Umbrus Shade, The Incredibly Annoyed Ravenclaw [Harry Potter/SI]
Prologue
It all began with...
Prologue
It all began with...
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Umbrus Shade, The Incredibly Annoyed Ravenclaw [Harry Potter/SI]
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Umbrus Shade, The Incredibly Annoyed Ravenclaw [Harry Potter/SI]
Prologue
It all began with a dark room, a hooting owl, and a letter in front of me.
The room had no features I could parse. The owl was motley brown. The letter looked handwritten in a really difficult cursive. My room was gone. My surroundings were gone. The letter itself glowed with a light of its own, and the contents seemed to shift under my sight.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Umbrus,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
The letter had also something written on its back; it was the list of provisions. Something dreadfully heavy settled at the bottom of my stomach. This couldn't be what I thought it was, could it? Perhaps an alien race had kidnapped me. It would explain the dark room. Maybe I was in a coma. That too was an acceptable solution. My surroundings shifted, the darkness leaving the place to blurs and to forms.
They took on clearer shapes a bit at the time, revealing figures moving back and forth on rails. In front of me, a luggage on wheels with my stuff rested. An owl hooted from its perch, staring right at me with an inquisitive glance. I looked around, seeing no familiar figures. There was little I could do, but swallow my nervousness and walk towards the platform I still remembered would lead on the way to Hogwarts' train.
Platform Nine and Three Quarters was hidden within a pillar, and as I walked through it, my eyes closed by reflex, I came out in a realm of robes and strange hat-wearing people. I had no cellphone in my pockets. I had no Ipod. I had a wand, actually, a shiny dark thing that was probably twelve to thirteen inches in length. It was a bit hard to hide the thing, and I could feel it poke against my sides, strapped to the left side of my chest in a wand-holder reminiscing of a revolver's holster.
There were families tearfully waving goodbye to their sons and daughters, some with more emphasis than others. I simply pulled my luggage on the train without a word.
"I am a wizard," I muttered. Then, I realized that pulling the luggage up was more of a challenge than previously thought, and the sinking feeling in my guts materialized even further.
Shit.
I was an eleven year old kid. My height was gone, my strength too, and all I had was a lousy wand and stuff I had no idea how it had made its way into my possession. This looked every bit like a coma-induced feverish dream. Perhaps I shouldn't have eaten whatever I ate the night before. What was it again? It was a pizza. No, pizzas couldn't be so evil as to give me such vivid and vibrant nightmares.
Thus, I climbed on while quietly cursing my weak self. I settled in the first carriage I could find, since I needed more than one trip to empty the trolley on which my luggage rested. By the time I was done, I sighed and slumped against the creaking armchair.
I yawned, not out of tiredness, but out of nervousness. There had to be a mistake. I couldn't be a wizard. The wand I pulled out from my wand holster felt warm in my hand, my children finger looked so eerie compared to what I was used to. Still, as I swished the wand back and forth, I expected something to happen. Well, no, I expected nothing to happen. I was rewarded with some sparks instead. They fluttered about, wheezing out of the tip of my wand in a myriad of pretty colors. I offhandedly mused about the colors of the sparks, watching them range from crimson to green, then through blue, violet, mauve and as I thought about it, they changed into yellow too.
There was no muscle-pulling involved, no strange back-end feeling. It was bizarre. I couldn't feel some kind of magical mana resource, or some form of twirling warmth in my chest. There was literally nothing telling me I was depleting mana, or that magic had a cost of some sorts. I should have felt more excited. I could do magic. At the same time, that feeling of elation was dulled by the sheer weight of the situation at hand.
What the hell was I doing in the Harry Potter world? Why was I even here? What was the point? Hell, if I had been born in the world, I could at the very least come up with some chalked up shitty explanation like parallel worlds existing; you die, you get reborn in another world. Rinse and repeat enough times, you're bound to become a genetic defect where you keep the memories of your past life.
It was a shitty explanation for something that couldn't really be explained, but it would make more sense than me appearing in a dark room in my eleven year old form. This felt like I had been placed in such a situation. Magic did it seemed the most viable answer, but if magic 'did it' then I had to ask myself why it did such a thing.
The train car's door swung open as some unknown students filtered in, and I quietly sheathed my wand once more, ashamedly looking at the window without a second thought. The students began to animatedly chat about their lessons, transfiguration with McGonagall, their hate for potions with professor Snape, the amount of work with Charms...and I couldn't help but ask.
"I'm sorry," I said, catching the trio of older students' attention, "I heard about Defense Against the Dark Art having a different professor every year...who's the one this year?"
"Ah," one of the older students said, his tie marking him as a Hufflepuff. "It's Professor Quirrell. He used to do Muggle Studies," he grinned. "He's a nice professor."
Good, then I was in the year of the lord one thousand nine hundred ninety-one. The year in which Harry Potter frequented Hogwarts. The year in which the Philosopher Stone was at Hogwarts. The year in which Voldemort was at Hogwarts.
It was going to be a nice year, as long as I kept my head low and did absolutely frigging nothing.
It eased me a bit to know that I hadn't been thrown in a random year, in a random setting, in a random parallel world.
"You're a first year, so you have it easy," the older Hufflepuff said. "There's a lot of hard work once you hit the electives," he added. "Enjoy your school life while you still can."
