Harry Potter and the Scabbard of Excalibur [AU]

[Birdsie]

A Hallowed Time

As the holidays made their merry approach, the First Year schedule relaxed like a purring cat gently rubbing its side against its owner's leg. Among the more lenient teachers, it became a custom to release the children from their classes several minutes early; and then a quarter early; and then half an hour, until lessons had devolved into sitting around and casting random spells, while the professors calmly graded tests in the background. Any impetus that might've forced the students to do actual work lost its cohesion, aside from those mystically self-propelled by ambition or varied desire.

Almost uncharacteristically, young Harry wasn't studying in his private quarters for once - much to the befuddlement of many, as he'd worked up the steady reputation of a recluse and hard worker - but rather, tinkering in the open with a set of notebooks, drawing in many curious glances from the students around him. A handful of children and older teens even flocked even from other House tables, although Harry's fellow Hufflepuffs were fast and assiduous in keeping away the biggest annoyances from him, while making sure that his own friends had enough breathing space.

The Great Hall had been redecorated for Christmas. Its candles were replaced with hovering, twinkling fairy lights in the colors of green, red, and white. Its walls were covered with great banners and posters displaying scenes associated with Christmas, such as the birth of Jesus Christ.

A great and almighty Christmas tree, almost scratching against the cream-white ceiling of sky clouds above the castle, replaced the High Table and its place. It was decorated lavishly and opulently, with crystalline balls in a magnificent, glittering rainbow of colors; streamers arced through its great branches like resting snakes, their golden and silver gleam reflecting the pale eye-catching luminescence from the magical lights floating around the Great Hall. A single and superbly large, opalescent star like a five-pointed symbol of impossible glory topped its awesome crown, glowing with comforting, halcyon sunlight.

It's amazing - Christmas, I mean, Geist said with a thoughtful murmur.

Yeah. It's a magical time, Harry agreed with a private smile.

No. That's not what I meant. Have you never considered how infectious Christmas is?

He raised an eyebrow. Infectious?

Yes. Haven't you noticed? It's the single, most piercing, adaptable, and robust celebration in the world. It's, quite probably, the most enduring, powerful, and strange meme within the abyssal, protean confines of sapient cognition. It's a strictly Christian holiday, though diluted by ancient pagan observances, and yet, everyone and their mother practices it. The Japanese have Christmas. The Americans have Christmas. I mean, fuck, Harry - even people who don't practice Christmas have their own versions, variants, or at least conceptual equivalents, like the Hanukkah or the Eid. They're not exactly the same celebration but frequently represent similar values.

Pondering this, Harry put down his rune-carving knife and started eating his breakfast - a modest bowl of corn flakes, with a lot of milk so he'd grow strong bones. Geist insisted that dairy products needed to be a common element in Harry's diet, so Harry did what he could to attend to that demand.

And look here - these utter, faithless heretics; magicians who've opened a school for other magicians, spitting upon every Christian and Catholic value that exists, that'd be excommunicated in a heartbeat should anyone know of their existence, celebrate Christmas! I'll bet you ten Galleons that McGonagall doesn't even know who Jesus Christ is or what he did, but then when you ask her, she'll remark that Christ's birth is simply a momentous occasion for the world. Christmas - this simplistic, Muggle meme - has wormed its way even into the brains of mages who actively avoid everything made by Muggles. It's brutally seized the Wizarding world and drained it of every penny.

Harry snorted into his cereal flakes. Neville glanced at him worriedly.

I'm not joking, Harry! It's no joking matter! In orthodox practice, the color palette of Christmas is green and white. And yet, there are red fairy lights around us! Red! It's because of Coca-Cola, Harry! They made a Christmas advertisement campaign with Santa dressed in red, and now it's stuck!

Harry snorted again.

FUCKING COCA-COLA COMPANY DEFEATED HOGWARTS. IT DEFEATED THE MINISTRY! BEFORE MEEEEEEEEE!

He couldn't. With the sound of a car engine failing to start, Harry released a staccato of wheezes, then burst into a laughter so deep and loud it shook his stomach and filled it with gut pain. He continued to laugh; choking, seizing; almost crying.

"You good?" Neville asked, slightly concerned.

"I'm good. I'm great."

"You've been acting a little weird ever since your initiation," Neville remarked.

"Nah. This is unrelated. I... I kinda thought of something great and very funny." Smiling, Harry's spoon scooped up breakfast cereals. He raised its bowl to his mouth, holding back a few errant chuckles. "I'll tell you about it later."

"Mhm. I'm not sure - I'm actually planning to go back to my family for the holidays."

Harry thought back, remembering what Professor McGonagall had said yesterday, on the topic of returns back with the Hogwarts Express. "Oh, that's tomorrow, isn't it? Well, it's only a couple of days, so it probably won't be that bad..."

"Aren't you going?" Neville asked.

A sullen pause in the conversation. A painful, directionless feeling shadowed Harry's thoughts for a second; then, in the span of only a couple of seconds, he remembered Sirius and remembered his first week in Hogwarts, the friends he'd made, and the dangers they'd gotten through together, and the shadows were gone.

"Don't have anywhere to go," Harry said, shoveling the cereal into his mouth. Munching, he continued, "Sirius - err, Professor Black, my guardian - is staying to grade papers. I could go back home, but that'd be only me and a House Elf."

He reconsidered. Although he'd be secluded, it could also be a prime opportunity for continuing to learn the Dark Arts. However, leaving Ornias behind in the school would pose its own risk. Maybe it'd be prudent to send Ornias away for Christmas, then summon him back to Earth afterward? Aside from a couple of precious hours wasted on setting up the ritual for summoning and binding, it wasn't like temporarily releasing Ornias from service would be an impediment to his learning schedule or anything. It sounded like a good risk avoided at a relatively minor price.

"Eh, I might go, actually. A few peaceful days for Christmas sounds like a nice gift to myself. I can't get nearly enough sleep in the Common Room, there's always something keeping me up," Harry changed his mind verbally, then, vaguely and incoherently, shrugged, returning to his food. "I suppose we'll see."

"Yeah. I guess." Neville picked up the unread Daily Prophet he'd ordered and started looking through its pages. As he did, Harry glanced and noticed the other boy was now in possession of another ring, similar to the one he'd procured before. It looked identical to the first ring, but with sapphires instead of rubies.

Choosing not to question him, Harry continued eating breakfast.

---

How did Harry spend the holidays?

[ ] Stay at Hogwarts - An opportunity to socialize with people you haven't met yet, as well as steady access to the Hogwarts library. Also, it's a magic castle and Sirius is here.
[ ] Return to London - An opportunity to practice the darkest of magics, the evilest of plots, and the most cunning of makeovers. Also Kreacher's here.

[ ] Unshackle Ornias - Allow him to return to wherever he usually is for Christmas.
[ ] Don't Unshackle - Ornias is marginally sadder.

And finally, the gifts you shall receive --

From Family

*A locket with two pictures; one side has an animated picture of your parents, Lily and James, alongside Sirius, Professor Pettigrew (!) and a man you don't entirely recognize; the other side has a picture of the Dursley family with you and Dudley in it as babies -- from: Sirius.

If you chose to stay at Hogwarts, the following was spoken directly by Sirius when he gave you his gift. If you chose to go back, it was attached as a note: "I realize that I am not the best guardian, and not the godfather you might've wished for. I fell apart after James and Lily died, and I never completely picked myself up, but my work as a teacher has been a good way to look to the future and away from that dark past. I know that I'm often absorbed in my work, and I haven't been there as often as I would have liked to provide some help for you. I'm very sorry for all of this, Harry. I promise that I'll find time for you, and I promise to do better from now on. Merry Christmas."

*A slice of your favorite cake, and some new clothes -- from: Kreacher

From Friends

*A small box of expensive bird feed for Des; and for you, a friendship bracelet -- from: Daphne; included a shyly-written thank-you note for being such a dear friend. You've already made a personal oath to wear the friendship bracelet until the day you perish.

*An enchanted amulet, it holds multiple castings (125) of the Reviving Spell that it'll cast on its wearer immediately (.05 seconds) after they fall unconscious -- from: Neville; "You saved us down there, I'm pretty sure. I hope you don't have to ever use this, but in case you do, I hope it'll return the favor. Merry Christmas, Harry. PS: Don't tell anyone I sent you this, it's expensive Auror gear. My mom would boil me alive in a cauldron and peel off my skin in thin stripes if she learned I gave this to someone as a Christmas present, even if that someone is Harry Potter."

