody looked at her. Her posture and position at the Gryffindor table screamed "outcast", and it was a position Harry was familiar with.

Things did not seem well at Hogwarts.

He noted differences in other students as well. Neville looked much stronger in body, and he was disciplined in his posture. He wore his prefect's badge with pride. As did Fay Dunbar, a witch in his reality who had disappeared in fourth year after somehow taking her owls early. He heard she transferred back to a Muggle education but nobody knew for sure. Probably wise of the Muggleborn girl. In this world, she stuck around for some reason or another.

Draco was also much tamer than he remembered, not taking part in as much boisterous conversation with his classmates. Theo seemed to be the more energetic Slytherin of his year. There were other people in other years and houses he recognized. Both Patil sisters were in Ravenclaw, huddled with little Sue Li. He couldn't quite tell but Parvati looked less...girly. From a distance, she wasn't dressed up or make-upped like he remembered. Probably from not being so close to Lavender brown. Hanna and Susan were still fused at the shoulders in Hufflepuff, and there were many more new faces he hadn't known. Hogwarts had never been this crowded when he attended.

He would surely come to meet the new faces and learn the names to go with them soon enough.
His musings ended as Minerva returned with a litter of munchkins in tow, leaving Hagrid to sneak his way up to the head table where he joined them.

The hall went quiet as the scared eleven-year-olds stood at the center of attention before all eyes were on the sorting hat.

He began his song.

When young Godric hiked into the mountain brush thick,

He knew not what awaited him but marched on through soil slick.

He was joined by Rowena, who knew more than most,

the plants and beasts which the forest might host.

After weeks of trekking, who should they meet,

but the widow Helga who they found building a stone foundation at the mountain's feet.

The land of her deceased husband's held much promise, and forgotten to the ages,

so she was courted by Salazar, who sought to build a castle, a wizarding aegis.

Godric and Rowena made quick friends with these strangers,

and inspired by their plans and diligence, set aside their adventure in favor of these new labours.
And so the four, with magic and brawn, built a castle to glitter in the morning dawn.

To each they bestowed upon it's charter a different mission with which to barter.

For Slytherin sought safety and belonging in fellow followers of tradition,

he made the place a haven for their children, a sanctuary and beacon.

Helga knew naught but loneliness after leaving home for marriage and solitude again when plaque took that too away from her,

and so, she wanted a place of companionship, where meals and laughter of children could be heard.
Godric was a man of valor and sportsmanship, who wanted competition, rivalry and challenge in his daily life.

So made Hogwarts a place of hiking, boating, jousting and martial strife.

It was Rowena who helped them all achieve their mutual ideals, when she suggested they make a place that fulfilled all three, and a fourth to boot.

A place of learning, a school with no commute.

Huzzah! Her new friends and fiancé exclaimed. We shall make a school!

And so Hogwarts was born, but do not be a fool!

This is not merely a place of learning, but one of safety, kinship and self-mastery.

While you will be chosen to represent only one, fail to avail yourself of all four and you will live a life of slattery.

Harry joined in the standing ovation the hat earned for that one. As did the entire staff table and most of the older students. The hat had really outdone himself this time.

From there the new students were sorted into the four houses and Harry tuned it out, although he did gift little miss Rose Zeller and with a smile and a wave when she noticed him and clapped along when she was sorted into Hufflepuff. He did the same with the other first years he had fitted for wands under Garrick. God, but they were adorable. Shame he wouldn't be teaching any of them this year.

He came back around when Albus stood preparing for his speech.

"We have one more sorting to do this evening," he announced, "as is tradition, on the rare occasions we have a new member of faculty who never attended Hogwarts, we have the rare treat of seeing an adult wearing the sorting hat. Allow me to introduce your new divination teacher: Professor Hadrian Morrigan!"

Severus elbowed him to stand up and Harry felt his feet obey. He could smell Snape's amusement at his expense coming off of the man like a miasma.

Harry decided not to fight it and descended the steps from the head table down to the stool listening to much encouragement from students and staff alike as they egged him on. He sat down and gave Minerva a wink as she dropped the hat over his head.

Silence.

The hat did not speak for a time.

"You must know you are making my life rather difficult, Mister Potter," the hat whispered into his ear.
Harry grinned, and in the recesses of his mind spoke back.

"I know you can't share anything you learn from me. So, I opened it all up for you to see," he thought.
"Adults are difficult enough to sort without being flooded with so much information about an alternate universe. With maturity comes variety in thought and ideas. Equal suitableness to each house. You, more so than others."

Harry shrugged.

"Process of elimination then?" he offered.

"Hmm. Actually, I think I already have you pegged for Ravenclaw."

Harry blinked.

"I've, uh, never been the best student," he admitted, "and I don't know a lot about very many things. I don't have a mind for trivia."

He felt the hats' amusement.

"It is easiest to be fooled when one tries to fool themselves. You, who has walked through life seeking enlightenment by dipping your toe into every manner of career, field of study, and hobby, think yourself unknowledgeable? You, who has walked on every continent, built ties to political, criminal, military, and religious factions the world over, think yourself unworldly?"

Harry had to concede that point. And noticed the hat skipped right over his single-minded focus on mastering his...telemetry-like ability.

"That one goes without saying. Yes, mister Potter, you're perfectly studious. when you want to be. When you are interested in a task or find it enjoyable. Hard-working in it too, and certainly friendly enough. But your love of fellow people is outweighed by both your raw intelligence and bottomless ambition. But I honestly cannot decide whether to put you with Slytherin or Ravenclaw."

Harry almost panicked there. Being in Slytherin could lead to mistrust amongst students he needed to trust him.

"You are ambitious and cunning though, are you not? Playing the most powerful men in Britain like fiddles. Launching business and nonprofit campaigns. All with the end goal of saving the world," the hat reminded him.

Well yeah, but he didn't want everybody to know about that side of him. He'd prefer to be in Gryffindor so people would focus more on the traits of said house.

"Well, I have a policy when students ask me to put them in Gryffindor to hide their Slytherin traits. Do you know what I do to them?" the hat asked, rhetorically.

Harry shook his head.

"I put them in SLYTHERIN!" he announced the last word to the entire Great Hall.

Harry couldn't help laughing at the hat's humor and chuckled to himself all the while as Minerva removed the hat and let him make his way up to the staff table. He noted more subdued applause from most of the student body and knew he may have just lost a good bit of rapport amongst Gryffindors at the very least. But that would be easy enough to rebuild.

With that out of the way, Dumbledore announced the feast and the tables filled with food.

Harry helped himself to the myriad flavors of the chicken. Buffalo, barbecue, parmesan garlic, ranch, and regular old country fried. He'd been eating so healthy recently that he didn't realize he was craving some greasy goodness. As he dug in, he felt Filius nudge his side.

"Psst. Pass this to Severus and Elvira," Filius whispered as he surreptitiously passed him a coin purse under the table.

He did so without thinking and returned to his food before the implications dawned on him. He turned to Severus to see him splitting his winnings with Elvira.

"You bet on me being in Slytherin of all places?" he asked in disbelief.

"With that vicious tongue of yours? Are you kidding?" Elvira said conspiratorially.

"I had you pegged for one at first sight, to be honest," admitted Severus as he counted the sickles in his hand, "You reek of self-confidence, and though it pains me to admit it, competence. I knew you had to be one of ours."

Harry spent the rest of dinner stewing in his grumpiness at that. He would respond to any questions from Filius, Severus, Albus, or Elvira with a perfectly enunciated "Grumble grumble", between mouthfuls.

Dinner ended with Albus' usual start-of-term announcements. Banned items, forbidden forest, Auror guards, new defense teacher, new Divination teacher. Blah, blah, and blah.

There was a bit of not-quiet-enough discontent among the students about him taking on Sybil's old position. Harry noticed Lavender was one of them and guessed they really liked the old professor, but Severus broke him of that notion when he leaned in and whispered into his ear.

"Many students dropped the class because of your predecessor's... misbehavior. Some of the young ladies are regretting that decision now that she's being replaced by a young, handsome, mysterious outlander."

And this little piggy went "Grumble, grumble, grumble." all the way to bed.

Despite Snape's best attempt at making him dread the first day of class, he was quite looking forward to it. He was getting a mixed group of sixth and seventh years from all four houses, as there weren't enough students taking the class to split them up. And he was certain they'd make life easy for him.

And so, he changed into pajamas and crawled into bed, eager to learn the names of all of the students who hadn't existed in his timeline. He was always good with names, particularly when he had the map on hand to remind him what said names were.

Notes:

The original way he met the twins and their crew in the previous version was crap. I admitted that at the time, but I was trying to makeup for a plothole I overlooked. The map. This version is WAY better. I think you will all agree.

Also, slattery is a word. It means dirty* or untidy ness. It's where the word slut comes from, which didn't originally have sexual connotations. Hasn't been in use for half a millennia, but the sorting hat knows a lot of words not in common use anymore. Also, I REALLY want to write the story of Hogwarts founding based on this poem, but I have to finish all of these projects first.

(A/N-1)
I would invite you all to go back as well. Each time the castle seemed to lead people somewhere in the books.

(A/N-2)
Stolen shamelessly from the excellent fic, Renegade Cause by Silens Cursor. Aside from the ending.

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NonsensicalRants · Jan 28, 2023

Chapter 16:

First Day of School

Harry knew very little about the effectiveness of this worlds Trelawney as a teacher, but from what he could piece together from the negative comments about her he suspected his new students would have some catching up to do. But how to determine their skill levels? Pop quiz? Start of term competency check?

Pffft! Yeah right!

But knowing what he wasn't going to do only went so far to help him decide on his course of action. One would think Harry would have spent a considerable amount of time planning for his first class. One would be wrong. Problems like these were most easily and efficiently solved by having a simple conversation.

And so, he relaxed into his day and slept in until after the first round of classes began before heading down to the great hall. He took all of the main hallways down to breakfast, eschewing all secret passages and shortcuts to ensure as much exposure as possible. This way, the maximum number of students and faculty had the chance to pass him in the halls, as he explored the castle. He needed people to get the impression that there was something here for him to learn. But he was also making room so that if the fates decided to throw a fast ball out of left field with a random encounter, it could do so.

He somehow managed to make it all the way to the staff table without any incident beyond a shy wave from the random student. Not even a run-in with Peeves. How disappointing.

The great hall was mostly empty, save for groups of fifth through seventh years forming study groups at the different tables. The primary classes (charms, transfiguration, defense, etc) taught first through fourth years in the mornings, and electives met in the afternoons and evenings. This was mostly to allow older students the extra sleep they needed, but also because post-OWL students could drop classes they wouldn't need for their career choices or simply didn't pass with a high enough OWL to continue in. This freed up time for their areas of interest.

"Good morning mister Morrigan." Rebecca Pomphrey greeted.

She was one of only six people at the table that late in the morning. Just her, Sinistra, and three people he hadn't met before. The other elective teachers. And oh hey! Hooch was here too.

"Professor Maven, Hannigan and Grey, I presume." Harry greeted the two men and woman.

Emma Grey was a positively ancient witch, likely a former head of Saint Mungo's based on the sheer power of her healing aura. Most people earned a sort of "stench" to their magic as they aged depending on the types of magic they used most frequently. For most, this stench was like a recipe with many different ingredients forming a dish that was a mixture of charms, transfiguration and curses. And if you focus on just one type of magic over all others? Then it was like pure garlic, or lavender or lemongrass. With some people their affinity for the one type of magic they used was so strong that he couldn't not feel it. The only person he knew with an aura so attuned to a particular field of magic was Filius, who truly was a charms master. Most healers had such an aura.

She made no indication that she was aware of her surroundings whatsoever, so he let her be.

"I hoped you might find these handy." Said Maven, a brown-haired man with a receding hairline to rival Arthur Weasley and glasses thick enough to do the same with Myrtle.

He produced from his robes a pack of papers which he passed down the table.

"It details what level of arithmancy and runes my students are at, for wherever such topics crossover with your subject in class." He explained. "Sinistra added a few of the same for astronomy, which I know has much more to do with divination than arithmancy does, but still."

And like that he had most of the information he needed! Sans the pop quiz or hair-pulling. Thank you Moirai!

"I doubt very much that there will be much crossover between our classes." Said James Hannigan, a silver fox with black, peppered hair. "But I hope we can get along as colleagues."

Harry nodded then feigned curiosity and confusion as he turned to madam Hooch, she returned his gaze. Gold eyes meeting emerald ones.

"What subject do you teach, ma'am?" He asked. "Nobody mentioned you."

"That is likely because I am not a professor. My name is Rolanda Hooch. I am contracted by Hogwarts to manage the inter-house Quidditch league, any sporting clubs and to teach broom-riding, fitness, nutrition and safety. Among other miscellaneous tasks." She explained. "It doesn't keep me busy enough to really be a full-time employee, let alone a professor."

That was a lot more detailed job position than Harry would have imagined her having. He always just thought she taught first years how to ride brooms and refereed the Quidditch games.

"That is very close to being as important as professorship." Harry said honestly. "Why did nobody see fit to mention you?"

The woman shrugged.

"Did anybody mention the house-elves or Auror guards by name?" She asked rhetorically. "Or Argus?"
"Who?" Harry asked, the name barely ringing a bell.

"The lead caretaker." Explained Andrew. "He manages the house elves and maintains cleanliness and order in the school."

Oh! That's right. Filch had a first name, didn't he?

"Are there many sports clubs, Rolanda?" Harry asked.

"Mostly game clubs. Chess, gobbstones and the like. Most members are members of other clubs as well which makes my job of maintaining them easy enough." She explained. "Students keep trying to form a soccer, rugby and basketball league but the Quidditch teams already monopolize the stadium and we can't get funding to build courts for basketball or tennis."

Can't get funding, or can't get approved for funding? Harry resisted the urge to ask aloud the question which he already knew the answer to.

"What about HEMA sports?" Harry asked, remembering the hat's song. "Didn't Godric build places all over the grounds for fencing, boating and jousting?"

He didn't so much see the eyes of every NEWT and OWL student in the Gryffindor table turn their heads to look at him as he finished that sentence, but he did feel them. Come on Harry. Poker face time.

"Yes, and the facilities and supplies for such activities have been maintained, but they never leave storage." Hooch answered, oblivious to the attention from the students. "Except for the boats, which are used to transport first years to the castle for no other reason than to have some use for them now that the school doesn't hold mock naval battles or other boating events."

Holy shit, that sounded awesome! He couldn't wait for word of this previously little-known Hogwarts history to make the rounds through the student body. Hooch was going to have a busy time in the coming months.

"And how many students are required to form a club?" He asked, prompting the students within earshot to start taking notes on the conversation.

"A baker's dozen." She answered, only now noticing Andrew, James and Rebecca were laughing quietly at some joke she wasn't part of.

Even Emma was smirking slightly, although it was hard to tell from the mountains of sagging wrinkles which formed her adorable face.

"And students may be members of as many clubs as they wish?" He clarified.

"So long as they attend the minimum number of meetings, which can become difficult once they exceed two or three." Hooch explained.

Harry hummed to himself. Mentally patting himself on the back for being such a good Samaritan as to help Madam Hooch expand her working hours and maybe earn her way to qualifying as a Professor. He was just nice, that way.

"One last question before I head off to class. How do students apply to form a club anyways?" He asked.

"They can get an application from their heads of house. They fill it out, get it signed by the minimum number of students and confirmed by all four heads and the headmaster." She concluded.
"Got it!" He said, before standing up to leave.

"Welp!" Harry said more loudly than necessary. "I'm off to my first class. You guys caught all of that, right?"

He finished by pointing an accusatory finger to the different study groups near the staff table and got all the confirmation he needed. He didn't turn around to see the look of horror or anger on Rolinda's face as he left.

Boy did he ever wish he was a student again. This was going to be an interesting year.

His students were already waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder leading up to the divination classroom when he arrived. New teachers tended to have the effect of inspiring students to arrive early. Curiosity was a powerful motivator.

"Hello all!" He greeted as he pushed through the crowd to the wall directly behind the ladder.
He hip-checked the wall and it moved aside to reveal a stone staircase leading up to his classroom.
"Take the ladder or follow me up the stairs, I don't much care which." He commanded as he unlocked the trapdoor above them with a flick of his wand.

The 6th and 7th years split into two groups, one of which followed him up the stone steps and the other which took the ladder. When they arrived in his classroom their surprise at the change of decoration was evident on their faces.

Bright sunlight? Blue open curtains? Landscape paintings on the walls? Clean rugs covering the floor? Clearly, they were in the wrong classroom. these were surely the thoughts swirling in their heads.
But no. No they were not.

"Alright everybody! Pull up a piece of floor and we can get started." Harry instructed.

The students looked around nervously and a few were askance when they discovered there were no chairs or cushions on which to sit.

"You expect us to sit on the dirty floor?" Pansy demanded.

"No. I expect you to stand throughout my classes." Harry informed them. "And before you ask the "why", it is because standing improves blood flow, concentration and energy levels. You are here to learn, not to nap. That's what history class is for."

He got a few chuckles from the crack at Professor Binns but some of them still looked mutinous. So he elaborated further.

"You will notice that there is no chair behind my desk either." He said. "That is because sitting is terrible for your health overall. Some people say it's as bad for you as smoking, but that is a bit of an exaggeration. So stand or kneel, and live longer, healthier lives."

Interesting trivia tended to get children and teenagers to cooperate and so the ones in his classroom spread out until they were roughly equidistant from one another.

"Now. Roll call." He said then pointed to each student in turn and called their name without consulting the paper listing their names.

"Weasley, Patil, Patil, Zabini, Parkinson, Greengrass, Turpin, Brown, Malfoy, Abbot, Macmillan, Corner, Boot, Chang, Mclaggen aaaand." There were three students he didn't recognize.

He checked the roll. The first name he didn't recognize had a German name, but he tried his best.
"Veer-shcu-bleh-meh." Nailed it.

"Veirshunhenz." The young man corrected.

"That's what I said!" Harry said defensively. "Veer-to-the-left."

He studiously ignored the snickers from Mr Veirshunhenz's fellow Slytherins.

"Miss Calliope". he asked.

"H-here." Said a Ravenclaw redhead hiding behind Cho.

Timid little thing, that one.

"And finally, mister... Finnigan?" He said in surprise, discovering Seamus had a slightly older brother in this universe.

"Here." Said Sean Finnigan in an even thicker accent than his pyrotechnic brother.

Harry placed the student roll back onto his desk and addressed his class.

"Now. I'm going to turn around and write down my lesson plan on the board. Things that I believe are most important in a study of Divination. I will be very disappointed to discover my neck coated in spit balls after the fact." Harry informed the class and got a few chuckles. "Afterwards we will discuss which ones you have learned properly and which you haven't. I don't mean to disparage my predecessor, but I need to determine your skill levels and pop quizzes suck."

He turned around and wrote down a list of bullet points. Writing "Meditation Techniques" for the first one and "Ironic Predictions" for the second. Before he could continue onto the third his magical senses went haywire.

Reality was torn asunder as the laws of causality ceased to function for a split second and a hitherto nonexistent presence appeared in his classroom. If he wasn't already familiar with this exact type of magic or recognized the magical signature of this entity he would have spun around and fired a blasting curse at it. Since neither was the case he simply continued writing the bullet points and chastised the young girl.

"Miss Granger, while you and any other student not on my register roll are more than welcome to sit in on my class, I must ask that you use the door next time." He said before turning around.

He tried not to let his surprise at her appearance show on his face. He barely recognized the girl. It was hard to think of the brave, beautiful woman from his timeline as still having buckteeth, unkept hair and an un-made face. But here she was, with no effort put into her appearance. And he had thought Andrew's glasses were thick! He did recall she had never really bothered with makeup before the Yule ball and only after that did she wear it regularly when Lavendar and Parvati corrupted her. But her hair was never that bad.

The young woman was so shocked at being called out that she barely had the frame of mind to tuck the time turner back into her jumper. How she ever managed to keep that dangerous object a secret with such a terrible poker face baffled him. That she managed to do so for going on three years in this universe was a miracle.

"Er. Yes sir." Hermione managed to squeak out as she found a spot to stand between Padma and Parvati.

Harry barely avoided gagging at sir, but nodded at her before turning around and finishing the bullet points.

It was concerning to learn that his friend was stretching herself so thin by taking every single class (except, until now, divination). Almost as concerning as allowing a 13-16 year old girl own a time turner. Or at least it would be if the device weren't so inappropriately named.

The time turner did not, in fact, allow people to travel through time. As far as anybody knew such a thing was still impossible, despite the best efforts of Unspeakables. It actually used a really complicated, but interesting, workaround.

The same workaround that the resurrection stone used.

It worked by way of tapping into, what magical theorists called, The Ethereal Cuneiform. It was a concept which postulated(correctly) that the world around you, from the rocks, to the trees, to the water and air, remembered things. As if all of history was recorded upon it like etchings on a record disk. More unorthodox theorists might claim that reality itself, the fabric of spacetime and ambient magic, are also etched with memories. Music of tragedies and events long-forgotten carved into the greater consciousness of the universe. This more advanced theory was called the noosphere hypothesis.

The former is how ghosts and hauntings are formed. A terrible event can soak the earth with such raw emotion that the place replays that event into perpetuity until it is cleansed.

The resurrection stone worked on the latter principle, tapping into this "noosphere", this conglomerate of disembodied memories, emotions and knowledge in order to construct an artificial ghost of sorts. As with ghosts it is NOT the actual soul of the lost person. Worse, unlike ghosts it wasn't even an accurate representation of the deceased, but an imitation based on the faded memories that still-living people hold of them, or such memories that are bound to physical objects or places.

When all such people die or places lose their magic, what then does the resurrection stone have to use as a reference? Nothing, and so it creates a new wholly fictional person.

Experiments he and the Unspeakables did with the resurrection stone were put on hold once they figured this out, as the ethics of creating new self-aware sentients out of thin air were raised and none of them had the answer to it. And then the even more compelling ethical quandary of obliterating said entities each time the ring was removed led them to seal the object away. Permanently.

The time turner also worked on the noosphere hypothesis. How? By rewriting the memories within the noosphere. Effectively redefining past events by allowing the user to physically enter the noosphere and traverse it's memory like in a pensive. Difference with a pensive being, any energy put into the system affects the end result. Move an object within the noosphere memory and it effectively moves in real life.

It didn't break any laws of thermodynamics because no matter was being introduce or removed from the timeline, and energy was being conserved. You still exerted your own calories and magical energy with everything you did while traversing the noosphere. It's why time-turners were so exhausting to use. You also did not risk breaking causality, which was a nice touch.

What did all of this mean in lamens terms? It means the time turner does nothing more than create a shared hallucination between the participant and THE WORLD while allowing the user to experience more time subjectively. Or at least, this was the watered down version Hermione from his future had given him. He was sure the long version involved a lot of icky math and application of theoretical physics.

Higher magic is both weird and dangerous, and not for the faint of heart.

As for the resurrection stone, which they discovered was a twin to the mirror of Erised which also tapped into the noosphere, it meant that any information gleaned from shades brought back from it was unreliable at best and fictitious at worst. So, any anthropological or criminal investigative value it held was minimal, but still there. It would have been nice if the DMLE could simply resurrect murder victims and ask them who it was that killed them, unfortunately the biases of the investigators themselves changed the beliefs and knowledge of said shade before it even came into existence.
Just like the Mirror of Erised. Neither knowledge, nor truth.

"Let's start with he basics." Harry said as he turned back to the classroom. "Which meditation techniques have you learned so far in this class?"

His response was a sea of vacant looks, shrugging, and knowing smirks. Yup. That's about what he expected.

"Okay. What topics have you discussed?" He asked.

"Tea leaf reading." Offered Lisa Turpin.

"Dream recording and interpretation." Offered Ronald.

"We did a little palmistry." Said Blaise.

Harry sighed.

"That is all rather superficial, and little to do with applicable divination. Worse, all of those things can be taught together in a single semester, if that." Harry told them. "So what did you do the entire time in these classes?"

More shrugs and snickers.

"We mostly listened to Trelawney drone on about the great prophecy she had made and other constant self-aggrandizing." Hermione said distastefully.

Even the students who he knew were fond of the discipline begrudgingly agreed with that assessment. The more Harry learned about this universe's Trelawney the less he liked her. And he wasn't the biggest fan of the old bint in his own world.

"Very well. I guess we will have to go back to basics and build you guys up. But that's going to take some planning on my part so it'll have to wait for our next class together." He told that. "Which means this class will be entirely, ehem, academic."

They collectively groaned at that and they, as one, picked up their bags and retrieved their divination textbooks. Clearly they had misunderstood his meaning.

"No need for those!" He told them. "What I meant to say is, we will do an ask-and-answer session. Ask me anything at all - to do with divination, not my personal life thank you very much - and I will answer. Decide amongst yourselves what you want me to lecture on."

They perked up at this pronouncement and happily threw their bags back down before huddling together to whisper conspiratorially. Ah, inter-house unity. It's such a beautiful thing. He allowed them to debate amongst themselves as he added a few notes into his extremely rough course outline. It would be pretty atrocious if his sixth and seventh year students ended up receiving the same course work as his third year students, but it was looking like this would be the case.

He would have to find out a method for creating a more streamlined workload for the older students and at least get them through two or three years of work within the one year he had with them. So that they could pass his standards of what a divination OWL should be.

"Dousing rods." Verschen-whatever eventually demanded.

Harry looked up.

"Is that what you've all agreed on?" Harry clarified.

They mostly all nodded.

"Very well, before I discuss it, who would like to volunteer and explain what they already know, or think they know, about dousing." Harry asked.

Cho was the only one interested in the opportunity to earn some house points so Harry called on her hand.

"Holding two metal or wooden rods, a witch or wizard may use them as a sort of compass guiding them to whatever it is they seek." She cited. "The mechanisms by which they work is unknown."

"Two points to Ravenclaw." Harry awarded, only for Cho to look borderline offended at the insultingly low reward. "One for each point of that statement you got correct, out of five."

Harry flipped the chalk board over to the other side and wrote down each of the five points.

1 - Metal or wooden rods

2 - Compass analogy

3 - Wizard or witch

4 - Whatever they seek

5 - Mechanisms unknown

"Points one and two are correct. Points three through five are not." Harry Explained. "The use of dousing rods are not restricted to wizards and witches, the utility of seeking out things with them is highly limited and situation, and the mechanism by which they work is well documented and very simple."

The students rushed to dig out their note-taking equipment and jot down everything he said.

"On point number three, dousing is a technique of divining that, similar to EVERY other discipline within divination, anybody can learn and implement." Harry explained. "Even Muggles."

Zabini's hand shot up before the first syllable of the m-word left is mouth.

"Yes, mister Zabini?" Harry called on him.

"To clarify, when you say Muggles can use every technique within divination, are you exaggerating or can they really?" He asked in apparently genuine curiosity.

"Oh yes. Muggles, and even animals, dream don't you know? And just like all of us here every single Muggle has had one dream or another where they experienced an event that had yet to occur, or peered into the lives of people long deceased. Even if most don't remember it, which is one of the greatest values in having a dream journal. You would be shocked how magical Muggles really are."
Another hand, this time from Ron.

"Yes, mister Weasley?" Harry called on his best friend.

"Err, like what?" Ron asked hesitantly before adding "sir" as an afterthought.

Harry resisted the urge to cringe at being called sir by a student. He knew then and there he would never get used to the honorific so long as he taught his former classmates.

"Would you mind clarifying your question, please?"

"What kind of magic can Muggles do that would shock us?" He asked. "Not to get too off topic."

"Hmmm. I need to think of the best example." Harry stalled as he considered it, before the perfect one came to him. "I would have to say apparation."

"Muggles can apparate!?" Nearly half the class gushed out in unison.

"Muggles can apparate." Harry confirmed. "Almost always by accident and in times of extreme stress or else when unknowingly exposed to places of deep and ancient magic."

The students hung on his every word.

"Especially children, and usually with tragic ends. Every year hundreds of Muggles, children and adults alike, disappear without a trace." Harry explained. "They're sometimes found alive at impossible distances from where they vanished, or else... pieces of them are found. Most commonly in the wilderness, where the magic of nature hangs thick."

A few hisses of empathetic pain from his students later and he called on Calliope when he raised his hands.

"In other words muggles can sometimes tap into the ambient magic around them." He summarized.
"So... children go camping or hiking, hear a scary noise and splinch themselves?" The quiet girl clarified.

Harry nodded.

"And the pieces of them are carried off by the animals or elements. Or worse, they apparate ten meters down into the ground or into the middle of a tree or boulder. Instant death." He explained. "It's all very tragic."(AN-1)

Another hand from Draco.

"Last one on this topic then I'm getting back to dousing. Yes, mister Malfoy?" He called on his future friend.

"How and why are Muggles able to do magic at all?" He asked. "I thought the differentiation between Muggle and wizard was specifically that Muggles had no magic, not little magic like squibs."

This time Harry sucked in air through his teeth.

"That is a very complicated and highly debated topic. There are three main camps." Harry summarized. "The first is that external magic, traditionally classified as sorcery, in the form of ritualistic spells or just tapping into ambient energy is accessible to everyone and everything, which opens up a whole host of debates on the source of such magics. Demons? Gods? Other entities? It's a whole can of worms."

He went on.

"The second possibility is that Muggles inability to use magic is mostly developmental and partially psychological. Just like if you don't use muscles they remain weak, if you are not surrounded by and using magic you lose it. Muggle cities are built far away from natural sources of magic, and so their infants are not exposed to it as children, or more importantly while in the womb. Additionally, modern muggles do not even believe in magic. More accurately, they have a strong disbelief in it. It has been proven, in rather inhumane experiments, that you can convince a witch or wizard they are Muggles through the use of confundus or temporary memory charms, and they completely lose the ability to do magic, even accidentally. I personally don't buy either, the former because squibs, the latter because the implication that the whole of Muggle society could be transmuted into a wizarding society overnight with a single television cast is too scary to think about. But it does make sense. Ancient wizards convinced others only they could do magic, thus giving them a position of supreme power."

Which, if true, was a better explanation for the statute of secrecy than "Muggles are a threat" or "Muggles are annoying." If simply revealing magic to the world would increase the number of witches and wizards from the manageable hundred million or so to six billion and counting. Then no governing body could possibly manage such a large number of slaves, er, tax livestock, er, sovereign citizens. Yes. Sovereign citizens.

Many would claim that such anarchy would lead to a level of freedom, liberty and progression for the earth not seen since the Atlantean-Lemurian wars some twelve thousand years ago. It was the kind of pie-in-the-sky belief he'd expect from those gun-toting nutjobs Draco and Dudley went to the shooting range with. The kind of people who promoted civilian owned heavy artillery. Then again, Harry lived in a society where the average person had instant access to napalm, heavy ordinance and worse through a few swishes of a stick and yet they weren't living in a mad-max hellscape.

Harry was a bit skeptical of such romantic notions of what an ungoverned society would be like, and preferred to stay away from miniguns and bazookas, thank you very much. Either way, if he ever went down the insane supervillain route his first order of business would be a planetwide confundus to convince all muggles that they were wizards and watch the result.

"But onto point number four." Harry moved on before the conversation devolved any further. "You cannot use dousing rods to find just anything. They are specifically suited for discovering things that are buried beneath the ground and are either metallic or liquid. Which goes into point number five, why do they work?"

He gave the class ten whole seconds to see if any of them would offer a guess or hypothesis. A few were at least putting on a show of being deep in thought, but no hands flew into the air.

"Well, let's think about all of the pieces in this system. You have the human body, a generator which produces massive amounts of electromagnetic energy, grounded into the earth through your feet, a giant ball of molten magnetic nickel and iron. In your hands are two highly conductive rods of metal with a space of insulating air between them". He explained.

"And when passing over an underground stream of water, an insulator, whose friction with the highly insulated earth around it causes the conductive rods close in on each other ever so perceptibly. Or else when passing magnetically charged landmines, or buried treasure or gold veins. Are you starting to see how unmagical such a system is?" Harry finished.

It was amusing to see Hermione and Draco's faces light up at the explanation. Especially considering it was from listening to them drunkenly discuss this exact topic during an after party.

Celebrating with Ginny and Viktor after their teams trounced one-another in the 2006 Quidditch finals. Funnily enough it had been Draco who argued that the entire process was purely mundane and explained by electromagnetic principles. It was Hermione who believed that there was some element of magic to it, seeing as the system required a human mind directing the rods to find specific things. Magic is intent, after all.

Harry suspected it was a lot of column A and a bit of column B.

From there Harry let the class discuss the topics he had just lectured on between themselves as he stood back behind his desk refining his lesson plans.

And that was how the rest of their two hours together went. The students debating the mechanics of dousing rods, and other possible "magic" that could be wholly scientific, or the implications of Muggles being magical and not knowing it. A few astute students, like Blaise and Daphne, were off in their own little corner drafting an experiment to test the possibilities. Smart kids, all of them. A generation nearly wasted in war, and whose losses were a tragedy for the whole of wizardkind.

Soon the bell rang and Harry dismissed them.

"I will see you all next lesson and by then I'll have a proper class prepared for you." He informed them.
The students hesitated, but Hermione at least raised her hand and asked the question in all of their minds.

"What about homework?" She asked.

"Oh I won't be giving out homework." Harry said. "Ever."

The cheers of his students nearly shattered the sliding glass doors. Well, most of them. Cho, Daphne and Hermione were a bit offended.

Harry consoled them.

"A good friend of mine" - Hermione - " did some research into the effects of homework on subject retention." He explained. "Turns out, she wasn't the first as there have been hundreds of scientific studies in Muggle primary, secondary and post-secondary education all over the world on this exact topic. And guess what? Homework does not benefit student learning in any way. Worse, it seems to cause division in home life and further burns them out. Undue stress that I will not subject you to."
Skepticism reigned supreme upon his student's faces.

"I say your time outside of class is better spent researching things that interest you, and building friendships and romances with your peers that will last a lifetime and serve you much better than an essay on dousing rods." He explained. "Also, it's my job to teach you and I am given this slotted time to do so."

And if he can't teach them his subject in that slotted time, then he ought to be fired. Or so was his personal belief on this matter. He knew not to share such an idea with his students, or else fear repercussion when one of them inevitably mouthed off to another professor when they gave them an exorbitant amount of homework out of pure sadism.

"But, if you want the added workload I am happy to give out extra credit for a foot of writing on any of the debates you all had during this class. But I do genuinely believe your time would be better spent in the jousting club." He explained.

"There isn't a jousting club!" Ron corrected him angrily, before switching to excitement and curiosity. "Is there?!"

"There will be one soon." Harry said as ominously as he could manage.

Harry kept Hermione, Draco, Hannah and miss Cassiope behind as he made copies of his schedules.

"My classroom tends to be empty for more hours of the day than not." He told them. "As such, I have more free time to help study groups than most teachers. Here are the hours when students may come here for a quiet place to study, and I will happily help anybody in need with their homework or personal projects."

He handed them each a copy of flyers he had made detailing what he just said and the times of day his classroom and office were open to the public.

"I will be persona-non-grata on weekends, but if you would all be so kind as to pin these on your common-room notice boards, that would be greaaaaaaat." Harry requested.

They all agreed and made their way towards the exit.

"Miss Granger, stay." He said as he walked to the office.

"But, I'll be late to transfiguration!" She complained.

He waited for Draco, Hannah and Cassiope to vanish before responding cheekily.

"You and I both know you have no shortage of time to make it to any of your classes." He said knowingly as he disappeared into his private quarters.

One quick floo trip later and he returned from the Marchbanks residence with arms cradling an orange furball. The moment he re-entered the classroom Hermione melted into a fawning puddle at the sight of Crookshanks. Instant connection. That kind of thing happens when a witch meets her destined familiar.

"Oh, my goodness!" She squeaked as she held her hands out for the cat, which Harry happily passed over. "He's soooo handsome!"

It's true what they say, isn't it? About beauty being in the eye of the beholder? Only his bonded witch could find Crookshanks to be anything less than butt ugly, but seeing his clearly overworked and hyper-stressed friend light up was worth looking at the hideous feline.

"What's his name?" She asked cheerfully.

"Crookshanks. He is very old, but well-behaved. He is also yours." He said.

She paled at that.

"Mine?!" She said aghast. "I can't care for a pet. I'm barely getting enough sleep as it is!"

Harry smirked at his friend.

"He is not to be your pet. He is your familiar. I met him at the shop and knew I was meant to deliver him to you." He said, making jazz hands around his head and mounting "Psychic!" when she looked at him confusedly. "And he will not only be no trouble at all, but I argue he will be instrumental in helping relieve you of the stress you're going through by taking EVERY CLASS AT ONCE!"

She blushed profusely at that last part, burying her face into the purring ball of fur in her arms.

"Tell me, are you planning to also take all of the seventh year electives for your final year?" He asked.
"Just alchemy and magical theory, but I plan to drop History, ancient runes and arithmancy after this year." She said. "I think they'll let me test out and get my NEWTs for them early."

Harry nodded as he retrieved the transfer form, bill of sale and registration for Crookshanks.

"I filled out all of your information weeks ago. All you need to do is sign and he is legally yours." He told her as he splayed the documents on his desk.

She walked up to read them, still clutching Crookshanks for dear life, before her eyes widened comically at the sight of her home address, date of birth and other private information listed. She glanced at him suspiciously.

"Psychic!" He said dramatically, making jazz hands again.

She snorted at his antics but took the quill he offered all the same. With one flourish she took ownership of the part-kneazal and Harry folded the documents for her and stuffed them into her bag. So that she wouldn't have to let go of her new familiar, obviously.

He then pulled out his handy-dandy notebook and crossed off "Deliver Crookshanks to Hermione." It was right between "Have a conversation with the white house Hayes desk" and "Enchant an Adult-Sized Little Tyke Cozy Coupe to go 400 kph and taking it on the autobahn."

Contrary to popular belief, it was in fact possible to get a speeding ticket on that stretch of German road... but they'd have to catch you first!

As Hermione made to leave Harry opened the passage entrance for the stairway for her.

"And miss Granger." He called down after her.

She stopped and looked back up at him.

"Can I expect to see your name on my student roll next week?"

She absolutely blossomed into the brightest, buck-toothed grin Harry had ever seen.

"You can bet your life on it, Professor."

Harry smiled back at her before closing the entrance and returning to his desk. Only for her to return nanoseconds later through the trap door entrance, this time lacking Crookshanks and seemingly out of breath.

"Turn back from in front of the painting of Victoria falls." He instructed.

The girl went where he pointed, retrieved the time turner and turned back.

All in all, a good first day of class.

Missing 411? That's right! A wizard did it!

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NonsensicalRants · Jan 28, 2023

Chapter 17:

A Relaxing First Day

After a quiet lunch Harry went back to class for his second ever lesson as Divination professor. This time with the third years. All the way back up to his classroom he cursed fate for his class only being open to third years and above. Those first years could be damned adorable.

How did Minerva manage to avoid getting fired for picking one of them up and squeezing them like a teddy bear until unconscious or dead? How did she resist the temptation? And now he was obsessing about memories of Teddy when he was a toddler.

Sad mood : Incoming.

Fortunately, word had already gotten around that his class was interesting so once he arrived at the entrance to his classroom the youngest students he would get to teach were waiting for him. All four houses were, again, present. Clearly interest in the class was so low that he would be teaching all four houses together for each year.

How could a teacher be so bad that the majority of students changed classes or chose more difficult topics over one that most regarded as an easy O? When even lazy students dropped your easy class because the boredom was unbearable, that's when you know you've done a poor job.

"Up you go." He told them as he once again unlocked the trap door and opened the passage upwards.
When they shuffled into the classroom and didn't make any complaints about the standing requirements - news moves fast around here - he jumped into the lesson.

"This semester I will be teaching you all a skill that will not only serve you immensely in your study of Divination, but life in general." He told them. "I will be teaching as many forms of meditation and mental awareness as humanly possible."

He realized he forgot a step and so retrieved the roll call for the thirty-two students who now filled his classroom.

"Ambercrombe, Leanne."

"Present." Said a brown-haired Slytherin.

He moved down the list.

There was Bach, Johanne - descendent of the wizarding musical genius himself - and a Denavan, Homer. Then he got to the first name he recognized.

"Greengrass, Astoria?"

"Here." Said his once almost future sister-in-law.

She looked so different from her sister it was almost surprising they had the same father at all.
He went on to confirm the presence of a Godford Gregory, Hectorson Kevin, Inguine Denis, Istline Jessica, the twins Benjamin and Eric Johnson, and Komherst Sascha.

Then he got to a really interesting name.

"Lovegood, Xenophilius Junior."

"Present." Said Luna's adorable little brother.

If he ever got back to his own reality, he'd have to share any memories he got of the boy with his wandcrafting friend. Wait... Was Luna's mom alive?! He'd have to check on that.

From there he called on a pair of twins named Geoffrey and Ferdinand Olgaff, who were transfers from Durmstrang based on their accents and names, and a lot of other names he had never heard before in his life.

He paused on the final name on his register, somehow having completely failed to notice her presence until now.

"Vane, Romilda." He managed to say without a groan.

"Present." Said the uncomfortably well-endowed third year.

Jesus, had she been a third year when he was in his sixth? He remembered being under the impression that she was a year ABOVE him at the time. He would have to make sure to be wary of any gifts from her. Hadn't she eventually been arrested for date rape in his world, or was he thinking of somebody else? He hoped he was thinking of somebody else.

"So." He began his lecture properly. "What do you all know about meditation techniques?"

Several hands went up.

"Yes, miss Greengrass?" He called on little Tori.

"It's the first step towards learning occlumency techniques." She said. "Will you be teaching us occlumency later?"

Harry stifled a groan at the other students mumbling about what occlumency might be.

"Occlumency is the art of defending one's mind against mental attacks, ranging from mind-reading, obliviation or the imperius." Harry explained succinctly. "And no, I will never teach anybody occlumency. Both because it is illegal for me to do so, and I am not capable of teaching it anyways. I have zero talent in the mind arts and stopped after learning occlumency myself."