I will, filler-type character. I swear I will. "I'll do my best," I answered in turn. "What are the professors like?" I asked next.
It wouldn't do to grow quiet and keep my gaze centered at the sights beyond the train car's window. If I socialized, at the very least I'd be able to learn more about things, and maybe even catch stuff that I had once read, and that I didn't remember any longer. It had been years, perhaps even decades, since I had last read the books.
Still, the hours passed in relative peace. I even pulled out one of the school books to get a head start, but closed it after no more than half an hour, a dull headache from reading while in movement the main cause. With a dreary sigh, I closed my eyes and rested.
I was woken up by the rattling of the door, a blond figure popping in briefly, glancing around, and then looking at me for the briefest of instants. "I am looking for Harry Potter."
"I lack a scar on my forehead," I replied, pointing at my pristine and clear forehead. The blond sneered, and then left.
"Oh yeah, Harry Potter's supposed to be on the train!" another of the older years said with a gush to his voice. "The Boy-Who-Lived! He'll definitely be a Gryffindor." The fact the teen's tie had the colors of Gryffindor meant that his judgment was clearly biased, but it was also the truth, though he wouldn't know it.
I grew quiet, until at a certain point the older students began to shift into their robes, and I did the same with mine. "You can leave the luggage on the train," one of the older students told me, "They'll send the house elves to fetch them."
I nodded and thanked him.
Then, I stepped outside to face the chilly September month of Scotland and the cold, freezing waters of the Hogwarts' lake upon a boat.
The castle's lights in the far off distance glittered, giving it a very magical appearance.
The cold wind biting into my skin dug deep into my chest, however.
The malaise clung to me like a shroud, the stomach bottomed at my feet.
Congratulations, Shade Umbrus...
...you have become a wizard, destroyer of physics.
Prologue
It all began with a dark room, a hooting owl, and a letter in front of me.
The room had no features I could parse. The owl was motley brown. The letter looked handwritten in a really difficult cursive. My room was gone. My surroundings were gone. The letter itself glowed with a light of its own, and the contents seemed to shift under my sight.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Umbrus,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
The letter had also something written on its back; it was the list of provisions. Something dreadfully heavy settled at the bottom of my stomach. This couldn't be what I thought it was, could it? Perhaps an alien race had kidnapped me. It would explain the dark room. Maybe I was in a coma. That too was an acceptable solution. My surroundings shifted, the darkness leaving the place to blurs and to forms.
They took on clearer shapes a bit at the time, revealing figures moving back and forth on rails. In front of me, a luggage on wheels with my stuff rested. An owl hooted from its perch, staring right at me with an inquisitive glance. I looked around, seeing no familiar figures. There was little I could do, but swallow my nervousness and walk towards the platform I still remembered would lead on the way to Hogwarts' train.
Platform Nine and Three Quarters was hidden within a pillar, and as I walked through it, my eyes closed by reflex, I came out in a realm of robes and strange hat-wearing people. I had no cellphone in my pockets. I had no Ipod. I had a wand, actually, a shiny dark thing that was probably twelve to thirteen inches in length. It was a bit hard to hide the thing, and I could feel it poke against my sides, strapped to the left side of my chest in a wand-holder reminiscing of a revolver's holster.
There were families tearfully waving goodbye to their sons and daughters, some with more emphasis than others. I simply pulled my luggage on the train without a word.
"I am a wizard," I muttered. Then, I realized that pulling the luggage up was more of a challenge than previously thought, and the sinking feeling in my guts materialized even further.
Shit.
I was an eleven year old kid. My height was gone, my strength too, and all I had was a lousy wand and stuff I had no idea how it had made its way into my possession. This looked every bit like a coma-induced feverish dream. Perhaps I shouldn't have eaten whatever I ate the night before. What was it again? It was a pizza. No, pizzas couldn't be so evil as to give me such vivid and vibrant nightmares.
Thus, I climbed on while quietly cursing my weak self. I settled in the first carriage I could find, since I needed more than one trip to empty the trolley on which my luggage rested. By the time I was done, I sighed and slumped against the creaking armchair.
I yawned, not out of tiredness, but out of nervousness. There had to be a mistake. I couldn't be a wizard. The wand I pulled out from my wand holster felt warm in my hand, my children finger looked so eerie compared to what I was used to. Still, as I swished the wand back and forth, I expected something to happen. Well, no, I expected nothing to happen. I was rewarded with some sparks instead. They fluttered about, wheezing out of the tip of my wand in a myriad of pretty colors. I offhandedly mused about the colors of the sparks, watching them range from crimson to green, then through blue, violet, mauve and as I thought about it, they changed into yellow too.
There was no muscle-pulling involved, no strange back-end feeling. It was bizarre. I couldn't feel some kind of magical mana resource, or some form of twirling warmth in my chest. There was literally nothing telling me I was depleting mana, or that magic had a cost of some sorts. I should have felt more excited. I could do magic. At the same time, that feeling of elation was dulled by the sheer weight of the situation at hand.
What the hell was I doing in the Harry Potter world? Why was I even here? What was the point? Hell, if I had been born in the world, I could at the very least come up with some chalked up shitty explanation like parallel worlds existing; you die, you get reborn in another world. Rinse and repeat enough times, you're bound to become a genetic defect where you keep the memories of your past life.