*A complex book on Astrology, including an index of constellations, and charts of associated abstractions -- from: Hermione; "I saw this in the book store and thought of you. Merry Christmas, Harry." How very Hermione of her.

*A remote Wizard Chess set; pieces on the board move in accordance with movements on its counterpart -- from: Ron; "So I can keep kicking your butt at chess even when far away. Merry Christmas, mate!"

*An IOU (I-Owe-You) note to be redeemed at your leisure, as well as expensive imported chocolate -- from: Draco and his father, respectively. You're pretty sure this makes you friends, now. How swell!

From Others

*A dueling holster. Affixed to your arm, under your robe, it allows you to draw your wand instantly by clenching a muscle in your wrist, rather than reaching into your pants or doing anything else of the ungainly sort -- from: Professor Flitwick, with a note: "I hope you focus more on your Charms next semester, but I know how much the arts of dueling mean to you, Mr. Potter. I wish you a merry and fun Christmas."

*A portable, brass telescope -- from: Professor McGonagall

*A packaged bezoar -- from: Professor Snape; came with a note: "Be careful not to choke on your aspirations, Mr. Potter. Have this bezoar, in case you do. You do know what a bezoar is, and how it works, don't you?" How droll. He's implying that you're a caustic poison in his life, and he's attempting to treat your toxicity directly by giving you a bezoar. Still, a free bezoar is a free bezoar; thanks, Snape!

*An adorable yellow beret -- from: Professor Sprout; "To another, productive year in Hufflepuff! Merry Christmas, Mr. Potter."

*An ugly, tattered piece of black cloth in the rough shape of a robe that refracts any light that passes through in an odd pattern. Needs research. -- from: "A Friend;" allegedly belonged to your father

*A marzipan fairy dipped in chocolate; animate, but sweet. Its anguished screams as you ate it, however, were frankly disturbing. Do wizards usually eat food like this? Because that's kind of screwed up -- from: Dumbledore

*An expansive tome on the Proto-Sinaitic alphabet and its derivatives as well as noted meanings and personal commentary. Immensely, almost indispensably, useful in research on Ancient Runes -- from: Professor Pettigrew; came with a note: "Keep Excelling, Mr. Potter! You'll go places."

 

[Birdsie]

Disco Elysium

The Christmas Feast had been a grandiose and familial affair, with the four House tables replaced by a single buffet of roast turkey, baked potatoes, and luscious chipolatas. It was surrounded on all sides by rows of tall Christmas trees, decorated lavishly and elegantly. Around a fifth of the student body was in attendance, alongside maybe a half of the teachers. It seemed like everyone was having lots of fun, sharing conversation, recalling the events of the year with something like early nostalgia, laughing at simple jokes, or simply basking in the open and affectionate atmosphere of the event and enjoying the presence of the other people around them.

Almost uncharacteristically, some of the Professors even consumed minor amounts of alcohol at the table, growing more jovial by the second. It all reached a feverish peak when Professor Flitwick challenged Professor Hagrid to a drinking contest, in earnest, which prompted more than a couple of worried looks in the former man's direction. Professor Flitwick's cheeks had noticeably reddened by his fifth cup, and he behaved in a distracted manner, as though someone had stuffed a warm pillow into his head. On the other hand, Hagrid kept going to his tenth cup as though chugging water from a jug, rather than boosted wine. By his seventh cup, Professor Flitwick had surrendered and allowed his head to rest sideways on the table, though Hagrid kept drinking for the both of them; ever-charitable, the giant decided to call the event 'a draw.'

At the conclusion of the companionable feast, Professor Pettigrew cast some kind of complex Charm or spell, and made the dishes and cutlery dance around the table while singing a jolly, high-pitched Christmas tune in the voices of children, to which everyone happily clapped along. Not the woman to ever be one-upped, Professor McGonagall pushed up her glasses with two fingers, and without even moving her wand, conjured an entire band of skeletal dancers, singers, and performers from the null ether. It prompted yet another contest, to see who might create better entertainment.

Naturally, the Assistant Professor ceded the contest to the Deputy Headmistress, when she opened up the sky to reveal a dazzling arrangement of constellations shaped like people, dancing with each other, overlaid with dancing and bobbing supernovae reflecting an ephemeral sound like soft, chiming instruments: the music of the spheres.

"Perhaps next year," Pettigrew had said to that.

"Perhaps," McGonagall agreed with faint, atypical smugness.

Harry, though, sat back and sulked at Professor Pettigrew's loss in the contest. He knew with a bone-deep certainty those weren't even real constellations, but simple glamour and illusions of stars. According to him, Professor McGonagall had cheated, even though he didn't word such a statement openly.

And then, Headmaster Dumbledore - having left the Great Hall to use the bathroom some ten minutes ago - suddenly Apparated in the middle of the table, wearing stylish Aviator Muggle sunglasses, a Hawaiian aloha shirt haphazardly placed over his robes, and bearing an entire crate of exotic fizzy drinks. As everyone observed with surprise and bafflement, he expertly cracked a single can of Hansen's Natural Soda open with his thumb, releasing a hiss of gas. He raised it up high like a victory torch, so everyone could see, and then clenched the can in his fist while aiming it down, contents shooting into his open mouth like a waterfall of sugary juices; then, he crushed the can with his fist, threw it down on the floor, picked another one out of the crate, and yelled, "PARTY!" Not a full minute later, the disco lights were up and there was a conga line happening.

As Harry looked around for a free spot to begin grooving, Sirius approached him from behind and tapped him on the shoulder. Harry turned.

"Harry, I'd like to give you the Christmas present I prepared for you!" Sirius yelled. "Before... the Christmas Feast becomes too crazy!"

Harry nodded in understanding and assent, showing a thumbs-up. Although he was barely able to hear Sirius' words over the nightclub remix of Lipps Inc's Funkytown playing in the Great Hall at near-deafening volumes from everywhere at once, he caught about enough words to fill the blanks out.

An earnest - though pained, by the cacophony surrounding them - smile on his face, Sirius smoothly reached into his coat and handed over a small gift wrapped in red paper. It was smaller than even a particularly thin book. Next to them, Professor Flitwick began tapping his foot to the beat, even though he was unconscious.

"Can I open it?" Harry asked.

"Maybe not here! Later! I only wanted to tell you-" Sirius was interrupted when a Slytherin girl accidentally bumped into him, apologizing then moving to dance elsewhere. "I only wanted to tell you, I know that I'm not the best guardian-"

All of a sudden, Flitwick rebooted from his drunken stupor, and, upon noticing his surroundings, breathed in sharply with his pupils widening like he was on a sudden, inexplicable sugar high. "A GLORIOUS DISCO PARTY?! OH. MY. MERLIN! I NEED TO RELIVE MY GLORY DAYS!" He started climbing the table with dangerously unstable steps.

"I'm not the godfather you might've wished for!" Sirius continued. "I fell apart after James and Lily died, and I never completely picked myself up, but my work as a teacher has been a good way to look to the future and away from that dark past. I know that I'm often absorbed in my work-"

With almost no warning, next to them, Flitwick gloriously leaped into the teeming masses of dancing students and teachers. "BANZAAAI!" He was caught, fortunately.

Sirius sighed. "I haven't been there as often as I would have liked to provide some help for you. I'm very sorry for all of this, Harry. I promise that I'll find time for you, and I promise to do better from now on! Merry Christmas!"

"I promise that I'll do better as well!" Harry decided, on a spur of the moment. "I haven't been spending as much time with you, either! Merry Christmas!"

"I LOVE DISCO PARTIES! CAN YOU DANCE LIKE A HIPPOGRIFF!? MA MA MA, MA MA MA, MA MA MA! FLYIN' OFF FROM A CLIFF!"

"THAT'S ROCK, NOT DISCO, PROFESSOR!" someone shouted.

"MA MA MA, MA MA MA, MA MA MA! YEAH, YEAH, YEAH!"

---

There are several days before January properly begins, and the Hogwarts Express isn't returning until then. As such, you've got several days and nights to explore the castle with almost no other students around, and almost no oversight from pesky and nosy teachers. You could get away with almost anything!

[ ] Experiment with Cloak of Invisibility - Harry can use this period to figure out what his mysterious Christmas gift does: namely, among other things, it turns you invisible (and makes you immortal, but he doesn't know that yet, so shhh.) If unpicked, Harry will assume it's a random cloth and figure its functions out at some later date.