A few of the hands were still raised.

"Yes, mister Lovegood." He called on the platinum blonde.

"Meditation has health benefits that can extend life expectancy and quality of life and if done consistently can lead to unlocking mystical abilities, like astral projection and levitation."

Harry did groan that time, barely resisting the urge to take points. Actually, you know what?

"Two points from Ravenclaw and Slytherin for both of your terrible answers." He said to Xenophilius and Astoria. "And for, I must assume deliberately, trying to derail the topic of conversation."

The classroom soured at that, but Harry couldn't help noticing shy smirks on the two individuals in question. Yup. Definitely troublemakers.

"I will give you all one more chance to earn houseplants." He stopped talking as the class snickered and he let out a longwinded sigh.

Yup. He was never going to live that one down. Day one and he'd already made a gaff that would haunt him for however long his teaching career lasted.

"Yes, miss Vane." He called on the only person brave enough to raise a hand.

"Meditation is the art of mastering one's mind to improve concentration, emotional discipline, relaxation and other such purposes." She simplified.

"Two points to Gryffindor." He said as he wrote down her explanation on the blackboard, verbatim. "We will be focusing more on the relaxation and concentration portions of this discipline, and I'll be teaching it to you in such a way as to help you in all of your classes."

He waved his hand and magically pulled back all of the curtains to reveal the glass doors to the patios and the outdoor seating beyond.

"If everybody would file out to the patios and take a seat." He instructed.

They obeyed and shuffled out, trying to form little groups with their friends. There were five chairs on each patio, except for his at very center one where there were no chairs at all. He took his spot leaning against the rails of said middle patio and waited for everybody to take their seats. Five to a patio, with a few stragglers getting extra space.

"Today's lesson is very simple. You are to do as I do. Let me demonstrate." Harry instructed.

He leaned forward against the railing and took a deep breath, then slowly released it as he let his body relax. For the next minute he calmly gazed out on the grounds of Hogwarts. The warm afternoon breeze and singing of birds serenading him and the glittering waves of the black lake holding his loose attention. He didn't think. He didn't feel. He simply was.

After his sixty seconds of staring off into space was over, he took another deep breath and stood up, before addressing the class.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the most effective way I've found to clear one's mind." He explained. "Whereas most teachers of this skill will unhelpfully tell you to just clear your mind, I will actually walk you through the process of doing so. Now. You try."

A few hands shot up.

"Yes, miss Istline." He called on the African girl.

"You looked like you were just daydreaming. Are you teaching us to daydream?" She asked in her thick accent.

"Actually, yes. Daydreaming is a pretty good description of what I want you to try and do." He admitted. "But more like, staring off into space. Relax, try and think of nothing, and just be present."
Most of his students simply shrugged and did their best to comply. They each tried to relax in their seats and imitate his deep breath and sigh.

He stretched his magical senses and discovered that most of his students were failing at the exercise. He could feel the thoughts, emotions and jitteriness wafting off of them.

"I don't want you to consider or think about the beauty in the animals, plants or landscape you're gazing at. As valuable as it is to retain that wonder we all should have at the majesty of this world, that's not what I'm teaching you right now. You are trying to think about nothing at all. Release your worries and let the world revolve around you."

He spent the rest of the class walking amongst his students, pulling individuals aside and helping them perform more specific techniques to relax and let go. Some needed to slouch more, others did better with proper posture. Some had even simpler ticks that helped them to meditate, like rocking on their heels or walking around the classroom.

Mister Lovegood was the most difficult to figure out, but eventually he called on the house elfs to bring sliced cucumbers and celery for him to snack on and that did the trick. Some people really concentrate better when they're chewing on something, and Harry had a hunch little Xeno was one of them. A hunch that proved correct. he told the young man to bring gum to his classes in the future, and that he'd talk to the other teachers about letting him use it in their classes as well.

All the while he taught his class he wrote notes on every student in his handy dandy notebook, with plans to later write short files on all of them. Their learning needs, their personalities, physicals traits unique to them so he could better remember their names. Anything that would help him to better work with them. By the end of their two hours together he had all of them in a meditative state of cleared minds through one technique or another. Those who fell into the technique naturally he allowed to stop early and had them read or work on any assignments from other classes.

"Homework tonight is to simply try and enter this same state while writing assignments for your other classes." He told them. "In our next class we will discuss any observations you all made while trying to write essays in a meditative state. You are dismissed."

They filed out and Harry sighed in relief when the last of his students filed out.

First day of teaching : Finished.

"I hear you're teaching students how to daydream. Is this an accurate description of your class?" Minerva asked him at dinner, pulling out the claws before he even had time to fill his plate.

He decided on the 'lets put her off balance' approach to verbal sparring today.

"Actually yeah." Said Harry. "It's a meditative exercise to help some concentrate better and others to relax and unwind. Recover from the stresses of life."

"I cannot fathom how much benefit many of us would have derived from such techniques during our academic and professional careers had we learned these as thirteen-year-olds." Professor Grey piped up from her seat, winking at Minerva in a not-so-subtle jab.

The ancient one can speak?! It's a miracle!

"I agree." Said Severus. "I was taught occlumency early on and were I emperor for a day I would mandate it be taught before entering Hogwarts."

"May the world shudder, emperor Severus is convening with his court." Quipped Remus.

Severus gave him a sneering grin, clearly agreeing with the sentiment. Men like Severus, who knew themselves better than most, were as terrified of gaining power and authority as others were of them gaining said power and authority. There was a kind of wisdom in that.

"You aren't teaching them proto-occlumency are you?" Asked Filius.

"Maybe? That wasn't my intention, but these techniques could help them learn the mind arts later down the line." Harry admitted. "My aim is to help them better perform in divination classes and to better compliment their learning in other subjects. They need to klnow how to clear their mind in order to perform divination, so I need to get that prerequisite out of the way."

"As much as I'm sure my other professors appreciate that, I hope you do, in fact, plan to teach said divination techniques?" Asked Albus from his seat at the center of the table.

"Of course. It's only the first day and the students here are quick to pick up what I have to teach. Within a few weeks those taking my class seriously will have mastered them and the rest of the year will be a breeze." He said. "If all of the years are as bright as the third, sixth and seventh I might not have trouble catching them up in time for OWL and NEWT testing."

Minerva hummed.
"You do have your work cut out for you." She admitted.

Albus gave her a stern look and Harry simply had to ask.

"I'm hesitant to ask." He admitted. "But I'm equally hesitant to take the testimony of my students at face value. So tell me, how poor was my predecessor at her job?"

The uncomfortable silence spoke volume.

"I'm sorry to say, you will have to take the word of any students at face value." Said Albus. "You will find none at this table who will speak poorly of a coworker, past or present."

Harry expected as much, but it was still worth a shot. his non answer was still an answer though.
Translated into English, Albus just said the students were telling the truth. Not that he doubted them.

His first class must have been quick to post the flyers he gave them because after dinner twenty people, of all houses, came to his classroom for quiet study. Most of them not having even attended his classes to begin with. Thus, his classroom became a second library for students all the way from first to seventh years, each doing their own projects or wanting to help out by tutoring. He was surprised to find Hermione hadn't taken on the additional workload of helping with the study group, but Draco had. He recognized Rose Zeller doing her first essay on the levitation charm and couldn't stop himself from walking her and her two new Hufflepuff friends through it.

Hurrah! Adorable first years in his classroom!

Sad mood over Teddy : gone. Mostly.

He spent most of the open study period organizing what he'd written about his students so far and devising a file system he was making about them. It was as they were nearing curfew that the students finally filed out. All save for one.

"Professor Morrigan?" Draco approached him.

Harry was immediately on the defensive but did his best to hide it. Yes, he had been a well-behaved and attentive student and yes, his Draco had become one of his best friends and confidants in the future. But this was Draco Malfoy circa 1996.

He could tell through his stretched-out senses that the boy hadn't been marked but he was still the son of one of Voldemort's most trusted Death Eaters. Caution was to be expected.

"Yes, Mister Malfoy?" Said Harry.

"Granger, Abbot and I were wondering if you'd allow us to write a collaborative essay on the inherent magical abilities of Muggles." He asked.

The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood straight up.

"Collaborative essay?" He dared to ask.

He had never heard of such a thing in Hogwarts.

"Yeah. She and I have been arguing nonstop about it in the library and Hannah's just been writing down our points. Playing peacekeeper. We figured we might do what uncle Sev, er, Professors Snape lets us do and write an antagonistic essay together." Draco explains. "Where the essay contains both of our arguments and separate conclusions."

Snape let them get away with that? Harry wasn't sure, that sounded too... fun, for Snape to give it the green light. And like too much of a headache to read through. Just a vicious argument between those two in written format? Somehow, he wondered if this was more of a solution to cure the headache of their verbal arguments that the entire faculty came up with long ago. It seemed likely. With Harry not existing in this world the only two people who could have taken his place as Draco's nemesis would be Hermione and Ron... and Ron honestly wasn't up to the task.

"Against my better judgement, I'll allow this. If, you can provide proper sources on every point and counterpoint." Harry acquiesced. "But where are you going to get sources for your citations?"

"Already on top of that. I floo'd my father and now he's hounding a friend in the department of mysteries about info on it and Hannah convinced Susan to floo her aunt and ask for some public case files for the incidents you mentioned." Draco said with just a hint of pride in his forethought.

Still, something about what Draco just said didn't sit well with him.

"How in the world did you manage to make a floo call?" Harry asked.

"Oh right! I forgot you never attended Hogwarts." Said Draco. "All of the common rooms have fireplaces, but they only allow calls, not travel. They're monitored and have an Auror stationed next to each one, but we're allowed to use them if we schedule hours ahead of time."

Seemed like a huge security risk, but he recalled this was, in fact, the case in his own universe. Even if very few Gryffindors availed themselves of this privilege.

"I would love to have sat in on that conversation. How did Lucius react to that contentious theory?" Harry asked.

Draco somehow took this as an invitation to play ad libs.

"Hey dad? Is it true that Muggles often perform accidental apparation and kill themselves by splinching or reappearing in unfortunate places?" He said in an imitation of himself.

He then pretended to be sitting down with a book in one hand and glass of wine in the other, wearing a dour expression. While in this position he made a confused face before standing up, reaching into an imaginary container of some kind, then motioned as if igniting the floo in a separate fireplace.(Because of course Lucius has multiple fireplaces in his home office.) and stuck his head into said fictional fireplace.

"Rookwood. A word please." Said Draco in a damned good Lucius impression. "Mhmm. U-huh. I see. Fascinating."

Draco then imitated removing his head from the second floo and returning to his seat, before using his Lucius impersonation once more.

"That is correct."

Harry couldn't help laughing at the great performance, all without breaking character or so much as smirking too. he even went so far as to clap. Draco made a mocking bow as if he were being applauded by an entourage and Harry had to kick him out with a jest threat of detention.

This job was going to kill him. These kids were just too much sometimes.

He was about ready to turn in for the night himself when he decided to call on Hedwig. He wanted to share his first day with Bella so set about writing a letter detailing his excellent start.

Before he could even dip his quill into the ink a massive eagle owl swooped into his classroom. A very familiar eagle owl too.

Great. It was his first day as teacher and Lucius was already sending him hate mail.

Deciding it was best to get things over with he took the letter from the majestic creature's talon and tore it open.

We are proud of you

Welcome to the house of green

Love, the sisters black.

B.A.N

Harry recognized all three distinct handwritings in the note and didn't even need to stretch out his senses to realize Bella, Andy and Narcissa were all drinking at Malfoy manor. Deduction could be a powerful form of divination in its own right at times.

It was actually adorable how they had signed their initials separately and in the order they had written the note.

Still, one terrible haiku warranted another.

Your pride is welcome

A lion in snake's clothing

Your son's a menace

H.E.M

He sincerely hoped concatenation and possessives weren't a poetic faux-pass in the art of haiku-craft. It was kind of cheating he guessed, but he didn't care much. He was a Slytherin now, cheating was to be expected of him.

He was proud to discover each line of his haiku directly addressed each sister in turn in the exact same order they had addressed him. Sometimes cleverness was purely accidental.

And so, hoping the three sisters weren't passed out or being too much of a bother to Dobby, he sealed the letter and sent it back with the Malfoy eagle owl.

Today was a good day.

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NonsensicalRants · Jan 30, 2023

Chapter 18:

One Week Down

The remainder of the week was mostly a repeat of his first class with the third years, teaching the precursor to meditation techniques to each and every student. Some took to it like water, most needed guidance, surprisingly few fell asleep. And that's what he was for.

It wasn't a particularly difficult task. All he needed to do was find out any habits his students did when naturally absentminded. Do you often play with your hair absentmindedly? Great! Use that bad habit as a trigger to make your mind, well, absent. From pacing, to snacking, to slouching to twirling a quill. Each person is unique, hence the pointlessness of breathing and body awareness exercises when teaching people, particularly children, meditation.

The real hiccups he ran into were with the students themselves. Keeping a calm and cool exterior when encountering long dead friends was tough enough, doing so while two ex girlfriends reverted to horny teenagers was equally difficult. And so went his class with the fifth years, where Dennis Creevey, Ginevra Weasley and Luna Lovegood shared a table. And boy did they like to stare.

It may have been Snivellus' teasing, or the fact that due to his extrasensory capabilities he could actively FEEL what Ginny and Luna were putting off like a miasma of pheromones, but he got the feeling that if they were seventh years instead of fifth he would absolutely fall to temptation and lose his job. He committed to himself never to supervise a detention involving either of them. But isn't that what Filch and Hagrid are for? Hmm. What about Madam Pince and Pomphrey? He'd never had detention with either before which was partly because one of them didn't exist in his world, but still, he should ask them what their methods of detention are.

"I have them wash the linen and hospital gowns by hand with a galvanized washboard and hang them out to dry on the rooftop patio." Rebecca explained. "Only accessible through my office, if you're ever looking for a quiet place to sit and think away from students."

To think there were parts of the castle that even he hadn't been to. But something about how inviting the young healer had made her offer told Harry it might not be wise to accept, what with the whole him dating Bellatrix thing.

Irma Pince had a rather different answer.

"If you so much as think about pawning off troublemakers on me, I'll reduce you to potion ingredients for Severus and Lily's next potion experimentation binge." She warned, likely unaware that he knew who Lily was. "I have a difficult enough time trying to prevent vandalism and theft of the fourth greatest repository of magical knowledge in the world, don't give me more work!"

Harry had to resist informing her that it was actually the fifth largest, as that would reveal he knew about the one place that comes close to matching the ICW's Magnus Fontis, the magical side of the Library of Congress and that maze beneath the Great Plateau that the Egyptians guarded like treasure. That could get him into legal trouble, owning one of those surgically installed portkeys was one of the only ways known to escape from Azkaban, after all.

He'd be willing to bet quite a few galleons that she had one such portkey embedded into her palm, but he'd never make such an accusation in public. Or private for that matter.

Aside from that it was a quiet first week of classes. It was still too early in the year for tensions to be rising high enough that he'd have to break up fights, deal with bullies or overstressed students getting involved in self-destructive behaviors. His study groups were also going well, and he continued to exchange increasingly awful Haiku's with the black sisters. They, thankfully, stopped sending collaborative ones and were sending them individually.

Tis a bad habit

Keeping your lady waiting

Be prompt in writing

B.W.B

Clearly Bella had taken his delay in telling her about his first day as a slight. Perish the thought.

Wear the green proudly

It suits you better than red

It matches your eyes

A.I.T

Mrs Tonks was speaking to him with a familiarity as if to imply she knew better than she did. He had to wonder how much personal information Bella was sharing with her sisters? He used to be worried that she might be sharing information on him with Voldemort sympathizers. Turns out he should have been more frightened of the entirety of Britain knowing every detail about their budding romance. What else is new?

He takes after me

Spoiled Rotten and so vain

He'll grow out of it

N.D.M

Well, at least she's somewhat self-aware. And in good humor. Hopefully his friendship with the woman in this reality would go more smoothly than in his universe. And not be built on the sandy foundations of a life-debt triangle.

Aside from that all was peaceful and simple. He would teach the exact same thing to every group of students and helped those in need with homework. This still left him with plenty of free time to plan out his class schedule.

He knew he'd have to catch them up on palmistry(actual palmistry, not the superstitious bs used by soothsayers the world over), so he'd start with that. He needed to get them interested in basic philosophy and logic and try to get some economics in there to help them make accurate predictions. Each of these things were vital in making accurate predictions of the future, both generally for society and for an individual. He added body language to his palmistry plans.

It was Friday when he finally had his second class with the seventh years. Before he could even give them the same song and dance about clearing their minds Draco and Hermione handed him a twelve-page essay. Duel sided.

He then proceeded to actually give them the same song and dance about becoming absentminded and left them to their own devices. They quickly confirmed his suspicion that they had been hounding their younger years about the first actual divination test because they all had the hand of it within fifteen minutes.

Which left him an hour and a half to read and critique the 24-page essay on the inherent magic within Muggles. And it was one hell of an essay.

Beyond it being barely coherent with each paragraph alternately being written by one or the other, with commentary by miss Bones thrown in, the amount of information crammed in could have easily been stretched out into an essay twice as long. He was suddenly thankful that Harry and Ron's habit of bullshitting their way through essays was one neither of these three ever picked up.

At least their spelling, grammar and paragraph spacing were perfect. He had nightmares about the dressed single block of chicken scratch he was promised he'd get eventually. And so, he did his due diligence and actually graded the essay as he read their arguments, and by the end of it was thoroughly disappointed in his friends. He finally, regrettably, had a chance to open his bottle of red ink and scrawled a big, fat A for acceptable on the final page.

He checked the clock and discovered there was still twenty minutes left in class. And so, after quickly checking, for what must have been the hundredth time in just as many minutes, that his students were managing to keep their minds cleared he addressed the class.

"Alright everybody, I'm letting you out early since you decided to study ahead." He told them.
Cue the fanfare.

"I'll see you all Monday. Expect a more practical class this time." He warned. "Mister Malfoy, Miss Granger. Please stay behind."

The two excitedly approached his desk as their peers filed out. That excitement vanished when they saw their grade.

"An acceptable!?" They chorused.

"That's like C!" Hermione added, and Draco scowled at the reference to Muggle schooling.
It was actually more like a C plus, but he knew telling her that wouldn't console her.

"That's because it is acceptable." He told them. "I told you, or at least strongly hinted, I would be grading you based on the quality of your research and arguments. And while the latter was worth of an exceeds expectations, the former was not."

He took the essay back from them.

"Miss Granger, your position was that the theory of Muggles being inherently magical but incapable of using deliberate magic due to psychological factors cannot be possible." He summarized. "And your reasons were that if this were true adult Muggles, when they found out about magic, either by marrying a witch or wizard, siring a witch or wizard themselves or by going off the deep end and suddenly believing themselves Jesus reincarnated or an esper. But we don't see that happen. Is this a correct summary of your position?"

"Well, I also argued that squibs wouldn't exist if this were true. And that most children believe in some form of magic or another, by way of father Christmas, religious miracles, or superstitions about luck or I'll omens." She said.

Harry nodded.

"And Draco, you argued that it was likely because of the very incidents I exposed you to. The people dying or going missing due to accidental magic and that if magic was purely genetic Muggleborns simply would never exist, or certainly not in the numbers we see if it was simply a recessive gene. Is this a fair assessment?"

Draco hesitated.

"I had other things I wanted to argue, but I didn't want to be too... caustic, I think, is the word Susan uses when Granger and I get heated."

Ohhhh. He was starting to understand why their essay had been so lackluster.

"Do you mean to tell me." He ground out. "That you two agreed to do collaborative, argumentative essays together, and then missed the whole point of doing so by refusing to criticize each-other's arguments and points... out of fear of hurting each-other's feelings?!"

They had the decency to look abashed at that.

"Well, when you put it that way. It does make it sound like we're being a bit..." Draco began.

"Cowardly?" Hermione offered.

"Yes. That. But you don't understand sir. She and I have gotten into really heated discussions before. One or both of us had to go to Pomphrey in a few occasions."

Oh, Harry knew full well. Even after their Hogwarts days those two were volatile together. Volatile, but occasionally brilliant. Hermione had given Draco several black eyes like in third year when he mouthed off - and in a few of those occasions he had even been right - and he had returned the favor exactly once.

Ron had been there. But even he was too surprised at the venomous thing she had spouted at him that he couldn't bring himself to be enraged at the blonde ponce knocking her lights out. Draco, on the other hand, had the decency to look horrified about it. That Ron then responded by laughing his ass off surprised them all the most.

"What?!" He had said. "You've seen us duel before; she can take a punch. Especially a deserved one."

They never talked about that incident again. But they also never stopped making jokes about Draco's devotion to gender equality. And Hermione toned down her venom for the reformed Slytherin.

"And what holes in both of your theories did you think you missed?" Harry pushed on.

"Well, I think she missed out on the variability of magic in individuals." Draco admitted. "Not all witches and wizards are created equal, regardless of belief in magic or ones abilities. To the point that even having the term squib is less a definite title, than it is a spectrum."

This was exactly right. There are witches and wizards out there so weak in magic that they can't do anything more advanced than a levitation charm. But they are a witch and wizard all the same. They usually focus on potions.

"Correct. There are many people in this world born with so little magic that it's barely noticeable. In fact, a large portion of the Muggle population, due purely to centuries of breeding, are such people. So yes, most Muggles are incapable of advanced magic. But Apparition, especially accidental, isn't advanced. Especially not when in a place flooded with magic, like the deep wilds or ancient cites where weak Muggles can unintentionally tap into wells of power not their own." Harry explain. "Also, free hint. What are the two biggest signs that a person is particularly gifted in magical prowess?"

Hermione raised her hand and then blanched when Harry answered with a raised eyebrow. They weren't in class, after all.

"Performing magic at a particularly young age, or at a particularly old age." She recited.

That was also exactly correct. While Harry didn't hold the world record for the oldest person to have accidentally inflated a relative while angry, thirteen was pretty old for accidents like that. And it was an incident that became widely known purely because of what it implied about how potentially powerful he was.

Meanwhile Voldemort still had accidental explosions of magic into his seventies. What did that say about him? Beyond, you know, him being emotionally immature enough to throw temper tantrums in his twilight years. Yeah, he was that ridiculously powerful. Towards the end there he was more magical being than human.

"Are you saying... Ohhhh!" Draco said in realization. "If a witch or wizard is weak enough in magic, and doesn't develop what little they have from a young age, then like any other muscle or mental acuity it will decay with age and be nonexistent by adulthood."

Harry nodded at Draco's conclusion.

"It's more analogous to language." He said. "Children so horribly mistreated as to have never learned how to speak or socialize, by a certain age, are never able to learn how to do so at all. It is lost forever. Same for social skills."

That wasn't the only similarity between language and magic, however. But that was a strange and esoteric area of magical theory. Let's just say there's a reason spells are spelled "spell" and leave it at that.

"But surely there are people born with no magic at all?" Said Hermione.

"Theoretically that isn't even possible." Harry said. "Magic is required, or a by-product of(It's debated) life. No living thing, to our knowledge, has exactly zero magic. And very few nonliving things. But we have theorized what a person truly born without magic would behave."

They both hung on his every word.

"Magic would be unable to touch them. Taking the strange phenomena of those who are particularly weak in magic being unable to see many creatures, like dementors, and turning it up to an extreme." He explained. "Simply put, a living being, or object, completely devoid of magic would be immune to every spell, enchantment, potion or ward."

He had that same look on his face when he first heard that little theory. But it checked out. Such a thing would be particularly useful for all kind of of black ops. It was why so many government agencies and extra-legal organizations of... questionable moral standing has attempted to create such a being.
"Killing curse?" Said Hermione.

"Like a light breeze." Answered Harry.

"Fiendfyre?" Asked Draco.

"Fiendfyre specifically targets objects or living things particularly magical in nature. It was, after all, invented as a means of destroying cursed objects, not as an offensive spell." Harry answered. "You should know this, mister Malfoy.

By the look on his face Harry knew Draco would be asking his father to verify that one with Rookwood as well. Harry would very much like to meet this universe's version of Rookwood. He was a brilliant man, turned mad by Azkaban in his world. And arguably unfairly so.

"And I would also point out, that even Muggle adults particularly weak in magic perform magic all the time. Accidental or focused, but nearly always unintentionally." Harry explained. "For example, a few years ago there was a manhunt for somebody who was harassing a Muggle man by enchanting his keys to vanish after a certain amount of time. It turns out, he kept thinking his keys had gone missing and accidentally vanishing them himself."

They both laughed at that one.

"More common scenarios are people believing a home or place has a dark history and manifesting magic around them as shades or poltergeists, full on hauntings. More magically gifted people, divorced from their magic, develop something like proto-obscuri. Demons, in their own minds, that haunt them incessantly. That isn't getting into accidentally created Tulpa, manifesting wants and desires for long term goals in what, to the observer, seems like a run of good luck or the universe, or god, smiling upon them as they walk their path."

They nodded to every word. Harry was starting to think he might be cut out for this type of work.

"Now." He finished. "I'm going to give you one last chance to earn an Outstanding on this collaborative essay. I want five pages, single sided, by Monday. AND I want you guys to get into each other's faces and scream about what you think is right or wrong on this topic. Call each-other names, hell, come to blows if you have to. But you two together? I have all the faith in the world that you can get to the bottom of any mystery if you let your thesis, to her antithesis, come together as synthesis."

Ick. He definitely wouldn't be going with teaching them the utter bunk of Hagel's synthesis as an introduction to philosophical thinking. Fun thought experiment? Sure. useful tool for parsing reality, philosophy, religion, economics and politics? Absolutely not. Just have a gander at the gnostic ideologies of the 20th century and the 21 flavors of grievance narrative socialism it spawned as proof of that.

"You're dismissed." He told them.

They nearly sprinted from his classroom, and in the process knocked over poor Susan who had been listening in on their conversation from the top of the stairs.

Her aunt must have taught her some right proper sneaking for him to not have noticed her.

"That'll be ten points from Hufflepuff Miss Bones!" He called down the stairway as they fled. "For the dropping of eaves!"

He was so ready to see Bella again. And tell her all about his week. Unfortunately, that would have to wait until the morning.

He had already made an appointment that Friday evening to meet with his five sponsors and first group of volunteers for his Werewolf rehabilitation center. The place of meeting? Why, the lovely baby blue shrieking shack, of course!

He spent a good hour tidying up and even baked a loaf of banana bread - because it makes any home smell amazing! - so they might have something to snack on over tea and legalese. Fred provided all of the ingredients for it and Katie helped.

The place was looking fantastic. The woman's touch translated to more colorful wallpaper of orange sunflowers and yellow pomponettes, along with similarly floral curtains. The rugs and furniture were kept earthy browns, just bright enough to be distinguishable from the dark, hardwood floor. The whole placed looked like an actual flower garden. Needless to say, Harry loved it.

Then there were the shelves upon shelves of goods and the revamped kitchen, which was now a full-fledged bakery. Teh shelves of product looked more like library stacks but with boxes of joke treats and prank devices. These shelves filled all of the downstairs and second floor rooms, leaving only the basement and attic free from clutter. The former having been turned into the private apartment for his six friends, and the latter was designated for storage and large, walk-in freezers.

They might be able to get away with storing all of their product in the basement on full moons instead of needing an outdoor shed.

If tonight went well then they would be able to shelter their first batch of lycanthropes by the next full moon on the 26th(A/N-2) and if he was doubly lucky, he might find a piece of land by then as well. Hopefully he'd be able to get it done a few days before the full moon proper. Symptoms can be nasty even before the day in question for some strains.

With banana bread and a fresh pot of tea prepared he stood by the door with seconds to spare, and at exactly eight pm his guests announced their arrival with a knock on the door.

He smoothed his dress robes with his hands, cleared his throat, squared his shoulders and pulled the door open... only to then feel like falling to his knees when he came face to face with a woman who had the most beautiful pair of green eyes he had ever seen in his life.

Everyone had lied to him. His mother's eyes were so much prettier than his.

"Whoa." Said Lily Potter, as she glanced between her husband beside her and back at Harry.

It would have been nice of Dumbledore to have told him who his new benefactors were.

"Welcome to my humble operation." Harry managed to push through his breaking voice. "It's so nice to finally meet you in the flesh."

Oh, owe. The wording. Poor choice of words. That hurt. That hurt a lot. In fact, every face in the group that greeted him was like a punch to the gut.

Lily. James. Sirius. Remus. Even Peter was there, and he looked so much better than he'd ever seen him.

But there was a sixth face in the crowd. One he remembered from his trip to the bookshop.

"I told you!" The boy from the bookstore hissed to Lily and James.

What he had told them Harry didn't dare to ask. Instead, he raised up the best occlumency shields he could manage and committed to suffocate the overwhelming emotions threatening to overtake him. He would pay for it when the shields came down, but he'd pay for it when these strangers weren't there to see it.

"I would like to thank you all for agreeing to meet with me to discuss my nonprofit." Harry greeted, almost wincing at the robotic tone of voice brought about by his occlumency. "Could I interest you in some tea and banana bread?"

This was going to be a very long night.

Want your Story Written?
I take commissions now! you can pay me to write your fanfiction as three others are currently doing. My prices are as follows.

$25 per 1000 words of fanfiction, with some wiggle room. I don't pad my work. You also get to video chat with me as I type the first chapter.

$25 per 500 words for original fiction/nonfiction or anything else that is not fanfiction. I am still looking for my first nonfiction gig so I can move into ghostwriting professionally, so if you have a novel you really want written contact me.

Prices subject to change in the future. Check my profile.

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NonsensicalRants
You can also still become a patron for ONE DOLLAR to get access to future chapters 2 weeks early and vote on which stories I update Next. I have higher tiers, but I have no idea what to offer for them now that I lowered everything to one dollar.

NonsensicalRants · Jan 31, 2023

Chapter 19:

Dead Faces

Harry's offer of tea and banana bread was well received and once everybody was served, he took his seat at the head of the dining room table.

"So. I Understand Albus recruited you all to see if you'd join me in my endeavor?" Harry said in an overly polite manner. "Or was it you Remus?"

"Oh no, we all volunteered." Remus answered. "We all happened to be in an Order meeting when your letter arrived, and we're all interested."

Harry tried not to gawk at the man at his apparent slip.

"Order meeting? I'm not sure I understand?" Harry lied.

"Oh hush, you. We all know you're fully informed in the going-ons of the Order of the Phoenix." Lily told him.

Harry gulped. That didn't add up. There was no way they should know that he knew the Order of the Phoenix even existed. Was Dumbledore screwing with them all?

"I must insist on my ignorance of this Order." Said Harry. "But suffice to say you intercepted my request and have come to my aid?"

They all nodded.

"Well then, I do believe introductions are in order. I know I've met my colleague here and the young werewolf in the alley. Forgive me, I don't remember your name?" Harry said to the young man sandwiched between Lily and Remus.

He was far more amused by that sentence than it warranted.

"Romulus." He answered. "Romulus Lupin. I'd be a sixth year at Hogwarts, but I'm being homeschooled because of my condition."

Harry nodded in understanding. Miniscule, tiny little world.

"With your father's experiences in Hogwarts I'm sure you wanted to avoid all of the hassle and danger of being around others your age." Harry conceded.

"Well, it would have been fun to get Ron, Nev and 'Mione to become animagi and frolic about the Hogwarts grounds every full moon like this lot used to do, but they don't seem keen on me repeating their idiocies." Romulus answered.

... had he accidentally dosed them all with veritaserum? He decided against drinking his own tea.
"You all seem really loose-lipped about war secrets and past crimes that could get you put away. You three are still unregistered, correct?" He said to James, Peter and Sirius.

"Meh. We put up enough privacy and detection wards to catch even the world's greatest assassin before knocking on the door." Said Sirius. "So we can talk openly without fear.

"We really ought to come by and properly anchor those wards so they're permanent." James suggested. "We want your wards to be safe during the full moon. And taking a weekend out of our lives to save our foundation a thousand galleons hiring enchanters is just wise business practice."
Harry allowed his eyebrows to rise at that.

"You speak as if you've already decided to sponsor me." He said.

"Not only sponsor you, but devote as many waking hours as we can to volunteering here." Said Peter with a smile that lacked all of the cruelty and deceit of the Peter Harry had known.

Harry was surprised by his own lack of discomfort or repulsion by the man's presence. It helped that he looked much more human, and certainly masculine, than in his world. But he also just seemed... likeable, in a sleepy kind of way.

"Wow. I thought this would take some convincing. But I guess that works out. Is it because you are all such close friends with two werewolves that you decided to sponsor me?"

They shared a knowing looks.

"That alone would probably have been enough." Admitted James.

"But really, it's more our belief in you and the certainly that any cause you choose to pursue must be worthwhile." Said Remus. "What, with your knowledge of the future."

Harry's occlumency shields were starting to slip as his confusion at their behavior and reasoning seeped through.

"I would advise against putting so much faith into any diviner, let alone me." Said Harry. "I am nowhere near flawless in my predictions of the past or future."

Seriously? They all put that much stock into the most wooly Hogwarts subject there is? Whoever Trelawney's predecessor was must have been excellent to instill such faith in them. It would certainly explain why they took the prophecy so seriously in his timeline. And likely this one as well.

"Oh, we think your abilities at fortune telling might be a smidgeon better than the run of the mill sooth sayer." Said Sirius, barely holding back a smirk. "Is there anything important you can tell us? Time and day of deaths for instance? I'd like to maybe avoid our untimely demises if you have any info on them."
Peter smacked him on the back of the head.

Okay. So, they really were strangely confident in his seeing abilities. He'd just have to run with it.

"Well if I have any visions concerning you, I will share them post haste." Harry consoled them. "But per chance ask me of your futures and I can make predictions even without sight? Deduction is usually enough to make some educated guesses."

Romulus eagerly raised his hand and was bouncing on his chair.

"Hmm. Such a rowdy class today. So many eager hands from students." Harry said jokingly. "Mmmm, how about YOU! Mister Lupin. You have a question?"

"Ehem." Romulus cleared his throat dramatically. "Yes professor. I was wondering if you could tell me when in the future I learn how to do wandless magic?"

Harry considered the boy for a moment.

"Have you shown any talent for it in the past?" He asked.

"Well, no. I've been trying really hard at it lately but with no real success." Romulus admitted.
"Then what makes you think you will in the future?" Harry asked curiously.

Romulus gave him a deadpan look. Like something about that question was utterly demeaning.
"Call it a hunch." Said Romulus.

Harry leaned back in his chair.

"Well, I discovered wandless magic when I finally accepted magic fully and understood it on an instinctual level." He admitted. "Every witch and wizard at some point in their lives gets to the point where magic just clicks with them. Where the divide between spells become superfluous and with a wave of the wand, a mental command, and muscle memory a witch can set the dishes to wash and dry themselves, the duster and broom to get to work, and the laundry to fold itself all at the same time. No need for incantations or wand movements. It's like an artist finally becoming a master and not having to think about his work."

The adults present all nodded at the explanation.

"For some it becomes so second nature that they can instantly use any new spell they come across without incantation or wand movements, although all of them I've met are ancient men and women with over a century of life under their belt." Harry explained. "I can't quite do that, but I can learn any spell from seeing it done once. Still need the wand movements and incantation for most until I've got some practice."

At this point Romulus took out a tiny notebook from his breast pocket and jotted down what Harry was saying. he even had his own multicolored BIC pen. Good lad.

"It is that combined with the ability to truly feel the magic of the world around us, accept it's wild sentience and emotion, that I suddenly discovered I could tap into it with but my mind. No wand necessary." Harry finished. "Of course, I do believe very few people have the temperament to do it."
"Were there any specific events or experiences that got you to that point?" Lily asked.

Harry nodded.

"Actually, it was my apprenticeship underneath Ollivander learning wandcraft that first let me tap into that." Harry said.

"Wow!" Said James. "It only took you a few weeks under the old coot to gain this ability?"

Shit! Well that's a pretty big hole in his life story. Harry played it off by chuckling.

"Actually, I apprenticed under Ollivander for over a year with another apprentice. A pretty blonde." He said truthfully. "I only decided to reveal myself to the public recently after I returned from a tour around the world. Her you will have to wait and meet later."

That left his entourage in deep thought for a few moments before they, all at once, seemed to come to an understanding of his meaning.

"And who was this pretty blonde you speak of?" James asked in a strangely knowing tone. "Were you two close?"

"Actually yeah." Harry admitted. "We dated through our time together. She was wonderful. To be honest, I still very much love her. But we can't be together for reasons I'd rather keep private."

"Well then, we just need to keep our eyes out for any pretty blondes." Lily said with an oddly knowing smirk at Romulus.

This was becoming far more taxing than he expected, and in completely unexpected ways. He was supposed to be the one that left people off center and confused, it wasn't right for the tables to be turned on him in this way! Then again, he was dealing with all four Marauders simultaneous, the wife of one, and the son of another. Perhaps he'd finally met his match in pure zaniness?

"Right! Well, do you think Mr Ollivander would take me on?" Romulus asked eagerly.

Harry shrugged.

"Maybe. You'd have to ask him." Harry said. "He only took me on because I saved his life once. And the life of the aforementioned pretty blonde at the same time."

That left Romulus in deep thought.

"Then I'll just make sure I'm ready when the opportunity to do the same comes around." Said Romulus with conviction.

"What makes you think a similar opportunity will present itself to you as it did me?" Asked Harry.

Romulus gave him that same deadpan look from earlier.

"Call it a hunch." He repeated.

... Right, he needed to rush these lunatics out of his door before he punched one of them.

"Well I do have to be going to meet with my girlfriend soon. I have all of the paperwork necessary for you to sign." He told them as he got up to retrieve copies of the agreements to them.

"Er, right. About your girlfriend." Lily segued into the personal topic. "How did that matching come about?"

Harry considered his mother, momentarily forgetting about the stack of papers he was carrying.
"It, uh, sort of just happened honestly." He told her. "Do you have some kind of criticism of my choice in lover?"

Lily shuddered at his use of the word lover, but barreled on in putting her foot in her mouth.

"Well, the age difference is more than a little concerning, I think." She said haughtily. "To say nothing of her... questionable allegiances."

Harry mercilessly smothered the strange mix of emotions boiling up beneath his iron tight occlumency shields. Anger and incredulity at somebody criticizing the woman he was inexplicably fond of. Embarrassment and gratitude over his mother trying to look out for his wellbeing. Confusion at her concern for a son that she didn't even know was her son and the question of if she could somehow feel that maternal connection and be acting on it.

He responded in cool measure.

"With all due respect, Mrs Potter, whom I give my heart to is a personal affair and ours is a business relationship." He said. "While I'm happy to extend friendship above and beyond our shared duties in this nonprofit, I would ask that we keep my dating and sex life out of our conversations."

Lily sputtered at his curt rebuke and turned redder in the face than Ron when he joined Bill in visiting Fleur's extended family... on her grandmother's side.

She looked about ready to climb over the table and smack him.

"Why... you.. I think its very much my business!" She practically exploded. "I just want to make sure..."
James reached over and squeezed her hand, shutting her ho.

"Lils, he's right." He said. "He's a grown man and we already said we'd put our faith into whatever decisions he made. Let it go."

Lily Potter deflated and returned to her seat.

... Right, well, moving on.

Sirius, seemingly eager to break the tension, stopped him there.

"As hilarious as I find it to know my eldest cousin is cradle robbing our new boss, I would like to check the property to make sure it's all in order." Sirius said. "If that's alright with you?"

"Er, sure. I actually meant to give you a tour earlier, but I guess it slipped my mind in my nervousness." He admitted. "If you'd follow me."

"That won't be necessary." Peter told him as he and Sirius vanished, replaced by two hairy quadrupeds.

Padfoot and Wormtail then rampaged through the shrieking shack like they owned the place. Sirius with his nose to the ground and tail wagging and Pettigrew vanishing behind any furniture that could hide his tiny form.

They soon exited the room and continued on through the rest of the building.

Harry set out the documents on to the individual placemats as he listened to the two animagi sweep the house. At one point he was sure Sirius had knocked over a lamp upstairs with his tail and Peter had somehow gotten into the walls based on the scratching noises.

By the time they both returned Lily and Remus had finished reading through the documents.

"All clear." Said Sirius. "No signs of booby traps, spying equipment or toxic substances. Paint is non-lead based. And the store shelves have runic arrays to allow them to be fully transformed into military style bunkbeds."

"What's more, not a whiff of any rodents or pests." Said Peter. "Save for me. Couldn't even find a cockroach or termite to snack on."

He said it humorously, but Harry suspected he would eat such things in a pinch as a rat. But it was good to know he didn't have roaches. He intended to keep it that way. Or at least, he hoped the Wheezes managed to keep the kitchen clean after baking.

"I will need you to certify that you intend to be trustees and will faithfully administer any duties you all decide to divvy up amongst yourselves as members of the board." Harry told them. "I technically only need three people, but with five of you that should really shave off how taxing your responsibilities will be."

They signed without any questions or comments once Lily and Remus gave them the go-ahead. Caution to the wind then? What had he done to instill such trust in them?

"So. I hear my substitute has been giving you a hard time?" Lily said once the finished paperwork was passed back down to him.

"Oh right! You're supposed to be my coworker. Whyever haven't I seen you around the castle?" Harry asked. "And no. Severus has been shockingly friendly. I think he respects me. Heaven knows why."
"He does." Said Lily. "He told me so himself. Says you remind him of me, with a pinch of Dumbledore and Sirius thrown in. It's a combination that's driving him bonkers."

Hearing it put that way, yeah. He could understand why his presence had such a strange effect on the old bat. He was caught between his joyous friendship with Lily, deep respect for Albus, and raging rivalry with Sirius. Explosive combination. The former likely because of his eyes, the second and third because those two men had such an influence on developing his personality.