It was a shitty explanation for something that couldn't really be explained, but it would make more sense than me appearing in a dark room in my eleven year old form. This felt like I had been placed in such a situation. Magic did it seemed the most viable answer, but if magic 'did it' then I had to ask myself why it did such a thing.
The train car's door swung open as some unknown students filtered in, and I quietly sheathed my wand once more, ashamedly looking at the window without a second thought. The students began to animatedly chat about their lessons, transfiguration with McGonagall, their hate for potions with professor Snape, the amount of work with Charms...and I couldn't help but ask.
"I'm sorry," I said, catching the trio of older students' attention, "I heard about Defense Against the Dark Art having a different professor every year...who's the one this year?"
"Ah," one of the older students said, his tie marking him as a Hufflepuff. "It's Professor Quirrell. He used to do Muggle Studies," he grinned. "He's a nice professor."
Good, then I was in the year of the lord one thousand nine hundred ninety-one. The year in which Harry Potter frequented Hogwarts. The year in which the Philosopher Stone was at Hogwarts. The year in which Voldemort was at Hogwarts.
It was going to be a nice year, as long as I kept my head low and did absolutely frigging nothing.
It eased me a bit to know that I hadn't been thrown in a random year, in a random setting, in a random parallel world.
"You're a first year, so you have it easy," the older Hufflepuff said. "There's a lot of hard work once you hit the electives," he added. "Enjoy your school life while you still can."
I will, filler-type character. I swear I will. "I'll do my best," I answered in turn. "What are the professors like?" I asked next.
It wouldn't do to grow quiet and keep my gaze centered at the sights beyond the train car's window. If I socialized, at the very least I'd be able to learn more about things, and maybe even catch stuff that I had once read, and that I didn't remember any longer. It had been years, perhaps even decades, since I had last read the books.
Still, the hours passed in relative peace. I even pulled out one of the school books to get a head start, but closed it after no more than half an hour, a dull headache from reading while in movement the main cause. With a dreary sigh, I closed my eyes and rested.
I was woken up by the rattling of the door, a blond figure popping in briefly, glancing around, and then looking at me for the briefest of instants. "I am looking for Harry Potter."
"I lack a scar on my forehead," I replied, pointing at my pristine and clear forehead. The blond sneered, and then left.
"Oh yeah, Harry Potter's supposed to be on the train!" another of the older years said with a gush to his voice. "The Boy-Who-Lived! He'll definitely be a Gryffindor." The fact the teen's tie had the colors of Gryffindor meant that his judgment was clearly biased, but it was also the truth, though he wouldn't know it.
I grew quiet, until at a certain point the older students began to shift into their robes, and I did the same with mine. "You can leave the luggage on the train," one of the older students told me, "They'll send the house elves to fetch them."
I nodded and thanked him.
Then, I stepped outside to face the chilly September month of Scotland and the cold, freezing waters of the Hogwarts' lake upon a boat.
The castle's lights in the far off distance glittered, giving it a very magical appearance.
The cold wind biting into my skin dug deep into my chest, however.
The malaise clung to me like a shroud, the stomach bottomed at my feet.
Congratulations, Shade Umbrus...
...you have become a wizard, destroyer of physics.
TimeLordLucario
The Oncoming Aura Storm
- Location
- Australia
This is a Shade self insert.
The pain train never ends.
- Location
- france
Let us not be that hasty.
He still has metaknowledge, that something, right?
What is worrying is who are his parents and where he'll go in summer.
There is also the fact that Fate and Destiny have a big hand in the events and i'm not sure he'll escape their attention.
He is also in Ravenclaw, contrary to what many think, this isn't an advantage.
Our dear Luna Lovegood was different than her peers and was mercilessly bullied.
Shade is different: an adult in a child body, he'll be detected as abnormal.
I wonder if Shade has any other advantage (like those in HP JUmpchain)?
- Location
- Castle Drakenhof
It isn't all that difficult to act as a quiet bookish nerd. That's the majority of Ravenclaw. Luna was bullied because she was outwardly weird, and was thus an easy target. No friends and looked down upon, right?
Also, what is "detected as abnormal" supposed to mean? These are children and teenagers, not Sherlock Holmes, and they wouldn't have any motivation to sniff out non-conformers. You make it sound like they're an inquisition, or some sort of hive.
- Location
- france
True… A bookish nerd, stereotype but true nonetheless.
As for "detected" it's just a bad choice for words. Should have said "feel different".
And you never know, there might be some Ravenclaw who want to know everything and be very nosy.
- Location
- Banach Space
I'd be quite interested if the character attempted to keep his head down, but thanks to butterflies...things start going horribly wrong.
Imagine if Hermione was either injured or killed by the troll, shit the SI is going to know he's fucked up if that happens.
Imagine if Hermione was either injured or killed by the troll, shit the SI is going to know he's fucked up if that happens.
Dragonskyt
Ashen one, hearest thou my voice, still?
- Location
- Kiln of the First Flame
When your trope knowledge exceeds that of common knowledge and you start calling random people on the streets NPC's.