[ ] Observe the Firmament - The protean resplendency of the sky is eternal, though we don't always see it, huddled in our castles of stone and magic. Harry will spend this peaceful time watching the sky.

[ ] Practice the Dark Arts - Let's be serious, you could hardly ask for a better time to do something illegal and secretive. Maybe get to brewing some of those interesting potions that Geist mentioned?

[ ] Build Network of Runes - Carve a network of personal runes over the castle halls. It's the only time where you can do this without reasonably getting caught by anyone. Although these runes won't do anything by themselves, you might be able to access them in the future, for spying or doing other things.

[ ] Explore the Castle - Its secret chambers, the places no one goes to because of Mr. Filch, the underground layers that you haven't been to yet! There's so many places in Hogwarts that you've heard of but haven't even entered.

[ ] Write-in

 

[Birdsie]

Cloak of Invisibility

An umbral ambiance governed the castle halls, the lights of torches dimming and flickering across the windy stone corridors; long and ominous shadows cast by every alcove and errant bench filling the corridors. A delicate frosty gale rolled through the castle's antechamber in the southern quadrant, making the gentle candles waver, flames dipping then rising once more. The enormous gates of the Great Hall creaked, ancient European oak pulling apart fiber by fiber as though yearning for the end of its long duty, only to be refreshed by the castle's enchantments and forcefully held together for the countless ages. Their creak echoed through the halls, like a growl of an ominous beast.

Exploring the castle, hm?

A suit of articulated plate, animated, moved about the edges of the southern courtyard. It looked to its right, then to its left, and everywhere it looked, the shadows receded like serpents fleeing; only to return and slink back into their comfortable nests as soon as the danger passed by. As though completely oblivious to his presence, it went right past Harry, standing ramrod stiff and watching its movements with apprehension. Harry exulted in this feeling of total, all-encompassing invincibility and possibility. He could do anything like this; go anywhere, and neither the professors nor the castle systems would know that he's even in the same room.

He cheerfully skipped through the halls, long after midnight; spying on the castle and on its various inhabitants.

We could break into McGonagall's office.

Oh, for sure, Harry agreed with him excitedly. There were so many interesting, fascinating places that were usually off-limits, that Harry could now visit without reproach, and yet so little time to explore any of them.

The Cloak of Invisibility was beyond his reckoning, its stupendous concealment able to fool any Charm they attempted to use. At first, Harry believed it was simply an odd piece of enchanted cloth, but upon attuning himself to its hidden powers, he'd experimented with the full potential of its abilities and found them to be amazing. An array of runes, drawn as a complex system of detecting intrusion, failed to pick up there was even a distortion of wind in the places he'd passed through. It was almost like putting on the Cloak made him disappear from the world's awareness, like nothing and nobody could see or notice him.

As long as he wore the Cloak, he didn't exist to the world. Anyone observing the spells he cast while hidden under its hood might as well assume the world itself decided to fire a random burst of magic.

"Alohomora." A short flash of yellow light. As though unlocked with a key, the door into Mr. Filch's office unbolted itself. Harry used a single finger to pull it open, then entered, soft footstep after footstep.

A small room, with two wooden chairs set on opposite sides of a dusty wooden desk. A single logbook was lying on top, with an inkwell; several old quills, some of them snapped in half as though someone applied too much force when scribbling, and a pencil. A dingy candle on the wall provided light. A single half-empty thermos, filled with banana daiquiri stood on a shelf to the side. A contraband locker door stood to the side, hinged and framed in beryllium bronze, its panels and rails cut from thick, sacred heartwood. An excellent, spell-resilient barrier to entry.

A moment of rummaging through the desk's drawers yielded some interesting papers and letters; complaints and reports regarding the activities of various students, especially the so-called Weasley brothers. Relatives of Ron's?

Correct. His brothers to be specific. I believe they're in Gryffindor, in their Third Year - I memorized the names on the student list. It's Fred and George.

Another interesting letter - correspondence with something called Kwikspell. A course for struggling adult wizards and witches, or simply people who'd like to brush up on their education. A spell was mentioned, one which they'd learned in their DADA classes recently, for cleaning up ectoplasm and scaring away ghosts.

Oh, Argus, you poor old fool.

He can't learn magic?

He's a Squib. Assuming he started to practice the most basic method of casting the Levitation Charm as a five-year-old and practiced fastidiously every single day for multiple hours, he'd struggle to get any results as a ninety-year-old.

As professionally and furtively as he could, Harry placed the letters back in their proper order and place.

He grabbed, in turn, the magical key that opened the infamous contraband locker, and walked over to it. With a single turn of the key in the lock, the heavy enchanted door opened up with a clatter of mechanisms, revealing an entire cornucopia of forbidden, illegal, and confiscated items; a corridor lined with two rows of shelves stacked with all sorts of fascinating objects. A vault of forbidden treasures that fascinated the eye and each demanded attention and imagination.

Among the confiscated belongings were dozens of cursed lockets and rings, a small glass jar of blue walnuts that began to sizzle audibly and release cyan smoke when Harry went past, a fermented human eyeball; an entire cardboard box of enchanted fireworks. A stack of papers was lying on one of the lower shelves, filled with fake newspapers and books that punched you in the face when you opened them. At the end was an entire chute filled up almost to the brim with wands that had been snapped in half or shattered into fragments. Among the items near the back was an intricately carved, electrum gauntlet with slots for six round objects.

A modest replica of the Eternity Glove, Geist said. It needs the six Eternity Gems to work, though, and those are under the Ministry of Magic.

He nodded.

However, in the end, Harry only snatched a few auto-answering quills that he could pawn to lazy Gryffindors, a Remembrall for the heck of it, and some potions that made studying easier. He closed the door and left Filch's office, wandering up the stairs into McGonagall's office.

Are you sure that you want to break in? She might notice there was someone inside, looking through her things.

"Alohomora." A yellow flash of soft light inside the lock, and the door to the Deputy Headmistress' office opened, as though he'd simply pulled on the doorknob and found that she never locked it.

Harry stepped inside, careful not to trigger any alarms that might've been rigged to activate when they detected pressure falling on the floorboards. It was needless, as the Cloak simply adjusted the pressure on his footing to make him undetectable. As casually as he was able to, Harry closed and locked the door.

I'd have never expected kindly little Harry Potter to eschew the rules this heavily.

I want to see my report card for this semester, Harry replied. And then I'll go to sleep.

After several moments of peering through McGonagall's filing cabinets - which utilized some befuddlingly arcane sorting system which, no matter how much he tried, he could not comprehend - he found the report cart assigned to himself.

Harry J. Potter; Hufflepuff, 1st Year -- 1st Semester, Report Card​

December 15th, 1991​

"Jay?"

James, Geist elucidated. After your father, presumably.

Harry nodded, then kept reading.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry​

Headmaster, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore​

I always thought that, after Brian, he should add, 'August Shamrock' to his name. It'd sound way better.

Shh.

Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall​

Head of House, Pomona Sprout​

​

Comments: In general, we see immense progress and dedication, with great potential attached. Mr. Potter is a gregarious, studious, hardworking, and helpful young man, with a seemingly genuine desire to self-improve. In classes, when he finishes an assignment, he shows a tendency to aid his peers in their work. Although in most cases, this might be perceived as undue arrogance, it is our genuine belief that Mr. Potter is not only remarkably talented but also benefits from the boon of correct self-assessment as far as his skills are concerned. He displays the very spirit of his House in every action.​

Signed,​

𝒫𝑜𝓂. 𝒮𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓉​

​

Professors (in order of Subjects)​

Aurora Sinistra, Filius Flitwick, Sirius Black, Pomona Sprout, Cuthbert Binns, Severus Snape, Peter Pettigrew​

​

Prefects​

Gabriel Truman, Gareth Williams​

Good Behavior.​

​

Core Classes​

Astronomy - O​

Shows good interest in class, star charts are highly accurate, answers are always correct, homework is always complete. A good semester.​

​

Charms - O​

Mr. Potter displays an outstanding level of interest, preparations, and talent. His dedication to the subject of Charms is something impressive even by the loftiest standards, and I am proud to say he is making good progress instead of stagnating.​

​

Defence Against the Dark Arts - EE​

Always read ahead on the subject and possesses good, general knowledge of the subject for his level. However, there are multiple areas that could be improved even further before perfection is reached.​

​

Herbology - EE​

Although Mr. Potter is attentive in class and frequently participating in what's happening, his knowledge of the curriculum isn't the greatest among his peers. Nonetheless, many of his academic achievements are far more than adequate - they exceeded my expectations. ​

​

History of Magic - A​

The student knows dates and events, always answers correctly on tests, but sometimes doesn't bring in homework. I feel the student has no passion for this subject. - Cuthbert Binns​

​

Potions - A​

The student should pay more attention in class and talk significantly less. However, when he does bother to complete his work, it is always completed to my satisfaction, as well as the expected standards. Less drawing and chatter in class, Mr. Potter.​

​

Transfiguration - EE​

An impressive level of control over the universal method of Transfiguration! Although Mr. Potter struggled at the beginning of the year, he required almost no motivation from me to rapidly catch up and then surpass much of the class. Excellent work!​

​

Elective Classes​

​

N/A​

​

Read and Approved;​

Deputy Headmistress, M. McGonagall​

Headmaster, 𝒜𝓁𝒷𝓋𝓈 𝒟𝓋𝓂𝒷𝓁𝒹𝑜𝓇𝑒​

"Huh."