He took great joy in knowing his mere existence caused that man an existential crisis.

"And I've been away from work because I'm working on a project to help my... to help someone very dear to me with their sickness." Lily said. "A sickness I caused by trying to protect him. But you already knew that."

Harry knew when not to dig. Especially with him having just told her to but out of his private affairs.
"I'm not omnipotent Mrs Potter." Said Harry.

"Oh enough of the stuffiness!" Said Sirius. "We're going to be working together for a long while. I'm not Mr Black, I'm Sirius. She's Lily, he's James, he's Peter and he's Remus. The runt you can continue calling Mr Lupin."

They all nodded as their friend pointed to them in turn.

"You and I have been on a first name basis for a whole weak now." Added Remus. "Along with all the other Hogwarts faculty. So why not them?"

Harry conceded to that point.

"And would you prefer we call you Hadrian or maybe a nickname for it?" Asked James.

"What would that be? Had?" Asked Peter.

"Nono, it's a roman name. Means dark-hared. The correct nicknames for it are Ryan and Hades." Said Sirius.

Harry hadn't known that. About the Hades part. Even when given the choice of a new name he accidentally christens himself the lord of death. Fate sure did love screwing with him.

"Maybe just... Harry?" Suggested Lily. "James, didn't you have a relative named Harry?"

"Harrison, actually. A great uncle of mine." Corrected James. "But Harry is the correct shorthand for it. Not so much for Hadrian."

That part Harry did know. The origin of his namesake. But he was getting the feeling that he was being made fun of.

"I like Hadrian best. Please, for the love of all that is good, don't call me Hades." Harry pleaded.
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Hadrian. I look forward to a long friendship and business partnership." Sirius said, offering a hand.

Harry shook it and the five other hands that got offered in turn.

From there the conversation turned to business. But with company like this it was anything but droll.
He told them about his plans to find a property to grow ingredients for the wolfsbane potion, and they promised to ask around.

"In the meantime, we can probably setup some greenhouses around the shack?" Lily offered. "Romulus and I both love working in ours."

It was a good idea, so he wrote it down.

Sirius inquired about the lack of chains and Harry explained that the facility would focus on intoxication for treatment, namely alcohol and THC, to make the transformation more bearable for those who couldn't use wolfsbane. When Lily pointed out that some of them would have jobs that require drug tests, he assured her that he had thought that far ahead and had detoxification potions to remove traces from their systems on the way out.

The place was to be free of chains and barred cells. It was meant to feel like a home for his wards.
His new employees proved invaluable in supplying suggestions for minor improvements. Namely the need to reinforce the doors and windows in case of a werewolf getting out of control. Remus, of all people, suggested pitfall traps with cages at the bottom on the hill and fields surrounding the shack.
"In case someone gets loose while transformed. It's better to wake up in a cell than with human limbs scattered around you." He said.

It was a fair point.

He showed them the barracks, or the single shelf he asked the Wheezes to empty for him to demonstrate their changing abilities.

"The entire place is capable of sheltering twenty werewolves in each of the five rooms, for a maximum of 100. There was also the basement which has a walk-in freezer I'll reinforced myself. It is empty, and designed to hold any werewolf who, for whatever reason, can't be made docile during transformation."
Extreme cold could incapacitate a werewolf. And potentially kill it, so he would need to train somebody to safely use it in cases that it was necessary.

"I think it's more likely than you think." Said Lily. "Many people have moral objections to narcotics, or have health conditions that make it unwise, get a combination of somebody allergic to wolfsbane and disdain for drink and devil lettuce and you'll have somebody in need of a deep freeze."

She was right. There was room enough to install a few more freezers if the need ever arose. And if the funds didn't dry up.

Soon enough it was time to say farewells.

Harry had, over the course of the night, slowly allowed his occlumency shields down and allowed himself to feel. It was nice, being around them. These people he ought to have loved and who ought to have loved him.

He was happy. In a melancholy kind of way.

"I look forward to our correspondence over the week." Harry said as they filed out. "Don't ever be afraid to write."

Lily was the last to leave, but before exiting the door he'd held open she turned on Harry and considered him.

"I want you to know, it was wrong of you to deceive Albus into thinking you're a seer in order to get the Divination position." She said. "But I understand the necessity, and I know that we've all deceived him in greater measure for similar reason."

Harry stared wide eyed at his mother. Then she did the unthinkable.

She hugged him.

It was a tight, bone-breaking, Hermione-esque hug that took his breath away. And in trying to regain it he breathed her in. He was hugging his mother for the first time in memory, and she smelled like all of his dreams coming true. Strawberry and passionfruit mixed with the unnamable musk of perfume and... and her.

He hugged her back and melted into her soft warmth.

"I hope you know what you're doing. We know you've been working all on your own until now. Call onto us for anything. No matter how trivial." She said.

With that she let go and exited through the door, closing it behind her.

Harry stood there for a moment. The emptiness left by her disappearance like a hunger for human touch that he had never known. Suddenly he was a three-year-old child, wanting to run out of the door crying for his mother and father that were still on the other side of it. For his godfather and the father to his godson too.

And then he remembered his own versions of these people. The ones who had died. The ones who had died because of him.

All at once these, and the reminder that all of his friends and families from his own timeline might be lost to him forever, and the responsibilities he had shouldered came crashing onto him all at once.
He apparated away.

He reappeared in a secluded woodland. He didn't know where specifically. It was one of their hiding holes during the hunt for Voldemort's horcruxes. Could have been the place Hermione went camping as a child, could have been the place near the river they had recovered in after their dragon ride post-Gringotts break-in.

It didn't matter. It was secluded, it was far away from anybody he could hurt, and it was intact.
And so he let loose, and his magic reduce the world around him into nothing.

Stone boulders were reduced to dust, the trees to splinters, and the unfortunate birds, rodents and insects to nothing more than a pink mist. Their magics all screamed in agony and betrayal as his usually loving and understanding magical extension pulverized them and swirled their remains around him into a vicious typhoon.

He was screaming. He didn't remember when he started doing it, but it registered that he was screaming and couldn't hear it over the sound of the world around him being eradicated.

It was wrong. The world was wrong.

Why had it taken so much? Not from him, but from everybody?

Good people. Brilliant, wise, loving people from all sides of this conflict thrown away like refuse in the name of... of what? Not Voldemort, not the Ministry, not a god or ideal. Just chaotic happenstance.
From accidents in lab experiments, to an unlucky shot in the battlefield to cold-blooded murder in the pursuit of immortality. It was all so senseless. Potentially good people locked in cages with soul-sucking demons, for crimes that were so pointless, fighting and dying on a battlefield for an inch of ground that would be lost the next day.

There were so many of them, people he had loved and hated but were all just... people. Stupid, caring people with dreams snuffed out by fates that toyed with them seemingly for their own amusement. And they were all his responsibility now. Why him? There were plenty of people smarter, stronger, kinder, wiser or more experienced than him. There were even a few who were all of those things. Why couldn't they have a shot at this saving the world business?

Hell, there was a hero hiding inside of everyone he knew. From little Xenophilius to Hagrid, if given the chance they could take the reins of destiny and uphold this responsibility. And yet fate chose Harry. Why?!

Why did it choose to take everything away from him not once, but twice, and now dangle the threat of taking it all away from him a third time? What had he done to earn this? Was it a punishment? Was it all a twisted reward, letting him see them all alive when he had so long ago accepted their deaths and the unfairness of their lives before moving on?

He just didn't understand.

He didn't know how long he was there, but his emotions were spent long before his magic, and so the latter died down. The once scenic woodland now a tumbled mess of transfigured wood, stone, soil and meat forming a winding wreath of impressionist art. Some of it was smooth, some of it was jagged, but it was all a horrible testament to what he was capable of. What he had been capable of for some time and hadn't even realized until now.

As if he didn't have enough to deal with, now he was a walking, talking weapon of mass destruction.

Bellatrix looked at the grandfather clock and clicked her tongue impatiently.

Hadrian was late. He had promised to meet her at her apartment thirty minutes ago, and he still wasn't here.

It wasn't the first time. And she wasn't angry about it. She knew she should be angry at him, as any lady ought to be. But something about his boundless patience from the moment they first met, during that patronus lesson and ever onward made her feel the need to reciprocate that patience.

And so there she sat, on the end of her couch, reading Duelist's Weakly.

She had already learned all of the going-ons of the fencing league, where dueling was performed with both fencing skills and spellcasting. Their season was over, with the new champion being a quarter-veela from France. Then there was the brawlers league. Fists, and wand and body throws oh my! The former she had considered trying out for once or twice during duller seasons, the latter not so much. Simply barbaric.

Although she had to admit, the rising star in the brawlers league cut a fine figure. A Bulgarian man whose moving picture was a bit pigeon-toed, but that could be chalked up to the disorientation from the obvious nosebleed and head trauma he was sporting.

Now she was learning about proposed rule changes for the strip league, the one she took part in, where duelists stood at opposite ends of a narrow strip similar to the fencing league, whereas the brawlers fought in a ring. Casting, blocking and parrying without the ability to dodge or advance truly took the most skill with a wand of them all, hence her fondness of it over the others.

And then there was the laughable attempts at introducing more brutal forms of HEMA into magical duels. The last two wizards put into a ring with wands, claymores and morning stars ended... exactly the same way as the prior hundred attempts had ended. Hilariously. And with quite a bit if gore. She was fortunate enough to be in the crowd for it, invited as the date for one of the duelists. She had also been in the splash zone. She wasn't the type of girl to get a man's bodily fluids onto her during a first date, but that time had been an exception.

There was a knock on her door.

"If it's a Mister Morrigan making an evening call, he is more than welcome to simply barge in." She called out.

And he did.

She was so busy feigning indifference to his presence that she was thoroughly surprised when she found his head pressed against her stomach and arms wrapped around her waist.

She eeped at the sudden intimacy from the man kneeling in front of her. It was a first for them.

"Oh my, have you finally decided to get a little more frisky with me? You certainly know how to keep a lady waiting." She purred as she raked her nails on his back.

And then she felt it. His magic, always expanding outwards from him in such a way that even those less in tune with magic could feel the warmth and welcoming nature of his aura. It wasn't stretched outward now, it was trapped beneath the surface and felt like the roiling sea. His skin akin to lashing winds, foaming waves, pelting hail and bolts of lighting to her touch. It was wrong for this wonderful man's magic to feel so painful. So pained.

She switched from aroused clawing to soothing back rubs and from purring flirtation to cooing consolation.

"What's wrong my dear? Did somebody attack you?" She asked in genuine concern.

No wonder so many people thought she was bipolar. With her ability to switch from hot under the collar to mothering in a split second like that.

"Had to go work through some issues." Came his muffled response. "So many dead faces. So many dead children."

She fought the frightened shiver his response brought down her back and continued rubbing his.
"Past deaths for future deaths?" She asked, thinking maybe he had a rather horrible vision of some kind.

"Both." He answered simply.

As always his obfuscations were both concerning and confusing. But also damned interesting.

She still didn't know much of his past, especially his youth. But this wasn't the first time she suspected life hadn't been kind to him. She saw the telltale signs of it. Powerful people like him and Dumbledore always had great tragedies which either broke and rebuilt them, or mutated them horribly like Voldemort. All roads led to power in this way. That being said, she knew with his boundless patience and joy that Harry was the former, but it seemed his rebuilding process wasn't done yet.

Perhaps in never would be? It hadn't for her. She wasn't sure about Dumbledore.

Hadrian was hurting. But he wasn't breaking. She couldn't fathom a thing capable of breaking him. But like her, recharging and relaxing from the stresses of life was an occasional necessity. When memories bubble up and erupt from the dark recesses of the mind.

"Would you like a drink?" She offered.

She felt him shake his head against her stomach.

"No. Only drink when happy. With people that make me happy." He said.

Fair enough.

"Alright, up!" She said, patting his back with both hands.

He obeyed and got off of her, and she missed the weight but knew neither of them would get much out of staying in that position. He wouldn't share any more information with her, and he clearly wasn't in the mood for a tussle on the couch.

"Sit." She demanded as she got up, indicating the seat she just vacated.

He obeyed like an adorable, if downtrodden, puppy and she made her way to the hallway closet. She retrieved a guest blanket she kept when a friend or relative (See: Nymphadora after a breakup or Narcissa when angry with Lucy) needed to crash on her couch. A quick trip to the kitchen later and she returned to her - boyfriend? - with the blanket, a spoon and big ol tub of double fudge ice cream.

"Bunch up." She said before crawling into the couch with him and wrapping them both together with the blanket.

"Okay. So. I'm going to feed us some chocolate ice cream, and eventually we'll fall asleep because it's dosed with a mild dreamless sleep potion." She informed him. "It's one of Fortescue's special comfort ice creams. Charmed not to melt when we inevitably drop it as we pass out. Now, in the morning we're going to continue working through these issues of yours. Don't have to tell me about it, but you do have to come along with me as I try to cheer you up. Kay?"

She didn't look up to see his reaction as she popped the lid to the ice cream, but based on the rough chuckles that made them both vibrate she'd take that as a yes.

"Now." She said as she scooped up the first spoonful of chocolaty goodness. "Say aaaah."

"Ahhhhh." Voldemort sighed as the crisp evening air blew in from the harbor and his boat docked into London.

The delicious smell of salty air, fish, London rain, and Muggle machinations filled his senses.
He wiped his drenched hair out of his face and lifted his nondescript Muggle rucksack as he departed the small fisherman's boat.

Sixteen years. Sixteen long years he spent away from the country which birthed him, save for the occasional short visit. Leaving it to the children of his first followers to mold in his image while he turned his sights abroad. Only ever returning to stoke the flames he had left beneath metaphorical cauldrons that needed delicate attention.

The terror from the first war still gripped magical society to the point that to this day people feared his name. But with the children of his first batch of Death Eaters now having children of their own old enough to serve, it was time to collect the new batch and finish what he started.

The seeds had been planted everywhere else which had fertile soil. It would be some time before they were ready, and he would need new blood to tend to it all. Hence his return.

"Daddy's home. Who will be first to taste of his belt?" He asked rhetorically as he walked the plank onto the pier.

The sound of appiration hailed the arrival of Aurors. An entourage meant to search for any dangerous cargo in wizarding vessels.

While the question had been rhetorical he was delighted to get an answer all the same.

This was going to be a fun night.

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NonsensicalRants · Feb 1, 2023

Chapter 20:

Visiting the Dead

Bellatrix woke up laying on top of the lumpy mass of an unconscious man currently pressing into her backside. It would have been a more pleasing thing to wake up to, had they not slept on the couch without having bothered to extend the sofa's hidden bed. No amount of stretching would cure this kind of muscle stiffness. It was made even more uncomfortable by the fact that they were both clothed and hadn't been intimate the night before.

As such, in lieu of waking her man - as she now fully thought of him - with sensuality she woke him with a chaste kiss on the mouth before breaking into an uncomfortable stretch. Uncomfortable for both of them, but fun and flirty all the same.

"Oi, there really isn't enough room on this couch for either of is to be doing yoga." Morrigan grumbled.
Lacking the wit to properly retort to his charm she instead responded by planting a much firmer kiss onto his lips. He moaned into it and deepened the intimacy ever so slightly before breaking away.

"Oh god, is that my breath?" He said as he smacked his lips in revulsion at the taste. "Or yours?"

She stuffed the throw pillow into his face to try and hide her laughter at his joking. Why? Why did he make her laugh so easily? Why couldn't he let her be serious, and cold and tough? It was infuriating.

"No, I suppose it's mine. I'll go shower and freshen up while you make breakfast, then the bathrooms all yours." She told him as she got up from the couch and finished her light stretches.

He imitated her by stretching himself and gave her a light spank as he squeezed past towards the kitchen. She left him to his work with eggs and potatoes and grabbed a clean set of clothes. One quick shower later and she returned to her tiny dining room to a full plate of scrambled eggs and steamed, garlic potatoes.

"And this morning, we feast." She said as she sat opposite him.

"That we do. Doped ice-cream isn't exactly a well-balanced dinner." Hadrian said. "I put it back in the freezer by the way."

She nodded as she sprinkled some black pepper onto the eggs and dug in.

"So. What was last night about?" She asked.

He sighed.

"My meeting with my new business partners went very well. They were all a bit odd, but I'm one to talk." He explained. "I also talked to my mother. She uh, does not approve of my dating a cougar. But that's hardly going to make me change my mind about dating you."

"Cougar?" She dared to ask.

"Muggle term, for middle-aged woman who dates younger men." He explained.

"I regret asking. Continue." She said between mouthfuls.

"Well from there I had some... bad memories resurface and I also foresaw some things. Worries about potential futures. Had to go somewhere secluded to blow off steam before seeing you. Wiped myself out." He finished.

It was amazing how this man could tell such interesting stories without saying a single thing.
"Will I get to meet these parents of yours?" She asked.

"In good time I suppose." He answers.

"How much time is good time?" She pressed.

"Not a clue, if I'm being completely honest." He admitted. "Not only am I uncomfortable exposing her identity to anybody at this point in time, but I'm also going to be keeping busy for the next year. And so will she."

She could understand that. It didn't make it sting less though. It stung almost as much as seeing him without his usual zaniness and good humor. Last night she expected him to opine all night about his first week of work, about his favorite students and the troublemakers - which his Haiku insinuated included Draco. Their actual evening together turned out to be much less interesting. She needed to get him back into his usual self. Bet how to do it?

"We're having dinner with Andy, Ted and Nym tonight." She declared as she finished the plate.

"Er, we are?" He asked.

"We are." She affirmed. "So, you go take care of whatever errands you have planned for the day, visit whoever it is that you know can help you recharge your unique brand of crazy, and tonight we will have a wonderful time, the time we should have had last night."

Hadrian seemed to accept that with a nod before finishing off his own plate, which she took along with her own over to the sink.

"I'll take care of these, you go on and take a shower and be on your way." She instructed. "What's on the itinerary?"

"Register the name for my nonprofit, not sure what else." He admitted. "Maybe visit some people that can recharge my unique sense of crazy."

He excused himself to the shower and ten minutes later he returned freshly cleaned and his clothes freshly pressed. She could only assume he was a master of household charms, even wandlessly. She was useless at them, hence washing dishes by hand.

"Well, I'm off. Diagon Alley awaits." He announced as he made his way to the door.

"Nuh uh, not without giving your girlfriend a kiss goodbye you aren't." She said, stopping him in his tracks.

"Oh? My girlfriend are you?" He challenged as she walked up to him.

"Well, I'm certainly not your booty call and sure as hell not your wife. Now lay one on me." She demanded, presenting a cheek.

He did as instructed and left her there with a hand massaging the war spot on her face where he had placed his lips. Yeah, she did a good job in picking him. Shame Andy and Cissy needed more convincing before they came to the same conclusion.

Harry's first order of business for the day was to drop in on Garrick.

"Well, you're certainly looking more well-kept than when last I saw you." Harry announced as he entered the otherwise empty store.

"Not having a loudmouthed, alleged boy lover here stirring up the rumor mill and driving me nuts did wonders for my health and hygiene, yes." Ollivander quipped from where he was reading the latest Prophet.

Indeed, he was freshly shaven and seemed well rested, no longer obsessively pouring over Harry's memories. Which brought them to the crux of his visit.

"You done using the pensieve to steal the work of my world's Garrick?" Harry asked.

"Yup. Already got your memories bottled up and ready to be inserted back into that twisted mind of yours." Garrick said, pointing to the work area in the back.

Harry followed the well-trekked path through the stacks of wands to the workshop where he discovered Garrick's latest experiments. He recognized them instantly as single knot gambler wands. Wands that, like the Elder Wand, build up a blockage along its length until a certain type of spell is cast. Some built up a charge when any kind of spell aside from charms are cast with it, releasing said building when a charm is cast. Others did the same with curses, healing magic, jinxes and so forth. The Garrick in his world got as far as three knots before reaching a roadblock he couldn't overcome, but both he and Harry believed Luna would one day surpass him in skill and further the research into creating gambler wands so that all wizards and witches might have them.

Even those three knot wands sold out whenever he made them and sold for a whole lot of money. They were usually custom made for duelists based on what type of magic they preferred.

"I see you've mastered single knot gambler wands!" Harry yelled back to the front as he found the bottled memories and began scooping them back into their home.

"Of course!" Ollivander yelled back. "Took longer than I feel was necessary, but that's because I kept getting sidetracked experimenting with two and three knots. Getting ahead of myself."

Harry nodded to himself at the excuse, knowing it to be perfectly valid, and finished up with the memories. He made his way back to the storefront.

"Planning to master double knots next?" He asked.

"Actually, I'm thinking about putting that off until later." He said. "I want to take your idea about experimenting with the two identical wands and seeing what kind of results I get out of it. Might reveal the key to developing a dual-core wand."

Harry couldn't stop his eyebrows from racing to his own hairline at that. Wandmakers have been trying to make wands with dual cores for centuries. The why is long-winded and complicated and, at risk of breaking my own rule against fourth wall jokes, Ollivander will in all likelihood explain the many advantages of a dual-core wand in a future chapter.

"I also want to experiment with creating more focused gambler wands." Ollivander added. "To overpower a specific spell to an even greater degree than if you cast them with a more general knotted wand like these."

That did sound interesting. But for the life of him Harry couldn't figure out how Garrick planned on making such wands. The utility of such wands, on the other hand, were rather obvious.

"So, a housekeeping witch could order a set of wands that each specifically builds up a charge for different cleaning charms. Or a ward in Saint Mungo's could have a set of wands each specifically overcharging different counter curses or healing charms." Harry concluded.

Ollivander gave Harry an approving nod.

"I see one problem with the idea." Harry said. "It's difficult to create wands that are omni-loyal, so the highly specialized wand would need to be custom made for the individual witches or wizards involved. That could get pricey and would by necessity of their nature only be useful to people in highly specialized roles, like a mind healer or nuclear waste vanisher."

"Right you are, or else very general medical practitioners who would need a set of wands for damn near every medical charm ever. Doable, if I had an apprentice." Ollivander explained, giving Harry a pointed look.

Harry groaned. The old man really wanted to know who his apprentice was going to be. And up until now Harry had resisted the pressure... however. Luna was starting her fifth year now, which is when they're supposed to get career counseling. Hmm.

"Luna Lovegood." Harry answered the long overdue question.

Garrick blinked. No doubt he thought Harry was pulling his leg.

"Not even joking. You two were meant for each other, believe me." Harry explained, recalling vividly their almost psychic connection when working together in his world. "Speaking of, I think I'll visit the Lovegoods after I'm done with my business here. It would be nice to meet Luna's mom and I have some business with Xeno."

Ollivander considered him for a moment, before glossing over that Harry just revealed Mrs Lovegood's terminal case of death in his world.

"If I recall correctly, Pandora Lovegood is a brilliant spell inventor. Maybe put in a good word for me with her to see if she wants to collaborate sometime?" Ollivander pleaded.

Harry raised his arms up in a "well duh" gesture.

"What are friends for?! Is their floo address still The Roost?" Harry asked.

"Sure is." Ollivander confirmed.

Harry nodded by way of goodbye and exited the shop.

He returned to the leaky cauldron and paid the one sickle fee for using the floo before sticking his head into the fireplace and calling out for the Roost.

"Hello?" He called out into the familiar mess that was the Lovegood household and Quibbler main office.

When a head appeared to gaze at him in the fireplace he momentarily thought Luna from his universe somehow followed him here. Until he spotted the differences between Pandora and her daughter. She looked just like her younger clone, but more, well, defined. Namely the big difference was that Luna was much thinner due to being childless, thus lacking the developments that came with having children. God, did maternity ever do wonderful things to a woman's body.

he was starting to suspect he might have a thing for older women after all.

"Yes? May I help you?" Pandora greeted nicely.

"Hello Mrs Lovegood. My name is Harry, er, Hadrian Edward Morrigan. I'm the new divination professor at Hogwarts and I was hoping to speak with you and your husband." Harry explained.
Her naturally wide eyes, so much like Luna's, got even wider.

"Did my little Xenophilius cause some kind of trouble? Is Luna okay?" She asked seriously.

Harry noticed the implied assumptions in her question but decided not to comment on it. Surely this woman knew Luna was the more likely one to cause serious trouble... although that might explain why she was concerned for the girls safety over the boys.

"Perfectly fine, I'm actually visiting in my capacity as the head of the Morrigan estate, not in regard to my duties as a professor." He said. "I'm hoping to sponsor the Quibbler."

"Oh my! That's wonderful!" Pandora said with a clap, before turning suspicious. Her mannerisms were so cartoonish and fast-changing it could give a man whiplash. Just like Luna. "Are you having a go at us?"

"No ma'am. I want to advertise in the magazine and sponsor an article." Harry said.

"Well then come on in!" She beckoned. "I'll open up the floo for transport and go fetch my husband."
Harry pulled his head out of the fireplace, grabbed a fistful of powder, threw it into the brick orifice and walked into the green flames. He exited into the circular first floor room of the Lovegood household to no fanfare. Pandora hadn't returned with Xenophilius yet.

He took this time to glance around and compare the differences between this world and his. It was a habit at this point. He found none, aside from the place being more tidy and having a feminine touch. More bright colors, superfluous pillows on the furniture, overly intricate blinds and lamps. That kind of stuff.

"Professor Morrigan?" Xenophilius greeted as he came down the stairs.

He advanced on Harry in his usual excitable jitteriness and offered a hand, which Harry shook in equal excitement. Another person with a happier life and whose appearance showed it. Beautiful/brilliant wife, gorgeous home, adorable and kind son and daughter with great futures ahead of them and his own company so that he was his own boss. The guy was winning at life, and by an enormous margin.
"Please, call me Harry. I expect us to have a wonderful friendship. May I call you Xeno?" Harry asked.
"But of course! Come, sit down." Xenophilius offered, indicating the couches.

"Would you like something to drink?" Pandora offered. "We have tea, coffee..."

"Gurdyroot infusion, if you have it." Harry interrupted.

He tried not to laugh at their look of excitement at meeting somebody who drank that swill.

"My ex girlfriend got me hooked on the stuff." He told them. "It tastes like troll snot, but I haven't had indigestion or gas once since she started me on the stuff."

Pandora beamed at him before meandering to the kitchen island to make them the drink.

"So. Tell me about your business." Xenophilius coaxed him.

"Well it's a non-profit. A shelter for werewolves during and near the full moon. Providing shelter, wolfsbane potion where it can be given and other treatments where it can't." He told the man.

"And you wish to advertise in my magazine to get the word out to werewolves in need?" Xeno clarified.
"And to get volunteers to help. I have so many responsibilities, and so do the members of my board." Harry explained. "In addition to this I would like you to tour the facility for your first article, stating your conclusions and criticisms, and again after our first batch of werewolves come in. To report on how we did."

Xenophilius nodded cheerfully as Harry explained. The man was always hard to read, seeing as you could tell him the world was ending by means of a giant meteor and he'd cheerfully comment on how exciting it was that they'd have an entire new ocean in the middle of the Eurasian continent.

"Here you are Harry." Pandora said as she offered him a steaming cup on a saucer.

"Heated?" Harry asked. "L-, uh, my ex preferred it cold."

"Ew." Grimaced Pandora. "No it's supposed to be heated like tea. That way the honey and other goodness will melt into it."

Harry took a sip and was amazed at how not disgusting it was. In addition to the aforementioned honey he tasted a hint of... lemon? No, lemongrass. Definitely lemongrass, with an even smaller hint of nutmeg. It would actually taste rather nice were it not mixed into what tasted like liquidized sauerkraut.

"I can say without a hint of hyperbole that this is the best cup of gurdyroot infusion I've ever had." Harry said honestly as he downed the drink.

"So you're commissioning two articles, honest articles, and want to advertise to our readers." Xenophilius concluded. "And you won't retaliate at all in regards to any criticisms I write?"

Harry finished trying to lick the inside of his mouth clean from the drink and answered.

"Not only will there be no retaliation, but additional payment if you find flaws with the program and give constructive feedback on how to improve it." Harry said honestly. "The same goes if your readers write with any concerns or feedback... and it actually helps."

He needed to be careful to add that caveat at the end. He wasn't planning to pay for the mountains of hate mail from the average idiot gossiper with nothing better to do than write bubotuber-filled letters to fourteen years old girls based on the nasty writings of a known liar... He should look into Rita Skeeter. Nobody ever had figured out what happened to her during the war. Harry suspected she met a rather sticky end. He added it to his notebook.

"Well, I speak for both of us when I say that, so far, we are very interested in your offer." Said Pandora. "But I'm not sure if I should charge the usual rate or less. We've never advertised for nonprofits before. We should probably give a discount from our usual rate for the, admittedly rare, advertiser and article commission."

Harry nodded in agreement.

"Plus you would have to see the facility, make sure it's all above board, all of that." Harry said. "And I don't even have a name for the nonprofit yet."

"Oh! That won't do at all!" Pandora beamed. "You surely need a name. How about... Professor Morrigan's Werewolf Sanctuary!"

Harry didn't quite like it. It sounded like a museum for werewolves by a scientist trying to study them. Like one of those butterfly sanctuaries Dennis had taken him to.

"I'll have to think on it." Harry said. "But I would like to subscribe to the Quibbler while I'm here, and buy some back issues. I need to get a bit more up to date on the latest going-ons."

Xenophilius shot up out of his seat and went to a closet where he withdrew a box of Quibblers.
"Last two years of issues. Somebody else had ordered it but canceled at the last minute." Xeno explained. "Very rude thing to do, I think it's a prank meant to make us waste money on printing because it keeps happening."

"Oh, don't say that sweetie!" Pamona chastised. "Nobody would do that to you. What could they possibly have to gain?"

Harry suddenly understood Luna's strange and unreasonable sense of optimism. An optimism that had given him and others so much strength in dark times.

Yup. Xenophilius Lovegood was winning at life.

"Well let me know whenever that happens and I'll make sure you get paid for them. I love your stories." Harry told them as he took the box. "And am in the process of making friends to gift them to anyways."

He paid for the two years of weekly back issues and made to leave. He was stuck wondering how in the world he was going to spend the rest of the day before joining Bella at the Tonks household, when he remembered something.

"Say, Xeno. Are you familiar with highland cows?

It was dark out by the time Harry and Xeno had finished with their favorite pastime whenever they met. A good old rousing round of making up bullshit.

They had spent hours talking and laughing and theorizing and arguing. It was perfect. And all the while Harry made a conscious effort to soak in every detail about Pandora. Her mannerisms, her smell, the sound of her voice. Things that his Luna would weep in sweet melancholy when... if he ever got back to her and the others. He also might have been crushing on her a little bit, but with a woman like Bellatrix waiting for him he wasn't tempted to stray.

But as a result of getting too caught up with the Lovegoods he was nearly late for dinner and arrived at the Tonks household to the smell of a an already served meal. He reached up to knock but Bella was there waiting for him and had opened the door before his knuckles could rasp on its surface. She was glowering at him.

"What?!" Harry said defensively.

She glowered harder.

"What?! You never specified a time!" Harry said in as much seriousness as he could muster.

"I also never told you the address, and yet you somehow managed to make it here." Bella countered.
This was true. But Harry already had a ready-made excuse for how he knew so many things he ought not.

"Psychic!" Harry whispered, making use of his jazz hands.

Bella broke down and smiled at him for that.

"So. Did you take my advice and recharge your crazy batteries?" Bella said.

Harry faked a downcast look.

"No. I mean, I tried, but didn't quite succeed." Harry explained. "So I brought my battery chargers with me! Alright guys come on in!"

Fred and George led the charge, carrying a box of - perfectly safe - cream pastries that were at risk of going bad before being converted into wheezes snacks.

"Hi Bell." They greeted in unison as they pushed past her.

"Ogden's finest, for the iron-bellied." Ollivander said, shoving a bottle of fire whiskey into her arms and pushing past.

"Evening ma'am."

"Hi miss Black."

"Please don't hurt me."

Alicia, Katie and Angelina greeted as they walked past with their own dinner goods.

Xenophilius and Pandora brought up the rear with a jug of gurdyroot infusion apiece. They really shouldn't have, and yet they had.

Bella glared at him the entire while, her lips pressed so tightly together that she could almost be confused for Minerva. But even that wasn't enough to properly mask her mirth at the situation.

"Come inside girlfriend of mine." Harry said. "I must serenade you with he wonders of my first week as a teacher. About my adorable students I've already fallen in love with, the troublemakers I'm even more in love with, and all my woes and joys."

And so they entered the rambunctious Tonks household, to join the many hugging and handshaking people in the laughter and face stuffing. Life was good.

Voldemort managed to throw up the last of the potion into the black, glassy water as the last of the terrible visions - or perhaps memories - faded away.

The bomb run sirens, explosions tearing apart his foster siblings in the orphanage, his weeping over said siblings and praying to an apathetic god to spare his life from the German Socialists flying above and raining hell over London. You'd think by the age of seventy he would have conquered these demons, but stuff like that never leaves you.

He took deep breaths, and with a flurry of his wand vanished the putrid water from his body.
The defenses of the cave were absolute. Even he could not reach the locket without drinking the Potion of "Nostalgia". A nasty concoction by an eighteenth century mediwizard in Austria. Meant to help soldiers with post-traumatic stress disorder. Naturally, it tended to make things worse.

Even he wasnt strong enough mentally to resist the devastation it caused to the drinker's mind, nor resist the bottomless thirst it gave him.

Fortunately the army of inferi beneath the water were programmed to not attack him, but gorging on the necrotic water which held them in his terror-addled delirium was still an unpleasant thing to come out of a hallucination to. Even if he knew he'd suffer such indignity ahead of time.

Perhaps the ward he setup around the island to vanish any water brought onto it was a bit overzealous? It didn't matter now. After today the protections here would no longer be needed. He would probably find some other use for the cave eventually, but not yet.

He stood by his own power and reached into the basin, retrieving the family heirloom he inherited from his mother. He felt the piece of himself inside of the locket, calling out to him. The magic keeping the shards of his soul separate became tenuous and weak when touching.

Good.

He placed the locket around his neck and sat in a meditative position. Mustering up the courage for what came next was no simple matter. He had never been a very brave man, after all. Fear was a deeply ingrained part of him. Fear lead him to study, to advance and court allies from the age of eleven. Fear led him to seek immortality and power through the darkest means possible. Fear was why he never got into a fight or situation he couldn't win, or at least escape from.

And right now he was afraid. Terrified, even. For he was about to undo so much of his work in favor of a new path, and he was uncertain of his victory at heart.

In his mind? He knew it was the right path. He'd checked and double checked his math and then he checked it again. He knew it would work. Hell, he had known it would work the first time he had studied the process of creating horcruxi. That the best methods they'd conceived of for destroying them was something as advanced as the killing curse or as exotic as basilisk venom. When a simple second year charm would do.

And so he cast that second year spell, a cousin to the cheering charm, on himself after meditating hard on his memories of creating said horcrux. So as to artificially incite a deep and overwhelming sense of - not joy - but remorse.

And all he knew was pain as his soul stitched itself back together.

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NonsensicalRants · Feb 3, 2023

Interlude

The Cloak: Part 1

November 18th, 2006:
Department of Mysteries, Britain
Death Chamber:

"Alright que up the next ward scheme." Head unspeakable Nicholas Flamel commanded.

Harry exited the ward circle and walked to stand beside the veil, removing his cloak for what must have been the hundredth time.

"One hundred and forty six, actually." Brain corrected him.

Harry glared at the hooded figure. It bothered him immensely to know there was even one person on the planet who could read the minds of any person in their Presence, completely ignoring any occlumency berriers. He was called Brain, a codename obviously, and had been head of the brain room for over forty years. Spend that much time studying the mind and you're bound to discover secrets of legilimacy that put Dumbledore and Voldemort's claim of mastery into the category of "Childs play."

Out of all the unspeakables who wanted Harry to join the DOM, Brain wanted him the most. Not because of his developing extrasensory ability, but because he believed his mind was particularly suited for the mind arts.(Despite Harry's insistence that it was decidedly NOT.) His own terrible experience was enough to convince Harry not to accept the offer. The fact the man both terrified him and confused him didn't warm him up to the idea either.

The real clincher was when he explained that he had mastered legilimacy to the point of being able to imitate a basilisks glare. Which, it turns out, is nothing more than using the mind arts to hijack your brain and shut down your nervous system, or heart like some Buddhist monks can do to themselves through meditation. You had to master doing the latter to yourself before being able to do the former to others. As a result of this he could also, incredibly, stare a real-life basilisk directly in the eyes and be completely unaffected by it.

Dumbledore? Snape? Voldemort? Posers!

"Well that's honestly the last set of detection and repellant wards we could think to try and find you under that cloak, Harry." Bill told him.

"We 'ave tried everything." Fleur added.

"Not everything." Hermione, the only actual unspeakable amongst Harry's group, countered. "Now we just throw random wards against the wall and see what sticks."

She was right of course. When wards designed to detect and repel people and different types of human magic failed to detect somebody beneath the cloak of death, then it was high time to think outside of the box. So they moved on to snow repelling, ash repelling, sandstorm repelling and more meteorological based wards. From there they went through the list of animal and insect repelling wards, plants-growth and weed prevention wards, and even food repelling wards - usually used in libraries or theaters to prevent people from sneaking anything in, or from making spills.
They had been at it for ten whole hours when they finally hit a breakthrough. And what a violent breakthrough it was.

The moment he stepped a foot through the chalk outline marking the ward he was thrown violently from his feet to land at Love's feet as the room echoed with the alarm Bill and Fleur had setup. Love and Prophecy helped Harry back up to his feet and he promptly threw the cloak aside to catch his breath.

"Wow. Next time warn me when you add a full-body numbing charm to your ward would you?!" Harry glared at Bill.

But Bill, Fleur and Hermione were looking at him with a strange mixture of confusion, fear and disgust.

"Could you... try that again." Hermione asked before hastily adding. "We'll setup a net to catch you this time."

They setup said net and, as soon as Harry could feel his fingers again, he walked through the ward for a second time to the exact same result as the first time.

"That really does sting Hermione." Harry groaned as she helped him back up. "What ward even is that?"

He was half-angry at the unpleasantness of it and half amazed that something actually detected him while under the cloak.

But Bill, Fleur and Hermione were tight lipped. Sharing a concerned look.

"Did we accidentally make some kind of modification to the scheme? There's no way it should detect him." Bill asked.

"Mr Weasley, I think we would all very much like to know what ward it is you just setup in my department." Nicholas interrupted. "You've kept us in suspense for long enough."

Bill nodded and hesitantly answered.

"Inferi ward." He said.

Harry felt his blood run cold. Zombie. Undead. Shambling corpse. If the ward was working correctly, it meant Harry Potter was, according to magic, dead when he put the cloak on. It wasn't a ward people encountered every day, or ever in Harry's case. Harry HAD been struck by the killing curse twice in his life. So it was entirely possible that the ward wasn't detecting the cloak, but Harry himself. That whatever his mother had done had left him, technically, undead.

Which actually did explain how he was able to survive the killing curse. Twice. After all, it didn't work on vampires, or zombies or ghosts, for obvious reasons.

"Easy way to test that." Harry groused as he tossed the cloak aside and walked back up to the ward.

He took a deep breath and stepped through, before letting the breath out when no alarms rang and he remained standing. He allowed himself a sigh of relief.

"Throw me the cloak." He demanded.

Hermione obliged and tossed it to him. To all of their surprise it passed right through the ward and Harry caught it deftly.

So. It wasn't the cloak making the ward go off. And it wasn't Harry. So the only thing left to confirm is if it's a combination of the two that did the trick. And so Harry combined the two. When he next regained consciousness it was to be informed that the ward and flung him straight up into the air and that his landing was less than pleasant. Typical.

They repeated the experiment several more times with the many different wards designed for inferi. Each ended with the same result. As did the wards designed for ghosts, poltergeists and vampires.

"Let's call it quits for the day." Harry finally said. "I have bruises on my bruises."

They decided to start again the next day.

From there the investigation on the cloak became more laboratory based as they tested theory after theory.

"If it's just masking your magical signature and making it appear like that of a corpse or undead, then we should be able to detect the enchantments that make the change." Filius theorized once they invited him in to help. "Or else detect the change the moment it happens."

And so began their attempts at detecting the magic within the cloak. It failed just as with all prior attempts to find any charms or enchantments on the hollow. Their attempt to detect when the change happened was much more successful. They just put up a ward to detect humans and overlayed a ward to detect inferi. The moment the human-detection ward ceased, the inferi one started. But the devices meant to detect any magical residue at the moment of the change came up with nothing.

They tried again with every combination of wards for detecting Harry Potter the living, breathing human and Harry Potter the corpse. Male detection with ghost detection, adult detection to poltergeist detection. All of the them succeeded in detecting both hims, but none allowed them to find the change.

"You know it's entirely possible that there's a runic array on the cloak that only appears when it's active." Said Hermione. "But we just can't see them because it's... you know, invisible."
And so Harry returned to the tiny grave he'd created for Alastor Moody so many years ago and retrieved his nearly pristine eye. After returning to the DOM he gave it a quick cleaning to the handed it off to the unspeakables to examine.

"Uuuuum. We have a problem." Prophecy said after running his thumb on the back of it.

He handed it back to Harry and made him run his thumb over the back of it as well. There was something carved there, shallow grooves Harry hadn't noticed before.

They added ink to the grooves and confirmed the shape they had felt. A triangle containing a circle containing a line.

"... Well of course!" Harry said in exasperation.

"Wait. So there are four Hollows?!" Hermione concluded.

"Likely many more than that." Suggested Space. "How many, we don't know."

Harry pondered this.

"Likely every single thing mentioned in tales of Needle the Bard." He concluded. "So the Pot, the Fountain, The Hairy Heart - or maybe the glass prison that contained the heart, and whatever allowed Babbitt to transform and retain the ability to speak. Likely all slightly or greatly different from how they appeared in the story."