Chapter One
- Location
- https://discord.gg/z9tBvbh
Chapter One
There were a lot of stairs at Hogwarts. Climbing them from the bottom of the castle, where the pier was, was no easy task for an eleven year old. I cursed myself. I also cursed the lack of lifts, or automated stairways. Still, headmistress McGonagall made us wait by the stairs, while the whispers on what we'd have to do ran rampant across the many first years.
I knew it was going to be a hat.
It was going to be a talking hat, who'd select the place he believed we'd do best in, but would also comply to what we wished for.
Slytherin was out. Gryffindor too. I could find myself at home both in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, if I said so myself. Hufflepuff would have lots of delicious food, and friendly people, but if I wanted to survive through the battle at Hogwarts, I needed skills. Skills that only secret libraries could give me. Skills that only a Ravenclaw could learn. Skills used not to enter the thick of battle, but stay the hell away from it.
Yes, my plan was to survive. Though it could all become moot the moment I found Albus Dumbledore's office password and spoke to the headmaster about everything I knew. He'd do something about it. It wasn't like this was a world where Evil-Manipulative-Dark-Dumbledore lived. This looked pretty much the canon-world. At least, there was a Harry Potter, a red-haired Ron Weasley, a Neville Longbottom, a Hermione Granger, and many other. They weren't immediately noticeable, because they didn't look like the actors, but like their book-selves.
"They say we have to fight a troll," someone whispered in front of me.
"It's a hat," I snorted back. "A talking hat."
"Yeah," another student muttered by my side. "I hope the troll doesn't stink too much."
I glanced at the student, and then sighed. Here I was, being my shy, meek wallflower-self once more. Still, we didn't have to wait for much longer, as McGonagall called us into the main dining room and made us stand in a line in front of a stool, on which the talking hat rested.
It was the sorting hat, and I had forgotten how it broke out in song. It began in earnest, telling the main points of the houses and how we shouldn't fear. Still, as my surname was apparently Umbrus, I would go after Harry Potter. This meant I wasn't even in the purvey of the book's written pages, since from what I vaguely recalled, after Potter the only other mention was when the last one was called.
So the hall grew all quiet and nervous as Harry Potter in his childish eleven year old form marched and sat on the stool, plopping the sorting hat on its head. The boy whispered something, and the hat took a bit of a time. In the end, Gryffindor was where he ended, and the timeline was secured.
Was I perhaps an agent of the timeline?
Was I a guy sent from the future for the benefit of wizardkind? Secret Agent Shade, saving time and space one mission at a time?
"Umbrus, Shade," as it was my turn, I answered and valiantly walked forward, gingerly grabbing hold of the hat and putting it on.
Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw.
You have the potential to become the greatest of Slytherins. You have the ability, the skill, the wisdom of someone that can make great waves in the world. Are you sure you wish to go amidst dusty books?
Those are magic books we're talking of, sir! Is there anything more interesting than those in this world?
In Slytherin, you could acquire the power in order to read even the most secret of tomes.
But if I'm not a Ravenclaw, I wouldn't understand half of what they'd have written in them, sir. Please put me in Ravenclaw? I'll buy you some leather-softener? Or maybe you'd rather want some...
Shush before I change my mind and send you into Slytherin, you sly snake in a raven's nest! Fine! Since you insist so much, and because I fear what you'd do if I left you among those poor little snakes, you're going to have to be...
"RAVENCLAW!"
The hat roared it, and as I removed it and ran towards the table in question, there were good and friendly cheers. I belatedly noticed that my tie and robes had changed their colors to match those of my house. It was a bit of silent magic that someone, perhaps McGonagall, did on the fly as each student was nominated into their houses. Or perhaps it was the house elves. It could be either, but it didn't matter.
I was positively famished, and I hoped that the delicacies shown in the movies would at least be reflected in this reality.
As the last name was called, and Dumbledore said his words, food appeared in front of us all. The rules of engagement were clear on the matter. Every student must eat for themselves; every fork is a weapon, every knife a shield. Kill the enemy that impounds on your food, ravage the plates of your foes if you have none. This is the land of cutthroat food business, where no adult comes by to give you your portion, so you must make your own.
It was a world I knew intrinsically well. The reason I was the fastest eater this side of the continent was because in children, nothing is sacred, not even personal plate-space. If they lack in food, they will take it from your plate. So you can either stab them, or ensure you eat it faster than they can take it away.
After you've eaten your fill, you can engage in pleasant conversations.
Since I had achieved overwhelming victory over my nearby neighbors, I felt happy enough to actually start to listen to what they were saying to one another.
Some of the first years looked traumatized by my innate ability in acquiring and devouring food, but it was not my fault. Also, apparently the plates refilled if empty. This meant I didn't actually need to go gung-ho on getting everything. I could have taken my time. As it was, I reckoned they learned not to bother me while eating.
Tiny flying birds made of paper sailed in the air, landing in front of us first years after a short while. They unfolded like magical origami, and delivered our timetable.
Interestingly enough, we would have a Charms lesson, followed by a Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and a double Potions lesson to end the day with a big bang. Perhaps even literally, depending on circumstances. Since Harry and Draco shared classrooms, it was clear that we'd have the Hufflepuffs.