Harry placed the report card back in its place. He reached into his bag and checked his long-distance diary, dipping McGonagall's quill in the inkwell and writing. He asked if anyone was up. After several minutes of waiting for a response, nobody answered, so he erased the question and closed the cabinet, then left the office.

---

An entire Christmas spent on nothing but discovering the fathomless secrets of the castle... my oh my.

Alright, from now on, we're doing two (2) months per turn. As such, here is your curriculum for January and February --

Astronomy
*All irrelevant. These chumps and schmucks are still learning the circumference of Venus, while you are personally studying the potentially detrimental effects of the Dragon Constellation on the human novasphere.

Charms
*Revision
*Free Practice
*Twitchy-Ears Hex
*Knitting Charm
*Featherlight Charm
*Launching Charm
**Private Tutoring (Impediment Jinx, Disarming Charm, Stunning Charm)

DADA
*Revision
*Free Practice
*The Imp
*All students face a class project; they are responsible for the care and upkeep of their own imp for a period of two weeks. If the imp escapes, the exercise counts as a failure and must be repeated. If the imp enacts a prank, the grade drops by one level. (Harry will simply stuff his imp in a runic cage and feed it carrots.)

Herbology
*Revision
*Use of Fire-Making Charm in Gardening
*Devil's Snare
*Flitterbloom
*Henbane

History of Magic
*Revision
*Ancient Rome and Its Magical Culture
*Greco-Roman Gods and Their Significance
*Hermes Trismegistus, Inventor of Hermeticism

Potions
*Revision
*Pungeous Onions Preparation
*Horkplump Juice
*Wiggenweld Potion
*Cure for Boils

Transfiguration
*Revision
*Practice
*Methodology
*More Practice
*More Methodology
*...Candlemas

Now, is there anything that you'd like Harry to focus on or expand on?
[ ] Write-in
[ ] Maintain Standard Coursework - A balanced spreadsheet of skills.
[ ] Focus Astronomy - Never enough! Keep practicing. If you keep going, you might be able to write your Astronomy OWLs as early as the 2nd Year.

At the moment you have 27 Gnosis. As you've reached the first Greatness Milestone, your usual learning bonuses have been replaced. Make a selection, here:
[ ] Excelsior [7 Gnosis] - All of your learning endeavors are doubled for next trimester; applies evenly to your Domains of Greatness.
[ ] Eternal [Astrology] Mastery [14 Gnosis] - Attain complete [Master]-y, in the fields of Astronomy and Astrology. All of the remaining 5th Year syllabus will become clear and translucent to you, and everything else up to 7th Year won't be that far behind. Allows you to write your OWLs in March. Discounts Dark Astrology.
[ ] Rending of Untold Infinities [25 Gnosis] - Attain [Master] in the fields of Astronomy and Astrology, and then make significant progress towards [Archmaster]. A stupefying level of advancement. All through sheer talent, you become more knowledgeable in these fields than your own teacher!

As usual, up to three (3) selections:

[ ] Homework - A dedication to your studies and student duties; not only do your homework, but go an extra step and a half for every assignment, and then do some ahead-of-curriculum reading for the topics involved, simply to be prepared and ahead of the curve. You're now learning the second year curriculum.

[ ] Experimentation - Play around with magic you know, as well as magic you barely know; either produce novel results or learn to cast spells you know in slightly fresher and more interesting ways. Alternatively, burn down your desk for nothing as you miscast, but at least it'll verify what doesn't work.

[ ] Write-in (As a few other examples of potential activities: explore the castle, sneak into the kitchen, familiarize with student body, etc.)

---

Here's a character sheet for this quest.

As a reminder, you can join Discord here for discussion, as well as alert pings to let you know an update is going to come out in a short while. All discussion on Discord counts partially towards your Gnosis progression and offers boosted rewards if relevant parts of discussion are reposted in the thread.

 

[Birdsie]

No Voices

After scoring a good number of points - fifty each! - in Charms, Harry and Neville were content to chat and study privately in the back of the classroom. Harry, in particular, was having a humble and tentative look through the pages of the second-year textbooks for Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

He'd procured them with the help of Asmund, who apparently kept a large number of spares for the purposes of both research and subterfuge. As soon as the year was up, though, Harry was going to have to cough up his first-year books in return. A good trade, in his opinion, and he could always tell Sirius he'd given them away to a younger up-and-coming student in an act of noble charity. It was such an honorable deed that no one would question it... Err, that is, probably - at least, Harry hoped so.

"Hey, Neville," Harry started a conversation, flipping a page. He was wearing the adorable yellow beret that Professor Sprout had given him for Christmas - it matched in a surprisingly exquisite fashion with his spectacles, giving him a stylish and splendid appearance.

Seated next to him, Neville was occupied jotting something down in his Codex Intervallum - a name that Hermione came up with for their Christmas presents from Harry. The sudden call for attention shook Neville out of his writing reverie. "Hm?"

"Do you ever hear a voice in your head?"

"Confervo," a female Ravenclaw next to them incanted, frustration seeping into her voice. A length of soft blue yarn came out from its reel, assembling into something that might've charitably been called a frayed scarf, should one be a fan of gross trivializations. The anger she felt disrupted her spell and imbued it with evil intent, however, and the scarf was slowly growing, feeding on the yarn, and reaching out and twisting to strangle a student seated in the next row in front of her. Noticing this and intervening right on time, Professor Flitwick expertly whisked his wand and remotely spooled the evil scarf away into the garbage chute at the far end of the classroom.

Alright, so - I remember mentioning that you have to ask your friends weird questions in private, or not at all, and this bustling classroom isn't a private place. And secondly, what the fuck are you doing?

"Your mistake could've been a potential source of danger to your fellow students. I'm sorry, Ms. Davies, but that's ten points from Ravenclaw." An unusually harsh castigation from Flitwick; everyone in class stopped to watch and listen. "Put your wand away and rest for a minute, then attempt again with a clear head."

"Sorry, what?" Neville asked, unblinking. "I didn't hear you."

"Do you ever hear a helpful voice in your head that you talk to sometimes?"

As though unsure he'd correctly heard what Harry said, Neville soundlessly repeated the words, lips moving in a confused tangle. His eyebrows furrowed, for only a second and no longer, before he accepted the question with surprising equanimity - well-accustomed to Harry's utter and complete insanity by now.

"No."

"Oh, great. Me neither."

"Mhm." After a second, Neville spoke again, doubt having crept into his voice. "Are you sure that... you're feeling alright?"

Harry nodded with a smile. "Yeah, I feel great."

"Okaaay then." Neville looked away pointedly.

"Confervo," the same Ravenclaw from earlier repeated. In the corner of his eye, Harry immediately saw the reels from several students whirling as lengths of yarn moved in a phantasmagorical arrangement, clumping together into a puddle of fibers in front of the girl.

"Incendio," Harry countered, before the new botched Charm produced a yarn monster - his spell was a half-second too late, and the yarn assembled into a shape vaguely reminiscent of a monstrous manbear's upper body, with an open maw of steel needles and dark pits for eyes, already reaching out with a knitting pin-taloned hand to grasp an innocent Hufflepuff by the neck - but the flames made the monster scream in agony and wrath, distracting it for long enough that Flitwick's subsequent Cloth-Untangling Charm managed to unwind its complete body mass into a pathetic loom of charred strings.

Everyone in the classroom was deathly silent.