There were no counterarguments. The fact that the tale of the three brothers turned out to be somewhat true was enough to add credence to the other stories.

"But the eye wasn't mentioned in any of them." Said Hermione.

"Which means there may be quite a few more than those in the book." Death countered.

This was concerning.

"If you will allow me to make pure conjecture." Prophecy began. "Perhaps other myths and legends of impossible magical artifacts may hold water? I always thought Alastor's eye reminded me of that used by the sisters Graeae."

Brain hummed.

"So should we start looking for a tooth next?" he asked.

"Possibly winged sandals, a cap and a sword as well." Harry offered. "Although we should be careful not to double count. In all likelihood the hollows spawned many myths since their creation. Which I am beginning to think was much longer ago than near the founding of Hogwarts "

There were, after all, plenty of legendary swords around the world. And just as the elder wand spawned many myths of different wands that were, in fact, the same wand others could all turn out to be the same object of power. If there were many more hollows then the three brothers had predecessors, masters even. This was starting to paint a picture of some unseen order of enchanters, a secret fraternal society of some sort, and the sign of the deathly hollows their insignia. Were they still around? had they made more wondrous and terrible things since the three hollows or were the Peverrals the last of their line?

They moved onto the experiment proper, and ran into the first problem. Using the eye required one be MISSING an eye. Well, not really, you could hold it up to your face and squint but it was hardly effective. But it turned out Prophecy was missing two.

"I blinded myself in order to better delve into my second sight." He explained as he removed his eye patches and placed the fourth Hollow into one of his obscured eye sockets.

Harry wondered why the man hadn't simply started wearing a blindfold instead of going to such an extreme, but if wizards were sensible he never would have beaten Voldemort so he held his tongue.

Once Prophecy put Moodys eye firmly into place it took him a few minutes to get used to it. It was doubtlessly difficult to keep it from spinning around against the users will, and being able to see through physical matter was certainly a means of sight nobody is used to.

"I can't imagine how bizarre this would be for somebody born blind." Prophecy bemoaned before they went on with the experiment.

It did not bare any fruit either. According to Prophecy the cloak looked no different to the magical eye when it was active or not. So they broke it off for another day and went back to the drawing board.

Harry left the cloak and eye with the Department of Mysteries with promises that they'd return them later. And over the next week he left them to their work while he, Filius, Fleur, Bill and Viktor set about a separate task.

Hunting for additional Hollows.

Fleur and Viktor shared many a story from their homeland and Bill shared several more fairy tales not written by Beedle the Bard. Including a Weasley exclusive story about a toad phoenix, a being that threw up its own stomach - as toads are known to do - and in doing so was reborn from the viscera. Gross, but plausible. Hell, he was already coming up with ideas about how such a creature could be born and how it might be related to the toad involved in creating a basilisk and an actual phoenix.

They each went their separate ways in search of Hollows, but Harry was the only one to succeed. It took him a day, as it was the first object to occur to him as a possible Hollow.

"See Filius, right here. Feel that groove? Now follow it up. Now it goes back down. It's a triangle. Then the circle. And a line. It's a Hollow." Harry showed the diminutive professor.

The carving on the object this time was almost as large as Harry, so he had to lift the half-goblin so he could see for himself.

"Remarkable! And how did you know it was one?" He asked.

"Simple. It reminded me so much of the stone. As if they were twins, or if one was the prototype for the other." Harry explained as he walked back to stare at the front side of the Mirror of Erised. "In the same way as the eye and cloak seem to be siblings, or foils."

Filius nodded. It did make sense.

"Do you think the cloak and eye are made by the same person? And the mirror was made by the same person as the stone?" Filius asked.

Harry shook his head.

"No. If I'm being honest, the three hollows seem... Almost masculine in their design. Simple, functional, undecorated. The mirror and eye? They are the work of artisans. Beautiful, not as powerful but with much more care put into their design. More detailed." Harry explained. "I have no further reason for thinking this, but if the Peveral brothers created the three Hollows proper, well, like attracts like and surely their wives wouldn't have just sat around and let their husbands one up them. They surely would have been prodigies in their own right, even if their names are lost to time. This is of course, a fantasy, and I'm just talking from imagination here. It could have been made by their own children, or they could have made them in later years themselves."

He rather liked the idea of Ignotus inventing the perfect invisibility cloak, only for his wife to create a foil for it. Probably out of jealousy that he might be sneaking off to have an affair... Yeah, that's what he was going to tell people. A separate story to the three brothers about their wives. He needed to get that one to Xenophilius.

"What about the wand?" Filius asked. "What of it's twin? What would be a companion to a wand?"

Harry had to think on that. A holster? No. The eye was an opposite to the cloak, and in its own way the mirror was an opposite to the ring. One could create images of ANY desire, but only the deepest desire, and only a vision of it. "Neither truth nor knowledge". The ring could bring shades of the dead, ANY dead, but nothing else. Shades capable of imparting quite a bit of knowledge and more interactive. Both very specific and very broad in opposite ways. So what was the opposite of a wand? What countered a wand?

"A broomstick maybe?" Bill suggested that night at dinner. "Best way to win a fight against a superior opponent is often to flee."

Harry disagreed. Not on the fleeing part, he'd done that plenty of times. But a broomstick or portkey could be foiled with a well-layed ward.

"A shield?" Offered Viktor.

"No. The elder wand is not merely an offensive weapon. It is a wand." Fleur explained redundantly. "It is our source of protection, and food, and transportation. It is our everything. It's counter would be... nothing."

Hermione perked up.

"Tell us what you figured out." Harry growled, wanting to skip the sputtering and thinking out loud.

"A dead zone, or object capable of creating a dead zone." She explained.

Harry didn't follow.

"If I wanted to counteract wands, or the elder wand specifically, I would seek to invent an object capable of suppressing all magic. A magical dead zone." She explained. "A ward capable of suppressing magic."

That rang true. And Harry knew of exactly one place with such a zone. And when the unspeakables were done with the latest tests of the cloak he retrieved it in preparation for retrieving the sixth Hollow.

Azkaban sucked. Even as visitors with an entire pack of patroni, it was awful.

The wizarding world had tried many times to vanish or destroy the dementors there, none had been successful. Not even with Harry wielding the elder wand at full power and being a savant with the spell. So they did the next best thing and abandoned the prison, moving everyone to a more humane facility.

The prison itself? It was under 24 hour guard by a rotating shift of aurors who kept the dementors contained with Patroni. It was almost a training ground to harden recruits and up their skill with the charm. A charm they always called Harry in to teach the new batch.

For at the bottom of the prison, in a sector nobody ever entered because the safety of guards and prisoners alike were impossible to guarantee, was the dead zone. A place were performing magic was impossible, as wands died upon entering, reviving upon returning to the surface. None had ever adventured deep as the dementors guarded it greedily and violently, as this was the place all true dementors were born, and they were finally going to figure out why.

Now he was invading the fortress again, with Filius, Bill, Fleur, Ron, Hermione, Draco and half of the department of mysteries. Somehow Dudley had heard what was going on and invited himself along.

"I want to confront these things. These things that hurt me so much that they healed me." Dudley explained.

It was a strange outlook. That somebody might benefit from dementor exposure was something nobody had even considered before, at least to Harry's knowledge. Perhaps if used sparingly, and controlled, they could almost become a form of... therapy for traumatic events? Something to look into later.

"Your mission is simple." Instructed Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Enter the magical dead zone beneath the Azkaban, discover the source creating said dead zone and dementors, and retrieve it. Failing that, destroy it."

Simple he says. Why do even competent and experienced leaders underplay the gravity of situations?

Nearly every dementor in existence was in that prison, and thoroughly starved - They had hoped that might kill them. They were wrong. - and they were going to enter a place where they would not have the protection of patroni, or magic at all. Simple. Sure.

"Our guests should arrive momentarily." Viktor said.

Ah yes. Their trump card had just portkeyed onto the shore overlooking Azkaban. An army of deadly creatures that were the only thing, aside from the patronus and Phoenixes, that could counteract the Dementor's effects and whose flames could repel them somewhat. And who wouldn't be effected by the dead zone as it specifically effected wands and the magic created by wands.

Women. Nasty, temperamental, hormonal women. Of the Veela variety.

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NonsensicalRants · Feb 3, 2023

Chapter 21:

Deadly Love Triangles

The dinner party at the Tonks household had been a raging success.

They ate their fill, talked endlessly about Hogwarts - during which time Harry had to feign ignorance about what life was like living there - and the finer details of his interactions with different students. It was a beautiful night and by the end of it they were all on their way to a food coma. All of the guests, save for Harry and Bellatrix, had to floo home that night out of fear of possible splinching from the alcohol consumption and general wooziness.

Harry ended the evening by escorting Bellatrix to the Tonks spare bedroom and kissing her goodnight, before grabbing a blanket from the closet and settling into the couch. It was a much more comfortable couch than the one he had slept on the night before, but also significant more lonely. He slept soundly with dreams of cold fields with a viscous wind blowing through them, drowning out the noise of nature and the elements. There was somebody else there, but they both kept apart with their own feelings of loneliness.

CRASH!

Who needs a morning alarm when Nymphadora's around?

"What did you break?" Harry asked tiredly with a morning yawn.

"Just a coffee mug."

Ew! Coffee? Those Aurors needed to stop introducing their recruits to yankee foods and habits.
"Well, repair it and bring me a mug of earl grey will ya?" Harry ordered. "As apology for waking me up."

She grumbled but complied and soon he was seated up with said mug of tea in his hands and the adorable metamorph seated across from him. While he didn't like the stuff he had to admit, the smell of coffee in the morning was a delight.

"So Harrison..." Tonks began.

"Hadrian." He corrected.

"Right. Hadrian. What did I say?" She asked.

"Harrison." Harry answered. "A lot of people confuse the two."

It was much too close to his actual name for his liking. He specifically chose Hadrian because it was close enough that he could answer to it without too much delay, but far enough from the anglical Harry that he felt safer in his alter ego.

"Right. Hadrian." She went on. "My mother and I have been talking about aunt Bella, behind her back obviously, and she's had me thinking."

"Sounds dangerous. And what have you been thinking?" Harry goaded her on as he finally took a sip of the tea.

Still too hot.

"Well, my mother seems to think you're much closer to me in age. And wonders why you pursued my aunt."

Harry had to think about that.

"You mean as opposed to pursuing you?" He clarified.

Tonks snorted.

"Yeah. That seems to be her line of reasoning. She's more new-fashioned and thinks boffing should be kept within generations without too big of age gaps." She explained.

Now it was Harry's turn to snort.

"Well in that regard, I think you and I both disagree with her." He said with a conspiratorial wink.
She glared at him suspiciously but didn't comment further as Bella herself entered the living room. Tonks settled for sipping her coffee and Harry settled for admiring his girlfriend with an intentionally goofy look on his face.

"Uh oh! What have the youngsters been talking about?" Bella asked in a mocking tone.

She advanced on Harry, sat forcibly on his lap, and crossed her legs before hugging his head and kissing him above the brow. A little possessive there Bella?

"Not much." Harry answered through her thick dress. "Just how we both seem to be into people a bit older than us and how other people need to butt out of our affairs."

Ted and Andromeda joined them soon after that and they had a breakfast consisting of their morning drinks and leftover pastries, compliments of the Weasley twins. By the time they all settled in owls were arriving with their daily post. They retrieved their copies of the Daily Prophet and Harry retrieved his Quibbler.

Ghillie Dhu Resurrected

by Xenophilius Lovegood

Late last evening in a Pollock beside a riverbed a strange magical event occurred. A typhoon of wild, vicious magic tore apart the countryside. Stone fused with wood, fused with dirt fused to the unfortunate animals caught in the storm. The end result is a twisted mass that at first glance would seem the work of a dark wizard or witch unknown, but Unspeakables sent to the scene have determined differently.

"We can detect no hint of dark magic being used." Said the nameless, hooded spokesperson for the group of investigators at the scene. "But this was magic, it was powerful and it was wild in nature."
The Department of Mysteries couldn't comment on what findings they've made regarding the taped off scene, but well-read readers will take a glance at the photograph of the strange place and be reminded of a certain Fae entity whom once roamed these lands.

Ghillie Dhu.

A powerful lone fairy known to have lived in the northwest highlands of Scotland - where our story takes place.

He was a terror to the now extinct Sidhe and his wrath was known to cause devastation that was described similarly to the mass of organic and inorganic matter we see here today.

He was known to have warred with other fae species due to their kidnapping - or worse - of children and is attributed to the extinction of several - including the Sidhe themselves who some Magi-Anthropologists believe may have held a similar culture to the worshippers of Moloch in the ancient middle east. And one could imagine why Ghillie Dhu - or an entire race of beings like him as some have suggested once existed - would take issue with that.

His disappearance over a century ago was sudden, and if this is his return then it too is as sudden as his many hibernations and returns throughout history.

If what we are seeing truly is the eponymous fairy rising from his tomb, then may those who mistreat the young tremble in terror.

Harry had to wonder how much of the history on Ghillie Dhu and other fae Xeno made up and which was actually true. He knew nothing of the beings, from either a Muggle or wizarding perspective, but if this got people searching for a nonexistent - or extinct - fairy race, then all the better for him.

"Blowing off some steam huh?" Bella asked from where she sat on his lap.

Right. Somehow he forgot she was there reading over his shoulder.

"Is it that obvious?" He asked.

"Only to me. You did come to me immediately after this happened the other night, I take it?" She whispered.

He nodded and turned his attention to the Tonks family, who he just now realized was silent. Seeing them staring, stock still, at the front page of the Daily Prophet made his stomach drop.

Bella noticed too and tentatively reached across the living room table to slowly pry the copy Nym was holding onto. The photo on the front depicting the horrific murder scene of two Aurors explained the looks. As did the title.

Voldemort Announces his Return to Britain with a Gruesome Display.

Why did Tom always have to pull stunts like this instead of just having a quiet visit? Hell, Harry'd settle for confetti and fanfare.

"What are we going to do?" Nym broke the silence. "The war has been rough enough with him overseas, how much worse is it going to be with him back?"

"Meh, he's not much more dangerous here than out there." Harry explained. "He is just as capable of leading the war here while far away as present. Fast communication makes that rather easy. All his presence equates to is the Death Eaters having one more fighter. An imposing fighter, but one that won't see battle as often as he needs to command."

Bella and Andy both nodded to his words and Harry coaxed the former off of his lap.

"As for what I'm going to do, I have to go check in on a friend and run an errand with Gringotts." Harry said, kissing his girlfriend goodbye.

A pop of apparition and short trip through the long, uncomfortable rubber tube ride later and he was standing in front of the Marchbanks home. Alastor came running out moments later.

"I realize you have the uncanny ability to appirate in through my wards but could you not?!" Alastor complained. "They ring like a gong every time you do.

Harry couldn't stop his eyebrows from raising at that.

Usually when he befriended the "kami" of a home or place that is warded they would allow him free access. After all, it's not everyday a house meets somebody that can talk to them, or more accurately bothered to listen to them. So he was rather good at making friends with them. Except Hogwarts herself. She always liked to remain aloof and unattached.

When he did take advantage of coming as he pleased to a Kami who liked him it didn't usually alert the owner. Alastor must be a rather talented and wise wizard indeed if his home loves him so much as to give him warnings despite the wards being circumvented.

"I'll avoid doing that in the future." Harry promised. "But seeing you march out here without so much as a cain answers the question I came here to ask."

He motioned to his relatively unbandaged body as if he were a prize pony on display.

"I'm looking to be fit and ready for Hogwarts midterms." Alastor confirmed. "But is it wise to leave this place less defended while... he's back inside of Britain's borders?"

Harry waved off these concerns with a dismissive motion.

"He's not going to go right for the jugular and burn the whole country down." Harry explained. "He's dramatic, he likes to take things slow. He won't make his major move until Halloween at the soonest. Then things'll be nice and quiet until late spring."

Alastor looked at him skeptically but must have decided it wasn't worth the headache of having Harry explain his knowledge of Voldemort's plan. This was wise, as Harry would have surely responded with spirit fingers and a declaration of his status as a "psychic!".

"So. As you can clearly see I am fit as a fiddle. Did you want something? " Marchbanks asked.

"If all goes well this Friday, then I wanted you to join me and Tufty's crew of old ladies next Saturday." Harry said cheerly.

"Friday?" Marchbanks asked curiously.

Harry looked at him disappointedly.

"First full moon for Professor Morrigan's Werewolf Sanctuary. Just have to go finish registering at Gringotts and get everything ready with the volunteers and we will be ready. Finally."

Voldemort popped back into existence in the Malfoy gardens with a sigh. Nearly two days unconscious in that cave after reabsorbing his Horcrux was not a pleasant nap to reawaken from. Nor was dragging himself back out of the cave his best morning to date.

The defenses were still up and running and anybody foolish enough to go in there looking for trouble would certainly find it, but that still left him with the need of a good meal and better company. A quick application of hygiene charms and he was presentable for the blonde patriarch running down to meet him now.

"I realize you have the uncanny ability to appirate in through my wards but could you not?!" Lucius complained. "They ring like a gong every time you do."

Voldemort laughed whole-heartedly at the man's irreverent greeting and reached out to invite the man in for a hug. His godson accepted and they shared a quick embrace.

"Lucius, you are the spitting image of Abraxan. If he were still alive, I'm sure he would be proud of what you've accomplished with your investments and politicking." Voldemort said to the younger man.
Lucius simpered under the praise but hid it better than most.

"It is good to see you again my Lord." Lucius said honestly. "Why return now? Where have you been these past five years?"

"Ah, questions, questions and more questions. If we are going to have a fireside story hour then let us do it properly, as we used to when you were a miniscule creature." Voldemort instructed. "Take me inside and have a platter of treats prepared."

And thus, Voldemort executed his diabolical plan to mooch a free, high-end meal off of his godson. That the trip also allowed for him to complete another errand was pure happenstance.

Lucius readily agreed and led him into the entrance hall where Narcissa stood leaning upon one of the many black marble pillars. She looked none too pleased. Lucius somehow didn't notice.

"Lucius, while you go order those entrees could you also retrieve my old school diary. The one I left in your care?" Voldemort asked. "I promise I have no further ulterior motives to my visit beyond that, some food and catching up."

Lucius glanced between him and his wife, noted the slight animosity in the air, then gave Voldemort an inquisitive look. What little got past the man's occlumency barriers told Voldemort that the man actually feared the two might fight. And further feared he might kill Narcissa if they came to blows.

He almost laughed aloud at that.

"Have you ever seen me be anything OTHER than a gentleman to a lady?" Voldemort egged. "Whether she was agreeable or in a right state?"

Lucius seemed unsure of himself but must have realize that whatever altercation about to occur there wouldn't turn out differently whether he was present or not. He left them in peace.

They listened as the sound of his footsteps receded before breaking out into a fit of subdued laughter.
"Was he actually worried about leaving me alone with you?" Narcissa said in disbelief.

"Hush now Narcissa. He lives under the delusion that he is the only godchild my Hogwarts peers left with me. Now, before you lay bare what has you upset with me, I do believe I'm owed a hug." Voldemort commanded, and Narcissa complied.

She released him with a sigh then glanced at his frame with a frown.

"You seem... peckish." She said with hidden concern.

"Haven't eaten in two days. And before that I had a spot of food poisoning." He explained.

His brain couldn't come up with a better euphemism for "drinking water from an inferi-infested underground lake after consuming a class E regulated potion." Food poisoning rolled off the tongue better.

"Now. Your complaints?" Voldemort prodded.

"I don't complain!" Narcissa said defensively. "I'm a wife and mother now. I nag. And I'm going to nag you about your little stunt on the harbor."

"Ah." Voldemort said in understanding.

"Ah? Just ah?" Narcissa prodded.

"Yes ma'am. Just ah." Voldemort said cheekily.

He could tell her that he had initially planned on making a more subdued reappearance. That he had planned to stun whatever customs Aurors came to annoy him and pilfer their brains for any useful info followed by an obliviate. He could even tell her that within their minds he discovered that the two of them abused their position to further abuse human trafficking victims who came to British shores.
That man and woman team of serial rapists needed making an example of. And so, he made the example. As he had done to many Death Eaters over the years who used the power he gave them for similar atrocities. No need for apologies or explanations. His burden. His crime. He didn't need to ruin Narcissa's day with it.

"So, you're just going to leave me angry with no explanation or apology?" Narcissa clarified.

"Right in one, child. Now, I do believe we have some catching up to be getting on with." Voldemort sidestepped her feigned anger.

She sighed in surrender before - without provocation - grasping him by the arm and walking him through the doors of her home.

Was it really any wonder why he preferred the company of the pureblood families to the rifraff he usually had to deal with? Beautiful, wonderful smelling women who would lead you on a tour of their remodeled home while hanging on your arm in that way that brings to the surface all of your masculine pride.

"How has Draco been since I last saw him? I hope my little lesson about being more likeable and forming bonds between houses got through?" He asked as he noted the changes in drapery and furniture from his last he visited.

Suede? She must trust Draco and his friends not to ruin it now that he's older. Narcissa positively beamed at him, and thus began her cooing over her son.

"Ooooh yes. He leads the study group for his year and is always neck in neck with the Muggleborn girl I told you about."

"Grinder?" Voldemort asked, trying to remember.

"Granger! Come now, that should be easy enough to remember. Especially for you, mister "I almost quit the wizarding world after OWL year to go live the peaceful life of a lonesome farmer"."

He never should have told her that story. She misinterpreted it as him having a romanticized vision of rural life. When really it was just that by the age of sixteen he was already so fed up with the world that fucking off into the wilderness or homestead seemed more palatable than schooling, career or marriage. It was a difficult concept to explain to any woman, one of those sex divides. So, he didn't bother.

Grover Rookwood on the other hand? Unlike him, that classmate actually went through with their plans to fuck off into the woods and never be seen again. You had to admire a man who could live through multiple wars, recessions and a technological revolution without noticing any changes in their day-to-day life. He ought to check up on him sometime. He was short on living friends from back then. The department of mysteries should be grateful that his son decided to be part of society.

"And is this Granger girl formidable?" Voldemort asked.

"Formidable? Hah! Highest in her year, I have it on good authority that Lily Potter is eyeing her as a potential apprentice." Narcissa went on.

Ah yes. That infernal redhead. Possibly the most brilliant mind in Britain below the age of sixty. Taking on a proper apprentice and lead them to a mastery was the only way for a lady like herself to achieve the status of "Madame." The highest educational title, above even mastery, that a witch can be bequeathed.

Honestly? She deserved it. Shame she was never particularly receptive to his offers to join him. Killing her would be grandparents in-law in that skirmish years earlier might have had something to do with it. But when facing TWO veteran lieutenants of Dumbledore's war with Grindelwald even a man of Voldemort's combat abilities had to take the gloves off and go all out. Unfortunately, when he does, people die.

"So, what really brings you back to your motherland?" Narcissa pressed.

"Quite a lot actually." Voldemort said honestly. "Partly to undo some magic I experimented with in my youth that has turned out to be a mistake. Partly to check in on my loved ones and how our war of attrition has affected them. But the biggest factor is that I have some new talent to investigate and possibly recruit."

Narcissa let go of his arm and turned to glare at him.

"My son is not a warrior, and never will be." She said with the conviction as if she were stating that the sun would surely rise tomorrow and even he couldn't prevent it.

She was right.

"No, he will not. Nor will I be marking any more children." Voldemort confessed. "I'm loath to speak poorly of the dead, but it was my generation that set out on this war. And your parents, all of your parents, made their oaths with me and had no right to force them upon you. I regret letting them. One way or another this war will be over before your son graduates Hogwarts. This war has already lasted one generation too long, it won't drag onto another. I will still recruit them, but not mark them nor put them in the fray."

She held a hand to her chest, visibly taken aback by his declaration. It was bold, even for him, but it was also true. He was close to no longer caring which side won or lost. Like most people he was tired of the fighting. And the things he has seen in his extended travels, and the changes he was experiencing now that he'd reabsorbed not one, but two horcruxes... he was changing, and that scared him, but after his encounter with that being he welcomed it.

"And these individuals you wish to recruit?" Narcissa pressed further.

"Not so much recruit as investigate." Voldemort admitted. "There are some youth, like this Granger girl and her friend Romulus, not to mention your niece, who show great talent and you know how I so desire to see talent fully realized."

Narcissa nodded.

"If what you say about Lily scouting her is correct, then Granger seems to be well on her way, and that Mad-Eye has taken young Nymphadora under his wing is better than anything I could have hoped for. Did you know that his father was in Slytherin in my year?"

"Really?!"

"Oh yes. The only person who consistently mopped the floor with me on the dueling pit. Alastor is certainly his son. If he had my years under his belt, and my health, he would be a match to me in a straight up fight." He explained. "But only just, and not a match in any of my other persuits."
Narcissa gave him a skeptical look but shrugged and motioned for him to continue.

"Aside from that I need to go speak with Mrs Marchbanks, the very old one, regarding her son. Don't be surprised if the next time you see me after visiting her I have a black eye. It wouldn't be the first time." He said. "Griselda is a monster, and she might not look it, but you don't live longer than Dumbledore AND work in higher magical education for over a century without learning quite a bit that's beyond even me."

Narcissa seemed much less skeptical of that claim. Which was hilarious seeing as he was lying through his teeth. He just respected the woman as a person too much to ever raise his wand against her. Her son on the other hand? He owed him a thorough thrashing. Then again, he had come out as the lesser-scathed in that encounter. So maybe he ought to call it even?

"There's also this Hadrian Marchbanks fellow." Voldemort went on. "I've been hearing conflicting reports, but apparently he's caused quite a few waves. Some of them very positive for our community, well all of them really, but some also not great for my crusade. I'm very eager to meet him. If all goes well, he will be my final marked Death Eater."

Narcissa made a very unladylike snort at that proclamation and when Voldemort looked at her questioningly, she broke down into a full fit of giggles. Before he could question her Lucius returned, carrying his long-lost journal.

He made to offer it, but Voldemort stopped him.

"Lucius, we taught you better than that." Voldemort chastised. "You NEVER touch a cursed or enchanted object with your bare hands nor offer it to somebody without properly containing it."

Lucius blanched before withdrawing a silk handkerchief - the ideal material for handling cursed objects and likely on Lucius' person specifically for picking up such items - and wrapped the book in it. This time Voldemort did take it from him.

"It never caused any issues, and I couldn't find out much about it with what examinations I did." Lucius said.

"You wouldn't. I was very thorough in concealing its true nature. And while it wasn't meant to ever harm you it... might be debilitating to the point of death to me if I touch it with my bare hands." Voldemort said.

It was rare to see the Malfoy patriarch with such a shocked expression. It was the truth too, if not the whole truth. For within the diary contained a whole half of his soul, whereas he currently held barely more than a quarter. He dared not try and reincorporate the diary until he retrieved the remaining three. When he had a whole half of his soul restored, he would then risk the merging.

As it was now, he risked the sixteen-year-old version of himself in the diary overpowering and subsuming him. Or else annihilate him like the soul fragment from the ring returning to him through the void had very nearly done.

Finding out who destroyed it and making them suffer would have to wait.

And that ring only contained one quarter of his soul. The locket had a mere one thirty second and it still almost bodied him. He'd go for the diademnext, with it's much more manageable one eighth, and work his way down. Then he'd have little to fear from the diary.

Shame the diary and ring were the only ones on this continent.

But for now, he'd keep it on his person.

"Can we expect you to stay home this time?" Lucius pleaded.

Voldemort looked up.

"Unlikely." He said honestly. "It'll take a week, maybe two, to accomplish what I have planned. Although there is a chance..."

He trailed off. He'd become much more talkative and honest lately. A side effect of regaining his soul?
"What can we do to make you feel welcome enough, godfather of ours?" Narcissa pleaded.

"Oh yes matchmaker." Lucius chided. "What could convince you to stay?"

Were they really trying the puppy dog eyes on him? Those hadn't worked since before they both started at Hogwarts.

"Well those d'oeuvres would be a good start." Voldemort teased. "But more seriously I've been told that Bella has... mellowed out since I left. Lost her obsession with me along with her, how to say, ouster that scared me away last time. I've mellowed out a bit myself and expect to further mellow out a great deal more, so it may be time to try and reignite that flame."

When he returned from the daydreams that spirited him away as he spoke it was to discover the couple looking more uncomfortable than the day, he introduced them hoping to spark a courtship.(One of his greatest successes to date.) He felt the bottom of his stomach drop out and a jealous rage boil up in its place.

"What?" He growled. "Has something happened to her?"

Lucius coughed uncomfortably.

"Well, you were right to think she's lost her obsession with you. From what conversations I've had with her lately that ship has certainly sailed." Lucius said almost jokingly.

Voldemort did not appreciate the joke, even if he wasn't in on it.

"It's funny actually." Narcissa commented to her husband. "He just brought up mister Morrigan on a completely unrelated note before your return."

"Morrigan?" Voldemort asked. "What does Hadrian Morrigan have to do with my precious Bella?"
He wasn't happy when they answered. Partly because they couldn't stop giggling like school children the entire time they gave it, and partly because of the sudden - expensive - changes to his plans the news forced upon him.

Harry exited Gringotts bank to the crisp evening air of Diagon Alley. The goofy grin on his face made it almost seem like he hadn't just spent ten hours in a shouting match with five generations of the Shmicklehook family and a good dozen other goblins and ministry officials.

And the reason for the grin? Because those ten hours resulted in them all accomplishing the job at hand. Professor Morrigan's Werewolf Sanctuary was officially certified, funded and licensed to operate by every standard that mattered! And in his hands he held the finished registration form and the golden seal upon it.

He held it up to the dim light of the setting sun and kissed it. And as if to accentuate his happiness an eagle high above roared in that way eagles do. It matched the feeling in his chest.

He took a deep breath and stretched is magical senses as he pocketed the piece of parchment and descended the front steps of the now closing bank. He felt the smooth surface of every stone beneath his feet, every leaf of the well-trimmed weeds trying desperately to rise up through the cracks of said stone and every crevice of the hand grenade that the hideous Hispanic woman just lobbed at him from behind the pillar he just walked past.

It was actually a fine piece of enchantment. A full Aztec runic array for the expansion and containment charms to hold whatever substance she had filled it with. From the feeling of what little was already escaping from the device. It was certainly part dragon gizzard fluid - a rather igniteable substance - mixed with... was that napalm?

KABOOM!

Yup. definitely napalm. Who in their right mind mixes napalm with dragon gizzard fluid?! Somebody with a death wish or murderous intent. Likely both.

Anyways he managed to morph the stone beneath him into a shell above him, but failed to account for how little earth actually separated the streets of Diagon alley and the cavernous goblin-made tunnels below and thus he found himself tumbling into the bowels of London where sewage from the Muggle world and runoff from the deeper levels of the bank mixed into a disgusting sludge.

The current took him a little ways before he caught his bearings and lifted himself up onto a ledge.
His assailant followed him down, along with some companions, and he got to his feet just in time to see them manage a much more dignified landing. In part to them cooperatively transfiguring the filth beneath them into solid earth combined with their use of the arresto momentum spell. Dead useful. He really ought to remember to use it kore often.

And so he finally got a good look at them.

The hispanic woman, scarred with burns and gashes from what he surmised was a lifetime of magical tomb raiding - She looked the curse breaker type - was flanked by a filipino man that gave Harry serious Mad-Eye Moody vibes and a blonde man with an automatic Ak47 slung on one shoulder.
Bounty hunters? Assassins? Both?

It didn't take many guesses to figure out who sent them, what confused him was the why. He was certain Voldemort would at least seek him out and try to recruit him before SENDING A FUCKING HIT SQUAD AFTER HIM!

Well, not yet at least.

Oh. The eagle he heard earlier just flew down the hole to join the trio. Scratch that, he was an animagi, now a pissed off Cheroke-looking motherfucker built like a pile of bricks stood with the others.
What had changed? Why was Voldemort turning the war hot? And why weren't those Kappa in the water attacking yet?

AN: These are not the team from Bungle in the Jungle. They're the terrorists from The Lie I've Lived. If you have read both, which you should, you know the difference.

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NonsensicalRants · Feb 4, 2023

Chapter 22:

Top of the "DNFW" List

Every sense he had was screaming at him to run. But sense was in short supply for him in the heat of a real fight. His expanding magical field could feel every sharp edge of the kappa beneath the water. Tooth, claw and spine alike. That was despite the horrible stench or rot and sewage and adrenaline high breaking his concentration. Which didn't even get into the blinding rage slowly creeping through his veins.

That grenade had really pissed him off. Even more than the ruination of his brand new robes.
"Professor Morrigan." Said the brick house Indian guy. "We have orders to take you in alive or dead. We would prefer to avoid bloodshe..."

Harry interrupted his peace offering with a barrage of wandlessly, and motionlessly, transfigured blades of ice from the rancid pool between him and his foes. While they were distracted by the ice blades Harry reached into the water and grasped the first brave kappa to try and take a bite out of him. Holding it by the neck, he raised it up to serve as a body shield as he backed away into a side tunnel, ignoring the attempts it made to maul him. The return fire of 5.56 rounds were more than up to the task of shredding the struggling reptile, but not enough to penetrate and continue into Harry himself.
He threw the dead kappa back into the water where the rest of his school bared down upon him like a swarm of piranhas. It didn't need to be human blood to excite them into a swarm.

"Hollow points? Really? Did the discount munitions store sell you a box of Kolibri cartridge condoms to go with those?!" Harry taunted as he turned the corner, coating the entire tunnel with a flammable glisseo charm as he did so.

He heard the telltale sound of a magazine ejection and replacement and knew he could expect armor piercing rounds to come his way in the not-too-distant future. Good boy.

Harry slid down the suddenly slick tunnel floor, making sure to transfigure the ground behind him needle like blades behind him at an angle as he went.

As he turned yet another corner he felt, too late, the flapping of wings and the sharp pain of talons digging into his shoulder as a fresh barrage of bullets, and a killing curse, passed through the air he had just occupied. So one of them was holding back the kappa while the others focused on killing/capturing him. Unfortunately for Harry the eagle animagi transformed back into human form and went from ten pounds of feather and hollow bones to two hundred and fifty pounds of raw muscle. Which was a bit beyond the bench-press limit of a scrawny Quidditch player who hadn't trained in weeks.

Yeah, Harry lost that ten picosecond judo match and he lost it decisively. He also decided he didn't like the taste of the rot-crusted floor and so he summoned the recently reclaimed Elder wand to his hand and started with the cheating. He was a wizard after all. Why fight with fists and body weight when you can transfigure and animate stone into a much more efficient fist?

Even without a full charge the gamblers wand overpowered the rocky fist he carved out of the ceiling by quite a lot and the crunch of shattering bone made him regret not sticking to wandless magic. That was a bit too much force, and he hadn't wanted to kill anyone today. But with the transfiguration slot down he threw an animation charm at the inanimate fist while wandlessly reshaping it into a large anaconda of stone using his off hand.

"Guard." Harry ordered in parseltongue, not caring if his would-be assassins heard him and reported it to their master.

Speaking of, in slid the blonde American man. He must have lost his Ak-47 in his struggle with the kappa swarm, judging by the third of a kappa still latched onto his back. He took a second to regain his feet, having clearly not expected the hallway to be slicker than a particularly lustful mermaid at a Muggle body builder pageant, nor to be lined with thousands of sharp, thin needles. Jesus, was he messed up or what?

Harry had to give it to the man. He was a trooper. Or more accurately, a ranger, for he drew from his inner jacket a revolver with a barrel easily as long as Harry's forearm.

Compensating for something there cowboy?

Turns out, yes, he was compensating for something. And that something was the extreme recoil of firing a .600 Pfeifer-Zeliska round with enough force to penetrate both the stone serpent barrier as if it were butter and nearly take Harry's arm off at the bicep.

Oh, you better believe it hurt. And the pain wasn't helped at all by Harry's ability to feel every torn muscle fiber and sinew through his expanded senses.

Being left with his left hand Harry switched over the elder wand and with a single swish and sent toward his foe a single spark. Not a torrent of flame, not even an ember. No. Just a spark, for that was enough to ignite the entire hallway of flammable conjured grease and set the bloodied man aflame. The bright yellow heat and deafening sound made as it ignited caused the entire ceiling to cave in. The fact that Harry had taken so much material from it for his transfigurations probably had something to do with that.

Speaking of, that single bullet had done as much damage to the stone serpent as it had to Harry's arm, and so he wandlessly finished the job and transfigured it into two serpent's before turning the gamblers wand onto himself.

A quick emergency medical charm, one that filled wounds with a thick foam to stem bleeding, was all he had time to perform before the previously forgotten animagi put him in a chokehold from behind. It was a good chokehold too, one that didn't construct airflow but was most certainly cutting circulation. He had seconds to get out of it at most.

"Rip!" Harry ordered in parseltongue, not needing to work nearly as hard to enunciate in the language of snakes as in English. "Tear!"

The twin snakes obliged, and the next thing Harry knew the Indian man was torn in twain, his spine like putty to the might of his animated constructs. It wasn't as bloody of a sight as one would imagine. Injuries like that were more... meaty, than bloody. And organ-y.

Harry shook his disturbed state off and took the moment of respite to finish casting the three most important medical charms, a disinfectant and numbing spell complimenting the foam muscle charm. But before he had time to bandage it and conjure a sling a fist made full on contact with his good shoulder, the knuckle of his assailants thumb digging right into the brachial plexus and making his entire arm go numb and limp. An advanced a very deliberate martial arts technique.

Harry wasn't thoroughly educated on martial arts terminology, but he believed the word for somebody who had both arms disabled and bereft of weapons was "fucked."

Mouth, hip, mouth again, solar plexus and cheek bone. On and on came the punches, compliments of the angriest-looking Filipino man Harry ever did saw. And he just didn't stop. For nearly half a minute this man used Harry, or more accurate his jaw and chest, as a punching bag to practice his Jeet Kune Do as if he were hitting a speed bag. Short, circular movements, never bringing his fists back behind his elbows. Suffice to say, he was kicking Harry's ass.

Then came the tunnel vision. The edge of his peripherals went dark, and all that was left was deep crimson. Anger. Retribution. A deep, insatiable need for satisfaction.

He spat in the mans face. A thick mixture of blood, gums and broken teeth. He followed it up by bringing their foreheads together with enough force to nearly break Harry out of his rage. Nearly.
The air. It was full of magic. And magic was his. He was magic's master, it obeyed his will, but his will was no longer his to control for rage had taken him. He compressed it. Forced it upon his enemy. Suffocated him with it. Crushed him with it. And as it tightened, coiled, choked and oppressed Harry grabbed the man by the throat with his still numb hand and, aided by the aerosolized magic, slammed him into the ground. Then he slammed him into the wall. Then he slammed him into the wall again. And again. And again. And again.

He smashed the man's face into the wall so many times that he soon no longer had a face left to smash. And very little skull.

Throwing him aside he stretched his senses to find the Hispanic slag that had dared to throw that grenade at him and felt her approaching around a corner.

Reaching out his good arm he focused on where she would soon be and cast... not a spell. Not even magic, as such. What came from his fist was like a condensed, tangible incarnation of his current frame of mind. It was not a pretty thing, all coils and thorns. It shaped all it touched in the same way his episode in that forest had effected the rocks, trees and unfortunate animals caught in it.

Ghillie Dhu screeched down the hallway out and away from Harry, and when his final living assailant turned out just like the other living things in the forest of Dean those two nights ago. The gruesome display of flesh, bone and organs becoming one with the stone and filth around her was enough to bring an end to Harry's state of madness, only to enter a state of proper shock.

And that was when the Aurors finally showed up. Useful as always.

"And finally, incisor number two." The Auror field medic said as she set the seventh tooth back into Harry's jaw.

He was thankful for the painkillers inuring him to what would otherwise be the most painful dental procedure of Hary's life, but not so much for the sensation of the gums repairing and being molded that somehow got past the potion. It was... yeah, shudder-worthy is a good word to describe it.

"Broken nose and jaw. Shattered cheekbone. Five cracked ribs. A caved in sternum. Eight missing teeth and your tricep is minced meat. How in the world are you still conscious?!" The middle-aged woman demanded.

A few minutes ago Harry might have cried at the question, but now? Opium-based potions do wonders for emotional distress.

"If I had a knut for every time somebody asked me that I... well I wouldn't be a particularly rich man, but I sure would have a few more sickles to my name." He joked with a chuckle.

It hurt to laugh. Even with her excellent work on numbing the pain of his shredded and bruised torso. At least everything now was back in its places. And wrapped up. But even magic had its limit and it was going to be a loooong recovery. Especially so for the arm when she was done with it.

Very tricky healing magic there. Reconnecting muscles one fiber at a time. Or ten at a time. Or a hundred at a time depending on the type of damage and skill of the healer. Doubly impressive to have done it without Harry feeling a thing. Not even the process itself. Although that may have been due to the freezing charm she threw at the shredded mass before getting started.

"There. I've reconnected all of the tissue in your arm." She said. "With proper protein intake and regenerative potions you'll have use of your arm again within a week."

"And your happy me time need not know the interruption." Came a familiar growl.(AN-1)

In his doped up state Harry couldn't help but give the old grizzled Auror a goofy smile. God, but was it good to see him in the flesh again.

"I meet the younger Alastor at last." Harry said. "Chalk today up as failure to keep constant vigilance on my part."

That small moment of joy left him drained and he collapsed back into the stretcher he'd been placed in.

"Younger Alastor?" Moody asked.

"Alastor Marchbanks?" Harry offered.

"Ah. Him I know." Moody grumbled, before turning to the mediwizard. "Is he in good enough condition to be brought in?"

"Brought in?!" The mediwizard said, aghast on Harry's behalf. "This is the most clear-cut case of self-defense I've ever seen in my life!"