I couldn't remember half a name from the Hufflepuff class. Maybe a Zacharias, perhaps, or a Susan and a Hannah. An Anthony Goldstein and a Turpin-something in Ravenclaw and...I drew blanks. Well, my lacking knowledge not-withstanding, it was clear that their names would be discovered eventually.
True to form, I shared a room with a certain Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, and Terry Boot.
I grinned at them. "Let's all get along."
They smiled back, and I knew all would be right in the world.
Learning magic the next day though...
...would prove to be anything but an easy walk in the park.
There were a lot of stairs at Hogwarts. Climbing them from the bottom of the castle, where the pier was, was no easy task for an eleven year old. I cursed myself. I also cursed the lack of lifts, or automated stairways. Still, headmistress McGonagall made us wait by the stairs, while the whispers on what we'd have to do ran rampant across the many first years.
I knew it was going to be a hat.
It was going to be a talking hat, who'd select the place he believed we'd do best in, but would also comply to what we wished for.
Slytherin was out. Gryffindor too. I could find myself at home both in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, if I said so myself. Hufflepuff would have lots of delicious food, and friendly people, but if I wanted to survive through the battle at Hogwarts, I needed skills. Skills that only secret libraries could give me. Skills that only a Ravenclaw could learn. Skills used not to enter the thick of battle, but stay the hell away from it.
Yes, my plan was to survive. Though it could all become moot the moment I found Albus Dumbledore's office password and spoke to the headmaster about everything I knew. He'd do something about it. It wasn't like this was a world where Evil-Manipulative-Dark-Dumbledore lived. This looked pretty much the canon-world. At least, there was a Harry Potter, a red-haired Ron Weasley, a Neville Longbottom, a Hermione Granger, and many other. They weren't immediately noticeable, because they didn't look like the actors, but like their book-selves.
"They say we have to fight a troll," someone whispered in front of me.
"It's a hat," I snorted back. "A talking hat."
"Yeah," another student muttered by my side. "I hope the troll doesn't stink too much."
I glanced at the student, and then sighed. Here I was, being my shy, meek wallflower-self once more. Still, we didn't have to wait for much longer, as McGonagall called us into the main dining room and made us stand in a line in front of a stool, on which the talking hat rested.
It was the sorting hat, and I had forgotten how it broke out in song. It began in earnest, telling the main points of the houses and how we shouldn't fear. Still, as my surname was apparently Umbrus, I would go after Harry Potter. This meant I wasn't even in the purvey of the book's written pages, since from what I vaguely recalled, after Potter the only other mention was when the last one was called.
So the hall grew all quiet and nervous as Harry Potter in his childish eleven year old form marched and sat on the stool, plopping the sorting hat on its head. The boy whispered something, and the hat took a bit of a time. In the end, Gryffindor was where he ended, and the timeline was secured.
Was I perhaps an agent of the timeline?
Was I a guy sent from the future for the benefit of wizardkind? Secret Agent Shade, saving time and space one mission at a time?
"Umbrus, Shade," as it was my turn, I answered and valiantly walked forward, gingerly grabbing hold of the hat and putting it on.
Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw.
You have the potential to become the greatest of Slytherins. You have the ability, the skill, the wisdom of someone that can make great waves in the world. Are you sure you wish to go amidst dusty books?
Those are magic books we're talking of, sir! Is there anything more interesting than those in this world?
In Slytherin, you could acquire the power in order to read even the most secret of tomes.
But if I'm not a Ravenclaw, I wouldn't understand half of what they'd have written in them, sir. Please put me in Ravenclaw? I'll buy you some leather-softener? Or maybe you'd rather want some...
Shush before I change my mind and send you into Slytherin, you sly snake in a raven's nest! Fine! Since you insist so much, and because I fear what you'd do if I left you among those poor little snakes, you're going to have to be...
"RAVENCLAW!"
The hat roared it, and as I removed it and ran towards the table in question, there were good and friendly cheers. I belatedly noticed that my tie and robes had changed their colors to match those of my house. It was a bit of silent magic that someone, perhaps McGonagall, did on the fly as each student was nominated into their houses. Or perhaps it was the house elves. It could be either, but it didn't matter.
I was positively famished, and I hoped that the delicacies shown in the movies would at least be reflected in this reality.
As the last name was called, and Dumbledore said his words, food appeared in front of us all. The rules of engagement were clear on the matter. Every student must eat for themselves; every fork is a weapon, every knife a shield. Kill the enemy that impounds on your food, ravage the plates of your foes if you have none. This is the land of cutthroat food business, where no adult comes by to give you your portion, so you must make your own.
It was a world I knew intrinsically well. The reason I was the fastest eater this side of the continent was because in children, nothing is sacred, not even personal plate-space. If they lack in food, they will take it from your plate. So you can either stab them, or ensure you eat it faster than they can take it away.
After you've eaten your fill, you can engage in pleasant conversations.
Since I had achieved overwhelming victory over my nearby neighbors, I felt happy enough to actually start to listen to what they were saying to one another.
Some of the first years looked traumatized by my innate ability in acquiring and devouring food, but it was not my fault. Also, apparently the plates refilled if empty. This meant I didn't actually need to go gung-ho on getting everything. I could have taken my time. As it was, I reckoned they learned not to bother me while eating.