"I, uhm..." the Ravenclaw girl fidgeted, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. "I, I didn't-"

"Ms. Davies, please, calm down. I know you didn't mean to. Take some deep breaths and relax," Professor Flitwick replied gently. The Ravenclaw girl nodded and started to breathe as per his advice, but her deep breaths turned into hyperventilation, with tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks. She whimpered and sobbed, the passage of air blocked audibly by mucus, then sniffled. "I'm excusing you from any further activity. You don't have to cast any more spells in my classroom today. You-"

After a moment of listening with closed eyes, Davies shook her head, stood up, and promptly ran out of the classroom - nobody stopped her. In the aftermath, Professor Flitwick stood momentarily in silence, considering this fact, then said, "Let's return to the lesson. Come on, now - cast with spirit. Delicate motions; delicate mindsets!"

Man, some people have problems with even the most basic Charms, huh?

---

Alright now - you've decided to wander into the Hogwarts dungeons and resolve the issue of the ghastly shrieking. However, there's multiple strategies that you can use to approach this issue. Make a selection or propose something of your own:

[ ] Infernal Platoon - There are several types of demonic entities that could be useful in a search of this kind; Geist is able to cough up the schematics for their summoning and will do so with pleasure. There's a minor risk someone might notice demons going around the dungeons and their depths, this is a fast resolution, and near-automatic.

[ ] Personal Search - Don't you have a Cloak of Invisibility now? It's an irreplaceable and astonishingly versatile tool of self-concealment, so it only makes sense that you should don it and patrol the underground yourself in search of answers. It might take a while, but you'll have results... eventually.

[ ] Ratty Network - There are rats around the castle. Rats like cheese. You like having answers. Can you see where I'm going with this?

[ ] Write-in

 

[Birdsie]

"I can't believe he gives you a full meal for answering a simple question like that."

"He's big enough that it doesn't matter as much to him. Not sure why he asks those questions though. Human stuff."

"Any idea how come he can talk to us, but none of the other humans can?"

"Nope. Once again, human stuff. They're weird like that. But it's a good thing he talks to us and not, say, snakes."

A pause. They can smell the fear and sadness that statement brought on.

"...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. Let's hope we never see that huge snake again, or better yet see her corpse."

"Let's go see if he has any other questions."

Click to shrink...

The Furthermost Depths

"Hey, I'm right here, you know?"

The gray-furred rats jumped in surprise. All seven rodents spun around to face Harry, who squatted right in front of them, elbows resting on his knees, and an easygoing smile on his face. Although he couldn't read the facial expressions of rodents, he recognized enough of their body language to know he'd scared them.

Deciding to continue the conversation, he asked, "What huge snake?"

"A huge snake lives in the sewers," one of the rats answered immediately. "It's bigger than even you! And its gaze kills you instantly. Can I have food?"

A Basilisk in the sewers? Harry pondered, and then noticed that Geist was staying suspiciously silent. He decided that he ought to file this strange occurrence away for some other time. Although, it probably wouldn't be a good idea to look around for a Basilisk without a rooster on hand.

"No, I'm afraid not yet," Harry said. He pointed with his hand at one of the rats. "You. Report."

"I found a quarter," the rat answered sheepishly. It exerted its undersized paws to roll a silver coin in Harry's direction - the boy quickly snatched it, before it clattered over, or fell into a crack in the dungeon floors. Harry examined the coin with a skeptical eye, flipping it over once he was done with its obverse, and frowned instantly.

It wasn't any form of money he recognized. It definitely wasn't copper, as it hadn't oxidized and turned green over time, and its color was silvery-gray. Its features were obscured, scrubbed away by time, as though rubbed with sandpaper. Harry could only see outlines and hints of shapes, but nothing definitive or suggesting an origin.

Although Harry wasn't very satisfied with the discovery, he withdrew a modest bite of cheese from his pocket and handed it over to the coin's finder. It was important to apply mental conditioning - the rats needed to understand that any interesting objects like this one were to be immediately recovered and delivered back to him.

"Anyone else?" he asked. "Anything?"

"We found a sleeping human," said another rat. "Among the flowers - many, many flowers."

"Alright, lead me there." A clench of the wrist, followed by a thump as the wand holster released Harry's wand into his open fingers. The new wand holster from Professor Flitwick was incredible - he'd never again need to fumble around in his pocket. "Lumos Linea Maxima."

The small coterie of rats somehow found a path through the darkness, chittering and running, as Harry followed wraithlike across the halls, gliding over the cracked floors and destroyed chambers with not even a mote of noise. There wasn't even a jingle under his shirt or school robes, either of the magical amulet gifted to him by Neville clinking on its chain, or the plated armor he'd forged and carved with runes and symbols - a suit of armor prepared specifically for lone dungeon-delves such as this one, its runes of protection and swiftness made with unexpected danger in mind. A cone of purest edelweiss shone ahead of him, illuminating the corridors and dark recesses.

His bespectacled eyes watchfully scouted around the empty halls; his every thought flashing with caution and anxiety. He was casting his mind's visual calculus over the stones and estimating the probability of hidden foes; to never again be ambushed and caught off-guard in a place like this, knowing the next time may be the last.

Harry warily stepped into an astonishingly large, airy room; similar in volume and grandeur to the Great Hall. Here, the entropy of time had been most cruel to what men had built; tearing down the stone and mortar of castle architecture. Stalagmites dripped from the ceiling like an earthdevil's horns. At some point, impossible masses of stone; large boulders, each one sized such that by carving outs its interior, it may practically be a room of its own, had fallen and clattered like ignoble debris, their uneven shapes and sizes forming something that resembled a caricature of natural beauty; landscaping art, crafted not by human hands, but mere coincidence and passage of time.

The darkest corners, where the large crack in the ceiling failed to provide light, were overgrown with viscoelastic layers of fungus and deep, dancing moss that swayed and followed the movements of the air, as though gently turning to observe Harry's advance into the room - as though he was an unwelcome guest down here.

A short walk across a hallway, a jog down a set of rough-cut stone stairs, and then an anxious walk through several, claustrophobia-inducing corridors dug into natural basalt, and Harry emerged in a somber room that was not unlike a mausoleum. Its entrance was already open, the doors clattered off their hinges, lying on the floor.

Its far end was smooth and rounded, and in the middle, where the rounded shape began, there was an iron slab, resembling a bed or wide plinth.

Above it hung a single cast-iron round chandelier; its ancient, yellowed candles weeping a flame that was on the precipice of going out, fizzling and sparking with pathetic effort, but one that nonetheless provided ample illumination for the small room. Around the slab, the floor had been scrubbed away to reveal large pockets of soft loam, speckled with short, thin grass and, somehow, a dazzling, blooming garden of petite roses in various shades of color. Their distressingly feeble stems barely survived in the gloom and shadow of the room, and their flowers looked weak and dry, deprived of brightness and color by an absence of hydration.

Harry wasn't focused on any of that. They were minor details, that his irises drank in but promptly ignored. His eyes were stuck on the young girl lying on the iron slab, hands placed gingerly yet tightly over her stomach. The girl was shockingly beautiful, with a clear, spotless face and cute button nose - a shock of dark brown hair spilling around onto the slab under her. Although she was pretty, Harry wasn't convinced she was supernaturally so. And she was clearly a former student, as Harry immediately noticed the familiar badge of House Gryffindor emblazoned on her robe's breast. Her appearance, asleep down here in the darkness, surrounded by flowers, was incredibly peaceful.

"Hm."

"Food? Food?" the rats chirped.

As distracted as he was, Harry reached into his pocket and tossed down a spray of cheese pieces over the floor. The rats scampered to pick as many of them up as they could, fighting over the crumbs, as Harry walked closer to the slab.

"Nox," he said, extinguishing his wand's light. "I don't understand. Who is this?"

She's pretty, so maybe a part-Veela or something. I do not know why she's asleep down here, though. Is she even alive? Check her pulse.

He pressed two fingers against her pale, cold neck, with enough strength to push against the muscles. A second passed by, then another, then another, with no evidence of anything resembling a heartbeat. Harry placed a hand right over her mouth and nose and confirmed there was no discernible breath either. No warmth on her skin.

"No. I don't think so."

There was something despicable and profane about interacting with a dead girl's body, even simply to confirm that she was dead. Even being in the same room as her body felt a little wrong, but Harry was inured to death - partially through his daily and nightly exposure to ghosts who casually floated around with visible marks of their demise, and partially through what he glumly considered to be life experience. It wouldn't be his first time seeing a corpse - he recalled the ambulance taking away the Dursleys' bodies, the night he'd spent crying in Aberforth Dumbledore's guest room afterward, kicking at furniture and cursing that his family was dead. It felt like so long ago.