"Oh I have no doubt about that, but he still killed three of his assailants and needs to at least be debriefed and held overnight." Moody countered. "We need to at least finish the preliminary investigation to find out if his choice of force was justified. I have no doubts it will come back in his favor and we won't have to charge him."

The mediwizard grumbled and Harry felt gratitude towards the stranger. It was weird how people Harry barely knew tended to argue on his behalf just as vociferously as his age-old allies. He had that kind of effect on people.

"But yes." The mediwizard confirmed. "He's safe to transport."

And so that's how Harry wound up spending his Saturday night in the ministry holding cells. It wasn't so bad. Sure, his arm was in a sling and half his torso was bandaged up, but he was high as a kite on pain killers and had rather talkative company.

"Why did you go so easy on us at first?" Asked the mummy in the cell next to him.

Harry looked at Mr BigIron, as he'd taken to calling the one surviving would-be assassin, and realized the needles combined with the fiery grease spell might have been a little overboard.

"For the same reason I don't use blasting curses or fiendfyre on rowdy teenagers." Harry explained. "Without a hint of hubris I can honestly say that I am that much stronger and more experienced of a fighter than all four of you combined."

Mr BigIron turned his head, which must have taken no small amount of effort, and seemed to consider the boast. He eventually nodded.

"I believe it. If you hadn't lost your cool, and taken us a bit more seriously from the start, I'm sure we would have all made it out of there alive." He said.

That stung. But it was true. If he had taken off the kid gloves at the start he would have been better able to escalate the fight more appropriately. Incapacitated them with a more even hand.
"I'm sorry your friends died today." Harry sighed, sobering at an uncomfortable pace.

"Colleagues." The man corrected. "In our line of work we are very careful not to get too attached to one another. We go so far as to avoid even lunch or drinks during or after work."

Smart.

"And what exactly is your line of work?" Harry asked.

"We're everything." He admitted. "Mercenaries, assassin's, grave robbers. If you pay us, we're your bitch. And your Dark Lord paid us."

Harry nodded. The answer only confirmed the obvious suspicions.

"So were we a test?" Mr BigIron asked. "Are you, like, his prospective successor or something?"
Harry looked at him with confusion.

"You fight a lot like him. And you're a parseltongue, you even talk like him a little." He explained. "And we clearly weren't enough to take you out, but enough to push you."

An odd line of reasoning. It was plausible. But Voldemort would have had no way of knowing his status as a parseltongue, or his power as a wizard. Until now he would have merely expected him to be at or near the level of a Bellatrix Black, or Arianna Figg. Formidable. Worth recruiting. But not a threat. That just changed. They had both submitted memories of their battle to Alastor. Soon, his status as a parseltongue and one of the deadliest fighters in the country would reach everyone.

"No I think he expected you to take me out." Harry answered honestly. "I must have unwittingly stepped on his toes harder than I intended."

Mr BigIron snorted.

"Clearly he, and we, didn't do our diligent research on you." He said. "My solicitor has already sent a letter off to the league to update your status and put you at the top of the DNFW list."

"DNFW list?" Harry had to ask.

"Do Not Fuck With."

That got a laugh out of him. Harry quite liked that.

"Oh by the way, since you're going away for a long time can I have that revolver of yours?" Harry asked.

Mr BigIron raised a non-existent eyebrow at him.

"Do you have twenty grand USD laying around?" He asked.

Harry did the math of calculating that in British pounds and converted it into galleons in his head and balked.

"I do, but it's proprietary money." Harry admitted. "And I don't think I can justify it as a business expenditure. Looks like you'll need to fund your legal defense by some other means."

A moment of silence followed his pronouncement.

"Drat." Said the American.

Dumbledore wished he could say this was the first time he'd ever wasted a Sunday morning getting one of his professors out of jail. Hell, it wasn't even the first time he spent a Sunday getting one of his professors out of jail who didn't deserve to be there. But he was happy to do it, particularly for this one.

"You're free to go Professor Morrigan." The guard leading him to Hadrian's cell said through the bars.
The sorry state of the man who stepped out surprised Albus. From the sling to the singed and filthy robes to the exhausted and defeated face. The appearance was unbecoming of him.

"Thank you Albus. Do I have any pressing Hogwarts related tasks to deal with or can I go be with those most worried about me?" Hadrian asked pitifully.

The usual cheer and mischievousness gone from his voice.

"You are free to go Professor Morrigan." Albus said. "I hope you manage to return to your usual self by your class tomorrow. Fortunately its a late one. Three pm."

Hadrian smiled through his bandages and limped past him to the door, led by the guards. He made to follow but was stopped by Alastor.

"We need to talk." He said, before leading him out of the holding cells area.

The tone he used told Albus that his old friend was not happy with him and that this would be a purely professional meeting. Down a hallway and into an evidence room they went. There, sat upon a desk between a host of magical measurement instruments, was the elder wand.

He felt a slight panic before realizing the same wand was still in his pocket.

"Chief Warlock." Greeted the forensic specialist behind the desk. "A suspect in an altercation earlier today submitted to authorities a wand registered in your name. As such, we have questions."
Albus retrieved his own wand from within his robes and cast a Lumos with it to confirm - more to himself than the Aurors itching to arrest and question him - that it was real.

"Not as many question as I have, I assure you." Albus countered.

"Would you be willing to bet on that?" Alastor Moody countered as he pulled out two vials filled with the telltale silver of memories.

Albus followed him to a pensive where the mystery of Hadrian Morrigan expanded to the size of Jupiter. He lost an entire galleon to the grizzled Auror that day. He really needed to crack down on the gambling problem amongst himself and his staff. It was getting expensive.

Bellatrix and her sisters, both of them, were there to greet him at the atrium and kept him company for the two hours of stalling the guard put him through before giving him back his personal items.

It was nice seeing the three black sisters together for the first time, and to meet Narcissa in person. Even if he couldn't shake her broken hand. She was rather obstinate about not telling them how she broke it. But he liked the self-satisfied look on her face.

But between yelling at the guard and doting on him Harry felt rather loved in that time as he sat at a branch between Bella and Dromeda, dozing off and on.

Soon enough Narcissa was excusing herself and her sisters were tentatively guiding him back to the Tonks household where Teddy was waiting with a full spread of food. He barely managed to eat anything at all, what with it being well past midday and the pain potions fast wearing off.

And so, he ended the bizarre rollercoaster of a weekend by eating his fill and going to sleep on Bella's lap. Spending a third night in a row on a couch instead of a bed.

"This way." Commanded the goblin liaison.

Albus followed him to the room of tranquility. A no man's land where enemies could meet on neutral ground.

Severus and Alastor walked on either side of him for protection. Soon they came upon a door in front of which stood two fully-cloaked and masked Death Eaters. Albus would have to ask Severus which they were based on the ornamentation later.

"Wand please." Commanded the goblin.

"I did not bring it." Albus told the goblin. "I brought them along for that."

"They may not enter with you." The goblin said.

"I am aware. Severus, Alastor, keep these two company." Albus instructed. "And please, be civil."
With his order given he was allowed into the room of tranquility where a table framed by two dozen fully armed goblin knights seated him. At the opposite end of the comically long table sat Tom Riddle himself.

He stood in greeting and gave the customary bow, which Albus returned.

"Albus. We have much to discuss." Voldemort greeted.

"Indeed." Albus confirmed, before taking in his foe's appearance. Was that a glamour over the left side of his face?

"Are you trying to hide a shiner there?" Albus asked with a chuckle, not able to help himself.
Tom let out a long-suffering sigh.

"You didn't seem to notice my attempts at covering up such markings when I was a student, hopefully you've learned to better spot abuse and bullying in your students since then." Tom said.

It was a fairly long-winded way of saying "fuck you", but Albus got the message.

They took their seats and were served spinach fettuccine and sparkling wine to start their first course.
"So, Albus. Who is this Morrigan fellow?" Voldemort started as he coiled his first bite around a fork using a spoon.

Albus took a sip of the sparkling wine before answering.

"I was hoping you could tell me." Albus retorted before starting on the food himself.

Tom finished chewing his bite before responding with yet another question.

"Why would I know anything at all about him? I only just returned to England and you've employed him." Tom said. "All I know of him is secondhand, and I sent that quartet to determine if he was a threat. Clearly he is."

Albus couldn't quite tell if the other man was being intentionally officious or was as confused as him. Perhaps it was best to not tiptoe around one another with the usual metaphorical dick-measuring contest? Cards on the table it was.

"Is he not your time-traveling son from the future?" Albus finally asked.

(AN-1)
- This joke shameless stolen from the excellent abridged of One Punch Man by STM Voicing. Abridged series are a beautiful thing people.

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NonsensicalRants · Feb 4, 2023

Chapter 23:

Rank Speculation

Here they sat, his most trustworthy and decorated generals. Ironic that they were also his most competent teachers. Save for one.

Severus Snape, Minerva McGonnagal, Filius Flitwick, Pomona Sprout, Alastor Moody, and Rebecca Pomfrey. All deep in thought. All disturbed by the pensieve memory he had just shared with them. A secondhand memory, a memory of a memory, his recollection of his time in Alastor's pensieve. It was sufficient.

"Do we know what happened after the second memory cut off?" Pamona asked.

Indeed, the memory Hadrian submitted under questioning had not been intact. High emotions and trauma can damage memories, permanently, and professor Morrigan's cut off around the time his fifth tooth got knocked out and they had been unable to see anything past that save a blur of violence. The sole surviving assassin's memory cut off around the time he got scorched by the explosion. Although impressively enough, he had clung onto consciousness, fading in and out, all through the rest of the fight and both memories showed Morrigan's impressive use of parselmagic.

"Yes. He seems to have blacked out, but he killed the remaining two assailants with brute force and desperate uncontrolled magic." Moody explained. "He was barely alive after the fact, and deeply regretted having to kill them."

They returned to their own thoughts. A dangerous place to dwell, as Albus knew from experience.
"I would like to hear your theories." He goaded them. "Mine are a bit outlandish and I'm hoping you might have some that are more down to earth."

Interestingly enough, Pomona took the lead.

"The last known wizard of the Morrigan line was Hephaestus back in 1818, right?" She asked.

"That is correct." Severus confirmed without a moment's hesitation.

"And his line ended when he married a young lady of the Gaunt line, and they famously sired a smooth dozen squibs, ending the lineage." She continued. "So him being their descendant of the squib line, a muggleborn born of their descendants, would explain the parseltongue."

Albus nodded, but didn't comment. The convenience of this family history smacked less of plausibility than it did a well-constructed and well-researched lie. Time to nip any uninformed guesses in the bud.

"You should know he is also a time traveler from the future." Albus said with all the joy of a child putting down his rabid dog.

Silence met his declaration as they digested this revelation. He didn't eve bother elaborating. Minerva eventually broke it.

"He does resemble Tom when he was younger, back when we were both at Hogwarts." She said. "If you squint while looking at him. He also has VERY similar mannerisms. And charm."

Albus appreciated her wisdom in not coming right out and saying the obvious conclusion her line of reasoning brought her to. He further appreciated that they all had such faith in him that they didn't need him to qualify his claim of time travel, which he would have happily done.

"I disagree." Said Rebecca, causing Albus to raise an eyebrow. "Either his mother was, or will be, a completely different phenotype AND our understanding of Tom's parentage is completely wrong, or else you're chasing a red herring here."

"Could you phrase that in a way us non-mediwitches can understand?" Alastor pressed.
She hesitated.

"I can't say much about what I found during my mandatory examination of him this morning, but what I can say is that green eyes are a recessive trait." She explained. "Tom Riddle had dark brown yes, as did both of his parents and grandparents. Even if Tom Riddle were to... marry?... a woman whom inherited genes for eye color only of green, due to inbreeding or some such, the child would still be brown-eyed. That is one example. Give me photos of a young Tom Riddle and Hadrian Morrigan and I can point out a host of other facial feature differences that are impossible."

Filius poked a hole right though that.

"And are you positive his facial features, including eye color, are all those he was born with?" The diminutive professor asked. "Did you detect any signs that his facial features, or eyes in particular, having been altered? Either through cosmetic or reconstructive surgery."

Rebecca made a hissing intake of breath, the kind that itself sufficed as an answer.

"I am incapable of answering that question, but I would point out that half his face had been reconstructed not 24 hour ago due to injuries." She explained. "And no mediwitch is perfect in putting everything back in its place."

Translation: This guy has seen so much battle, and had his body so thoroughly battered and rebuilt, that if he still had ANY resemblance to his natural parentage, it would be a miracle.

"And I think it's safe to say this isn't the first, or even the tenth, time Mister Morrigan has suffered such injuries and the following reconstruction." Moody added.

"How do you come to such a conclusion?" Pomona, ever the bleeding heart, demanded.

"Because of how he fights." Alastor told them. "He isn't a soldier, or even a warrior. He is a survivor. He fights with a hodgepodge of techniques he's picked up from enemies and allies alike. I've seen it before. The raw, undisciplined - but creative - tactics employed by desperate children trapped in war zones and growing up forced to do terrible things."

He continued.

"Simply put, he fights dirty as all hell, and it isn't the fighting style of a desperate caged animal, but the tactics of somebody who has faced these same tactics." Alastor finished. "Tactics that leave the body unrecognizable. He maimed those would-be assassins. Maimed them horribly. And that's how he fights people he DOESN'T wish to kill."

It was a frightening thought. If he turned out to be an enemy they would need to approach capturing or defeating him with great caution, or else overwhelming force. Hence this meeting.

"And his fights to the death seem to be twice a week at this rate." Severus said offhandedly.

The series of confused "whats?" and "huhs" the rest of the room threw his way only served to intimidate the ma. Albus did find it adorable how flustered Severus could still get from being the center of attention. Despite his status as the second most obnoxious drama queen in Hogwarts. A place Albus intended to keep him in until his dying day. He was the champion of overacting and flamboyancy, and the boy better not ever forget it!

"You mean... You didn't hear about the forest of Dean incident Friday night?" He asked, genuinely surprised at their lack of information.

Albus saw the telltale sign of something clicking in Alastor's head, a new piece fitting into the puzzle that was Hadrian Morrigan. Consider Albus' surprise when Severus summoned, of all things, the latest article of the Quibbler.

"Ghillie Dhu Resurrected?" Albus read aloud, but the photograph of a devastated mountainside was what captured his attention.

"This is exactly the type of magical damage which Professor Morrigan caused during his fight with the quartet in Diagon Alley." Alastor explained. "So now we know who tore up that serene wilderness."
Albus passed around the article and gave his colleagues time to incorporate the new information.

"So... what?" Minerva asked. "After his meeting with the Marauders and their spouses, Hadrian... went to meet somebody in the forest of Dean and it went south?"

That did seem to be the likely explanation.

"Was there a body left there?" Asked Rebecca. "In Dean, similar to the body of the poor woman Hadrian fought last?"

"I'm..." Alastor hesitated, straining against his oaths as an Auror. "Not at liberty to comment on an open case."

"So, 'no' then." Everybody in the room except for Alastor and Rebecca concluded aloud.

At the confused looks on Rebecca and Alastor's faces Severus explained.

"If whatever altercation Hadrian was involved in Friday night showed any sign of an injury or death to another, then Alastor would have marched out of here to arrest the young man instead of remaining here to discuss things further." He said.

Alastor ceased his standing and retreated to a chair to grumble away from them.

"He is powerful, we already knew that." Albus concluded, turning away from his staff to contemplate the landscapes through the window. "Potentially as powerful, in terms of raw magical potential, as Voldemort or myself. But untrained, and less well studied. If he is in fact the son of Voldemort, as I suspect, then we must ask ourselves a host of questions.

Albus stood and turned away from his generals. Peering out of the window behind his desk at the ground below.

"What form of time travel did he use? Is it deterministic? Are all of his actions to keep in line with the timeline he knows? Is it paradoxical, and are his actions causing untold damage to the timeline due to ignorance or malice? Or most concerning of all, is it branching or overwriting, and is he hoping to rewrite history?" Albus listed. "I prefer to work from the assumption that it is the last, and he is trying to change the past. Which leads to SO many more questions. Is he with his father or against him? It wouldn't be the first time in history a dark lord was thwarted by his heir. Nor would it be the first time one sought to usurp his predecessor and become far worse."

Albus paused then to let his words sink in, as he was want to do, for it inspired the imagination and creativity he so valued in his staff.

"Severus I can FEEL your condescending glare drilling into the back of my skull. What vital piece have you picked up on that I missed?" Albus said without turning around.

He could see in the reflection of his window that the potions master had the good shame to blush at the laughter of his colleagues.

"Am I the only person who sees in Professor Morrigan a startling resemblance to both James and Lily?" Severus asked rhetorically.

The observation brought Albus up short. His mind stalled for a few moments, as it tended to do when digesting a new piece of juicy information, but the resemblance was greater than Albus himself wanted to admit.

"But Lily is sterile, ever since her botched surrogacy ritual." Filius pointed out.

Yes. That had been unfortunate. It was a simple ritual amounting to turning the unborn fetus into a portkey and transporting them to the womb of another woman, followed by a blood inheritance ritual with the new mother and father. It had been a good plan, passing off their potential child of prophecy as the child of another couple, as the ritual would have rewritten their physical features and actual magic into that of the adopted parents. They lost Patricia Pettigrew to that botched ritual and, lo Peter forgave them, he doubted James and Lily would ever forgive themselves.

"A ritual she has spent the last 16 years deconstructing and reverse-engineering in the hopes of being able to conceive again." Severus countered.

The conjecture expanded.

"So you are proposing a counter theory that he is, the yet to be conceived, child of James and Lily Potter?" Minerva offered.

"Yes." Said Severus. "Of course, that doesn't explain the parseltongue, but for all we know both Lily and James carry the gene for it... It's funny, Lily actually has ancestry to a squib line of the Morrigan family..."

You had to give it to the man, he knew his blood history. It was actually a plausible explanation.

"In fact, if you weren't so sure he was a time traveler, I'd be tempted to suggest he either is the child of Voldemort born some twenty eight years ago during his travels, or he is that lost child of James and Lily and that Patricia survived, taking the boy into hiding and raising him as a weapon in secret. But has been artificially aged somehow." Pamona offered. "Of course, at this point we're just making up nonsense and I think we need to take a step back from this rank speculation."

She was absolutely right.

"We know too little about the man. But what we do know is terrifying." Said Albus. "He is a time traveler from the future. A future where child soldiers must learn to fight in the most horrific ways possible just to survive. Which tells us that this cold war is about to get very hot. What we don't know is his motivations. Is he trying to prevent this future, or personally benefit from it?"

"Indeed. I suggest more focused observation." Minerva said. "Retrace his steps since his arrival in our time. Try to glean motivations behind his actions. And by we, I mean you, Albus."

Albus chuckled at the turn of events.

"And yes, I will cover your workload as deputy headmistress for the week." Minerva finished, cutting off his next question. "But in conclusion, what DO we know for certain?"

Albus conjured a chalk board.

"He is a time traveler from the future. He either will one day slay me or slay the person who slayed me. No, I will not explain how I know that." Albus interrupted his own list. "Since his arrival he has seduced Garrick Ollivander..."

"Excuse me?" Pamona interrupted. "Don't tell me you put credence into the rumors about their relationship in Diagon alley at face value?"

"I meant seduced with promises of power. Not in a sexual way." Albus clarified, not wanting to explain the Elder Wand to them and how excellent of a bargaining chip it would make in winning over Garrick. He honestly wished he'd thought of it. "He has furthermore courted Alastor Marchbanks, a former unspeakable of the Time division and likely a person involved in his own time travel, as well as Bellatrix Black, one of the deadliest fighters in Britain. He has been the personal dinner guest of the Crabbe family, and Valentine is particularly fond of him, which means Hildebrand Goyle is as well. And is also working tirelessly to help the plight of werewolves everywhere."

Severus perked up, and if that weren't an obvious sign he had an epiphany, the snap of his fingers did.
"He's removing pieces from the board!" He exclaimed.

Albus immediately understood his meaning but didn't interrupt.

"Ollivander is the premiere wandmaker in all of Europe, and if he were to die or 'disappear' it would be a disaster for coming generations." Severus started. "And Hadrian spent the entire summer protecting him. In his future maybe Garrick went missing this past summer? It would explain the dirty tactics, as an entire generation with nothing but secondhand wands would be unable to cast higher level spells with any efficiency, so would have to resort to strategies like Hadrian has displayed."

Alastor nodded eagerly.

"And I would bet galleons to knuts that if we examined the wards around the wand shop, we will find that both Hadrian and the Goblins have added to them recently." Moody suggested.

Albus added it to his mental todo list for the week, before motioning for Severus to continue.

"Then there's Marchbanks. Who, a few days after meeting Hadrian, gets into an altercation with the dark lord after he tried to recruit the man." Severus continued.

"Perhaps in the original timeline he accepted Voldemort's offer? If our speculation is correct and he is the one who developed the means Hadrian used to travel back in time, then that would be an important thing to change."

"So you believe it is a non-deterministic form of time travel and he is actively changing the future?" Filius piped up.

"Yes, and the way I see things, for the better." Severus continued. "Because in addition to them and Bellatrix, who I don't think any of us have difficulty imaging is capable of causing severe damage in a hot war, he has also removed any chance of the werewolves joining in on the war and is making efforts to do the same with his sanctuary."

It did make sense. His choice of targets did indicate prior planning, but instead of pushing these targets to one side or the other he seems to have moved them into neutral ground. Removing them from the chessboard indeed.

"He is either trying to prevent the hot war altogether or mitigate the damage it could cause." Dumbledore concluded. "He is neither with nor against Voldemort nor myself, nor the Ministry or any other faction. He is merely trying to prevent as much loss of life as possible."

The motivations made sense. As did the tactics. He was a truly neutral member of this war, his own faction with the motivation of survival. Albus wasn't wed to this idea yet, but he would be a lair if he claimed he didn't want it to be true. But he would have to work from darker assumptions until he knew for sure. Call him a pessimist, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"You think he is good then?" Pamona asked.

"I never had any doubts about that." Severus answered. "He is clearly trying his hardest to do what he thinks is the right thing, but I don't think he will succeed."

Albus was genuinely surprised by the poor outlook.

"And why do you think that?"

"Because he is trying to do it alone, and while he is strong, he is not clever nor wise enough." Severus continued. "Honestly he's kind of an idiot, but not hopeless. Which begs the question of why he hasn't come to us for help? We would be the perfect allies, most likely to help in his mission if he told us."

That was hardly a mystery.

"Perhaps the young man doesn't find us trustworthy." Filius said, hitting the nail on the head.
"And once again by 'us' I suspect you mean me?" Albus said in both jest and honesty.

Filius shrugged but didn't meet Albus' eyes.

"You've never been the most trusting person yourself, Severus, are you telling me you trust this man you barely know?" Minerva asked the dark potions master.

Severus sighed, before making an observation that Albus was certain everyone in the room could relate to.

"I wouldn't say I trust him, but I can say I want to trust him." He said. "Damnit all, I hate to admit it, but I just like the young man!"

"He is quite polite." Pomona Observed.

"And charming." Minerva added. "In a way that a younger Tom Riddle tried to emulate, but with Hadrian it's without effort and is genuine."

"Inquisitive too. Haven't had a boring conversation with him yet." Finished Filius.

Rebecca and Alastor sat quietly. Albus already knew Alastor's opinion of the man. That opinion being if Hadrian had been a Harriet he would have offered himself in marriage after seeing the aftermath of his battle with the four assassins. But Albus?

Logically, Albus agreed with every word. He wanted to trust Hadrian. Truly, he did. He liked the boy too, for all of the reasons previously listed. There was just one problem.

Hadrian had hurt him. Mortally.

The lies weren't what did it. Faking skill in divination using his knowledge of the future was bad enough. Albus had taken great pride in seeing through charlatans of the past trying to gain access to his precious school. Hadrian's success in fooling him was certainly a blow to his honor, but what really stung was the manner in which he did it.

Albus had no illusions about who and, more importantly, what Hadrian was.

He was the master of death. The thing he himself was so very close to becoming but had decided to avoid at all costs at the advice of Hadrian himself. His warning about not uniting the hollows now smacked more of past experience than mere prediction. He himself had united them and was surely in possession of a copy of the stone from his timeline. That's how he was able to see the shades of Arianna and Gellert during their interview.

And this "battle precognition" nonsense? Hardly! He was obviously using the resurrection stone, stationing shades of loved ones to watch his blind spots and instruct him on when to dodge and how to counter. With a little practice Albus was certain he could reproduce the illusion of omnipotence Hadrian had displayed in past fights.

But even this wasn't why Albus felt so wounded from the young man.

His surprise at Albus not knowing where the cloak was and warning not to reunite them. It didn't just smack of personal experience, but from historical precedent.

Albus had united the hollows in this now lost timeline. And it had done something to him. Corrupted him. Perverted him. Made him into something monstrous. Why else would Hadrian have let him attain that mortal injury seeking out the Horcrux in the Gaunt shack instead of saving him? He had chosen to remove Albus from the board as well. Permanently. Fatally.

And that hurt. It hurt to know, to even think, that this young man saw him as some kind of monster deserving of death for the sake of a better future. To think that this sweet, kind, considerate and brilliant young man had, or would, someday kill him and take from him these artifacts of power and from these horrible experiences come to hate him. What monstrous deeds could he have committed? What horrors could have resulted from his and Voldemort's war and the magics unleashed thereby that Hadrian would prefer him dead than redeemed?

It hurt. It hurt so very, very much. And the rest of that week was filled with nightmares regarding such. Vision of potential futures, where he united the cloak with the stone and wand he already possessed and was destroyed thereby.

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NonsensicalRants · Feb 5, 2023

Chapter 24:

Unspeakable Acquaintances

Hermione counted her lucky stars that her Monday schedule listed her first class as being under her new favorite teacher. The mysterious, kind and - according to consensus among the other Gryffindor girls - handsome Divination teacher. Hermione, for her part, couldn't find it in her to disagree with the consensus. She wasn't a liar.

Imagine her shock when she ascended the stone staircase of the not-so-secret passage to the divination classroom only to be greeted by a mummy with two black eyes, one arm in a sling and a cotton-filled mouth.

Once again, her complete disengagement from the Hogwarts rumor mill had left her in the dark.

"Did professor Morrigan get into a car crash?" She asked Lavender when she took her seat next to the blonde and Fay.

Professor Morrigan was busy trying to shoo a particularly fat snowy owl that had taken roost on his desk where she glowered at everyone in the room who got close to her master. She wouldn't budge, so eventually he had to give up and begin his class.

"Good morning, everybody. As you all probably know already, I was attacked by a group of would-be assassins at Diagon alley Saturday evening." He explained.

Apparently, Hermione wasn't the only person unaware of these events for hers wasn't the only concerned gasp.

"Oh my god!" Hermione said.

"Aren't you scared?!" Asked Parvati asked.

"Course not. They're dead." Professor Morrigan said matter-of-factly, as if the question was absurd. "But I am in considerable pain at the moment due to my unwillingness to take my prescribed painkillers before a class. I am unwilling to teach while under the influence, you all deserve better. Speaking of, onto todays lesson."

He turned away from them and wrote the days lesson topic on the board while they were left with a significantly more frightening impression of the man than they had before.

Dream Interpretation

The series of groans that echoed around the classroom only served to make Morrigan chuckle.
"I take it my predecessor already covered this topic then?" He asked knowingly.

"To exhaustion!" Said Weasley. "We spent years making up dream journals amounting to nightmares about how we might die."

"Made up, you say?" Morrigan asked with a sly grin.

The guilty silence that met his observation of Ron's choice of words was answer enough.

"Sounds to me like you all haven't done much actual dream interpretation at all." The professor went on. "I'd be surprised if any of you can describe what dream interpretation actually is?"

The questioning tone was a clear invitation to raise hands, and Hermione was never one to turn down such an invitation.

"Yes, miss Granger?" He said, calling on her.

She preened at the attention of those luscious green eyes.

"Dream interpretation is the art of deciphering meaning, usually psychological or spiritual but sometimes prophetic of the symbology in the dreams." She dutifully recited.

"That is incorrect." Morrigan said simply, without a hint of chastisement in his voice.

Her preening turned to wilting at the failure, even with his lack of malice or cruelty in correcting her.
"The answer I was looking for, is bullshit. Dream interpretation is bullshit." He explained to a round of uproarious laughter.

Well, that was Hermione's second guess and honest opinion of it, so she at least had the satisfaction of a professor confirming her own biases against his craft.

"Dreams are at best the chaotic processing of information. A hallucinogenic blending of your experiences of a day with all of your past experiences. Attempting to interpret it is like attempting to interpret "abstract" art, the kind that are low effort low skill random paintings created for the sole purpose of money laundering for the elites of society. But you didn't hear that from me." He went on. "So, the most you'll get from dream interpretation is an interesting conversation that may lead to you opening up about real psychological or spiritual problems, a self-therapy if you will. The same effect could be gained from joining a book club. So the question must be asked. Why in the world would it be part of the divination curriculum?"

This time even Hermione didn't raise her hand. She doubted she would get away with answering "because divination, too, is bullshit" so she bit her tongue.

"Because there is one type of premonition all people are capable of, and all people have achieved multiple times within their lifetimes. Dream Premonitions." He explained. "Visions of the future witnessed in your sleep. Many people, from a Misses Lincoln to Nostradamus, have had visions of the future while in bed and they came true. There's just one problem. Can anybody see it?"

Everyone raised their hand.

"Mister Longbottom?" Morrigan called on the shy child of prophecy.

"I don't usually remember my dreams?" He answered timidly.

"That is EXACTLY right! And that is the purpose of dream journals in the context of dream interpretation." He explained. "To train you to remember and contemplate your dreams, so that when a precognitive, or post cognitive, dream comes down home plate you can hit it out of the park! And if it also helps you develop the mental tools to recognize and tackle your psychological and spiritual hurdles? All the better."

He once again turned his back on the class and retrieved a familiar stack of dream journals. The kind Trelawney had assigned them in years past. Alongside these he had a case of glass vials.

"I will be assigning each of you two dream journals. One to be kept private, the other to be shared with me and or the class." He explained. "If you must withhold the contents of a dream, either because they are, shall we say, a little too spicy to be sharing with your peers or too inappropriate to share with a professor, then mark them as such in the non-private journal."

He went about handing out a pair of journals and glass vials to each student, and Hermione noticed that the snow-white owl glared at each student as the professor neared them. It was as if she was daring them to try and make a play at his life. Hermione studiously ignored the bird. It was slow progress, seeing as he had to limp around the room and tentatively hand out the objects with his one good hand.

"Professor, what are the vials for?" Asked Seamus.

"I'll get to that in a moment." Professor Morrigan answered as he made his way back up to the blackboard. "Now. Who here knows the alarm spell?"

Every hand went up int the air.

"Good. I'd be ashamed if any of you didn't. Or shocked how you managed to make it through your OWLs." Morrigan said. "And how many of you know how to extract a memory?"

Zero hands went into the air.

"I likewise would have been shocked if any of you had known that one." He said. "Allow me to demonstrate."

With his good hand he raised his long, smooth wand to his temple and - while holding a look of severe concentration - slowly pulled the wand away. At the tip of his wand and temple came a white string of light. Ethereal and liquid in appearance, it was some of the most simple and beautiful magic Hermione had ever seen. When it finally came loose from his skull it was like a lunar moth had been blended and the liquid produced was leaking from the tip of his wand.

"This is my memory of our class today." He explained unhelpfully. "It is like a video recording of everything I have experienced over the last few minutes. Sadly, without the use of a very powerful, and very expensive, magical artifact called a pensieve it is useless to anybody save myself. But I can reinsert this memory into my skull and doing so will allow me to better remember the events of said memory if it is fresh. It is akin to magical reiteration and recall to oneself for memorization."

He demonstrated reinserting the strand of memory back into his temple and adopted a look of supreme concentration on his face. For several moments all-encompassing silence filled the room as they watched him. Eventually he took a deep breath and returned to his lecture.

"And that's all there is to it." He explained. "Hold the tip of your wand to your temple and concentrate on the memory, recalling it from beginning to end in chronological order, and slowly draw it out. You can then place this memory in a container to share it with others - though sadly not without a pensieve, as a method for transferring memories between people has yet to be devised - and then when you reinsert it the memory goes straight into long term memory. As easy to recall as the multiplication table I would hope you've all memorized."

Hermione ogled the spell with something between disgust and anger. It was even simpler and easier to perform than the levitation charm. It was hardly even a spell, so why in the world did they not learn it, and things like it, in their first week of schooling? It sounded terribly useful.

"What I am about to assign you is not homework. I want to make that very clear." Morrigan continued. "Refusing to take part in the project I'm about to outline will not cost you any credits in this class, however doing so will earn you some extra. For extra credit anybody who wishes may keep a proper dream journal, of two dreams per night. And you shall accomplish this by use of the alarm spell combined with storing memories in the vials I have given you. Set an alarm for four hours after you go to sleep. Another alarm four hours after that, when you usually wake up. Each time you wake up try and recall the dream and, if you can, draw it from your brain as I demonstrated and store in the vial for the morning. Doing this you will usually be able to recall a good two dreams per night, hence the two vials. In the morning you put them back in and presto, they're there to stay."

Before they could reach for a piece of parchment to write down the assignment Professor Morrigan stopped them.

"This assignment is only available to those taking nine classes or fewer." He said. "So the seven standard classes and two electives. Anybody taking more than that needs every wink of sleep they can get, and I will not tolerate anybody in such a schedule risking their psychological health for a measly extra credit in my class."

He gave Hermione, who was taking the maximum of twelve(which was only possible through the use of a time turner) a scathing look and she glowered back at him.

"But there is one more reason behind this assignment than the psychological, spiritual, and divinatorial - yes that' a word - benefits to this assignment." He went on. "Every person on earth experiences a vision within their dreams roughly once per year. That's one in three hundred and sixty five. Pop quiz! How many students are there in Hogwarts?!"

"Four Hundred and Eighty-Three." Hermione answered before raising her hand, then gasped at the impertinence of forgetting to do so.

"One point to Gryffindor. Now sadly, only about eighty of those students have elected to take divination class. So, with these numbers in mind, if all of my students took part in this assignment how many true visions, of past, future or other events would we be able to collect within a single week?"

Hermione did the math in her head. Two dreams per night. Multiply it by eighty... Multiple that by seven... Divide that by three hundred and sixty five...

"Three." Ronald answered as quickly as Hermione was able to collect all of the factors and divisors in her head.

The entire class turned to look at the boy who had never stepped foot in arithmancy class, only to see a complete lack of quill or paper at his desk for mathematical computations. He had done that in his head?

"Correct! Ten points to Gryffindor Mister Weasley!" Morrigan rewarded. "Now it will more likely be one or two as a whole third of my students are disqualified from this project due to their status as overachievers, but if we are lucky then this time next week we will have a vision, produced by one of you or my other students, to consult. Some of you are still non-believers in divination, despite having taken it for years. I will make you a believer. If not next Monday, then definitely the following Monday. And so, I demand this of you... Go forth and dream!"

He paused for dramatic effect, and though for any other teacher Hermione would have rolled her eyes at the antics, his deep kindly voice kept her transfixed.

"For in dreams we enter worlds entirely our own. Go. Swim in the deepest oceans and glide over the highest cloud. And share these wondrous worlds in your head but know this. Just because something is in your head, doesn't make it less real. And if we are very fortunate, then one of you will have had a genuine premonition in one, of either the future or distant past, and we will gaze upon it together."

They left divination class with much more chatter and excitement than usual. And for once, Hermione chipped into the cacophony of voices. Discussing the wonders of the last hour. Usually, she would hang behind and wait for a clear moment to turn for her next class, but today she joined in on discussions of the topics and assignment. While she would studiously obey and only jot down dreams she remembered at her usual wake up times, both in the mornings and after her three-hour afternoon naps, she implored her fellow girls to tell her all about theirs for the next week.

And then the discussion turned down a corner she simply couldn't follow.

"Is it just me or is Professor Morrigan like a young, hot Dumbledore?" Lavender asks.

Aaaaand, that was her cue to take the back door out of the conversation. So, she silently took a side door halfway down the astronomy tower into a hallway which would, inevitably, lead to the hospital wing if followed, and there she hid behind a suit of armor and waited for her peers to shuffle down to the ground floor. When the telltale eerie silence of a school area without students finally purveyed her senses, she retrieved the time turner and reached out to turn the dial.

Only for a gloved hand to snatch it away from her.

She gasped and, in her attempt to back away from her assailant, collapsed on the floor. Her terror abated somewhat when she caught a glimpse of the supposed thief, and her eyes met the concealed, hooded figure she would recognize anywhere. Only one person she knew of wore such concealing grey robes or matching hood. Only one man embodied such endless possibilities and smelled of ageless tomes.

"Father Time!?" She gasped at the concealed man.

Seeing the fully cloaked and fully hooded head unspeakable in Hogwarts was certainly a surprise. This was the man who subjected her to her oaths to obey the laws of time before the start of her third year and debriefed her of her mischief at the end of every year. And then re-administered those oaths every year since then. This was the man who had seen in her the potential of a future unspeakable when McGonagall first introduced them those three years prior.

"Miss Granger. I wish I could have seen you again under better tidings." Father time said in place of a greeting.

He did not appear to be joking.

"As it stands, I will be taking this from you." He went on. "As you are in contact with somebody who seems to have broken my laws. OUR laws. And until my investigation is over you are under suspicion of breaking your oaths."

Hermione was no mother, but in that moment she felt what she thought a mother would feel in the event her newborn baby was snatched away from her and held at ransom. Before she could even register these feelings her tears welled up.

"What?! But... I followed EVERY rule! Even the rules that contradicted the other rules!" She nearly screamed, her voice a mixture of fear, rage and crying.

Before he could even respond and open up the possibility of convincing him out of his decision a new voice erupted from above, shaking the very walls around them.

"FATHER TIME!" The sonorus-enhanced voice of Professor Morrigan came down from his classroom five stories above them. "Granger had nothing to do with it! You come up here and harass ME not her!"

They both stared at the ceiling above them for several moments before Father Time addressed her again.

"I suppose there's no harm in leaving this with you for the rest of your school week, but know that you are under scrutiny at the moment, possibly for reasons which you had nothing to do with." He told her before tossing the necklace at her unceremoniously.

She snatched it from the air with reflexes so fast that they would make you think she was a Quidditch seeker. The way she clutched it to her bosom you'd think she was a keeper.

"Be warned, if you were planning any unapproved activities with the time turner over the next week, now would be a good time to cancel them." He told her before leaving. "Oh, and I recommend discretion in keeping any speculation you have over what is going on here to yourself."

With that he turned heel.

If Hermione were in a better state of mind, she would have scoffed at the idea that she would have shared such secrets or speculation about such secrets with anybody. As if she had anybody to share them with! The closest thing she had to a friend was Draco which, beyond being an incredibly sad thing to admit, was also more of an academic rivalry than anything approaching actual friendship. Susan was just a mediator within those terms. The only other person she could think of was that werewolf boy she had flings with during summers and the occasional Hogsmeade weekend, but the secrets of the department of mysteries hardly made for good pillow talk.

Perhaps she ought to make an effort to write Romulus with more than an invitation to her next Hogsmeade visit? Build something there.

Then Morrigan's magically enhanced voice returned.

"Oh! And if that perverted octopus is here with you tell him/her/it to keep their distance!"

"Actually, I'm right here." The perfectly synchronous voices of a man and woman was carried over through Morrigan's sonorus charm.

"OH FU..."

Harry barely had the frame of mind to cancel his sonorus before screaming a four-letter word loud enough for the entire school to hear him. That certainly would have been cause for a disciplinary hearing with old man Dumbledore.

The cause of his near heart-attack stood just a few feet behind him, and even as he gazed upon them his extrasensory abilities still registered nothing in his presence. Love, with a capital L. One of the twelve heads of the department of mysteries. They were the only person/persons in existence who didn't exist according to his magical senses. As such, she... er, he... well, it... it could sneak up on him. Which Harry didn't appreciate.

"You seem to know me well enough, despite having never met me. How much do you really know?" Asked the being in grey.

Harry glared at the space between the two hoods of their two faces. Then glanced down at the four arms and equal number legs beneath. Love must take up half of the tailoring costs of the department of mysteries.

But it was a good question. The answer was "Too much." Love had once been two people. A man and wife working within the department of mysteries. So right there you know they weren't of the soundest mind to begin with. Then they decided to merge in an attempt to recreate the Greek ideal of the hermaphroditic "first people". To become soul mates joined in flesh. It worked. And now they were something beyond human. Body, mind and soul united, virtues and vices of both man and woman made in perfect unity.

And then put in charge of the DOM section involved with magic about love potions, marriage, orgies and all things erotic. And there was power in these things beyond most people's comprehension. Power that was dangerous and destructive to humanity for eons before Aphrodite's invention of marriage to tame both men and women's desires and turn these things from the soul-devouring, destructive force that led entire civilizations down a rabbit hole - chasing the ever greater high until utter destruction in the form of apocalyptic blood orgies- into something constructive, beautiful and loving. Into marriage and family.

And this being before him had torn that contract of ancient gods in twain and unleashed the powers long lost to humanity in ways even the most disgusting reprobates like Crowley or John Money failed to do. But thankfully did it in secret and kept it behind closed doors instead of parading it down main street like a pride parade.

He also knew that neither were particularly devout to the other, and both found him particularly attractive and sought him as a replacement to their latest lover on more than one occasion.

The universe hated Harry, truly. Hopefully in this universe he could more effectively disincentive Their interest in him.

"Only that we do not get along and, though they are more dangerous and capable of destroying me, I would prefer to contend with Mind and Death than you." Harry spat the last word with as much vitriol as he could.

"I suppose that explains where you gained the power of time travel." Said Father Time as he entered through the stone passage door. "You will someday work with us?"