Tiny flying birds made of paper sailed in the air, landing in front of us first years after a short while. They unfolded like magical origami, and delivered our timetable.
Interestingly enough, we would have a Charms lesson, followed by a Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and a double Potions lesson to end the day with a big bang. Perhaps even literally, depending on circumstances. Since Harry and Draco shared classrooms, it was clear that we'd have the Hufflepuffs.
I couldn't remember half a name from the Hufflepuff class. Maybe a Zacharias, perhaps, or a Susan and a Hannah. An Anthony Goldstein and a Turpin-something in Ravenclaw and...I drew blanks. Well, my lacking knowledge not-withstanding, it was clear that their names would be discovered eventually.
True to form, I shared a room with a certain Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, and Terry Boot.
I grinned at them. "Let's all get along."
They smiled back, and I knew all would be right in the world.
Learning magic the next day though...
...would prove to be anything but an easy walk in the park.
SemiSaneAuthor
Stuff Blowing Up
- Location
- Sol-3, Memetic Quarantined World - For English
- Pronouns
- They/Them
And if you quietly listen to snippets of conversation as you walk down the street, seeing parts of a whole world around you, That you quickly believe the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows is right about the definition of Sonder.
- Location
- france
Murphy: "Did someone called me rather loudly?"
True, what we would do to those poor Slytherins if we could…
Besides, it's not as if we could give anonymously some ideas to a pair of pranksters, right?
Oh I am slain!
Wynaut?
- Location
- Tatooine
Ooh, a new story in the HP setting.
On one hand, this is a Shadenight SI. On the other hand, this is a Shadenight SI.
I'm looking forward to the adventures.
On one hand, this is a Shadenight SI. On the other hand, this is a Shadenight SI.
I'm looking forward to the adventures.
- Location
- Reno Nv
So, how fast is he going to have everything go to absolute shit this time?
Chapter Two
- Location
- https://discord.gg/z9tBvbh
Chapter Two
Wingardium Leviosa was not a spell for the faint of heart. Had we begun with that, I might have understood my reasonable frustration. Instead, we began with an even simpler spell. One that came naturally, and was merely an extension of a wizard's naturally ability to make sparks fly from the tip of one's wand. The Lumos spell was quite a simple twirl of the wand. At least, Professor Flitwick had assured it, and quite a few Ravenclaw had gotten it at the first try, just as much as the Hufflepuffs had.
"Lumos," I muttered for the umpteenth time, glancing at the slightly shiny tip of my wand. I was doing something to it, clearly, but it wasn't working as well as I intended it to. At most, I had a midnight light's glow of worth, while the others ranged from vibrant colors to bright torches.
"Lumos," I insisted, the light glowing a bit stronger. I glanced at the wizard doing the movements on the spellbook. The flick of the wrist, the little twirl, they all made sense in retrospect, but I couldn't manage to get the movement down just right. If I had, I'd be shining along with the rest of the class wouldn't I? Still, as I glanced past the wizard's movement and into the spell's description itself -and the horrendous cursive writings used, seriously, would it kill them to invest in a printer?- I read a passage that left me puzzled.
The longer the spell is charged, the brighter the light. A wizard's ability to naturally select the most appropriate of glows for the right setting varies based on their control of their magic.
How did one even go about charging spells? They didn't work on a mana system!
I could try to maybe scrunch my eyebrows, put effort in as if I had to go to the loo, think really hard about it, and then... "Lumos!" and a shining, dazzling, lightsaber's worth of crimson light shone from the tip of my wand with such a bright intensity that I actually let go of the wand and clutched my eyes, which teared up from the abrupt change in luminosity.
"Who did that!?" Filius yelled as I whimpered softly, massaging my eyes. "Mister Umbrus? Are you all right'"
"I'm fine," I muttered, "My eyes sting," I added as I kept them closed, massaging them ever so slightly with the palm of my hands.
"I suppose they would," Professor Flitwick's voice came through, "That was quite the strong Lumos spell, perhaps tone it down a little. Five points to Ravenclaw, for such a...brilliance." There were a few cheers from Ravenclaw's side. I spend most of the remaining lesson rubbing my eyes and trying to get the image of the crimson wand out of my seared retinas.
I quietly accepted that my next lesson would be spent with my nose in my book to better read. At the same time, it was also a successful survival strategy against Voldemort's mind-reading abilities. Professor Quirrell wouldn't read my mind without reason, but I couldn't discount Voldemort being paranoid enough to try to gather all information on Harry Potter that he could manage to, even from the first years.
At least, if I were a paranoid overlord I'd rip the minds of everyone around me to ensure no detail eluded me, and since he was stuck on the back of Quirrell's head, it wasn't like he had the ability to do much else.
Thus, no eye-contact, and nose in the book. Quirinus Quirrell had also been a Ravenclaw, and while it didn't show, he did give Ravenclaw five more points on average than he did the Hufflepuffs. Though nobody took offense to that. We were the ones asked to suffer through a half-hour long question before giving a one minute long answer.
I groaned as the lesson dealt mainly in the theoretical applications of magic. My eyes had barely recovered from the previous lesson, but still there I was, trying to decipher the unknown words.
The Gnome is a cowon? Common gardn...garden, pest. I'd eventually get used to it, but seriously, this couldn't stand.