Do you have any Wiggenweld on you?

"Yeah, of course." Harry swiftly reached into his pouch and pulled out a finger-sized flask. It was filled almost to its brim with a lime-green concoction; clearly translucent and unmovingly calm; similar to water in a pool, save for its unnatural color.

As Professor Snape had described it, Wiggenweld Potion was one of the simplest, yet most optimal, healing tonics to ever be invented. Although there were innumerable healing potions more powerful, more thorough, or easier and cheaper to brew, the strength of Wiggenweld was such that it effectively combined many of the best healing traits for the cheapest price and lowest time and effort invested into the brewing process. It was, in a word, an efficient potion. Its most useful trait, however, according to the Professor, was its effectively unlimited shelf life - once bottled and corked, the fluid would never lose even the tiniest amount of its effectiveness until the cork was removed.

All of these amalgamated characteristics made Wiggenweld a remarkably exquisite potion to place into any personal first-aid kits, as the go-to choice for any broad category of infirmity or sickness - a piece of advice that Harry decided to apply, in spite of its demeaning source.

Alright. Apply some to your lips, and then kiss her.

Harry thoughtlessly moved to comply for a fraction of a second, then stopped immediately, as his heart skipped a beat the moment he understood the command; a second away from uncorking the potion. A sudden, uncomfortable heat rose in his chest like a volcanic eruption, going down his arms like the shiver-inducing frisson of dust storm's lightning, then rising back again to set his cheeks on fire and make him sputter and cough uncontrollably.

"Huh?! What are you saying?!"

It's so obvious, you dweeb. I don't know any other way to preserve a corpse this perfectly, without any rotting, without any signs of death other than an absence of a pulse or breath. There's not even any rigor mortis. It'd require an active chemical formula to hold together the body. She's taken a Draught of Living Death - and you have the antidote.

"I-" Harry stammered with sudden laughter, cheeks heating up even more. He sheepishly looked away from the girl, as though simply the act of gawking at her was an unforgivable sin of some kind. "Come on, Geist! Don't be stupid. I can't, like, kiss a random girl I found sleeping in the dungeon. That's so stupid. A-And besides, she's unconscious right now, so, like, it's also really weird. I'd be a really weird person if I did that." He shuffled with his feet.

It's a win-win scenario. This Gryffindor student gets to wake up and continue her education, and you get to kiss a pretty girl and be the hero.

"Nuh-uh. No way, I'm not doing it. I mean, girls are yucky, anyway! I bet you kissed girls, and look how you turned out - you're dead and always complaining about how much life has cruelly mistreated you," Harry said, folding his arms. He cast his gaze down as much as he could, the heat in his body practically throbbing and hammering into his cheeks; like bolts of lightning running through his muscles and twisting his mouth forcefully into a stupid rictus of a grin. As though he were on a rush of adrenaline, Harry's heart was beating in his chest, so strong and fast he could feel it, even without placing a hand on his chest.

Was I ever this stupid during puberty? Look, you utter meathead - you're the handsome prince, and she's the sleeping princess. Kiss the damn girl, Harry.

A heavy frost; like a blizzard contained in a marble; settled into his heart - a sudden awareness that, at this rate, Geist might end up winning the discussion.

"Can't I, just, like, pour the Wiggenweld down her throat?"

No. It doesn't work like that.

"Can't I pour some on my fingers and then rub them over her mouth?" Even that sounded a notch better than kissing.

No. Why are you making such a huge deal out of this?

"Because it is!" Harry stomped his foot. "I'm not kissing her, and that's final!"

Jesus Christ, why are you so hesitant? What's going on? Hey, are you...

Harry thought about it. "No," he decided. "I like girls, I'm just not prepared for kissing and all the other stuff!"

So yelled the boy in the dungeon's depths. And yet, sadly, he was unable to prove his masculinity, because he was a coward. A timid, twitching shrimp. Heh, I suppose it's a fortunate occurrence you weren't sorted into House Gryffindor, because you're clearly a clucking little chicken! Bawk, bawk, bawk! I bet you could kill the Basilisk all on your own, couldn't you? All it'd take is one bitchy little cry-

"Shut up! You're lying to me again, like when you told me I could make a tree levitate with a stick." Harry quieted down. "You only want to see me kiss a corpse, because you think it's morbidly amusing, or something."

Jesus Christ, kid. What is wrong with your brain? If you'd ever read Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, you'd know I'm saying the actual truth. If you want, you can attempt your other methods - pouring Wiggenweld down her throat or rubbing it on her lips - and demonstrate for yourself that it doesn't work. Only a kiss does. I'm not manipulating you for personal amusement, I actually want to figure out what's going on here as much as you do. Why do you even assume I'd do something horrible like make you kiss a corpse? I realize what people said about me, but I thought you knew me better than that, Harry.

"I- I'm sorry," Harry said, finally, with a sigh. Although he very much hated to admit it, Geist made a fair point there. Harry uncorked the bottle of Wiggenweld. "I'll do it. Just stop calling me a coward."

Harry dabbed some of the Wiggenweld liquid on his lips, making sure to smear it evenly, then looked down.

And yet, in this critical moment - another doubt seized him, like a demon's talons clamping down on his heart. Was this really the right move?

Bawk, bawk.

His eye twitched.

---

What a stupid dilemma.

Your current Gnosis is 29.5.

[ ] Kiss The Girl [2 Gnosis] - Overcome your hormonal insecurity right this moment - to defeat a boy's puberty so early in its course is a commendable thing. Harry adjusts his glasses to make sure they don't get in the way, checks his breath to make sure it's alright, and then kisses the sleeping beauty.

*Geist is pleased that you've accepted his words as the truth.
*Harry finds out that kissing girls isn't that big of a deal. Actually, girls aren't that big a deal, period. Why did he ever get so fidgety around them?
*If the girl actually isn't a magically-preserved corpse, she wakes up.
*Word of Fallacy, who helped proofread and edit this chapter: "2 Gnosis to defeat puberty? What a bargain."

[ ] No Kissing Before Marriage - Actually, no, you can't! Aaaaaaaaaaaah, it's a girl and she's pretty, run for the hills, everyone!

*Geist facepalms and sighs, disappointed in you.
*Harry continues to doubt himself and gets uncomfortably flustered around pretty or kind girls he doesn't know very well.
*The anonymous Gryffindor girl keeps lying there. You can either report her presence there anonymously to the faculty, get Neville or someone to wake her up instead, or leave her asleep there.

[ ] Ice Bucket Challenge - Who knows, maybe it'll work?

*Geist is shocked. You've asserted your dominance without kissing anyone, so he can't even call you a coward anymore.
*Harry isn't sure how to feel about girls anymore.
*The anonymous Gryffindor girl keeps lying there, now drenched in cold water. (Or maybe she wakes up, who knows?)

[ ] Use the Dark Arts Instead - If life presents you with a set of two, unacceptable choices, then simply make the third one.

*Geist is highly disappointed that you'd go for such a high-effort solution instead of the immediate option. You really aren't cut out for Gryffindor.
*Harry is now confident the Dark Arts can resolve any problem, including teenage dating.
*Harry uses an altered version of the Wound-Transferring Spell; the Toxin-Transferring Spell, in order to wake up the girl. He'll summon a patsy demon to load the magic off to.
*However, as elegant as this option is, the process of figuring out a new spell and finding, then summoning a demon that can resist such a potion will take a while. Another turn will pass before you can wake the girl up.

[ ] Write-in

 

[Birdsie]

Ante Meridiem

Ah, this felt so awkward. Harry braced his arms on the sides of the girl's head, then leaned down steadily, and hovered a few inches above her face, with hesitation dancing and singing in his chest like a string of pearls, where every pearl was its own sort of doubt.

It was a difficult action to even consider - let alone accomplish, especially with a straight face and ledger. How does one simply kiss a girl? A sleeping girl that doesn't even know she is receiving a kiss, no matter how noble its purpose? How could a Disney prince do this so casually in that one movie?

As if guided by some innate divine epiphany, he realized that his absence of valor concerning the kissing of girls must've originated from some deeper and darker place; a deep-rooted insecurity that slumbered for some time in his heart, and emerged to haunt him for no reason other than to punish him for being a meek weakling.

As the rats behind devoured their prize, one of them spoke through its chewing snout, "Hey, that human is about to bite the sleeping human."

He felt embarrassed, cheeks heating up. Or maybe, there was no divine epiphany after all, and he was simply going through the nasty, confusing, early stages of male puberty.