"With, yes. But not as one of your number." Harry answered honestly before he retreated to his desk and sat down with a pained groan. "So. Which mistake was it that finally alerted you guys to my status as a time traveler?"

Knowing that this conversation was going to be a long one, and that he had no further classes that day, he retrieved his prescribed pain relief potion and downed it.

"Your wand." Said Father Time. "You surrendered it after being arrested, and detectors indicated it belonged to one Albus Dumbledore, who confirmed he was in possession of a younger time twin to said wand."

It took all of Harry's self-control to not bang his head on his desk. Of all the cockamamie bullshit he couldn't foresee, Albus ACTUALLY registered the Elder Wand with the British Ministry of Magic?! Which meant that Albus now knew, or believed, he was displaced in time in some manner. Probably thought he was a time traveler from the future and was faking his divination skills... Which wasn't completely untrue.

"Do you know why we are here?" Father Time asked.

"To hopefully intimidate me into thinking you have any law enforcement powers or ability to coerce me into complying with you and revealing my true knowledge, abilities and origin." He answered with a chuckle.

The painstaking sighs they answered with told him they had already failed in their mission. They were not law enforcement and could not coerce, threaten or in other ways compel him to comply with anything they wanted. They were researchers. Scientists. Not some elite crew of black ops operatives eliminating those touched by powers beyond human imagination, let alone understanding. Which Harry was for the record, though not due to any fault of his own. But they liked to try and pretend, or hope to give people the impression, that they had such authority. Today, they had failed in that attempt.

"And you have no intention of sharing with us information pertinent to our roles in the Department of Mysteries? Particularly me?" Father Time asked.

Harry glanced at the ancient man. Considered the assumptions he must have been working under or questions plaguing his mind.

Did he think Harry had come back through his own actions or actions of his department? That he would one day pull the wool over his own eyes or steal from the time department in order to make the trip? It was wrong to leave the man with such painful assumptions and questions, Harry knew, but he also knew these were amoral assholes who didn't care if the universe was ripped apart and made as dust by their latest experiment except for an academic curiosity. It took a special type of sociopath to survive in the Department of Mysteries.

So, fuck em!

"You can let yourselves out the same way you got in." Harry dismissed them as he leaned back into his chair and felt the effects of the potion take hold.

He was ready for a long, drug-induced coma.

"Very well, Mister Potter. We will keep in touch." Love told him ominously.

They both made a grand show of fading out of reality - according to magic at least - and disappearing from Hogwarts in a form of teleportation few could imitate.

"I'M NOT IMPRESSED!" Harry yelled into the void. "I CAN DO THAT TOO!"

It was true. It was just so incredibly uncomfortable that after Death had brought him along in by side along that first time, he never wanted to do it again. And doing it improperly would lead to much worse than splinching. But for now, he breathed a sigh of relief as the full-body ache he had been ignoring for over an hour became lessened and sleep nearly took him. He would worry about this nonsense later. He already had a weeks' worth of meditating to do on recent going ons, what was one more catastrophic series of events to consider?

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NonsensicalRants · Feb 7, 2023

Chapter 25:

Leadup to the Full Moon

The rest of Harry's week went similarly to his Monday, though with each day having increasingly less pain associated with it. Having two classes per day instead of the usual four had its benefits and having that class in the morning meant he only had to suffer a few hours without his painkillers before downing his prescription potions, and yet he abstained a bit more than that in favor of making himself busy. This was partly because he felt guilty for having such a light workload, made even lighter by his policy of not assigning homework for the sake of assigning homework.

Tuesday afternoon he visited each common room, using the faculty password that worked for all of them, and posted flyers asking for volunteers to work at his nonprofit. It had the obvious rules that any volunteers must be of age and that they would receive extra credit for it, though he left out which classes as he hadn't discussed the topic with his coworkers yet, and hands-on experience as a medi-witch/wizard caring for werewolves. That afternoon at lunch Snape beat him to the punch.

"I amended your flyer in the dungeons to include an extra credit in potions." He informed Harry. "Lily informed me that she would demonstrate the preparation, creation and administration of the wolfsbane potion to all volunteers."

Hm. He'd have to make sure to amend the other flyers with such when the opportunity arose.
"What's this about extra credit?" Remus asked.

"I'm inviting of-age students to volunteer on the full moon this Friday to get hands on training on how to care for werewolves." Harry explained. "And I'm bribing them with extra credit."

"Ah. Well, you can add defense against the dark arts to that. So that's two whole extra credits to sweeten the deal." Remus instructed.

Good man. And so, after lunch Harry again visited each common room and amended the flyers appropriately, before retreating to his office, putting up a sign declaring study hall canceled and downing his potion. He was hoping that if he timed it right the last dregs of the potion's effects would last until just before his Wednesday morning. Turned out, he had timed it perfectly!

His class with the fourth years started just as his pain started to return but with enough leftover dulling from the potion to keep him chipper and energetic for the whole thing. After class let out and it had completely worn off he was feeling significantly recovered. Enough so that he felt confident in his ability to reopen study hall that evening, only to then be invited to Remus's afternoon class.
Who was he to deny the man?

It turned out Remus had decided to focus his lessons that week on Werewolves, and not just on identifying or defending against them. He was giving lectures on life as a werewolf. Not so much the "woe is me, some people don't like me because of it" but more of the biological realities, how he mixed prescription medicine and potions, along with what precautions he took to protect others. The rest of the class was on the precautions any student of defense against the dak arts ought to take to protect themselves and avoid confrontations with werewolves. Most techniques amounted to sensory overload. An overpowered Lumos Solemn, or a handy stink bomb spell Remus demonstrated to the class and that Harry couldn't believe he hadn't learned before. Harry sat in on one expecting it to be an enlightening and heartfelt lecture. He came out feeling more like a teen who had just sat in on the std portion of sex ed class with how clinical Remus described every last detail of life as a werewolf.

Meanwhile the applications for asylum just kept flooding in now that Fred, George and Xenophilius were advertising it. He spent most of his afternoons for that week reading and responding to these letters. He didn't receive more requests than his facilities could handle, but he did receive more than he was eager to handle for the first trial one. As such, his response to each amounted to "Only come if you absolutely must, if you have exactly zero other options. There are limited beds, and we want to make sure those most in need get them."

Still, none of this was bad news. Hell, he even got around to asking Dumbledore if he could borrow the man's pensieve for his classes next week, and the man just said yes. No questions about why he needed it. The man didn't even meet his eyes. It was a strange encounter to be sure, and it wasn't until Harry got back to his classroom for his study hall that he realized why Albus was acting like a kicked puppy.

He knew about Harry's identity as a "Time Traveler" and, by extension, knew how Harry had slightly cheated in order to get this job. Although from the assumption going around that he was from their future the cheating Dumbledore suspected was far greater than what Harry actually committed, but he preferred to keep up the charade for now.

Still, he wished Albus would act angry, not so... disappointed. If the man was faking disappointment to twist the knife into Harry it was rather cruel, but it was effective.

The day of the full moon finally arrived, and he decided to start his Friday with a walk around the grounds.

He had finished the last of his prescription pain killer the night before and his arm had healed enough that he no longer needed a sling for it. Couldn't go getting into boxing matches with it anytime soon, and he was still favoring it, but as far as his appearance went, he was good as new!

Unfortunately his morning plans were put on the backburner when he encountered a strange pair on his way down the fourth floor.

"Sir Nicholas? Baron?" Harry said in surprise.

"Good morning to you as well, Professor Morrigan." The Bloody Baron greeted with a bow as Nearly Headless Nick tipped his head.

"I'm surprised to see you two together, considering the animosity between your houses." Harry barreled forward.

"Such animosity is a very new phenomena, especially to us." Said Nick. "Gryffindors and Slytherins have been on the best of terms since Hogwarts' founding until just a century ago, with a few periods of rivalry brought on by the politics of the wider world, but that is true for each house."

Harry nodded; the Sorting Hat's song still fresh in his mind.

"But on this morning we are companions in work. Off to teach a new generation together." The Bloody Baron explained. "Would you care to join us?"

His curiosity sufficiently piqued, Harry agreed readily and followed the two ghosts down to the entrance hall and through the front doors. They lead him all the way to an area of the forbidden forest near Hagrid's hut, where Harry had once learned about hippogriffs and Draco once learned what happens when you insult a hippogriff. A large area of woods with newer trees overgrowing stone walls and strategically placed boulders and just a few rocky stables long in disuse. Today it was filled to the brim with students dressed in house-colored armors like that worn for Quidditch. They were chatting amicably.

Spread out on bleachers and benches were training weapons. Spears, sabers, and even jousts, each with dulled points and edges.

"Oh hey! The cripple's got his arm back!" Ron called from where he sat loitering.

"All the better for smacking students around with practice claymores." Harry joked back. "But on a serious note, I'm not sure what's going on here."

It was then that a rather disheveled Madame Hooch arrived, or more likely returned, with a large basket of throwing axes and javelins.

"Oh great! You're here. Gaze upon this hellish landscape and see the fruit of your labors!" She said sardonically. "Now I have a good dozen new clubs to form and oversee. Fencing, knife and axe throwing, polearm, longsword, sword and shield, jousting, rowing, sailing, javelin, and... what am I forgetting?"

"Horseback riding and falconry?" Lavander Brown offered helpfully.

Harry did the math in his head and the sixty or so students weren't enough to form five-member groups for each club. Must be a whole lot of overlap of members. So far it looked like interhouse unity was well on its way.

"The headless hunt will be here shortly for the horseback riding and jousting." Sir Nicholas told Hooch. "I can teach longsword and the good Barron is an excellent fencer."

"Good. Now if only we could find people to help with the rest of these!"

"I'm guessing today is going to be a massive safety lesson and organizational meetup?" Harry asked rhetorically.

Indeed, it was. And Harry sat there diligently as Hooch and the ghosts drilled each and every student on safety protocols and forced them to individually demonstrate the proper technique they had themselves just demonstrated for them. Soon enough house-elves were delivering breakfast and informing them that it was time for them all to make their way to class, and so they all scrambled.

"Oh, and you can probably grab the ninja ghost for the knife and axe throwing club." Harry said.

"There's a ninja ghost?" Blaise asked. "I've never seen a ninja ghost."

"Just goes to show he's good at his job. Go find him, so he can help out." Harry ordered.

As the last of the children left Nick leaned to whisper to the leader of the headless hunt.

"Am I going crazy, is there actually a ninja ghost?" He asked.

"No." The Baron answered with an unamused look at Harry for his prank. "No there is not."

His Friday class went exactly the same as every other class that week and as soon as it let out he dismissed the students and put up a do not disturb sign, along with a notice that study hall was, once again, cancelled.

With that job out of the way and a few hours to burn before he had to make his way to the Shrieking Shack he decided to tackle an issue that had been on his mind all week. Himself.

With painkillers coursing through his veins and the mental impairment that brought he dared not meditate on recent going-ons until now. But now he had the time and the mental faculties to tackle the demon that had haunted him. The demon he had come to call Gillie Dhu. He had first reared his ugly head a week ago, after meeting his parents and the extended Marauder family, whole and happy. At the time he had thought it was his own confusion and unconquered feelings that lead to his uncontrollable burst of power that night. He knew better know.

Those four would-be assassins were nothing. He seriously could not comprehend how he let that situation get so out of control. Unless he wasn't in control of himself. And with hindsight he realized he wasn't. Their emotions, their magic, it filled the space around them and came to life, as it always does. And his extrasensory abilities? They picked up on them and filled his very being with the sum of their parts, compounding his own adrenaline high and creating a devastating feedback loop that turned his mind to mush and his body into a tool of the magic around him. All this time he thought this ability was giving him power and insight over the world around him, but was it possible that it came with drawbacks? Was it possible that he, a human of a measly 28 years, was not as knowledgeable, wise or willful as the ENTIRETY OF THE UNIVERSE!?

Yes. Yes it was. Not only was it likely, it was guaranteed. When stuck in a room with five individuals with confusion, and other emotions he couldn't quite place, as great or greater than is own it took all of his self-control to contain it and maintain a professional veneer until he could get away and release it unto the poor, unsuspecting wilderness.

He had been toying with powers he didn't understand, this ability he thought was merely an extrasensory ability was so much more. In his comfortability in using it he forgot the most fundamental principle behind it. Magic is alive. Magic is sentient. Magic is greater than he could ever hope to comprehend in ten million lifetimes. And he had presumed to be master over it for all these years?
How thick can you get?

Now he was off to a place where not only the loved ones he had lost would be, the first people to reveal this massive hole in his understanding of the world, but several dozen fully transformed werewolves and volunteer students. He couldn't afford to let this power control him. He couldn't afford to allow any emotions, whether they belonged to him or others, to interfere with his judgement or worse cause harm to others.

He clamped down on his senses. The field of his own magic that radiated around him pulling all of the world into himself, making every brick, pebble or dust particle as unto his own flesh. Emotions, memories and the magic of spells long passed faded from his being, from his vicinity, and he became man again. Four limbs, a torso and a head that was at times far too empty for his own good. It felt wrong. Like losing sight, hearing and touch all at once and planning to function like normal. But he could do it. He would do it. Until he came to a better understanding of his, and possibly humanity's, relationship with the great magic that connected them all he couldn't afford to use it as he had been.

He had his limbs. He had his mind. He had his wand. For now, they would have to do.

Harry made a beeline for the front gates where a posse of 14 students stood waiting. All sixth and seventh years.

Hermione, Neville, Ron, Draco, Daphne, Susan, Crabbe and Goyle made up his former year mate volunteers. The five seventh-years were Kenneth Towler, then there was Marcus Belby, Eddie Carmichael and Cho Chang. Finally there was Miles Bletchley, whom Harry knew was held back one year and was technically an eighth year, but only because he hadn't quite scored high enough in charms and potions to get into medical school. The young man had taken the rare opportunity of having an eighth year to work on a couple extra NEWTS too while he was at it, including Harry's own class. A good mix of a group here. Mostly inquisitive people genuinely interested in the experience. He knew for Cho, Miles and Daphne in particular it was for a future in medicine. But for Crabbe, Goyle and Ron it really was just to get the three extra credits to round out their grades. That and moral support for their friends.

"Welcome everybody." Harry greeted. "Now if you will all follow me, I will lead you to Hogsmeade and from there to the recently renovated shrieking shack were my colleagues will be waiting for us.

The entire entourage signed up for that while they were here and led to the waiting room where the friends and family of their patients were waiting. It was going to be a long, sleepless night for everybody. But at least there would be no shortage of conversation to help it pass.

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NonsensicalRants · Feb 7, 2023

Chapter 26:

A Successful Grand Opening Part 1

They crossed paths with Remus on the way towards the Shrieking Shack, who coincidentally bumped into their group at a cross in the side paths between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.

There were many deer trails, paved paths and fenced areas leading to Hogsmeade from Hogwarts, and in the mountains around Hogwarts in general, with some brushing against the edge of the forbidden forest but considered safe woodlands all the same. Along these trails could be found many dilapidated ruins of chapels, lookout towers or foundations for long forgotten buildings lost even to the records in the library. If only weekends were five days long, then students could have a chance to properly explore these areas. Of all the sports clubs to spring up this last week, Harry couldn't understand how mountain or dirt biking didn't make the list. Oliver used to take the team jogging through these woods all the time when another team had the pitch reserved and, despite many of them being tough treks, it was always beautiful and rewarding.

But anyways, their group opted for the quickest footpath towards the Shrieking Shack after Harry recommended it as being faster than taking a carriage to the town. That course would then have them walk through the entirety of Hogsmeade to their destination. Remus must have had similar plans, but coming from the opposite end of the castle he must have taken a less used and more dangerous deer trail through the forbidden forest.

He was a big boy, he could take care of himself.

"Watch out everyone, Maugrim is on that time of the month. Big bad wolf might turn on us." Crabbe cracked at Remus.

He took it in stride.

"Full moon shouldn't rise for a few more hours. We're safe. Also, why Maugrim? I think I'm better compared to Akela."

"Yeah, Akela was awesome." Goyle said.

"Exactly! Akela's cool. And Lupin... isn't." Draco smirked.

"Professor, Lupin." Hermione corrected.

"Right. Him." Said Draco in a manner as if the man wasn't standing right beside him.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the antics before stomping off in the direction they'd been heading before the reunion. The rest followed.

"Will Severus be joining us to observe Lily's lesson?" Harry asked Remus in a hushed tone.

Hushed conversations were a reflexive habit of teachers when speaking to each other when near students, even when discussing perfectly non-nefarious things. It was amazing how a lot of the behavior of his own teachers, from Snape to fake-Moody, had seemed suspicious at the time were completely innocent in hindsight specifically because they were speaking in hushed tones. Needlessly. No lessons learned.

"Oh no. That man turns into mush around her, like a cat afraid of its own shadow. He'd rather not spend the night walking on eggshells in front of students. He knows that she knows what she's doing." Remus explained.

Seems there was a lot more history between the bat and his mother in this timeline. It made sense. They would have known each other for an additional... jeez, sixteen years! That was twice as long as his world's Snape had known his world's Lily. On top of the eight they had been close friends. There was so much he didn't know about this world. It still felt like he was just winging it, but his strategy of "treating the societal and spiritual damage of the war and play by ear from there" was bearing fruit, and tonight was a harvest.

"Oh wow! You can see all the way down to the ravine from here." Cho gasped when they reached the top of one particularly tall and rocky hill.

Indeed, you could see all the way down to the far side of Hogsmeade where the Hogwarts expressed passed through a ravine before docking. The tracks were built right along the floor and the sound of the engine and wheels echoing off the stone walls was the last warning call for student to change into their school robes. The shrieking shack, on the other hand, was right at the bottom of this hill. Every window bled white light onto the grassy lawns where jars of bluebell flames lit up the entire outside of the house against the rapidly darkening sky.

Harry looked at Hermione suspiciously, wondering if she had something to do with the choice of decorations. He distinctly recalled Sirius writing to request Arianna - who was apparently his girlfriend - be allowed to do that. Hermione noticed the look and blinked in apparent confusion at his staring, but Harry waved it off.

They trekked down the hill, past the clearing with the boulder he had wept on in his third year after hearing the conversation between Fudge, Rosmerta and Minerva, and out onto the road leading to Hogsmeade. They stopped at the freshly painted, and bluebell-lit, gate before ringing the little bronze bell placed there.

"This used to be one of my favorite spells." Hermione noted aloud as she finally got a good look at the jar.

The gate opened and they all walked up the small stone path to the front door and with a turn of the handle they reached their destination.

"Welcome to Professor Morrigan's Werewolf Sanctuary. We'll be with you in a moment." Arianna Figg greeted from behind the welcome desk.

They weren't the first in line. And the pair in front of them were a surprise, but a welcome one.

Draco tried not to boggle but boggle he did.

Holy crap! That's Viktor Krum! Former Quidditch star turned dueling champion. Was the man a werewolf? It seemed unlikely, and something he would surely prefer to keep a secret, so showing up to such a high-profile nonprofit seemed potentially counterproductive.

"My friend Poliakoff vishes to be interred for the evening." Viktor said to Professor Morrigan as he approached, indicating the thin man beside him.

Morrigan surveyed the older teen then nodded at the condition of his health.

"I believe he does need it. Please, come inside. Both of you. Mrs Potter will be teaching my class how to brew the wolfsbane potion shortly." Morrigan explained. "But before that, they will be shown how to administer the batch we already created for all of you. Come in. Come in!"

Professor Morrigan lead them inside past where Romulus was manning the counter with a mousy-haired woman. He was checking in a pair of middle-aged ladies. They looked to be identical twins, and were identically destitute in appearance, though one bore the telltale premature greying and scars of lycanism whereas the other did not.

"Oh, hey old man! Working hard or hardly working?" Romulus greeted professor Lupin.

As soon as his voice reached them Draco noted a straightening in Hermione's spine. It was adorable how she tried to hide her pleasure at her boyfriend being here. Almost as adorable as her delusion that he and Susan were unaware of her sneaking about the castle grounds during the full moons with the "safe" werewolf.

Krum suddenly took notice of the woman beside Romulus.

"Avianuh Feeg." He attempted to pronounce her name. "I have sat in on some of your duels in the English circuit. You fight vell."

She smiled and curtsied slightly in humility.

"I wish I could say the same, Mister Krum. But I haven't had the chance to go see the new sword-aided dueling circuits. It does sound fascinating!"

It suddenly occurred to Draco that Viktor Krum was a wealthy man and could easily provide for his own friends and family during the full moon. It further occurred to him that the man who, very publicly, ran this shindig was dating, not as publicly but famously, dating his spell-slinging demon of an aunt. So this was an information gathering outing for the athlete? It was amazing how he gave away his attempts at scouting his competitors so quickly. Then again, he had probably been unaware of Figg's presence here today.

"What about you Romulus?" Chang interrupted his thought. "Are we gonna have to babysit you tonight?"

"Nah! I have a weird mutation of lycanism. I barely transform and I'm not contagious. Keep most of my mind too." Romulus said.

"What little there is of it to keep." Weasley joked with his friend.

Throughout this banter Draco kept a close eye on Hermione, who he noted was ogling her dapperly dressed boyfriend. He leaned over to her so as not to be heard and whispered.

"You know. If you undress him much harder with your eyes, his clothes might actually spontaneously combust."

The sour lemon look of her face at that comment would make Professor McGonagall jealous.

"Quiet, you. Shoo! Shoo!" She waved him away with both hands dismissively.

He had to stifle a chuckle as the group was lead through a pair of doors to a large sitting room where twelve werewolves were already waiting. With Professor Lupin, his son and the twin they had fifteen werewolves in total.

Professor Morrigan had all of the guests sit down and organized the volunteers near a lidded cauldron that smelled strongly of coriander and petrichor. It was there that professor Lupin took over.

"While we wait for Professor Grey let me walk you through other measures of containing a transformed werewolf during the full moon. In particular the safe ones that do not harm the werewolf in question." His lecture began. "The most effective are silver collars and wristbands."

He produced the silver objects in question. They clinked together like the chains that would usually come attached with them.

"Usually, a werewolf would put these on and then shackle themselves to a wall or steak as an extra precaution, if wolfsbane isn't available." Lupin explained. "However, with just these and the wolfsbane most of us tonight will be incapable of getting up from our beds, not even to pee."

Daphne raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Greengrass?"

"I though silver was dangerous to werewolves? Are you sure these shackles are safe to put on bare skin?" She asked.

"No more than they would be to us. Chaffing is always a possibility, and a likelihood without wolfsbane, and can be pretty bad..." Lupin paused. " Actually, we really should add some rubber padding to the inside of these."

Professor Morrigan took the box of "bracelets" and "collars" - which were honestly just silver shackles minus the chains - and got to work windlessly conjuring corkwood padding along the interior of each. Such a showoff. No wonder auntie Bella adored him so.

Lupin continued to answer Daphne's question.

"Silver itself doesn't harm nor repel a werewolf. However, an injury obtained with a silvered weapon, or while wearing silvered shackles, will heal at a normal rate instead of the accelerated rate werewolves are known for." He explained. "Silvered jewelry also dampens our strength, senses and aggression significantly."

Gregory raised a hesitant hand.

"Yes, mister Goyle?"

"Is that why fire is recommended for defending yourself against a werewolf attack if silver is unavailable?" He asked. "Because it cauterizes any wounds it causes and can't heal?"

"That's exactly right! Five points to Slytherin."

Vincent gave him a high five down low and Draco added a thump on the shoulder for their friend. Gregs OWL report card had been a wakeup call to him this last summer. What his father's belt and his mother's nagging could never achieve in five years, the epiphany of wanting more out of life than sycophantism and disappointment in his own performance had achieved in seconds. Draco had been there when it happened, the moment a fire lit in his friend's chest. Since then his nose had been in the books as he reabsorbed every schoolbook they'd had up until this year, like a man possessed. An intensive years one through five refresher.

It was scary. And he did his best to keep news of it from Susan or, shudder, Hermione. Could you imagine how hideous the babies would be?

"Ah! If it isn't Professor Grey." Harry announced the arrival of the fossil.

Emma limped into the room on her cane and two jittery legs. Her ever-present smile, more likely just the way her wrinkles were set more than any deliberate expression, warmed the room.

"I apologize for the tardiness." She greeted. "I'm not the fastest walker and my osteopath insists floo travel is off-limits to me on account of my tendency to go sledding through living rooms like a skipping stone. Unless it's prepared ahead of time for a very soft landing, like my office floo has."

Now there was an issue Harry could relate to. Minus the post-menopausal bone-density issues. He wondered internally if she was a former prodigy on a broom too? Everybody he'd ever met who had trouble with floo or portkeys was a prodigy at either flying or apparition. Harry was the former, but anybody with an inborn talent for either gets it at the cost of being forever inconvenienced by all forms of faster-than-light travel.

Space, the Unspeakable heading the space room, had shown him the studies proving just that. He was a terrifying man who had so mastered teleportation that he could reappear in a different orientation - such as upside down, or feet to the wall - maintain momentum between jumps, and even apparate people he touched without joining them for the trip. He was also the inventor of that "little trick" Unspeakables use to exit reality and reappear in places as a substitute for apparition. Fortunately, in order to use it they needed to tap into Space's Omnikey, a portkey-like device contained and maintained within the DOM. Mind-boggling levels of genius there. But as a result, the one time he had flood to Grimmauld for Christmas had left the house half demolished.

He was not invited to future Christmas parties. Great guy all around though. A rarity amongst Unspeakables. He loved peanut brittle. And that covered everything Harry knew of the man.

"Now before we give the wolfsbane potion to our patients it is vital that they eat a high calorie, high carbohydrate meal." Emma began her lecture. "The transformation is energy intensive, and alone is the reason why you've never seen a werewolf without a six pack despite their otherwise feebleness. No body fat to speak of."

She had unpacked a whole host of whole grain confectionaries, loaded with nuts and seeds. Whole wheat croissants, and good old-fashioned oatmeal that had more almond butter in it than oats. Everyone dug in.

"Madame Grey. I do believe information about my physique gleaned during our yearly examinations is covered by our patient-carer confidentiality." Remus chortled between bites.

"Pish posh, let's ask our new quests." She jabbed before turning to the dozen or so werewolves seeking shelter for that night. "Who among you has even a single percentage body fat on you?"
A series of shaking heads, some of them saddened - hey, some people don't like being bone thin, which yet again, Harry could relate to - but they were all too busy enjoying the pastries to answer aloud. Soon enough everybody had their fill and Emma removed the lid to her cauldron. The smell of coriander and freshly fallen rain wafted into the room and James took that as his cue to bring in a tray of silver goblets. Necessary for the potion.

"The potion only works to allow the imbiber to retain their mind by itself, and to make it so their bite is not infectious, but when drunken from a silver goblet also tempers the wild impulses and instincts of the beast." Emma explained. "A werewolf without wolfsbane is like unto a rampaging bear with rabies. With wolfsbane is like a tamed bear who is caught up on all of his shots, and able to fight its nature. Though is still a bear and should be treated with similar caution to a wild one. When drunken from a silver goblet their transformation is more akin to an addict in drug withdrawal. Nearly catatonic and completely safe. But safety measures should still be observed all the same."

It was a good comparison. Even with the potion it is a battle to maintain control, but at least you are able to fight for it. Administered properly and with the bracelets or collars and it's like restraining a tranquilized bear. Nobody here will be a danger to others, but for the patients it will be a night of staring at their darker halves terrified that they could wake up at any moment and tear them to shreds. Sometimes reality liked to remind Harry that he didn't have it that bad, despite all of his troubles.

"Using a measuring cup, fill the goblets to exactly... one cup." Emma instructed, passing the glass measuring implement to each student in turn as they filled a goblet apiece and stood apart. "With that done, you instruct the patient to drink the goblet in its entirety."

She then demonstrated, bringing forth a young man with unhealthily dark bags under his bloodshot eyes - the possibility of murdering your loved ones against your will in a few nights isn't great for sound sleep - and had him drink the goblet.

"Once they have, you refill the goblet with water and have them drink it to make sure they get every last drop of the potion." She explained, before having the young man do exactly that. "You do this twice and offer a cup of mouthwash."

Her patient drank two refills of water and declined the mouthwash. Many people believed, wrongly, that rinsing the mouth after consuming wolfsbane would counteract the impotency of their bite that it provided, and also it was a rather tasty potion with a pleasant aftertaste. From there each student took their turn repeating this process with a patient apiece. Emma made certain to keep the female patients with the female students and male patients with the male students and it all worked out fairly well. With that done Emma demonstrated how to properly escort their patients to a bed and teach them a few sign language motions to ask for water, the toilet or to indicate pain. In case they need help during their night of being transformed. With everybody put to bed and the full moon less than thirty minutes away Emma led the group into the large entrance hall.

There Lily sat, cross-legged, in front of a churning cauldron and a dozen cushions surrounding it.
"Come in everyone. It's time to earn your extra credit in potions." She instructed.

"Are we to call you professor again?" Draco asked. "As much as I enjoy my godfather's classes, it really isn't the same without you ma'am."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the blonde, but Lily answered with a genuine smile.

"Thank you, Draco. Ma'am will do for the evening. Please, sit. Sit!" She patted one of the cushions closest to her.

Harry joined James in the corner as the students took their places in a circle around the cauldron, trying his hardest not to stare at him or his mother. Draco and Hermione took to Lily's left and right spots, with the older students like Daphne, Miles and Cho, in the closest circle of cushions to the cauldron. For a few minutes they watched silently as Lily prepared the ingredients, narrating what the ingredients were and what she was doing to prepare them. When Harry was certain the class was fully engrossed in the lesson he spoke to James.

"Hey, old man, where are Padfoot and Wormtail?" Harry asked, repeating Romulus' familiar term for Remus earlier.

"Patrolling." He whispered back. "Padfoot and Arianna are doing laps outside and Wormtail is hiding in the quarters, eavesdropping." He explained. "We have to make sure none of our guests are planning any raucous."

It made a good deal of sense. There were many people who had reasons to interfere with the days' going ons.

"I'll go checkup on them. Can you also do a sweep of the rest of the rooms while I'm out?" Harry asked.

"Of course, son." James smiled at him before clasping him on the shoulder. "And I'll make sure to escort our non-werewolf guests to the waiting room."

Harry nodded and nervously made for the front door. Keeping a tight hold on both his occlumency, facial muscles and refusal to tap into the ambient magic to feel what James felt just then. He exited the house and let go as soon as the door closed. A sensation that enveloped him could best be compared to lowering yourself into a hot tub after a long day of hard labor.

He'd spoken to his dad. And he had called him son. That little gesture, that hand on the shoulder, would fuel his patronus charm for months to come. It probably didn't mean much, if anything, to James. But it meant the world to Harry. He'd have to rewatch that moment in Dumbledore's pensieve before classes start next week. Take in every feature of his dad's expression. Every millimeter of his crow's feet and greying hairs. By the end of the night, he'd also have to commit the man's smell to memory, just as he had done with Pandora so his Luna could experience it best in a pensieve when... if, he ever returned to his own timeline.

He was becoming increasingly comfortable with the notion that he may never return. In many ways this timeline was preferable, but it wasn't his home. If it were to become his home he would have to open up and share his true secret with everyone, or at least everyone who mattered. But it wasn't safe to do so yet. Until then he would continue with this half-life. It wasn't a particularly bad life.

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for a potential one-on-one chat with Sirius, and later his mother, and began a route around the shrieking shack. It didn't take long to find the couple. The two were checking the ward stones near the front gate to make certain it hadn't been tampered with. At least they weren't sneaking away to play paddycake. This was Sirius Black and a woman who could apparently tolerate him, after all. Any expectations of professionalism were optimistic at best.

"Everything copacetic out here?" Harry asked as he approached, so as not to startle them.

"No signs of tampering and we already did a lap." Arianna answered. "Also now isn't the best time, but when are you free for a rematch? This time without the... tactic I promised to keep secret."

Harry smiled at the curious glance Sirius gave his woman from where he was kneeling.

"I expect to be exceptionally busy for the foreseeable future." Harry said honestly. "But if you ever want to arrange a dueling lesson for the students with Albus I can be your opponent. Wands only, and tournament rules. Are you more of a heap rules girl, a snowball rules girl or a classical rules girl?"

"Oh, I'm pants at conjuration and transfiguration." She admitted. "Classical rules please."

Classical rules meant jinxes, curses and charms only, and was what most people imagined when thinking of dueling. It required exceptional aim, athletics, reflecting, dodging and focus. Snowball rules allowed unlimited conjuration and transfiguration in addition to the above. Where the catwalk gets filled up over time and the material with which to transfigure grows, snowballing into larger and larger feats of magic. It required immense creativity, strategy and power. Heap rules is the same, but all material outside of the opponent's dueling circle is out of play and thrown aside into "the heap." It's the best of both worlds, requiring all of the skills of classical and snowball rules.

"If it's during the school week I'm yours, just not on weekends or Friday evenings." Harry accepted. "And Padfoot, did you smell anything suspicious during your route?"

"Haven't gotten to sniffing around yet." Sirius told him before standing up and stretching. "Was gonna do that next. Not much wind tonight to carry any scents but it's always best to use all senses available."

Harry nodded.

"Once you've finished with that, I need you and Prongs in the barracks with our patients. You two and Wormtail are in charge of watching over and restraining them if necessary." Harry instructed.

The reason animagi are so compatible with werewolves isn't just because werewolves are less likely to attack them. But because they are immune to the bite. So long as they are bitten while transformed. The disease only effects humans. It's just best to clean the wound thoroughly before transforming back.

Harry left the couple and did a round along the perimeter as well. He slacked his grip on his connection the forc... er, magical ambience as he did so. Only enough to feel for a dozen meters beyond the perimeter. Finding nothing but the flora and wildlife one would expect, Harry returned to the shrieking shack in time to see Lily finish her lesson.

"The next full moon will be Saturday, October 26th." Lily informed her class. "And a Hogsmeade weekend. If you would like to avail yourselves of the opportunity, you may come Saturday afternoon to brew a wolfsbane potion of your own."

The entire entourage signed up for that while they were here and led to the waiting room where the friends and family of their patients were waiting. It was going to be a long, sleepless night for everybody. But at least there would be no shortage of conversation to help it pass.

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NonsensicalRants · Feb 8, 2023

Chapter 27:

A Successful Grand Opening Part 2

The next morning arrived as a cloudless day and brought with it an entire Shrieking Shack full of sleeping or half-unconscious students.

One by one they had dropped like flies throughout the night, the fascinating conversations interrupted by the occasional care of their guests failing to provide the mental fortitude to keep them awake. This was exacerbated by the fact that, for insurance reasons, they couldn't allow the students to actually enter the room where the werewolves were sheltered. Instead, they had to crowd around the doorway and watch as either Grey or Lily tended to their patients while the other narrated what they were doing.

The only interesting thing to have happened overnight was when Romulus, fully transformed, walked around the house to get a glass of water or a snack from the kitchen. It was eerie seeing a werewolf talk in full sentences, made even stranger by the fact his appearance more resembles 1941s Wolf Man than an actual werewolf. It almost looked like intentionally bad makeup.

What kind of mutation was that? And did it involve a Jumanji board?

"We really ought to wake them." Lily interrupted their silent watching of the students.

Harry checked his watch and, indeed, it was the scheduled time to return them to the castle for a weekend of homework and rest.

"Is there really a point? They're just going to crash in their dormitories as soon as they get back." Sirius argued.

"Which will be better for them." Harry decided. "Let's get them out quietly so as not to wake the patients. They need all the rest and recouperation they can get."

They each lightly shook a student awake, or as close to it as they could get in their current state and walked them to the fireplace. Harry had to manually start it - the connection was severed during working hours for obvious security reasons - but once the connection was made Grey went through to her personal quarters to receive them. Not trusting the students to be particularly eloquent Harry threw fistfuls of floo powder in after each of them and enunciated "Hogwarts, Profeessor Grey Quarters" so they wouldn't have to.

With Hermione being the last to leave Harry was left with the company of his volunteers and quests, the quiet snoozing of un-transformed werewolves in the next room competing with the birds for most irksome sounds after pulling an all-nighter.

"Does anybody want some coffee?" Arianna Figg offered, entering the room with a fresh pot.

"Do I look like a flag waving American to you? No, I do not want coffee. I want tea. Strong tea, and a lot of it." Harry answered.

He got a few eye rolls from that, but aside from Lily and Arianna everyone agreed to tea. Bit of a sex war going on there on the coffee vs tea preference, hopefully it remained a cold war for the time being. When wars are fought over tea British soldiers tend to get humiliated, and Harry had too much natural pride to see that happen in his lifetime. As much as Draco... his original Draco would enjoy seeing it.
"So, how long until the day shift arrives?" Asked Sirius as Harry handed him a hot mug.

"Or do you expect us to pull a 48-hour shift?" Peter asked. "We are only volunteers, after all, so you shouldn't work us too hard."

Harry smiled at the good humor.

"They should be arriving by floo soon, then I have a meeting with Schmickleook the fourth to discuss Gringotts' satisfaction with the grand opening." Harry explained. "If they are, I can go looking for plots to start my farm."

"Farm? What does farming have to do with this nonprofit of yours?" James asked.

"Aconite, moonwort and myrrh." Harry explained simply.

"Aaaaaaah." They all exclaimed in understanding.

They settled into the quiet morning. All of them were far too sleepy to continue on with small talk, so they enjoyed their breakfast beverages and watched the world outside of the windows and doors of the Shack.

Speak of the devil! Schmicklehook the second youngest was approaching the gate from Hogsmeade now. Harry waved his hand and deactivated the ward on the gate to allow him in and he stomped up the path towards the open doorway like a soldier on a mission.

"Good day, Mister Morrigan." Schmicklehook the 4th greeted.

"Good day. Would you like some breakfast before we begin?" Harry offered.

Schmicklehook waved him off.

"No, let us get onto business so I can get home sooner and have a REAL breakfast." He said.

"Would you two like us to give you some privacy?" Peter offered.

"Actually, I'm here to interview the rest of you. He is more biased, and you all have stellar reputations amongst goblinfolk." Schmicklehook said. "Except for you, Mr Black. Your credit score could use improving."

Sirius threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.

"You miss ONE credit card payment, and they treat you like a convicted mass murderer."

Harry snorted into his tea. Fortunately, his companions all took this as him relating to Sirius' situation, and not the irony of his statement that only knowledge of his home universe' Sirius made sensible.
Schmicklehook ignored their shenanigans as he took a seat and withdrew a clipboard from his sack. Clicking his pen to the "on" position he began his interrgation.

"Were any reporters present at any time over the night?" He asked. "Or tried to be."

They all shared confused glances at the odd question.

"No sir. Nobody approached the facilities through the evening at all." Said Arianne Figg. "Isn't that right dear?"

Sirius nodded and Schmicklhook made a note.

"And was there any period of time where Hadrian Morrigan was not within ear and eye shot of at least one of you?" He continued.

They all had to think on that one.

"He was with us in the guest sitting room for most of the night." Emma Grey said.

"And when he wasn't he was either accompanying me or Arianna on patrols." Sirius added. "Was never more than two meters away from me."

Arianna and Lily both nodded to confirm this.

"So yeah, no reporters. I even made sure to put up beetle detection and repellant wards." Harry quipped.

They all look at him strangely. He supposed he deserved his reputation as an oddball at times.
"Sorry. Inside joke that only I understand. I do that pretty often, actually." Harry apologized. "You'll probably get it later. My being a seer and all, these jokes don't tend to make sense until the subject matter actually happens."

"I actually knew a woman who had ironic foresight." Said Schmicklehook. "Everything she said in jest, tended to come true."

Harry nodded.

"I know for a fact one of my students has such an ability. I have yet to inform him and will avoid doing so until my last day as his teacher." Hary said with a smirk.

Boy was his world's Ron unhappy when Prophecy from the D.O.M informed him of that latent ability. But honestly, when you make offhanded, farfetched jokes like "Maybe that guy who got awards for services to the school murdered moaning Myrtle." and that little joke about "Voldemort hiding behind a bookshelf in Flourish and Blots" it was kind of obvious in hindsight. Shame Trelawney didn't notice it during their time at Hogwarts. After a certain age it's impossible to develop the talent to its full potential, so Ron's divinatory talent withered and died. Thankfully, that cutoff age is 17, so he can secretly assign this world's Ron tasks to "accidentally" bring such humorous predictions out.

Or he just tell him... Nah! Opportunities to pick on your best friend like this don't come every day. Gotta take advantage of it, you know? He hoped this Ron would lie and make up stuff for his dream journal, because Harry would pay VERY close attention to whatever he wrote down.

"And what did Hadrian contribute all night?" Schmicklehook continued.

"Mainly comforted our non-werewolf guests and added his two cents for the lessons to the students." Emma supplied. "He left the medicine and most of the teaching to those of us more knowledgeable on the subject of caring for were-wolves. But do not underplay the value of his keeping our now sleeping guests in the next room entertained and happy."

Lily nodded to confirm these claims.

"What can I say? I'm a people person." Harry explained. "And I recruited these people because I have the utmost faith in their abilities.

Schmicklehook made some more marks on his clipboard and Harry resisted the temptation to reach out and try to read it with his extra senses. Had he really been that reliant on them for so long? An extrasensory ability that was like a combination of sight, hearing and touch was such a useful ability that it made sense he became addicted, but this is ridiculous.

"That covers everything for now. With your permission I would like to remain on the premises for the whole of the day until you discharge everyone this evening." He requested.

Harry shrugged.

"You absolutely may, but I would like to know why."

"To make sure nothing untowards happens, observe how you conduct the place and to make sure no press comes for you to pull a Jimmy Carter." Schmicklehook advised.

Lily finally perked up and added her two cents.

"What did Jimmy Carter do?" She asked.

"Publicity stunting." Harry explained. "Volunteers for charities, particularly habitat for humanity, every year only when there was publicity to it. Made sure to always do it in front of cameras on the ONE week per year he volunteered instead of spending his millions actually doing good for humanity."