I had a priority. I had to find a spell that turned words from cursive into something far more readable. Hell, I would be fine with a magical typewriter you could feed books to in order to get the equivalent back in something other than cursive. This was the kind of cursive that was all flowery and twirly, and it made it doubly hard to read through.
The age of machines needed to arrive to Hogwarts on the double, and if not the computers, at the very least the industrial revolution of typewriters!
"Damn it," Anthony Goldstein grunted, "DADA lessons are going to be headaches."
"W-W-Why w-w-would you say th-that, An-Anthony!?" Michael Corner answered, mocking the professor.
The morning lessons were done for the day, and thus it was time for the lunch break. "Professor Flitwick gave us three feet long homework," Terry Boot groaned in turn. "The older years said he was a good professor, but they didn't mention how much homework he'd give."
"We have until Wednesday to do it too," I added, vaguely recalling the timetable, "It's when we have our next lesson with him."
"We can get the homework started this afternoon and finish it tomorrow," Anthony Goldstein suggested. "Might be a good chance to look at the school library."
That was a great idea, and was going to be my plan too for the afternoon. It wouldn't hurt to follow a group and act all social and stuff. I also had to get a list of wizardly sweets from a book and find out the one used as a password for Dumbledore's office.
Maybe, once I had spoken with the headmaster, I could finally get a great weight off my chest.
Potions, double-potions, meant cauldron usage. Single hours were meant for theory, and double hours for practical. Our first lesson dealt, as an exception to the norm, with everything related to cauldron safety delivered with such a drawl and a scathing glare that it made everyone shrink away from the cauldrons as if they would chop their hands off if they as much as dared breathe wrongly in front of them.
"Now who can tell me the properties of a bezoar?" he asked, "Which of you dunderheads has actually read the book? Which has a modicum of brain matter into his skull?"
Some Ravenclaws actually raised their hands, and thus Severus Snape picked a random Hufflepuff who had done its very best to shrink from the glare sent its way. "Miss Abbott?"
"I-I," there was the thinnest of voices coming out from the girl, and nothing more.
"I suppose ten points from Hufflepuff," Professor Snape said, quite coldly. He then turned and looked straight at me. I stared back, with the most tranquil of expressions. "Mister Umbrus?"
"The bezoar's a natural remedy against poisoning of all kinds, found in the stomach of a goat-"
"Enough of your blabbering," Professor Snape said curtly, "We will now practice scrubbing the cauldrons to perfection, a much needed skills for those of you who will never amount to much more than muck-cleaners."
I had to give it to him, as he waved his wand and made all of our cauldrons dirty like hell...
...he just knew how to make someone hate him as if he were the angry Cinderella step-mother.
Wingardium Leviosa was not a spell for the faint of heart. Had we begun with that, I might have understood my reasonable frustration. Instead, we began with an even simpler spell. One that came naturally, and was merely an extension of a wizard's naturally ability to make sparks fly from the tip of one's wand. The Lumos spell was quite a simple twirl of the wand. At least, Professor Flitwick had assured it, and quite a few Ravenclaw had gotten it at the first try, just as much as the Hufflepuffs had.
"Lumos," I muttered for the umpteenth time, glancing at the slightly shiny tip of my wand. I was doing something to it, clearly, but it wasn't working as well as I intended it to. At most, I had a midnight light's glow of worth, while the others ranged from vibrant colors to bright torches.
"Lumos," I insisted, the light glowing a bit stronger. I glanced at the wizard doing the movements on the spellbook. The flick of the wrist, the little twirl, they all made sense in retrospect, but I couldn't manage to get the movement down just right. If I had, I'd be shining along with the rest of the class wouldn't I? Still, as I glanced past the wizard's movement and into the spell's description itself -and the horrendous cursive writings used, seriously, would it kill them to invest in a printer?- I read a passage that left me puzzled.
The longer the spell is charged, the brighter the light. A wizard's ability to naturally select the most appropriate of glows for the right setting varies based on their control of their magic.
How did one even go about charging spells? They didn't work on a mana system!
I could try to maybe scrunch my eyebrows, put effort in as if I had to go to the loo, think really hard about it, and then... "Lumos!" and a shining, dazzling, lightsaber's worth of crimson light shone from the tip of my wand with such a bright intensity that I actually let go of the wand and clutched my eyes, which teared up from the abrupt change in luminosity.
"Who did that!?" Filius yelled as I whimpered softly, massaging my eyes. "Mister Umbrus? Are you all right'"
"I'm fine," I muttered, "My eyes sting," I added as I kept them closed, massaging them ever so slightly with the palm of my hands.
"I suppose they would," Professor Flitwick's voice came through, "That was quite the strong Lumos spell, perhaps tone it down a little. Five points to Ravenclaw, for such a...brilliance." There were a few cheers from Ravenclaw's side. I spend most of the remaining lesson rubbing my eyes and trying to get the image of the crimson wand out of my seared retinas.
I quietly accepted that my next lesson would be spent with my nose in my book to better read. At the same time, it was also a successful survival strategy against Voldemort's mind-reading abilities. Professor Quirrell wouldn't read my mind without reason, but I couldn't discount Voldemort being paranoid enough to try to gather all information on Harry Potter that he could manage to, even from the first years.