Just imagine you're wearing the Invisibility Cloak or something. No moral repercussions.

Imagining that didn't help. It wasn't about morality - although that part was skeevy, too. It was about Harry's emotions simply not allowing him to perform the action requested of him, as though someone had tied a cord around his brain. However, it caused Harry to consider other scenarios that could make this situation easier - none of them worked particularly well, even as he kept sorting through them with a kind of conscientious focus; attempting to find the right button for the open slot, so to speak.

And then, suddenly, Harry's accumulated weariness, like an ocean of turbulent fatigue, shattered the dams of delicate anxiety that had kept it at bay, steering a blank canvas of apathy and sudden, fierce determination to overtake his heart. It came from somewhere even deeper than mere anxiety. He acquired a resolved look. He would kiss this girl, and he would do this now, with not a second more of pointless dilly-dallying and foot-scorched dancing around the subject. After checking his breath to make sure it wasn't nasty, fixing up his hair a bit, and correcting his glasses so they wouldn't get in the way, he leaned further down and, finally, placed a chaste smooch on her lips.

Harry leaned away from the unconscious girl.

Almost unexpectedly - as though in an epically unforeseen anticlimax - nothing bad or strange happened to him or his emotions.

Feeling faintly surprised with this placid outcome, Harry thought to himself, Actually, that wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be - I didn't even freak out or anything. Huh. It turns out kissing people is overrated.

However, there was another concern worming itself in Harry's mind. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Why isn't she waking up, though, Geist?

It's simple, Geist interjected, You've spent so long deliberating whether or not to kiss this girl that the Wiggenweld fluid formerly on your lips has had enough time to dry up, evaporate into the air, begin dating a particularly nice cloud of Angel's Trumpet Draught fumes, make a family, find a steady well-paying job, find out that its wife was cheating, get a divorce, return to your lips, cry itself to sleep, die alone, and evaporate once more, into the afterlife. Apply some more and do it again, dumbass.

Begrudgingly, with a discontented look, Harry again pulled out the small flask of healing potions on his belt, applied a new touch of fluid to his lips, and then leaned back down. He kissed the girl on the lips again, modestly.

Immediately, he noticed the appreciable difference between attempts. The very second their lips made contact, she coughed harshly, and began to wrack and seize, eyes shutting even tighter in burning pain; hissing, seizing, and groaning, as though she were deeply sick.

"Am I that bad of a kisser?" Harry pondered to himself, saddened by this information, but not particularly troubled - he was no longer afraid of the fairer sex.

No. That's a normal reaction to not having oxygen in your lungs for Merlin-knows-how-long.

After a couple of seconds of coughing and making strangled noises with her throat, the girl's eyes opened with pained lethargy. They immediately turned, in order to track Harry in the corner of her vision - she attempted to open her mouth to say something, but what came out was a sound somewhere between a horrendous cough and a screech. She curled into herself a little, in response to the pain, as Harry observed with steadily growing concern. He wasn't sure this was a normal reaction anymore.

After it was over, the girl spent a single minute breathing, and Harry stood by her side.

"Year," she muttered questingly, not a mote of strength in her voice.

"Year?"

"...what year is it?" A demanding tone made its way into her voice; portraying strength in spite of her rather pathetic state.

"1992."

She closed her eyes. An indescribably bitter and disappointed look appeared on her face; an emotional pain on a scale of blank, dull agony - a pain that couldn't be dealt with and that couldn't go away on its own, that made you want to bang your head against a wall, or curl up into a messy, crying ball and kick at furniture or walls in impotent rage, ignoring the feeling of increasing pain in your knees and feet. It was the crushing, heart-rending sensation - the very essence, in fact - that occurred when you abruptly realized you were completely powerless to do anything, and that your fate was never in your hands to begin with; that you'd lost because the world decided for you.

Harry instantly comprehended the feeling she displayed, and strongly commiserated because he was expertly familiar with that kind of pain.

"Are you alright?"

"No." Her answer was dry and callously straightforward, with grueling, necksnap immediacy - as though she'd expected the question several seconds before he even thought of it, and considered it the stupidest possible question he could've asked. It actually hurt a little, but given she wasn't feeling too well, Harry forgave it.

Tiredly, like an exhausted snake looking for a spot to rest, one of the girl's hands reached under her robe. Then, it stopped, with cold shock, almost recoiling.

Her eyes opened up, wide as saucers. Harry stepped back, cautiously.

"My wand," she said, numbly - the girl forced herself to sit up on the slab, hands patting all over herself in search of an object. "My wand. My wand! Where is it?! Where is it?! Oh Merlin, where is my wand?!"

"I haven't seen it."

"Nooo!" she cried out; almost as a screech, not quite as a gurgle - with a cringe so deep that it was possible to drown in it even with diving equipment and an oxygen canister on hand. She put both hands on her temples and bent over forwards, teeth grit, nose wrinkled in equal parts rage and fear. "My father will kill me. I'm sure he's going to do that. It's going to be the straw that broke the camel's back - the final nail in my epic coffin. I suppose I might as well stay down here." She laughed tremulously.

It was difficult to imagine anyone's father as so excessively violent, and to even consider such a possibility as plausible - let alone as a certainty; a dead-set, foregone conclusion that couldn't be prevented. The Hogwarts supply room maintained a set of no less than seventy-five spares, in a wide variety of cores and woods. And even if that weren't the case, Hogwarts students enjoyed a generous discount on wands and related supplies at Ollivander's. A lost wand honestly didn't seem like such a big deal.

"Because of a wand?"

"It was a family heirloom," she answered, not bothering to look at him. "And I've lost it. My stupidity lost it."

After a second of hopelessly staring in front of herself, the girl finally began to turn, sitting on the edge of the bed. As she did, the girl began to make hand gestures and whisper incantations that Harry only vaguely recognized or understood. Alert, Harry stepped back and prepared to dodge, but none of the spells were directed at him. As a matter of fact, the girl's continued incantations produced a halcyon glow, like spears of morning sunlight emanating from the center of her chest. There were only a scant couple of incanted spells that were self-directed, and she was rattling them off, one by one - including a few that Harry didn't recognize entirely.

The girl paused upon casting a spell that sounded more Chinese in origin, and looked up at him. A blank, expressionless look appeared on her face. It was the haggard face of someone so completely done there weren't any more words that could be used - the look of an animal accepting its promised death. Her eyes were staring, not at Harry, but through him; as though metaphorically drilling a hole through his very being and looking past into the infinite void of cosmic ether that existed between layers of reality. It was as though her soul had decided the only valid option left was to abandon ship.

"Uh... Do I have something on my face?" Harry asked.

Her voice was husky and lifeless, now. The antipode of energy. "No. No, you're fine." She began to laugh, then, disturbingly relaxed and broken. She repeated herself, as though forgetting what she'd said, "No. No, you're fine. I'm the one who's screwed up."

Any, uh, advice, Geist?

Don't look at me. Even Geist sounded fairly disturbed. You're the one who kissed her, not me. Maybe the Draught of Living Death screwed with her brain.

"Are you feeling-" Harry stopped midway through his question, realizing he was about to repeat his mistake, "-actually, no, that's a stupid question, forget it. How about this instead. I'm Harry Potter. What's your name?"

"I..." As though recalled to earthly reality, the husky emptiness vacated her, and she reacted normally - though very unexcitedly, and tiredly. "I suppose, Hecate."

He tilted his head. "You suppose?"

"It doesn't matter," she muttered. "Call me Hecate. I'm Hecate."

It didn't sound like a real name, but Harry chose not to press.

"I noticed that you're proficient with, uh... wandless casting," Harry said, as obliquely as he could given the statement's contents. "Pretty remarkable, that."

"Sure. Whatever," Hecate said, standing up with a knee-shaking weariness from her resting place. Most impressively, she was capable of standing up after what must've been a pretty long while in suspended animation. Maybe one of the spells she'd cast took care of that problem? "Do you know the way out of here?"

"I do."

"Great." She removed her school robe and began to fold it elegantly into a more compact form. She pulled down the bottom of her jumper and frowned, as though unused to the sensation of the cotton over her skin. "Can I borrow your wand for a moment?"

"No," Harry said, as mildly as he was able to. "No offense, but I don't know you."

"Fine," she acquiesced simply, with barely even a hint of disappointment, and no bitterness. He'd almost expected it, so he was pleasantly surprised to find her accepting his justification at face value. "Do you know the Severing Charm? Are you well-practiced with it?"