"Yes, I was passive aggressively sharing our suspicions that this was all a publicity stunt for future politicking or other social games on Hadrian's part. Would you like a further crash course on the intricacies of goblinoid barbing and other conversational techniques or may Mister Morrigan and I get on with our business?" Schmicklehook demanded.

Harry hid his smile up until the barbing comment, then he couldn't hold it.

"I would have mentioned all that, but I don't want to seem like the most pessimistic person in a room containing two aurors, a potions professor, a Doctor with seventy years of treating horrific medical conditions, a professional fighter and a goblin banker." Harry joked.

The nervous chuckling that filled the room at that told him they definitely had every excuse to be pessimistic people because of the lives they lived and understood his actual meaning.

The fireplace ignited with bright green flames and out came a gentleman so covered in scars from third degree burns that his only describable features were his neon blue eyes. Sirius took one look at the revolver strapped to his hip and whistled Marty Robbins.

"Hah! Big iron is right." Jacob said as soon as he entered.

Already friends with my attempted murderer, are you Sirius?

"Jacob, meet everyone. Everyone, meet Jacob. He's in charge of the day shift as condition for his community service and house arrest." Harry explained.

"Community service? House arrest?" Lily asked with a suspicious glare up and down Jacob's person.

"Yeah. Hadrian talked to the judge on my behalf and she decided him immolating my ass and killing my colleagues was almost justice enough for my trying to kill him." Jacob confessed. "But not trusting me, they put me on house arrest and assigned me community service. The latter to be supervised by the man who decided to take responsibility for me."

Harry nodded along with every word.

"Wait... you're one of that quartet that Voldemort hired to assassinate him?" Lily asked, seemingly not believing her ears.

"That's right." Jacob affirmed, almost cheerfully. "It wasn't anything personal, just a job. Now this is my job. And I appreciate the chance to restart my life in his service."

"Say it." Harry instructed.

"What? Say what?" Jacob asked in confusion.

"Tell them what you are." Harry demanded.

Jacob deflated. Taking a deep breath and letting it out as a sigh, he told them the simple version of events.

"I am Hadrian's bitch. There. Are you happy?" Ge ground out.

"Emminently." Harry said with a shit-eating grin. "And yes, I approved him to carry his firearm, which he is already certified to open carry, although I would prefer it if he kept sidearm concealed."
Jacob looked at him like he was an idiot.

"I don't even keep it loaded right now. It's just for show. It's hard to find a silver 600 nitro express bullets. But when I do, and expect to work during the full moon, I'll load it." He said.

Well, that was ONE way to kill a werewolf. And he was hired to patrol the grounds as a deadly disincentive for anybody with plans to harm his patients while they're recovering and weak from the transformation. Whether they're people intent on murdering werewolves in general, or one of those present specifically, if they come to his facility with evil in their heart they have a bonafied murderer to contend with.

He'd make sure to pull Jacob aside and instruct him to load his gun, as he clearly didn't understand his job.

"And... you are sure you can manage this man, Ha, Hadrian?" James asked, stumbling over his name.
Harry nodded.

"I'll be here all day, and he won't leave my sight or the sight of those who will be coming through that fireplace right... now!" Harry said, snapping his fingers on both hands and pointing to the fireplace.
One second passed. Then another. Then...

WOOSH!

"Heeeeeeey! I nailed it!" Harry joked.

"Psychic powers at work?" Quipped James.

"You know it."

The humor in the room died as the day shift stepped through the threshold. As the second person passed through, every single Marauder present drew their wands. Lily, Emma and Arianna had the good sense to back away.

Before the stunning and binding spells left James, Peter and Sirius' wands Harry released his hold on Ghillie Dhu, if only slightly. The stone floor and wooden walls turned into vines, reaching for and growing towards each other with such speed that the tendrils of stone and fiber crashed into each other with a loud symphony of cracks. The stunner, incarcerous and shield breaker (Really Sirius? Really?!) smashed against the barrier and broke it apart as quickly as it had taken Harry to construct it.

In the amount of time this all took to unfold Jacob and Schmicklehook turned on the three aggressors. Sirius found the barrel of a revolver an inch from his nose while Jacobs other hand held his wand pointed at James' heart. Schmicklehook had withdrawn a dagger from his sleeve and was holding it, tip first, against Peter's inner thigh. Right on the femoral artery.

"I thought you said it wasn't loaded?" Sirius broke the silence.

"I lied." Jacob snarled, drawing the hammer back with his thumb but keeping his finger off the trigger.
Harry kept his focus on the barrier, regrowing it in case the Carrows decided to retaliate.

"You guys okay over there?!" He called through the wall.

"Yeah, just taking cover behind the fireplace." Amycus called back.

"Keep your wands holstered. We have things under control over here." Harry called back, turning his full attention on his father, Peter and Sirius. "I will give you exactly ten seconds to explain. Get started."

And they did. Talking all at once, as he should have expected.

"They're Death Eaters!"

"They butchered an entire family!"

Peter remained silent. A knife against your thigh, and dangerously close to your testicles, will do that to a man.

A small, muffled voice came from the other side of the barrier.

"First of all, I'm not a Death Eater, my husband is." Said Alecto. "And we were exonerated last week in a court of law."

"Thank you, ma'am! Please let me handle this!" Harry called back, before turning on James and Sirius.
They lowered their wands.

"You dare bring your idiotic war into my establishment? A place of peace and healing?" Harry said. "I don't care what ideology, political affiliation, or career they or you hold. Your war ends at that doorstep!"

He paused for effect.

"Actually, no, it ends at that property line." He corrected himself, pointing towards the gate with the bluebell fire jars. "Not that it's any of your business, but Alecto lost her first husband to lycanthropy. His anemia couldn't handle the internal bleeding from the transformation. She has as much of a right to help others afflicted and has just as much of a beautiful motivation as you do with your relationship to Remus. And you would have me deny them that because of your ideological differences?"

A crowd had gathered in the doorway to the living room where they had left the friends and families of the patients, with Viktor at the front.

Harry sighed and undid the barrier, revealing Alecto and Amycus with their hands raised to chest level in a sign of peace. A gesture that Sirius, Peter and James had also adopted before the barrier came down, although that likely had more to do with them being held at gun/wand point.

"Listen, you..."

He was interrupted by the fireplace igniting again, depositing the last two volunteers for the day into the foyer.

"Oh! Are we interrupted something?" Narcissa greeted, surprised by the violent situation she found herself in.

Andromeda came in through the floo behind her, dressed in her mediwitch clothes. She arrived with a cheery demeanor that immediately deflated into one of annoyance and boredom at the scene. For some reason her gaze zeroed right in on her male cousin as if she knew he was solely to blame. It was a wrong assumption, but not an unfair one.

"Ladies." Harry greeted the Black sisters, before turning on the night shift to address Lily, Emma and Arianna "Ladies. Please escort these gentleman home, or at least away from here."

He turned to said gentleman next.

"As for you three, if you are still interested in being a part of this, then we can discuss your ability to do so at a later date. For now, I need you to vacate my property, cool off, and think on what is important here." Harry dismissed them.

They looked stricken and for a moment seemed ready to argue, but a look at the expression on Lily's face silenced all three of them. Lily took the lead in ushering them through the front door and along the path to Hogsmeade. Jacob kept his weapon drawn, though pointed at the ground, as he watched them, only returning it to the holster when they apparated away.

The world paused to catch its breath, but once it did, Harry turned to the new arrivals.

"Narcissa, Andromeda. I'm so glad to see you again." He said with a genuine smile.

They both approached him in turn to give him a hug or chaste kiss on the cheek and the entire entourage was all smiles from there. Harry introduced Narcissa, Andromeda, Alecto and Amycus to Schmicklehook and Jacob in turn.

"Isn't this the man who tried to murder you last Saturday?" Narcissa pointed out.

"And vaporized most of your arm?" Andromeda added.

Harry waved their concerns away.

"Please! If I restricted my social interactions to people who haven't tried to kill me, I'd be a very lonely person. Now let's get to work." AHrry suggested.

He led them to the living room and repeated the process with all of the guests. Jacob excused himself outside to patrol and Harry directed Amycus to accompany him.

"They are welcome to stay and even sleep here until this evening when our lycanthropic friends in the room next door are ready for discharge." Harry explained. "We have actual bedding and a common room upstairs, though most just slept on whatever piece of furniture they were on where they dropped."

It did greatly resemble a hospital sitting room, but more comfortable. It was certainly filled with the same amount of worry as the ER.

"May I see the patients?" Andromeda asked.

Harry motioned to the door to the barracks and nodded at Alecto to join her. Always in pairs. Everybody must always be in a pair.

"May I watch them?" Asked Schmicklehook.

"Yes, but only from the doorway. Insurance, medical licensing, all that good stuff." Harry explained.
"But of course!" Schmicklehook said as if aghast Harry would think he didn't already know that.

Before turning back to the crowd of non-werewolf guests Harry checked his watch. He had 14 hours left until bed. Joy.

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NonsensicalRants · Feb 9, 2023

Interlude:

The Cloak: Part 2

Azkaban Prison: November 2006

"Appoline!" Harry called out as Fleur's mother approached with her lovely entourage.

The older Veela, who still looked like she could be Fleur's older sister, smiled graciously and genuinely as she sprinted up to him for an embrace. Ahhhh, warm fuzzies!

"Harry! Meet my very, VERY extended family." Appoline said as she motioned to the nearly oned hundred Veela behind her.

There were French Veela. There were Italian Veela. There were Russian Veela(Dear GOD! How were they SO hot?!). There were African Veela as dark as coal and as beautiful as diamonds. There were chatty American Veela, demure Thai Veela, stoic Aboriginal Veela and even one Ainu Veela who wore lipstick in such a way that it made her look like she had a creepy clown smile. Still pretty though.

"It's on days like these I resent my immunity to you ladies." Harry confessed. "If I were as glassy eyed as these fellas from you, I'd have nothing to fear from Dementors."

Ironically enough, the contingent of Aurors were holding up very well against the allure. Proper training and discipline will do that to men. Of course, they were under specific orders to LET the Veela allure affect them as they approached the island. Let the artificial love-potion-like effects keep them so emotionally preoccupied in their infatuation that the fear and cold of dementors won't reach them. Sadly, this was not an option for Harry.

"That brings up a good question." Susan interrupted, surrounded by here squad of lady Aurors. "What does that leave you and us with dementor resistance? Since Veela don't make us emotionally excited enough to resist the misery."

"Actually, they do, just not in the same way." Harry informed her. "You know that uncontrollable jealousy and resentment bubbling up in your chest by their mere presence? Yeah, that's not you being a petty bitch, that's their magic working on you. And don't discount burning envy and fiery rage, it may be enough to keep the cold and fear at bay."

Susan seemed unconvinced.

"That doesn't seem as pleasant as deep infatuation and giddiness." She complained. "I don't suppose you have male Veela with you, Delacour?"

"No such thing." Said Appoline. "Well, aside from the occasional mutant. But we haven't had one of those in a century and we always used to put them down at birth."

They all stared at her in horror.

"What?! I said it's been over a century!" She defended. "Besides, it's a mercy killing. The allure still only effects males and for some reason male relatives aren't immune as with normal Veela."

Oh god! Yeah, don't let that mutation spread. There are some birth defects worth mercy killing over, and one that makes your biological father feel lust and infatuation with his baby boy at no fault of his own is one of those. Magic was truly terrible sometimes.

"It is moot point. I have friend coming." Viktor told them.

Hermione turned on him.

"And this friend can make us emotionally resistant to dementors?" Susan asked.

"No. But HIS friend can." Viktor explained.

As if his words summoned them, a final entourage of allies portkeyed in. Even without the bright red, yellow and blue quidditch robes they all wore, Harry would have recognized the team of massive, tattooed Kiwis ten miles away. The entirety of the Moutahara Macaws stood before Azkaban, and they had brought with them their mascot, Sparky the phoenix.

"Vik-TOR!" Captain Hongi yelled, carrying Sparky on his leather-gloved arm like a falcon.

Australian phoenixes are big. While Fawkes was tall and slender, Sparky had a body similar to a pelican, but strongly resembling Fawks in the face. He also sported a vibrant blue steak along his back and on his crest feathers to compliment the usual red and gold.

The mystic bird took one look at Harry and pounced from Hongi's gloved hand to glide over at him. Harry would never admit it, but a phoenix charging him was enough to make him freeze. Nothing made Harry freeze, but this did. And it was for nothing, because all Sparky did was take up a perch on Harry's shoulder.

The rest of their contingent stared with a mixture of expressions that all amounted to boredom as Sparky settled in on his neas seat. Was Harry's life so chaotic that every increasingly surprising abnormality seemed more mundane with each new bizarreness? Yes. Yes it was.

"Because Harry Potter?" Viktor suggested.

"Yup. That's pretty much all there is to it at this point, eh?" Draco added.

Kingsley separated them into groups. All women, or individuals immune to the Veela allure, such as Harry, Brain and his highest students form the DOM, were put into one group with Sparky as their guardian. The remainder were all split into teams with their own Veela guard and apportioned Auror's based on their skill with the patronus. Love had their own platoon of members from his/her/its own department. Several of whom had gone through the same procedure to fuse into the Greek ideal of two people merged into an eight limbed, two headed abominations.
"I am afraid to ask." Said Hermione. "But why do you all not have Veela in your group? Or else, why are you not joining Harry's team?"

Despite being cloaked, Harry could sense both faces smiling at the innocent question.

"Because we are all immune to both the powers of the Veela, and the powers of dementors." The male head said.

"Plus, we make Harry uncomfortable, and we need him to focus." Said the female one with a wink at harry that he couldn't see but could somehow feel.

"How... How is that possible?" Dudley dared to ask.

The octopus double shrugged.

"When you are permanently bonded to the love of your life, it's easy to feed off of those most beautiful emotions even in the darkest depths of Azkaban." The male head said underneath their double hood. "And you know as well as we do, Harry, that Love is the most powerful force in the universe."

Harry shuddered, both at the creepy insinuation and the fact that it was true. Of all the departments, Love had the greatest claim on him save for maybe Death. Honestly? they all did. Subject of a prophecy, master of the deathly hollows, only know possessor of a mother's sacrificial protection? There's prophecy, death and love in one go. Add his odd extrasensory ability and Brain could throw his claim over Harry as a potential recruit too.

One by one they were sent off on oversized row boats, several dozen people a piece, with Harry's at the front.

He sat at the head of his team's boat, an oversized rowboat capable of seating all two dozen of then, while wielding his wandless patronus. The stag spirit animal cloaking him in such a way as to make him look like a wendigo of divine light. With Sparky the Phoenix on his shoulder he must have looked like the pure antithesis of evil.

With Sparky's warm comfort on his shoulder and Dudley's strength of character by his side combined made him feel like it too.

"And I thought I was a show off." Brain complained.

"Clearly, you do not spend enough time with our Harry, or else you'd know better." Hermione chided the cloaked man.

Harry strongly disagreed. But then again, and the formidable force of DOM fighters and the absolute harem of gorgeous, badass lady aurors - and Hermione - were also a huge moral boost.
Yeah, he was feeling pretty good about their chances.

Harry could only smirk as the boat propelled itself magically across the deceptively calm sea to the storm of cold and sadness that awaited them.

We are Unspeakables. It is not in our domain to make nor enforce law, nor to be a part of the machinations of politics. It is our domain to know.

Academics learn, but never know. Theory is the best they can achieve, though even then they stop at mere hypotheses or pure conjecture. We are better than them.

We seek to know truths, not facts nor opinions. The truth. What is it? That is the adventure. And it is a lonely journey, for our oath binds us, sows us down, preventing us from sharing with others who would help us on the path.

Do you accept this burden? This duty?

- Speach given by Purgatory, Head Unspeakable of afterlife research, to all new recruits.

Father Time struggled back to his feet after tackling the Delacour woman to the ground.

The infiltration had gone well, with masters of the patronus taking the lead as they advanced.

But the foul creatures had changed in their starvation. Having started out somewhat resembling emaciated corpses, it was surprising to see that years of being cutoff from any food source had made them grown. The scabrous skin on their arms rippled over hidden forms that resembled femurs or tibias or ulnas stacked on top of each other. Like somebody had taken many such vibes from human corpses, made a faggot out of them, and wrapped it in filthy leather.

For a while they advanced unhindered, the patronus keeping them at bay while the other wizards conjured or transfigured methods of restraining them. You couldn't kill them, but you could chain them and cage them. And this method worked perfectly.

Until it didn't.

For dementors to be hungry enough to try and force their way through the protective barrier of light, and nearly succeed, meant they thoroughly misunderstood these creatures and their limits.
So Father Time took his opportunity to show the wizarding world the knowledge and power his department had uncovered, and cast that most devastating spell of his own discovery. The ball of greyish, rampaging mist left his want and straight into the center of the group of dementors.

When it struck he immediately realized something was wrong, and tackled the nearest person to the ground. Most of the rest went down with him.

Bad here he was, his skin tingling with he feeling of a thousand, burning ants. The ambient radiation in the air he could taste it, he recognized metallic taste of the chemo treatment from years ago.

The few other times he used this time altering magic to hyperage had always resulted in such an effect, an easily predictable one with any knowledge of atomic half-lives. Such magic was unpredictable, and he may have overdone it.

He meant to age the dementors and surroundings by a hundred years. He might have gotten it closer to ten thousand. With a half life of one hundred and fifty years, the silicates in the basalt making up the hallway it all decayed to near nonexistence, breaking down into a massive dose of beta radiation and lower elements in an instant. He shuddered to think how much gamma or alpha radiation might have been released by trace elements within the rocks and soil.

"What the hell was that?!" Apolline asked when she ducked back up from cover.

"An experiment." Father time told her. "I had an idea for a way to kill dementors, and that was it. Do you see a dementor anymore? Let alone ten?"

And indeed, the ten or more dementors they had come across were nothing more than a pile of hyper-decayed... stuff, littering the ground before them.

It was either the intense radiation, aging or actual starvation that did it. And because if his blunder with overdoing the spell he had no way of knowing which it was.

"Should we turn back?" Asked A young man in his department. "I don't know of any magic to clear away radioactive material safely."

Father Time did. It amounted to either coating the fallout in material, any material that can block the type of radiation in question such as paper for alpha radiation or cloth for beta. Aluminum would be better, but it is notoriously difficult to conjure or transfigured, nearly as much as copper silver and gold, and like all conductive materials reverted from the transfiguration shockingly fast.
"Yes. Clear out more paths and capture more dementors. The fewer there are to come after us when we descend into the dead zone..." Father Time stopped midspeach.

The piles of dead dementors twitched.

Then they wriggled.

They writhed, and expanded, and contracted and crawled over one another in what Father Time hoped wasn't an act of intimacy, for it was ugly. They the teeth came out. Sharp, jagged, broken teeth amongst a swarm of bony masses hidden beneath the leathery, scabrous skin of dementors. Then there's were the hands, too many fingered, too many jointed hands jutting out of any limb ending there was.

The teeth slid across the appendages to the center mass where they lined up like a zipper, a zipper that then opened to show the inside. Hunger. Ten or more millennia of hunger mutating the creatures in an instant into the monster before them.

So yeah, starvation, aging and intense radiation were not in fact fatal to dementors. Three things to add to the list of ways to not kill them.

"Should we call for..." A young American Veela tried to ask."

"Call for Harry Potter? Yes." Father Time confirmed, with zero damage to his pride.

They just needed to hold out until he got here.

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NonsensicalRants · Feb 10, 2023

Chapter 28:

Performance Evaluation

Harry woke up in the laundry room of the Shrieking Shack that Sunday. He had fallen asleep while doing the laundry the night before after everyone had filed out.

It was one of the many bits of vital minutia he hadn't thought about at all in regard to running a shelter for werewolves. The sheets and linen covered in blood, sweat, fur and urine, torn bedding and the used cauldrons and goblets. They all needed proper cleaning. Some, like the silver goblets and cauldrons, by hand to avoid magical contamination. He saved laundry for last because he knew a mountain of recently washed and dried blankets would tempt him too thoroughly to sleep.

Fortunately, the spells for washing and drying clothes, or bed things, left them as warm and fluffy as an actual dryer. And so, laying on the unfolded pile was like putting on a pair of underwear that just came out of the dryer, but around his entire body. When combined with the October cold snap they were experiencing, it was divine night of sleep.

With the greatest of reticence, he pried himself away from the mountain of blankets and sheets and listened to the sweet music his joints made. Like an orchestra made entirely of percussion artists, they were. And then he made them sing for him again by stretching properly. A quick round of self-cleaning charms later and his clothes were clean and somewhat ironed, his mouth was washed out and his hair was temporarily flattened. It would be back to its normal messiness within a few minutes, don't worry.
"Alright. To work." He said to himself.

Still endeavoring to use his wand instead of wandless magic Harry charmed each blanket individually to animate and fly after him like smoky whisps. He lead them past the giant, and still thankfully unused, freezer and up to the first floor where their home in the barracks waited for them. The mattresses he cleaned and repaired the afternoon before were still clean and untorn. Giving each set of sheets and linen a flick with his wand they dashed to their respective mattresses and made themselves. It took an extra twist of his wand for them to make themselves into proper military form. It all looked rather snazzy, and there he was without any quarters.

With the beds made, the last of his duties at the shack were done until the next full moon. And would you know it? It smelled like somebody was in the kitchen making grey tea.

Harry followed is nose to the dining room where the hot mug was waiting for him and took a seat.

"Ahhh. Thank you Albus." Harry greeted the old man across from him as he took a sip.

"Of course, Hadrian." Dumbledore said, seemingly having finished off his own mug.

Harry looked at the clock. Yup. It was eight thirty already and time for their meeting. They had agreed to meet to discuss the grand opening and the possibility of it being suitable for potential Hogwarts students suffering from lycanism and as monthly hands-on training for medical students. The latter harry would say was a success. The former?

"I hear there was an altercation yesterday morning between staff?" Albus broached the elephant in the room.

Harry sighed, mostly from contentment at the tea, but also a little bit in annoyance with his family.
"Yup. Have you talked to them?" Harry asked.

"Yes I have. And I convinced them they were in the wrong." Albus told him.

Harry raised an eyebrow at that boast.

"How'd you manage that?" Harry asked.

"I pointed out the obvious measures you took that showed even you distrusted the Carrows and had them on a short leash." Albus said.

Huh?

"How do you figure that?" Harry asked.

"Well for one you only had them on during the day and only had people on our side at night during the transformation." Albus said, ticking off a finger. "For two you had Andromeda with them, who is one of the best fighters on our side, even if she claims neutrality, and her and Narcissa could handle both of them and you at once. And either you or the Black sisters were always accompanying one of them."
Damn. Were his motivations that transparent?

"Many people claim neutrality in the conflict, usually for very complicated and multifold reasons, but everyone has their bias. And you are biased against Death Eaters." Albus concluded. "That does not make you an alley to their opposition in this conflict, but it does mean you are not truly neutral. That is what I convinced them of at least."

Harry finished off his mug of tea and leaned back in his seat. Thinking on how open and honest he should be with the man across from him.

"I am ideologically more in line with the purebloods than you." He said outright.

At this Albus raised both of his eyebrows in surprise at the admission.

"You use words like "conflict" and "opposition." Voldemort and his ilk consider themselves resistance fighters against an occupying force and a corrupt government. Their opposition pretends to be oppressed minorities wrongly persecuted for being of different blood. But let's cut all that bullshit and call this what it is." Harry explained. "This is a civil war, and Voldemort fights for the native people of this land who have every right to want Muggleborns to either integrate or get out. Just as all peoples of all nations should want from immigrants. It is their tactics I cannot tolerate, but don't blow smoke up my ass and claim people on your side don't use similar tactics when it suits them." Harry went on. "There is also the complicated matter that most people I personally love are in opposition to Voldemort and or outright Muggleborns themselves, even if they stubbornly refuse to understand that magical Britain is a separate nation from Muggle Britain and has been for a millennium. Also fuck Voldemort. I cannot emphasize that enough."

Dumbledore chuckled at the crassness but did not disagree.

"Civil war it is. And you don't want to be part of it. You want to save people on both sides by bringing them into neutrality?" Albus summarized.

"That is the motivation behind my tactics, yes, tactics that I hear confuse the hell out of both you and Riddle." Harry said with a smirk.

Dumbledore outright laughed at that one.

"Indeed. And they are working." Albus confessed. "There are some things that all people in all conflicts can relate to. All people eat. All people sleep. All people get sick. All people die. These are the things we can come together on. And many on both sides of this conflict, I'm sorry, civil war, have loved ones suffering from lycanism and you are bringing them together to ease such suffering."

Harry nodded.

"And I also see you striving to ease tensions between your students and bring them together, thus away from war." Albus went on. "This is all to say I like you very much Hadrian Morrigan. Both personally and professionally. I always strive to find teachers that can remain neutral on the war, never did I hope to find one not only neutral, but genuinely antithetical to it. A true peacemaker. I think I have much to learn from you. And so do our students. I think it will be several more months of you servicing outside werewolves here before we can open Hogwarts to children with lycanism, but thankfully we have until next September before we can start accepting them anyways."

Albus stood up and put out his hand.

Harry hesitated.

"No criticism of the grand opening? Just... mulligan until we have more information?" Harry summarized their meeting.

"Mulligan until we have more information." Albus affirmed.

Harry stood up himself and shook Dumbledore's hand.

"That is more than fair. I'm surprised to discover you're more forgiving of my opening performance than I am." Harry admitted.

"We all need to be less hard on ourselves." Albus said cryptically. "It seems to me that you are overly critical of yourself. You did excellently, not that there's an overabundance of historical examples for werewolf sanctuaries to compare your performance to and I expect more excellence from you in the future."

Harry let his head lower at the joke and compliment it conveyed.

"Well. I understand you have a busy day ahead of you. I'll be on my way." Albus excused himself.

"Me too. See you at work." Harry answered as he opened the door for him to leave.

With that done he marched to the fireplace, threw in a handful of floo powder, and was on his way.

The Gringotts lift rose to deposit him on the second floor. As soon as he stepped out Harry came face to face with a man he was not expecting to have his first contact with for months to come.

"Good morning, Hadrian." Voldemort greeted him cordially.

"Good Morning, Tom." Harry responded just as personably.

Harry put his arm out to keep the lift door open and motioned with his other hand for Voldemort to continue on his way. He studiously ignored the significantly older, and significantly more handsome, man raising an eyebrow at the use of his first name.

"Thank you, Hadrian." Voldemort thanked hesitantly.

"You're welcome, Tom." Harry said cheerily.

Voldemort walked past him into the lift and pressed the button for the first floor.

"Good day, Hadrian."

"Good day, Tom."

When the lift door close Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. Good first contact. Thank goodness they were at Gringotts and neither were willing to start a war with the Goblins or else that would have gotten very ugly. The Eldar wand came a hairs breadth from ejecting from the wand holster into his hand. Good thing he didn't panic, eh?

Harry took a deep breath, straightened his clothes and marched down the hallway to his destination. Four doors down was the room that held the entirety of the Schmicklehook clan and his destination. He gave the double doors a hard rasp and they swung open at his touch.

As soon as he crossed the threshold all five goblins at the head table sat up straight, their backs rigid and their faces panicked.

"Do we need to call in a cleanup crew?" The eldest asked hesitantly.

"Noooo?" Harry said slowly in confusion. "Whyyyyy would you?"

"You two didn't try to kill each other out there?"

"No. We were civil. The killing comes much later. You have time to prepare mops and caskets." Harry quipped to the amusement of the five goblins.

He made the joke just as the side door opened and in walked his investors. Lucius Malfoy led the group, followed by a stunning ebony-skinned witch who almost looked like an eastern European supermodel painted charcoal black. Behind them were Valentine Crabbe, Hildebrand Goyle, Garrick Ollivander and a man Harry didn't recognize. He was a middle-aged gentleman with a well-defined touch of grey in his black hair and short beard. Dressed as regally as any pureblood Harry had met.

"It's nice to finally meet you; Mister Malfoy, Ms Zabini. And it's good to see you again, Valentine, Hildebrand, Garrick... I'm sorry sir, but I don't know who you are?"

They all nodded in turn at his greeting as they took their seats, until he got to the last person at the table. He smirked at Harry's ignorance while everyone else at the table snickered.

"I am Fleamont Potter. You are acquainted with my son and daughter-in-law." Harry's grandfather said. "And I assure you I had words with Jim concerning his behavior. It will not happen again, and he wishes to apologize and continue working with you.

Harry schooled his features carefully at learning the man's identity.

"That's excellent news!" Harry said honestly. "I would be delighted to have them all back."

"Well, we have even more good news." Said Lucius. "This will be a short performance evaluation on account of everyone present has already agreed to continue funding the sanctuary."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He really wanted his obligations for the weekend to be over so he could treat Bella to a long-overdue date.

"We have also agreed to fund your land purchase and farm." Valentine told him. "Next weekend we expect you to begin souting out locations."

"Oh no, I'll pay for that out of pocket." Harry refused. "I will need funding for the land purchase, supplies and labor. But the reconnaissance? I'll be paying for that out of pocket. Mostly because I will be getting up to a whole host of shenanigans unrelated to the sanctuary and I don't want the business associated with it."

"I am hesitant to ask." Ms Zabini pre-empted. "But what kind of shenanigans are we talking about here?"

"A lot of dinner, tea and omantic shenanigans." Harry answered honestly.

Garrick gave him two thumbs up at the humorous admission.

"But I will still need help from you, my investors, to afford whatever parcel I find for the future farming branch of my company."

"And you shall have it." Said Lucius. "Upon our independent inspections, of course."

"Of course." Said Schmicklehook the second. "We shall adjourn here and meet again in one month's time after the next full moon."

He banged his gavel, and everybody took is as their cue to stand up and make for their individual exits. Except Fleamont. The elder Potter made a beeline directly for Harry.

"Hadrian, may I call you Hadrian?" Fleamont asked.

"Of course, sir." Harry answered.

"Excellent. I want to tell you that my son and daughter-in-law have raved about you ever since your first meeting, in fact, the only other thing they talk about is, well... you." With that last bit he smirked and winked.

Harry did not get the joke, but was sure it would make sense later.

"And have I lived up to the legend?" harry asked.

"Which legend? The testimony of those who have met you or the legend of your deeds as per the news and rumor mill?" Fleamont asked.

"Either? Both?" Harry said.

"Hmm. I can't quite be sure." Fleamont said as he scratched his short beard in deep thought. "But I daresay it's high time I found out. And so, I would like to cordially invite you to lunch with me."

Harry was elated but did his best to hide it. Lunch with grandpa? There were few better things to do on a Sunday, especially when said lunch would be the first one ever shared between the two in either timeline.

"Where and what day, sir?" Harry asked.

"Florean Fortescue's, and right now." Fleamont said.

Harry deflated somewhat.

"Oh. I was planning to spend what little of my Sunday I had left with my girlfriend." Harry said. "Are you sure we can't do sometime this week when I have a free period?"

Fleamont nodded slowly, squinting as he looked off into space.

"Well, I tell you what. Let's make it a double date, shall we?" He offered. "After all, my wife is waiting through those doors to go have ice cream with me, and she's as eager to meet you as I was. You will love her, and we haven't seen little Bella in years. Not since she got so busy with the dueling circuit. She somehow makes time for you, but not her dear second aunt Euphemia and uncle Fleamont ."

Harry was blown away by the offer, and blushed dutifully at the barb. He only then remembered that his own great-grandmother was, indeed, a Black. Soooo. Her great grandfather and his great grandmother were siblings? What did that even make them? One sixty forth genetically related?Welcome to Magical Britain.

"That sounds like a great way to spend my Sunday. Let me pop off a patronus and I'll meet you in the side chamber?"

Fleamont snapped his feet together and gave Harry a curt bow and kindly smile, both of which Harry returned, and marched through the door where Lucius, Valentine, Hildebrand, Garrick and Ms Zabini had left.

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NonsensicalRants
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NonsensicalRants · Feb 12, 2023

Chapter 29:

Double Date

After casting a quick Patronus message Harry followed Fleamont through the side door to find Lucius speaking amicably with a black-haired woman who didn't look a day over forty. But such was the nature of witches that they didn't start to look like Minerva until seventy, and only then with the stress of being a transfiguration professor and deputy headmistress.

"Mister Morrigan, allow me to formally introduce you to your main backer. Lucius Malfoy." His grandfather said, waving for them to come together.

Harry pushed forward and shook the man's hand. They shared a polite smile and Harry put aside all preconceived notions... for now.

"Ah. It's a pleasure to speak to you in person. My wife and in-laws alike speak highly of you." Said Lucius. "And from what I've seen so far, they are right to be impressed."

Harry waved away the compliment with his usual blushing smile.

"Oh, they're just feeding into the gossip about me. They exaggerate." Harry said.

Lucius raised an elegant eyebrow in that way Harry never could replicate - not that he ever practiced it, no - and refused to let Harry brush the compliment aside.

"Gossip you say? The same gossip claiming you defended a known Death Eater, verbally and physically?" Lucius clarified. "After hiring said Death Eater and his wife?"

Harry blanched. Lucius had him there.

"Wellllll. I more hired his wife than him. Figured she'd feel safer with her husband there." He explained. "I try to be unbiased, but I am biased towards people with a history of caring for werewolves, and who are protective of them. But try to be unbiased with everything else."

Lucius nodded appreciatively.

"And you have done an excellent job in both regards. Your neutrality has not gone unnoticed." Lucius said, before a cough from the woman beside him ended their current conversation. "Oh yes! Where are my manners. Allow ME to introduce you to Euphemia Potter."

Fleamont took over.

"I have invited Professor Morrigan to join Euphemia and I on our yearly trip to Florean's." His grandfather explained. "I have reserved at able, as one has to do in order to eat in person these days."
"Ah." Said Lucius. "Is it your anniversary again already?"

"Indeed." Said Euphemia. "Happens the same day, every year."

"As do many other events in many other people's lives that I can't keep track of and Narcissa fails to remind me of." Lucius barbed back. "Though I do wonder if I should take her for ours. I seem to recall it was the two of you who recommended I take her there when I was courting her."

Euphemia snorted derisively at Lucius' words.

"You?! Court her?!" She mocked with a high-pitched laugh that reminded Harry a bit too much of Bellatrix... the one from his world. "Right. That's how it happened."

Lucius sighed and turned to Harry.

"This is why Muggles are fortunate to not have their elders stay with them as long." He said. "Our ancient ones remember things. And stay with us well into their thousands, and we must suffer them reminding us of things we would rather forget."

"Until such time as age finally catches with us just assuredly as Muggles, and our minds go." Fleamont said. At which point I look forward to you reminding us of these bittersweet memories. But you need not worry, I have faith that our Lil will have raised us a glorious grandson by then to do the job."

Harry had to literally bite his lips together to keep a straight face during their back and forth. His temptation to mock Lucius for losing a dick-measuring contest with a woman, and several old woman jokes on Euphemia, were difficult demons to keep down but he somehow managed. Then, Euphemia turned on Hary.

"What say you, Professor?" She asked, with a hint of something behind her voice. Not daring, not joy, but maybe expectation? And not the kind he was used to. "Will our Lily counteract her... little problem and give us our long-awaited grandson?"

Harry stood there confused for a moment, before he remembered he was the world-famous - okay, only UK famous, but he'd be fixing that soon - divination professor and seer. Divinations like that on command were a bit beyond him, even if he weren't cutting himself off from Ghillie Dhu. It was time to work out his best charm, and not of the magical variety.

"You must be joking!" He said with an exaggerated snort. "To even ask me that is to insinuate you haven't even met Lily Potter... you have, haven't you?"

Euphemia smiled at him in that way classy women do, with every single perfectly white tooth in her mouth showing and dazzling him. Meanwhile, Fleamont gave him that infectious and inspiring wink again. Harry couldn't understand why, but that simple wink filled him with as much pride as the resurrection stone had when it had showed him his parents in the forest so many years ago.

"Well." Said Lucius, with a glance into space like he was considering a far-flung possibility. "I can't exactly fathom anybody with the audacity to insult Mrs. Potter's abilities. Our differences aside, that woman scares me, and should scare anybody who doubts her. But I must be getting home to an equally, well, almost equally intimidating woman who is currently on the warpath with her godfather and has forced me into picking up the pieces. Good day."

They all bowed their heads in an automatic gesture of goodbye and watched him walk to the far door where he exited the room. This left Harry alone with his grandparents, wondering where grandpappy Crabbe and Goyle, not to mention that beautiful Africana goddess and Garick had gone off to. He was nervous and uncomfortable enough to wish for either of them as backup... okay, maybe more Garrick than the others.

"So!" Said Fleamont, clapping his hands together like a miserly banker. "Ice cream?"

"Pistachio." Euphemia demanded.

Fleamont made a gagging motion with his finger and mouth.

"Matcha." Harry demanded in turn.

Fleamont made a gagging sound at that suggestion.

"How about the lavender honey flavor Florean has been experimenting with?" Fleamont offered as an alternative.

Harry and Euphemia looked at each other inquisitively, then turned back to Fleamont.

"That genuinely sounds delightful." Said Euphemia.

"Or at least interesting." Harry offered. "Has he been experimenting with any other unorthodox flavor combinations?" asked Harry.

"Does he ever spend his time doing anything else?" Fleamont defended. "We will find out when we get there, I'm sure."

With that, his grandmother took his grandfather by the arm and let Harry lead the way. He dutifully opened the door for them to exit and they walked the halls of Gringotts in comfortable silence. Their silence ended when they exited out into the noisy street of Diagon Alley.

Harry allowed himself to appreciate the fruits of his labor thus far. People, families, walked from store to store. People smiled. People talked. Stores were un-boarded and open for business. He couldn't take all the credit for the healing that this town had gone through. All he did was get the ball rolling.
They arrived at Florean to find Bellatrix already there. He must have interrupted her gym time because she had no makeup on and looked like she'd just worked up a sweat and only had time to towel off and change before apparating over.

"I hope we didn't keep you waiting." Fleamont said.

She curtsied politely and shook her head.

"I just arrived." She said. "And I already told Florean to prepare our table."

As if on cue, the now board free and properly open ice cream parlor door and out came the king of frozen dairy himself. He was dressed more extravagantly than he had in Harry's reality, but then again, he was also alive. It was shaping up to be a good day.

"Welcome. Your table is waiting. Enjoy yourselves and pay your tab before you leave." He waved them inside.

They entered the ice cream parlor to find it fully renovated. It now had two stories of private booths and the front counter seemed more set up for carry outs for people who wanted to buy the usual and eat outside or take their order home.

Florean walked them up the stairs and past already full booths. Harry loosened his grip on Ghillie Dhu to feel out the booths. Ignoring the cheer and disgust and all-around good time the occupants were having, the booths themselves were absolute bunkers. Layers of steel sheet metal with scaled iron covering both sides and separated by hazel wood filled the interior of each. The steel would block most projectiles, iron dissipates most magic, hazel wood absorbs magical residue from curses in particular. Florean had turned his parlor into the second safest place in the alley. Any fights breaking out amongst ideologues on either side of the war outside would cause little harm to those inside these booths.

Harry was sufficiently impressed.

"Here we are." Florean declared as they reached booth twenty-nine. "Order whatever you like, and it shall appear. You have privacy wards so you can be as rowdy as you like, just remember to pay your tab at the end."

With that, he excused himself and they all took their seats. At the end of the table, against the wall, was a sign.

Florean Fortescue is now teaming up with Bertie Bott's every flavored beans in our new promotional product, every flavored shots. Enjoy hundreds of flavors until you throw up, either from too much ice cream, or that one flavor you can't quite handle.

Now in optional alcoholic variety.

Harry looked up to find all three of his companions were sharing a frightened look with him and each-other. They all answered at once.

"Yes."

"Yes"

"Yes"

"Ab-so-lute-ly!"

Fleamont touched the plate at the center and spoke into it to order.

"Every-Flavored shots for four until we say stop." His grandfather ordered.

Four shot glasses appeared, each filled with a green ice cream. They each took their shot glass and brought it up to their noses. Harry couldn't smell a thing. Of course, they would make it scentless. Keep the surprise until they downed it. Only one thing to do.

All at once, they shotgunned their glasses of ice cream and leaned back to let the flavor sink in. Freshly cut grass. Not exactly delicious, but a giggle-worthy start and one that didn't make any of them gag. Actually, Harry could see himself eating an occasional grass-flavored bean. He'd order them when he got back to the castle.

"Round 2?" Fleamont declared.

On and on the shots came. Most of the time it was pretty regular ice cream flavors. Raspberry, coffee and plain old vanilla went down easy. But the real fun started when they had flavors they couldn't quite place. In the same way that a person familiar with pistachios would never be able to identify pistachio ice cream, spinach ice cream tasted nothing like spinach. They eventually gave up and a notecard at the center told them what it was. It wasn't terrible. The same thing happened with a positively disgusting pink ice cream that turned out to be salmon. They also got the classic ear wax and bile flavors between relatively normal lemon pepper and peanut butter flavors.

It was around the time they gagged on the wasabi-flavored ice cream that they realized Fleamont hadn't made a distinction on what type of ice-cream shots they were eating, as his evidently intoxicated grandmother was getting handsy with his grandfather and using his shoulder as a cheek scratcher. Bella seemed to be emboldened by the older woman's behavior and did the same to Harry. He did not complain.

Euphemea, on the other hand...

"Oh dear, I think we should change to non-alcoholic." Euphemia warned. "We don't want Bella to make any mistakes."

Harry snorted at the teasing from his elder but raised an eyebrow at the now enraged woman on his shoulder. He had let Ghillie Dhu slip.

"Not after what happened with your ex." His grandmother finished. "You seem to actually like this one. So, no foolishness."

Bella retreated from his shoulder and sat up straight, stiff and cut off.

"...Rodolphus?" Harry clarified.