At least, if I were a paranoid overlord I'd rip the minds of everyone around me to ensure no detail eluded me, and since he was stuck on the back of Quirrell's head, it wasn't like he had the ability to do much else.
Thus, no eye-contact, and nose in the book. Quirinus Quirrell had also been a Ravenclaw, and while it didn't show, he did give Ravenclaw five more points on average than he did the Hufflepuffs. Though nobody took offense to that. We were the ones asked to suffer through a half-hour long question before giving a one minute long answer.
I groaned as the lesson dealt mainly in the theoretical applications of magic. My eyes had barely recovered from the previous lesson, but still there I was, trying to decipher the unknown words.
The Gnome is a cowon? Common gardn...garden, pest. I'd eventually get used to it, but seriously, this couldn't stand.
I had a priority. I had to find a spell that turned words from cursive into something far more readable. Hell, I would be fine with a magical typewriter you could feed books to in order to get the equivalent back in something other than cursive. This was the kind of cursive that was all flowery and twirly, and it made it doubly hard to read through.
The age of machines needed to arrive to Hogwarts on the double, and if not the computers, at the very least the industrial revolution of typewriters!
"Damn it," Anthony Goldstein grunted, "DADA lessons are going to be headaches."
"W-W-Why w-w-would you say th-that, An-Anthony!?" Michael Corner answered, mocking the professor.
The morning lessons were done for the day, and thus it was time for the lunch break. "Professor Flitwick gave us three feet long homework," Terry Boot groaned in turn. "The older years said he was a good professor, but they didn't mention how much homework he'd give."
"We have until Wednesday to do it too," I added, vaguely recalling the timetable, "It's when we have our next lesson with him."
"We can get the homework started this afternoon and finish it tomorrow," Anthony Goldstein suggested. "Might be a good chance to look at the school library."
That was a great idea, and was going to be my plan too for the afternoon. It wouldn't hurt to follow a group and act all social and stuff. I also had to get a list of wizardly sweets from a book and find out the one used as a password for Dumbledore's office.
Maybe, once I had spoken with the headmaster, I could finally get a great weight off my chest.
Potions, double-potions, meant cauldron usage. Single hours were meant for theory, and double hours for practical. Our first lesson dealt, as an exception to the norm, with everything related to cauldron safety delivered with such a drawl and a scathing glare that it made everyone shrink away from the cauldrons as if they would chop their hands off if they as much as dared breathe wrongly in front of them.
"Now who can tell me the properties of a bezoar?" he asked, "Which of you dunderheads has actually read the book? Which has a modicum of brain matter into his skull?"
Some Ravenclaws actually raised their hands, and thus Severus Snape picked a random Hufflepuff who had done its very best to shrink from the glare sent its way. "Miss Abbott?"
"I-I," there was the thinnest of voices coming out from the girl, and nothing more.
"I suppose ten points from Hufflepuff," Professor Snape said, quite coldly. He then turned and looked straight at me. I stared back, with the most tranquil of expressions. "Mister Umbrus?"
"The bezoar's a natural remedy against poisoning of all kinds, found in the stomach of a goat-"
"Enough of your blabbering," Professor Snape said curtly, "We will now practice scrubbing the cauldrons to perfection, a much needed skills for those of you who will never amount to much more than muck-cleaners."
I had to give it to him, as he waved his wand and made all of our cauldrons dirty like hell...
...he just knew how to make someone hate him as if he were the angry Cinderella step-mother.
Dragonskyt
Ashen one, hearest thou my voice, still?
- Location
- Kiln of the First Flame
This is the first time I've ever seen Snape starting the lesson with cauldron cleaning.
It actually makes a lot of sense.
He's still an A-grade A-hole though.
Krazyfan1
Once again Grieving
- Location
- Australia
- Location
- Earth: Universe Meta - 1
Don't forget that's written by hand too. I don't know about you, but my handwriting takes far more page space than a 12pt font does.
- Location
- Australia
The first thing for shade to do is, try every type of occlumency training/technique that is in all types of fanfiction. Not only will it help him sort his memories, it's also a defense and can be used to gain an almost eidetic memory. You will also be able to have some fun with describing and building a mindscape that can ignore the laws of physics, i.e. the world folding in half (inception) as well as their penrose staircase, you can even apply the concept to a hallway with a door at the end that infinitely loops. Building a mindscape is one of the best ways to just go wild and say f*ck reality, it's just so fun.
- Location
- Banach Space
Eidetic memory via occlumency? Mindscapes? I think that's pure fanon there as I don't recall that from the books.
It also makes little sense, as then classes like History of Magic and Muggle Studies are better replaced by learning occlumency and then just skim reading the books. It'd make little sense to have not use eidetic memory in them if that was true.
- Location
- Australia
True, it is pretty much pure fanon, but that is mainly because occlumency is barely explored in the books/movies. Also I could imagine the reason it's not taught to everyone is because of the pureblood prejudice and it's only taught to the kids from the older families as a means of staying on the top and in power. I still think that with magic it may be possible and, Just for that, I would love the flexibility to be added to the story.
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Oh, Snape.
You poor stupid man....
You just made an enemy out of one of the Multiverse's most infamous Self-Inserts!