His grandparents both looked at him strangely.

"No, son." Fleamont corrected. "The... other one."

By now Euphemea was glaring back at Bellatrix.

"I think, it may be high time for you to consider having an open and honest conversation with this young man." His grandmother said.

"Well, I think it's time for you to consider making vociferous use of a morning star as a marital aid!" Bella snapped back.

They all went silent and Bella's vicious retort. Fleamont was the first to snort, then their drunken laughter all came at once.

"You know, initially my mind went straight to the matricidal interpretation of your comment." Fleamont said. "Then my mind went to the... cruder interpretation."

Bellatrix sunk into a deeply depressed facepalm at his explanation.

"My mind went straight to the crude one." Harry admitted cheerfully. "But that's because I'm young and hormonal."

Bellatrix sunk further into her facepalm.

"I promise, I meant the former." She pleaded. "I promise I intended it to be a scathing matricidal joke. Which is a topic of conversation that I have been assured is appropriate for a double date."

Harry had to think on this.

"Assured by whom? The Tonks family or the darker company you once kept?" He asked.

She stilled and slowly removed her head from her hands to give him a hard, inquisitive look.

"You know what?" She asked rhetorically. "I can't even tell anymore, parsing the different flavors of silly and dark humor is beyond my abilities. They're all a lot more similar than they like to think."

From experience with both sides of the war - both before and after the war - Harry could relate.

The date eventually came to a close and Harry found himself walking Bella home. They had taken the long path, through the Leaky Cauldron and streets of London. They walked for almost an hour, arm-in-arm and head on shoulder, until they neared and passed a familiar street. Two blocks from Grimmauld place Bella unlatched herself from Harry.

"This is me." She said as she approached there.

She opened the door and stepped inside, turning around to lean against the door pane and talk to him more.

"You're not even going to ask?" she clarified.

"About what my nosy... companions tried to reveal?" He clarified.

"Yes." She said.

"Do you want me to ask?" He asked.

"I want you to want to ask." She explained.

Unlike most things with women, that made perfect sense.

"Okay. Who was your ex?" He asked.

She hardened her facial expression and took a deep breath through her nose.

"An old mentor of mine and friend of the family." She explained. "A man by the name of Tom Riddle."

Harry let the information sink in. Then he allowed his memories of the Bellatrix of his old world and her obsession with the obviously a-sexual creature who never reciprocated her obvious madness-induced lust. From what he'd seen of the man in this world, he seemed to have an intact body. Not that he'd checked for testicles.

"You dated Voldemort?" Harry clarified. "Was he aware that it was dating?"

She rolled her eyes.

"I did not date Tom Riddle." She clarified. "I fucked Tom Riddle."

Harry could only back away in surprise at the venom she used to accentuate the foul language.

"Seduced, is a better word for it." She added. "Plied him with alcohol at my aunt Walburga's party and coaxed the absurdly handsome, charming and powerful man out of his clothes. Like many other young girls tried and failed to do before me. But I succeeded, despite being married to a man that worshipped the ground I walked on. Neither of them ever forgave me for it, and worse, Tom tried to make something more of it, which hurt all the more. For all three of us."

She looked like she wanted to say more. Perhaps about the destruction of her marriage and death of her husband. But she didn't go on.

"Which is why I'm not inviting you inside tonight, despite wishing to. Goodnight, Hadrian." She said to dismiss him.

She did not close the door nor break eye contact with him as she said this. And Harry noted the distinct contradiction of her body language and her words. The way she wrapped herself against the doorframe, one leg rubbing the other and come-hither eyes. She was daring him to change her mind. She wanted him to change her mind. Or would it be better put, that she wanted him to want to change her mind?

"Goodnight, Bella." Harry said, before turning around and walking away.

She closed the door roughly behind him but didn't quite slam it. He didn't let himself get caught up in thoughts of her displeasure and frustration at him letting her go for that night. He wasn't interested in anything more that evening and refused to allow any woman the excuse of alcohol - on either of their parts - to excuse away romantic decisions they both knew were genuine at the time.

And so, he walked along, to the end of the street planning to call on the knight bus for a safe, and absurdly fun while drunk, ride home. He paused as he passed an elderly homeless man in ragged clothes. He sat at a bench, staring intently at Bella's apartment building. An entire twelve pack of beer sat at his side and he he held one bottle in his hand. Harry would have simply kept walking past him were it not for his scar tingling ever so slightly.

He stopped in front of the man. To test his suspicion, he turned away from the man then turned back. He repeated this action twice. Tingle. No tingle. Tingle. No Tingle.

"Good evening, Tom." Harry greeted with slurred speech.

"Good evening, Hadrian." Voldemort greeted with slurred speech, dropping his glamour as he did so.
Harry gripped his wand tightly at the sight of the lightly greyed man and his seemingly impossibly handsome features.

"Oh, put that away!" He scolded. "We're both too far into drunkenness to manage a fight tonight. We'd both stumble pathetically and do more injury to ourselves than each other and by the end of it both retreat in humiliation."

Harry snorted humorlessly at the mental image of them doing exactly that. He conceded and took a seat beside his nemesis.

"Rough day?" Harry asked, noting the black eye Voldemort probably didn't mean to cancel the glamour on.

"Weird one, certainly." Tom admitted, offering Harry the last beer, which he refused.

"Mine too. Weird, but pleasant." Harry offered.

"In my case, weird and... introspective." Tom offered back.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me about it?" Harry asked. "In my experience, enemies make better confidants, they don't gossip to your friends and loved ones."

"Oh, so you are my enemy after all?" Tom clarified. "There seems to be a bit of confusion in that department."

Harry grinned maliciously as they both stared off at Bellatrix' apartment.

"But alright. I decided to confront my ex today because I found out she was dating a man almost twenty years her junior." Tom said. "She seemed to be under the impression that I hired a hit squad to murder said man and promptly gave me my second black eye in as many weeks - by the way, Black family women know how to throw a spec-tacular jab. You have been warned."

Harry nodded studiously at the new information.

"Then I made a quick visit to the bank to find out all of my investments had greatly improved, along with every other account in the country." Voldemort went on, "And a quick walk down Diagon Alley showed all of my economic warfare against this corrupt nation had come to naught and been undone by a single individual."

"I don't deserve that much credit." Harry countered.

"Yes, actually. You do." Voldemort said. "Your tactics, rooted in an understanding of human nature and the power of social interactions are beyond anything I have ever seen or contemplated. And you have done more to fix the issues in the magical government and society at large that has united me with fellow... malcontents, than my out and out war ever has."

Harry let his jaw drop at that admission.

"And so I had to sit and think, drinking through two packs of beer throughout the day, on whether our war was even worth it all this time." Tom confessed. "A war I was chosen for by people left unheard and oppressed by a legislative body that chose the interests of outside groups over their own constituents, who watched helplessly as their culture was thrown away and the British occupied their land, as the British have a history of doing."

Harry nodded with every word. Even in his own timeline, Tom Riddle had been pushed into leadership by his Death Eaters at first. He had wanted the peaceful, quiet life of a hermit immortal. Then became addicted to war. Destroyed by it, even more than he already was by his own fucked-uppedness.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Even before your arrival." Tom went on. "And now that I have a rival, in both love and war, that can actually challenge me. I am weirdly elated, and melancholy."

"What about Dumbledore?" Harry asked. "Can't he challenge you in war at least?"

"No." Voldemort said. "He never has. In many ways he helped my effort, feeding the most horrendous of bigots on his side of the conflict to suicide missions against me. He is a very cruel man to those he perceives as evil. His perception is always correct, but still. For a man who claims he believes in second chances he can be rather brutal."

This was news to Harry and he made a mental note to check on this information. He knew full well about the more twisted vigilantes, terrorists and serial killers on both the ministry and anti-Voldemort side. They just never got referred to as such in the history books, and Voldemort tended to make short work of them. It would make sense for Dumbledore to invest a similar amount of effort into combating them as he had the worst amongst Voldemort and would explain why there were so few bad actors on his side by the start of the second war in his timeline.

"There's also the small matter of the fact he's dying." Voldemort went on. "Why the fool would be stupid enough to try and put on my horcrux is beyond me."

Harry stared at the man beside him.

"Wow." Was all Harry could say. "You just casually throw out your greatest secret like that to strangers?"

"Stranger? Please!" Voldemort scoffed. "I am working from the assumption that you know absolutely everything. About my upcoming plans, and my horcruxes, like... how many there are."

Six.

"What they are." tom continued.

Diary, Resurrection Stone, Rowena's Diadem, Slytherin's Locket, Helga's Cup, Nagini.

"What the hell is a Nagini?" Voldemort asked in confusion.

Harry stared at him. He was positive he wasn't thinking out loud that time.

"You have very loud thoughts. I cannot help perceiving them even when not trying to probe your mind." Voldemort told him. "I don't always have the best control of it. But it matters little. I have already arranged for them to be moved and they shall soon be reincorporated into me, as the... wait, resurrection stone?"

"Uh, yeah. The Gaunt family ring? That was the resurrection stone of legend." Harry confirmed.

"From the Tale of the Three Brothers?" He clarified.

"The very same." Harry confirmed.

"... Is that why..."

"Yes. That is why Albus put the damn thing on." Harry confirmed pre-emptively.

They sat there in silence for a moment.

"That fucking moron!" Voldemort said.

"I know!"

Voldemort rubbed his eyes with his free hand. The sheer stupidity of such an action by a man he respected that much must be bringing on an early hangover headache.

"Does it even work?" Tom asked.

Harry let his grin return, knowing full well the megalomaniac was regretting not making use of such a powerful artifact.

"Yes and no." Harry explained.

"Please, do not explain further. I am too far gone to have a conversation on advanced magical theory and how an enchanted object might get around the laws preventing the dead from being brought back from beyond." Tom pleaded. "If I wanted to have that conversation, I'd go visit... other assholes."

Voldemort stood up on unsteady legs and stretched, making ready to go.

"You should know she lied to you." He said, sighing in relief. "About our past together. There at the door a few minutes ago? But I won't say anymore. You probably won't believe me. I wouldn't in your place."

He began walking away.

"Good night, Professor Morrigan. I will most likely kill you next time we see each-other." He said casually.

He stopped a few paces away.

"I do have one question I would like you to answer honestly." Tom pre-empted. "It has been haunting me for a while now."

Harry shrugged.

"Shoot."

"Are you, in fact... my time-traveling son from the future?" He asked.

Harry stared at Voldemort. Voldemort stared back. Harry stared some more.

He then burst out in laughter. So uncontrollable was his laughter that he had to answer between fits of trying to catch his breath.

"Where... in the WORLD... did you get that idea?!" Harry asked.

Voldemort took this as a heartfelt denial and began chuckling with him.

"Dumbledore shared it with me, thinking you and I were conspiring together." Tom explained. "So... you're NOT some Oedipus-complex freak of my loins trying to seduce your mother in that apartment over there?"

"No!" Harry denied venomously.

"Well, that's a load off my mind. I now have even fewer reservations in ripping out your still beating heart and shoving it down your throat next time we meet." Voldemort threatened.

"Yeah, careful about the oncoming traffic you're about to walk into. Hate for you to get pureed by the knight bus and save me the trouble." Harry countered.

And with that, they both apparated away.

Notes:

I made a mistake. Dorea is Harry's great-grandmother not grandmother. Though, the information is conflicted saying Fleamont and Euphemia are his grandparents, looking at the timeline I have concluded that Charlus and Euphemia are, with Fleamont (Inventor of Sleakeazy hair potion) and Dorea(formerly Black) being his GREAT grandparents. Will fix previous chapter shortly.

Edit: OKAY! So Fleamont is the grandfather and Euphemia is the grandmother with Charlus and Dorea being great uncle and aunt. I am SO confused right now. But I'll change it ONE LAST TIME!

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NonsensicalRants · Feb 12, 2023

Chapter 30:

Back to Teaching

"Alright class." Harry said to his little third years. "Today we're getting back on track for the course material. Grab a teacup, today you learn tea leaf reading."

"Awwwwww!" The entire classroom groused as soon as the words left his sea of grumpy, slouching Slytherins and Ravenclaws glared at him in displeasure.

"What? Not fans of tea?" Harry asked rhetorically.

Astoria, still scowling raised her hand.

"Yes, miss Greengrass?" He called on her.

"Professor, this class has been really fun and interesting up until now." She explained. "We've learned so much about divination that none of us have ever heard of before. But we have heard of tea leaf reading and I think I speak for all of us when I say it is not interesting."

The emphatic agreement of her peers added an additional credence to her words. Little Xenophilius added onto the topic without raising his hand, but Harry allowed it.

"And with it being such a beautiful day, possibly the last one of autumn, we were hoping to sit outside and listen to another interesting lecture." The platinum blonde said.

Harry turned to the curtained windows and with a wide wave of his wand raised every single one to let in the view. As the boy had said, sunlight pierced the lazy clouds in sharp rays, illuminating the spots of forest and grass as it pleased. It was likely they wouldn't get a day this warm or lovely for a while. So, he got an idea.

"Everyone, grab a quill and piece of parchment." Harry instructed.

He went to his desk and did the same, inking his quill for the task. The sound of his students rifling through their bags filled his classroom and when he turned around to see them all prepared, he smiled.

"Okay. Who here can draw a simple crescent shape, like this?" He asked. "Show me you can."
Visibly confused, his students complied, each marking their parchment with a single, upside-down crescent shape before lifting it and turning them to face him. Harry made a show of confirming they could, in fact, draw the letter C sideways before continuing.

"Good, now. Using just that shape, draw my general outline." He spread his feet shoulder length apart and arms straight out to the sides like he was making a snow angle.

He held it there for a whole minute and a half as his students, still visibly confused, did as he instructed. When the last of them put their quills down he released the pose and examined their work.
"Alright! Everyone's scraggly sketch definitely looks like a human. Good." He complimented. "Now onto the patios to take a seat."

They filed out onto the patios and Harry took to standing in the middle of the classroom so everybody could hear him. When they were all settled into their seats with their parchment and quills he began his lecture.

"Omen reading." He began. "That is the purpose of tea leaf reading and many other forms of beginner divination. Finding meaning in omens is an art we begin with because it is the easiest and most helpful. By seeing shapes or signs in the randomness of the world."

They all swiveled in their seats to look at him as he lectured.

"Most of the time omens do not serve as portents of the past or future, and certainly aren't sent to you by the fates." He went on, getting to the real meat of the matter. "But as a reflection of your inner turmoil. It is in your interpretation of your omens that you find a path worth taking. Their meanings are vague on purpose, so that you can interpret them to the things you care about and, in the process, discover exactly how much you care about them and make decisions according."

"So... It's psychological?" Derek, the ever-shy Slytherin, asked.

"Most of the time, yes. But there is still magic in it not wholly in your head." Harry explained. "For example, my first ever tea leaf reading was of a large, black, mangy dog. My teacher at the time translated this as the legendary grim, a portent of death. Meanwhile I had actually encountered that dog a few days earlier and he turned out to be very important to both my past and future, but I failed to make that connection due to her poor teachings. Which is why I tell you, don't always take the meaning of the omens in the book too literally, and sometimes you need to take them even more literally. Sometimes the image of a dove carrying a diamond ring can mean to seek peace in your marriage. Other times it can mean a stinking Pidgeon is going to make off with your engagement ring."

They nodded along to his words and even took notes. Several glanced back to their tables and the bookbags sitting beside them.

"Today I want you to put the book out of your mind and hunt for omens... in the clouds." Harry instructed before laughing. "That's right! I'm teaching you cloud-gazing! So, gaze at the clouds and translate any shapes you see onto parchment like you did my general shape. And after class we can go over what they mean. Both in divination, and to you personally if you are comfortable doing so. This can be very private, hence why I would ask you to come to me individually with any questions you have about your omens throughout the week if you need to."

They got straight to work, pens at the ready, staring at the sky. Harry decided to add extra instruction.
"And be sure to label the scratchy sketches with the name of what animal, object or other shape you think the clouds look like. Just in case your drawings are too difficult to make out after the fact." Harry told them.

And the rest of the class passed by in silence. The only sound his students made were the scratching of quill on parchment as they twisted their necks and scrunched their faces in concentration as they tried to find meaning in the randomness of the heavens. That and the light autumn breeze. It was a good day.

When there was only five minutes left in class he called them back inside with the simple instruction to check their books for the meanings of their omens and write them down on the sheets they had been sketching on and to turn those sheets in next week. He dismissed them when the bell rang, knowing that their minds would be full of questions about their omens that they would have to ponder on their own until brave enough to come get clarification from him.

He eagerly awaited their next arrival.

"Awwwwwww!" His sixth-year classroom bemoaned at his announcement.

"What? Not fans of crystal balls?" Harry asked rhetorically, holding up one of the offending objects. "You didn't think I'd be teaching you guys to daydream for the whole year, did you?"

"But professor," Draco said, also not bothering to raise his hand. "We've already learned crystal ball gazing."

Ron scoffed from his seat.

"Yeah, learned absolutely nothing." His red-haired friend said. "Three years of learning all about crystal balls, are you going to make us spend a fourth-year learning nothing about them?"

Harry considered taking a point away from both for speaking out of turn but decided it would take away from the lesson he was trying to teach.

"You assume that because your last teacher didn't teach you anything, that there is nothing to learn?" He asked knowingly. "Believe me, I get it. I really do. I've had bad teachers put me off of subjects in the past. From math teachers failing to inform me that algebra and geometry were only two of over sixty distinct fields of mathematics, to having a poor excuse of a divination professor myself. But let me tell you, there is plenty to learn about crystal ball gazing and everybody here has the ability to do so."

Lavender tentatively raised her hand.

"One point to Gryffindor for raising your hand before speaking." Harry said cheekily. "Yes, miss Brown?"

"Sir, Professor Trelawney told us repeatedly, religiously, that only those born with the sight can become skilled in divination." She squeaked.

Harry groaned and closed his eyes. He silently counted down from ten and resisted the urge to bang his fist on his desk. He still made the motion though.

"I am very displeased with your last teacher in this subject." Harry said truthfully. "That is almost a complete lie. Unless you're misquoting her and she said those without the right temperament cannot divine? That is true, but a nonissue as temperament can be changed."

Lavender made a comical look upwards as if trying to peer into her own skull to try and retrieve the memory of exactly what that woman said. Other students were doing the same.

"She may have said both of those things at... Oh!" Hermione stopped herself and raised her hand after noticing the look Harry was giving her.

"Yes, miss Granger?" He called on her.

"I think she may have said both of those things but might have meant them interchangeably to be the latter." Hermione said. "Could you clarify the difference?"

Harry nodded with a kindly smile.

"Of course! Somebody who goes on a fishing trip expecting to be bored, gets his wish." Harry explained. "And one who goes on a fishing trip expecting to have a fun or relaxing time, also gets his wish. The same is true for most divination. You have to come into it believing it is at least possible. Which is a ridiculous thing to say to a room of youth who have spent years doing the impossible with magic. Impossible is a word that should not be in any of your vocabulary."

Cho raised her hand.

"Yes, miss Chang?" He called.

"What do you mean by most fields of divination? Are there some that require a talent?" She asked.

"Yes. Yes there are." Harry answered. "Now, onto crystal ball gazing."

More groaning, but this time it was in surrender. Their attempts at derailing the class had ultimately failed and they knew he was onto them. Good.

"What did you learn about it from Trelawney?" He asked.

Lots of hand in the air after that one.

"Yes, Veir, vur... you." Harry called on the eastern European boy.

He glowered at Harry as the other students snickered.

"She said to clear your mind and gaze into the orb." He answered. "And nothing else."

"And let me guess, she expected you to know how to clear your mind and translate what you saw in the orbs." He clarified. "Only for you not to see anything at all because she failed to teach you how to clear your minds first?"

They all nodded.

"Well! Guess what I've been teaching you to do these last two weeks?" Harry asked rhetorically. "You didn't think I was having you stare off into space and ponder your dreams for nothing did you? That was you learning how to clear your mind. Now. Clear your mind and ponder your crystal balls."

The series of groans and several immature snickers followed his orders. Yet all the same, they marched to the front of the class and took a crystal ball each from the large box of them and a stand for it from the pile on his desk.

He waited for them all to get settled with their balls firmly held in the ring-like stands on their tables before continuing.

"Now. I know you've all learned how to read omens in teacups." He said. "To start with, you can also do that with crystal balls. Making out shapes like the gunk of tea leaves in a cup and interpreting them. But seeing visions in the orb is the goal. Now! This will not take the form you might be imagining."
Checking to make sure his students were paying attention he went on.

"It is not like a television, where a movie will play inside of the crystal ball that only you can see. It will instead be like a vivid daydream." He explained. "Who here has ever stared off into space and had a day dream where it was like having an actual dream? Scenarios playing out in your head?"

Everyone raised their hand.

"Good. It should be exactly like that. Most teachers will tell you to be careful not to confuse it with your imagination getting away from you, but I say otherwise." He said. "Clear your mind as I have taught you, stare into the orb and wait for the daydream to hit you. Let it play out then write it down. Or snap out of it if you notice a distinct shape, or omen, and write that down."

No groans this time, just a few huffs of annoyance and grumpy glowering at the offending spheres. Hermione was especially loud with hers.

"What's the matter, Granger?" Ron joked. "Not like it's going to blow up in your face or something."
Harry opened his mouth to tell them all to settle down and get started, then he processed the words and who they came from and blanched.

"Miss Granger?" he said. "Please come up to the front and sit at my desk with me."

He did not wait for her to answer, conjuring a chair on the side of his desk for her to plop down on and taking his seat behind it as well. Thinking better of things he made an exception for everyone.

"You can all sit down for this class." He told them and cast a classroom-wide verdimilius to make the chairs that were already there, but hidden, reappear.

They all made some noise of relief or another, none being fans of his standing during class policy, while Hermione made her way to the seat beside him, bringing with her the crystal ball and stand. She set up on the edge of his desk and Harry, still standing, got to work filling out financial statements for the sanctuary. Now seemed like a great time to let the quiet of class inspire him to get some not-so-fun work done.

It was mostly just a report on what supplies were used and would need replacing. That part he had already done, all that was left was to calculate the cost of it all and send it in as a requisition form to the bank. The potion ingredients really were up there in terms of price and would remain so until he found a plot for growing his own. Hopefully it would only take the weekend.

He must have been way too engrossed to it, because he didn't feel the high energy in the air until the spell flew.

With one hand he erected a physical barrier of granite between Hermione and her crystal ball, with the other a wall-sized protego between Draco and Sean Finnegan. The stunner from the older Finnegan fizzled against his protego, but an unidentifiable hex flew across his desk and shattered the crystal ball into large, sharp chunks of glass. They bounced harmlessly against the granite barrier he summoned but thank merlin he had or else she would have spent the week in the hospital wing.

"That will be detention. Malfoy. Finnegan." Harry said with a dangerous edge to his tone. "And twenty-five points each, from Gryffindor and Slytherin. Class is dismissed. Weasley. Granger. Stay."

Visible confusion at being dismissed twenty minutes early met his command, but his own visible anger kept any objections or questions silent. What few there were among students who would usually be elated to get let out of class early.

He waited for them to slowly file out, watching Draco and Sean in particular. He probably looked like he was glaring at them. Scratch that, he was glaring at them.

When the last of them filed out Ron made his way to the front of the room to stand next to Hermione, who was still hidden from his vision by the floating granite block. He canceled the conjuration to reveal the frizzy haired girl sitting patiently and demurely with her hands in her lap.

She still looked a little shellshocked and wide eyed.

"So. Are you both okay?" he asked.

Hermione quietly nodded, but Ron just looked at him in confusion.

"Why wouldn't I be okay? She was the one who was almost hospitalized." He pointed out.

"And why was she almost hospitalized?" Harry asked. "What almost hurt her."

Hermione caught on first.

"My crystal ball blew up. In my face." She said, giving Ron a scathing look.

Ron blinked at the scathing look.

"You're not saying I did that, are you?" He asked.

"No. You predicted it." Harry told him. "You have a rare form of the sight called ironic foresight. Today it decided to make itself more obvious that usual for some reason."

That some reason being the fates fucking with him for not telling Ron when he should have. They just wouldn't allow him to have his fun, would they?

"But this is the first time something like that has happened." Ron said.

"First time it's happened so fast." Harry corrected. "I am positive you have made jokes in the past that came true, but usually months or even years later. Or at least, you don't find out until years later.
"He has." Said Hermione.

Harry looked at her.

"He joked about me and a boy that was already true." She said. "And he had no way of knowing."
"What boy did I ever tease you about?" Ron asked. "Malfoy?!"

"No!" Hermione yelled with a disgusted face.

"Stop." Harry interrupted. "She is speaking vaguely on purpose to keep her secrets from us. Now. You have the sight. Hermione, a sceptic among sceptics, can see it. And I, a divination professor, am telling you that it is so. Why do you not believe it?"

The young man looked away and seemed unsure of himself.

"I am offering you private tutoring to nurture this gift. But I suppose you need convincing. Fortunately I have the tools necessary to convince you." Harry told him.

And with that, he reached under his desk and retrieved the pensieve Dumbledore had agreed to loan him.

"Now. Let's go down memory lane, shall we?"

Voldemort appeared at the edge of the forest where four of his Death Eaters stood waiting for him. Each garbed in black robes and donning silver, skull masks. As they always had.

They stood facing away from him, gazing into the forest. He marched up to stand in the middle of them. With two on his left and two on his right he felt invincible. They always made him feel invincible.

"Lucius. Amycus." Voldemort commanded. "If this goes well, I will rely on you two and the rest may leave. If it does not, then you must go."

"My Lord?" Lucius asked, confused.

"You have other responsibilities than to me." Voldemort told them. "And if this goes badly you cannot be involved in what will happen."

"Are you referring to our involvement in Morrigan's Werewolf sanctuary?" Amycus asked.

"Indeed. You both do wonderful deeds by him. And I won't allow you to poison your philanthropy with such an atrocious conflict of interest." Voldemort told them. "Don't worry. I have Crabbe and Goyle. If their sons are good enough to guard your son, they're good enough to guard me."

Lucius and Amycus bowed in deference to his orders and reasoning.

Voldemort marched into the woods, his four followers hanging behind. He did not walk long, the humanoid shapes stealthily skirting between trees signaled he was in the right place. He noted their reflective eyes and soundless padding along.

The full moon was long gone now but their bestial nature was still in control. Just as Fenrir trained them. An oversight Voldemort was here to correct.

"Let him through." Fenrir's snarl rang through the forests.

His minders immediately vanished from his peripheral vision, back into hiding so perfectly even he couldn't have noticed them if they hadn't already revealed their presence.

A few more paces and he broke into a clearing, interrupting a feast. A feast of raw meat and bonemeal. Not human, thankfully. It smelled more of pork than the sweetness of human corpses he had become so familiar with in his warring.

"My lord." Fenrir greeted, kneeling deeply.

His fellow werewolves, nearly a hundred in number, imitated him.

Voldemort merely glanced over them and their feast. A long, conjured table with no chairs covered in poorly butchered meat. He spotted the several pig snouts and confirmed his optimistic conclusion. Then there was the state of Fenrir and his followers. Decerped, malnourished from a diet of raw meat, and clothed in rags. None had bathed in months by the smell and likely not had a proper meal, with vegetables and grain, in years.

These were his followers? Surely not. How could he have been so derelict in his duties to those that put their faith him as to allow Fenrir and his troops to fall to such lows?

"You need never bow to me Fenrir." Voldemort said, sadly. "Rise. All of you."

They obeyed. Standing, some even at attention, to the dark lord that stood there in friendship. Their confusion was understandable.

"I have wronged you Fenrir." Voldemort said. "And I have come here today to right that wrong."

"My lord?" Fenrir asked in uncertainty, mirroring Lucius' earlier worry.

"It's Tom, to you." Voldemort corrected.

Fenrir actually flinched at the name. A name neither had said in decades.

"It has always been just Tom for you, my last living friend." He told him. "You whose secret I kept when we were mere schoolboys, and who kept all of mine. And yet, look at how I have repaid you!"

He raised his arms and waved to indicate the decerped way they lived. The sleeping bags laid on plain dirt and autumn leaves. The filthy rags upon their bodies.

"But my lord..."

Voldemort glared.

"Tom. When have you ever done anything to wrong me? You have given me everything I , we, ever wanted and more." Fenrir pleaded. "I wanted blood, you gave me blood. The blood of all those who wronged us."

"Yes. I sicked you on every anti-werewolf legislator I could find, a pack of assassins that struck fear and disgust into enemies that would wrong us." Voldemort said. "And this too was wrong."

Fenrir looked at him, actually looked at him, and blinked. The miniscule pieces of humanity still within him were churning like gears, processing what Voldemort was saying.

"Are you.. dissatisfied with out work?" He pleaded.

"No." Voldemort said, closing his eyes and shaking his head solemnly. A practiced motion. "You have been my most loyal friend and most effective soldier. But I have been a poor leader to you. I didn't help you."

More of that lost humanity was returning to his eyes and posture as Voldemort spoke. Good. He wasn't so sure there was enough left to dig out before coming here based on reports. Reports he had not believed. Reports he had chalked up to anti-werewolf exaggeration and propaganda. He could see he was wrong to do so now.

"What happened to the Greyback who went to school with us fifty years ago?" Voldemort asked. "The most handsome and charming of us all, with a voice like silk and scotch, who could charm the skirt off of any lady in school, teacher or student. And had."

Fenrir snorted in amusement. Memories of their young charms teacher, Ms Pledge, must have been a warm memory indeed.

"You who dressed the best of us, and for a time, fought better than the rest of us in our weekend dueling pit. You made me into the fighter I am today and convinced Abraxas to give the Mudblood parselmouth a chance? To take me under his wing and make a gentleman out of me." Voldemort begged. "What would that man think of the beast you have become?"

He was getting through to the man beast. He watched as Fenrir looked down at himself. At his clawed hands. At the wild locks of hair that now covered his body. A body barely hidden by burlap pants and a too large cloak that had seen better days.

"You were a sick man, a hurt man, and I fed into that hurt. I turned you into a weapon instead of the great man you were meant to be. And I am here to fix that. Lucius is outside, willing and ready to spend every penny of his fortune on your legal defense and rehabilitation. The views towards werewolves have improved, and nobody would deny your insanity deal. Morrigan's werewolf sanctuary can help you. Mungos can heal you. All of you."

The light and intelligence in his friend's eyes vanished. His smile and nostalgia vanished from his face. The deference and friendliness in his posture replaced by rigid aggression.

"You're firing me?" He snarled.

"No!" Tom said.

"HE'S FIRING US!" Fenrir roared.

"NO!" Tom begged, but it was too late.

The dozens of werewolves in the clearing were already back on all fours, making to pounce like animals. A dozen more had enough humanity to withdraw their wands. Fenrir? He was...transforming... During a waning moon. His teeth extended, his hands and claws lengthened and his hair became just that much wilder. The beginnings of a snout jutted from his face with the elongated fangs. But that was as far as his transformation went.

The prodigal fighter of his generation, the once-brilliant werewolf, had discovered a method for partially transforming without a full moon? Of course he had. Many fools had underestimated this man and died for it, but Tom knew better. He mentally called upon the dark mark, send the burning twinge to the four outside.

He felt Lucius and Amycus vanish from his immediate control by the dark mark, and the forest erupted in fire. A great ring of licking flames encircled the clearing he was in and the poor creatures they now had a responsibility to put down. When he felt the anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards fall around him he knew Crabbe and Goyle were earning their titles today.

"I am sorry Fenrir. I have failed you." Tom said sadly. "I could not save you. But I can end your suffering."

"Fuck. You. Tom." Fenrir snarled monosyllabically as he too crouched down to all fours.

Taking a deep breath and fighting the single tear his healing soul demanded he shed for his last friend, he readied to fight.

Some unnamable werewolf on the left cast a paltry exploding hex at him with no follow-up. Many of the other wand-waving peons in the clearing did the same, mostly targeting the fires now surrounding them, but Tom focused on this one.

With a perfectly accurate extension of his arm Tom caught the dark orange hex with the tip of his wand and shuddered the distance towards the young man, appearing before him instantly and at every point in between all at once. With the explosive hex still at the tip of his wand, Tom grasped him by the top of his head with his free hand and cast a forked lightning charm. With the man's explosive hex on the tip as he cast the two formed a dangerous union and the eight arcs of yellow lightning pushed through it as if focused through a lens, taking on an orange hue.

Every one of the feral men and women struck by the arcs of electricity suffered a nasty case of exploding body parts where they struck. Two were fortunate to lose an arm or a leg, the rest had holes the sized of bludgers punched into their chest, stomach, groan. Two lost their heads. Three arcs completely missed, taking out one of the flaming trees and digging two nice craters into the ground. The rubble and force, not to mention viscera, of the combo spell sent the remaining dozen or so werewolves on this side of the clearing diving for cover, three unfortunately did so directly in the path of the falling tree.

Tom brought the now weaker explosive hex at the tip of his wand to the throat of the man he held in his left hand. It wasn't quite as spectacular of a gore show as the explosive lightning combination, but those arteries and windpipe were very much destroyed.

Colorless piercing and cutting hexes rained into the clearing from beyond the fires where Crabbe and Goyle were now picking off Fenrir's underlings. Speaking of Fenrir.

"Aaaargh!" The man beast roared as he bared down on Tom with a clawed hand like an axe.

Tom sidestepped it with ease and shuddered away to the opposite end of the clearing, before listening with his mind for the incantations of his enemies.

Glacia sylendria. Stupify. Percusio.

He heard the incantations in the heads of his enemies as they tried to silently cast. It was useful to be able to cast a spell without an enemy hearing what it was. For most enemies it worked. But when you utter it in your head, a man like Tom could still hear it.

He shuddered out of the way of the stunner and piercer, flying into the path of the freezing curse variant. It was a kind that shot like a projectile to freeze the target it hit instead of being a cold whirlwind like most glacia variants. Capturing that with his wand he waved it over his head in a large arc as if to invite everyone to fire at him, but with only one arc to his lawn cutting charm he let it loose, combining it with the glacia charm as he did so.

The charm cut down every single one of them at the ankles. They fell from the already frostbitten stubs at the end of their legs to the ground. Still alive, but out of the way so he could focus on Fenrir, who was still charging at him.

Okay. No more running. No more magic. He re-holstered his wand and charged at the rampaging beast he had once called friend. He would not dishonor him by fighting with fire or silver. He would fight with claws? Tom would fight with fists.

Bite. Shoulder - came the simpler thoughts of the half-transformed man. And so, Tom baited him into making the lunge and, knowing it was coming, ducked beneath the lunge and around his side.
Fenrir tumbled from the lack of a body to strike but slid to a stop and charged back towards him without skipping a beat. Tom merely put his fists up.

Claw to throat. Stab through chest. Bite at face.

Tom leaned back to avoid the first claw, sidestepped to avoid the second meant to impale him, and thrust his entire body forward to bring his forehead slamming against Fenrir's snout before he could open his jaws.

Fenrir yelped in pain and staggered away clutching at his face. Tom pursued with a haymaker to the back of his head and neck that struck true, staggering him to the ground. He did stay there long ,striking back with a two-clawed bear hug that tom hadn't heard coming. It still dodged it and gave Fenrir a good one-two to the stomach and vaulting beneath his legs before he could slash down at him.

As Fenrir turned around to advance on him again Tom wandlessly summoned the long, miraculously intact and unmolested, table towards them both. It shattered against his back and sent him flying towards Tom. Tom brough his knee up with all his might, connecting with the werewolf's jaw with a nice crack.

For a split second Tom thought the crack might have been his knee, but the high-pitched and uncomfortably dog-like yelp of the now fetal werewolf told him otherwise. And when he didn't get back up, but instead reverted back into being fully human, Tom put his fists down and knew the fight was over.

Looking around he noted the remaining werewolves were dead too. Crabbe and Goyle had picked them off while he wasn't looking.

"I'm s-s-s-soo sorry." A sniffling, weeping voice rose up from the broken man beneath him. "I tried Tom. I r-really did."

Tom withdrew his wand and kneeled beside greyback.

"Me too." He said, putting a hand on Greyback's shoulder and turning him over.

He looked abut the bloodied nose, shattered jaw and tear-stained face of his friend.

"I tried to be better. W-wha-why couldn't I be who I used to be? Why couldn't I b-be more that what I am?" He pleaded in broken speech.

"Because none of us could." Tom answered without hesitation. "Despite how much we tried. We were broken then too, like the world we had no hope of fixing."

The fires around them were extinguished down to the last ember and all of a sudden they were in pitch blackness. But moments later light returned, and Tom could see reflected in Fenrir's eyes the great streak of stars that could only be seen this far from the light pollution of the cities. Tom looked up too and marveled at the Milkyway with his friends.

What a beautiful sight to die to.

"What will I tell them?" Fenrir asked.

Tom looked at him questioningly, surreptitiously casting a diagnostic charm on his chest.

"Abraxas. Mulciber. Avery..." He clarified. "They and the rest were still men when they died. With wives, families and their dreams still alive. I am none of those things. I have none of those things."

"You tell them the truth." Tom told him. "You tell them that you too were a man again when you died. That in your last moments you remembered and were with someone who carried on your dreams along with theirs."

Fenrir tried to turn his neck despite his shoulders and ribs being shattered from the table. Before he could say another word Tom cast the killing curse, severing his once beautiful soul from his accursed, diseased and broken body. He let out a long breath as his head fell motionless to the ground. Tom knew that it was just the remaining air in his lungs being forced out but couldn't help feeling as if it sounded like all of the worries, suffering and stress of his life being let go at long last with a relaxing sigh.

He had been so tired in the end. Tired of every door being shut on him. Tired of being forced out of his studies despite being such a genius, his mind left to waste as a laborer and warrior as his disease ate at him. As he came to believe what other people believed about him. That he was nothing more than a beast. And he became it.

"That's it then." He heard Crabbe's voice as he entered the clearing. "The last of the Knights of Walpurgis is gone."

"One, ehem." Tom tried to say but cleared his throat when his voice came out broken with emotion. "One remains."

Crabbe looked at him, but it took Goyle's hand on his shoulder for him to understand.

"And the last knight would like to be alone... please." He pleaded.

They vanished without so much as a nod or verbal confirmation. Loyal friends, just like their fathers. Just like Fenrir.

He gazed down at the man. At his first friend. For the thousandth time he allowed himself to fall into delusions, to imagine a world in which the wolvesbane potion had been invented thirty years earlier than it had. Of the life Fenrir could have, should have, been afforded. It had been so long since he'd thought about these things. Of his friends. Of the other knights and their dreams of a better world.
Each of them had given themselves a mission, a singular goal by which their oath bound them to pursue in religious zeal. For Abraxas, it was to undo the hold foreign lobbyists and interest groups had over the Ministry of Magic. For Macnair, it was to fight the cruelty done to magical beasts and to see them free in the wild once more. And for Fenrir, it was to lead werewolves into their own separate nations.

They had, all of them, failed. And more despicably, passed down their missions to their sons. They had trusted Tom to help lead them, and like his peers, he had failed. Now all of those hopes and dreams and regrets were his alone. There were none left to help him shoulder them.

Seeing the state of Fenrir's corpse Tom put him into a more comfortable position. After crossing his arms over his chest and straightening his back, hips and legs, the man almost looked to be sleeping. A quick episkey to straighten the bones of his jaw and cartilage of his nose made the illusion complete, save for the blood on Fenrir's face. Voldemort wiped that away with his bare hand.

He looked at the life-giving liquid in the moon and star light, and raised it to the sky.

"This war will end." Voldemort swore to the heavens. "Within a year's time all of this rage, stupidity and sadness will be done and the sun will rise on a world without the corruption we hoped to root out, without the rapists and murderers and thieves we hunted down, and without me. Teh corruption and lunacy of the ICW will end. I swear it. For you, my friends. Always for you."

He lowered his blood-stained fist and breathed in the night air, smelling less of smoke by the moment.
"Just... take care of him when he arrives, okay fellas? He's been through a lot." He whispered to them as an afterthought before turning back on the corpse.

There was only one thing left to do.

Kneeling down beside Fenrir for the last time he reached into the dead man's robes, the robes he had once given him, and felt his fists close around a small, leather box barely larger than his hand. He pulled his hand back to look at the nondescript case he had trusted Fenrir with so long ago. And he had been right to do so, for he had kept it safe on his person for all of these years.

He sat down beside the serene figure and held the box with both hands, anticipating the pain to come. Pain on top of the pain he was already feeling. Pain and healing made possible by the pain he was feeling. Remorse was the only ingredient needed to stitch this piece of his soul back into its home.

And so, when he opened the lid he didn't even have to touch the little golden goblet of Helga Hufflepuff for the healing to begin. And he screamed for the entirety of the night.

Notes:

Now you've met Voldemort. The real Voldemort. These are his powers
.
Legilimancy capable of sussing out the spells and intentions of many dozens of people at once. Particularly mental spell incantations. In order to cast spells silently people still say the incantations in their head, he can hear that and act accordingly before his enemy finishes casting. This is his direct parallel to Harry's telemetric ability. He cannot feel emotions, but can hear the thoughts of nearly everybody, with the exception of people like Dumbledore, Snape and Harry.

His second great ability is spell capture and combination. Similar to how in Goblet of fire the video game players could combine spells. Different spells when cast together by different people can have combined, amplified or unexpected results. Tom Riddle is a MASTER of this. He can either combine his enemies spells together by capturing two or three at a time or by capturing one and casting his own spell in conjunction with it. Or simply throw it right back into your face.

Aside from that he has the ability to Shudder. It's an ability similar to apparition. Think of Lord Marshal from Chronicles of Riddic.

Combine with all the above fifty years of combat training, studying the higher magics and dark magic in particular, and you have a formidable enemy indeed.

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Magic Knows No Boundaries But Those We Believe In (Harry Potter)

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?