Harry nodded. "Of course."

She unceremoniously dropped the folded-up school robe to the floor. "Can you dice this up?"

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Harry Potter," she remarked, "Not very charismatic of you."

He decided to shrug in response, unashamed and uncaring. His response didn't seem to convince her to be more forthcoming, though, and deciding not to stress their already rocky conversation, he decided to acquiesce with her request. His wrist moved in a trained sequence: a flick down, swoop up, curve down and right smoothly. "Diffindo."

A phantasmal flash of chalky dashes and strokes filled the air surrounding the folded robe, blowing away like compressed air, and a fraction of a second later, the Gryffindor robe was cut into thin and short stripes. Hecate looked momentarily impressed with his spellwork but schooled her face when Harry noticed her expression. Hecate bent over and started to pick up the pieces, aiming for the smaller ones; she gathered them in a pile in her hand. After she'd gathered an entire handful, she nodded to herself in satisfaction with the assembled pieces and bits of cloth.

"I'm going back to the surface. It's late and I want to sleep," Harry said. "Are you coming, 'Hecate?'" He stressed the name with subtle skepticism.

"Of course. I'm not planning on staying here," she answered calmly. "Why are you so questioning?"

"You're suspicious," he answered plainly. "Everything about you kind of is."

At least she had the decency to look self-conscious at his remark. After a second, though, she unapologetically folded her arms and raised a challenging eyebrow. "Am I? Am I really, Harry Potter, or are you simply in the wrong?"

"There was a lot you could've said to dispel that image, but a pointless rhetorical question to assert your nonexistent authority over me wasn't one of those things. Maybe next time someone wakes you up from eternal sleep, after having a panic attack, you might be able to say 'thank you,' hm?" Harry managed to bite out, having located some incredible wellspring of teenage sass in him. As casually as when leaving the classroom, he turned around and started the walk to the surface. "Lumos Linea Maxima."

Holy shit, that response was so cold. Geist whistled. Maybe overcoming puberty's largest hurdle sped up your advancement in adolescence? Have you been elegantly matriculated into the arcane techniques of impertinence and cheek?

I don't know. It doesn't change the crux of the matter, though - we have no idea who she is and why she's down here.

Ask her on the way there. Test the waters; maybe we'll find her boat is shaken. Your response was hurtful enough that she might realize how much she's taxed your patience, and extend an olive branch as a form of apology. It's a master-level technique. It's called the guilt trip.

Hmm. I'll have to remember this one - the guilt trip.

Maybe we'll be able to plumb Neville's juicy secrets out of him once you get really good at it. There's an issue with the guilt trip, though: it doesn't work on people who don't care and don't care to care, so to speak. If she's immune, and she might be, we're shit out of luck. If she isn't, well... you'll see - or I'll tell you.

After a long walk up the dungeon, during which they were followed distantly by Harry's rat friends, Hecate did, as predicted by Geist, hesitantly speak up, "I'm sorry for dodging your questions. I didn't feel like answering them."

Excellent. She's not immune. She actually cares about what you think.

What do I do, then?

Keep being cold. You don't like her. There isn't much that's actively dislikeable about you on first glance - especially in that adorable beret - and people have an innate instinct to be liked by the people they do not actively detest. If you pretend you don't like her, she'll cave in, in a desperate attempt to turn yourself to her favor.

I don't really have to pretend, Harry mused.

Even better.

"Mhm," Harry simply hummed in response - utterly disinterested in her words.

"It's a private matter," Hecate continued, as per Geist's predictions. "I'm sorry for being so cross with you, too. I'm thankful for you waking me up."

"Whatever."

An uncomfortable, dead silence dominated the hallway; their footsteps, and the pitter-patter of rats aside, one could probably hear a pin drop. A nasty doubt appeared in Harry's mind, like a haunting specter - did he maybe take it a step too far, crossing over into asshole territory? A second later, though, his doubt was proven wrong.

"...I'm sorry. I- I've been asleep for a while, so I must've really forgotten my manners. One of my father's friends was a Seer, and foresaw... an event, in the near future, so I took a potion in order to essentially skip forward the time, so I could prevent the event he mentioned. I thought I'd prepared everything correctly, and that I'd wake up at the right time, but... apparently, I screwed up. I overshot my target by a slight margin. And... even then, it seems like my intervention wasn't necessary. So I'm going to go and find my father, if he's still around, and talk to him. And maybe, hopefully, convince him not to, like, completely murder me for losing an important family heirloom."

Tell her it's alright, but don't completely drop the matter like it's nothing - anyone reasonable in your position would be at least tentatively curious. Ask her, once and not any more after that, if she's willing to share more about her circumstances, but when she says she doesn't, simply accept it. It'll make you look reasonable, but more concerned with being a gentleman who cares about people's feelings than an ardent, inherently suspicious knowledge-seeker.

"It's alright," Harry replied, settling down in his external glumness. "I shouldn't have judged you for wanting to keep a secret. I assume you don't want to say anything else, about the event itself, or the other stuff?"

"I... would prefer not to."

"That's fine," Harry said with a shrug. "Actually, one thing - why was there a bunch of colorful roses growing around you?"

"I-" Hecate stopped, then recalled the overall shape and contents of the chamber she was in, and narrowed her eyes in puzzlement. "I genuinely have no clue."

She's actually being honest on this, as far as I can tell.

"Maybe it's related to whoever or whatever took your wand," Harry posited a theory.

"Maybe. I'll have to go back there and find out, some other time." She didn't sound pleased about it. "I am sorry, though - about everything. I hope you forgive me."

Harry nodded.

Given how smoothly the conversation had ended, from then on, their silence was a fraction more bearable - amicable, almost.

Interrresting.

Any idea who she is? Harry asked.

No. The opposite, actually - all the new information has only rendered her more mysterious.

So, what do you know?

The event she's talking about was me ingloriously killing myself in Godric's Hollow, or something related to that entire debacle - it's the only notable event that's occurred this century. Maybe she was aiming to stop Grindelwald, but I doubt anyone in the world can brew a Draught of Living Death that's so fucking good it stays active for what'd probably be, like, over a century. It was something that'd happen within the shelf life of the Draught, but that she'd be too old to stop without taking one. Around a century sounds correct - however, that raises other questions. The Hogwarts uniform was a little different back then. Did you notice how fidgety she was in her clothes? I'm willing to consider those clothes might not have been originally hers. I'm not sure on this part for several other reasons, though. Like, why does she need a bunch of dark cloth scraps? Did she do that simply to confuse us, or is that part of some other spell? Dark Arts sometimes use metaphysical connections, but that's way past her level.

Two possibilities. She is - or used to be - a Gryffindor student at Hogwarts; or she stole her robes. I don't know which is more likely, because I don't know enough about her habits. There's compelling evidence for both sides of the argument. Her chosen sobriquet - the goddess of magic. A generalization meant to indicate nothing and obscure her identity, or deep-rooted arrogance. Interestingly, given her displayed behaviors so far, I am unsure which one - she's excellent at concealing her own emotions. An Occlumens, I bet, though I wouldn't test her. A spy maybe? I doubt she's an agent of Dumbledore or anything like that, but who knows. Anything might be true at this point.

Do you believe her, though? Harry asked. About her story?

Definitely. Oh, she's inserted a few white lies here and there, twisted some meanings to conceal the truth, and probably didn't mention an entire bucket of details; but overall, Occlumens or not, I'm too good at reading people to miss the major facts. I can sense that she was being honest, although only in general terms. Also, it also makes sense and lines up with the tangible evidence. Her story's general shape is almost certainly true - someone in her past was a powerful Seer, told her that something inconceivably terrible would happen at an appointed date sometime this century, and she drank a potion in a hopeless endeavor to stop it personally. And that's where the evidence comes in - this action is textbook for someone who's a brash, idealistic idiot; something you might expect of a person wearing the Gryffindor coat of arms on their chest.

However, on the other hand, despite her seeming absence of conventional wisdom, and rather shoddy execution of her plan, she's also uncannily smart and talented: notice the fact that she was able to either procure or brew such an advanced potion at her age, and she's very adept with wandless casting. Actually, some of those spells she cast on herself indicate she's extremely adept with spellcasting in general, and shouldn't be taken for granted. She's definitely a peer to you, not only in age, but in raw talent.

Any plans?

Eh, I'd let her go.

Harry blinked. Seriously? Why?

There's no point chasing after her, or her secrets. We can do that later. After all, she'll be malingering around Hogwarts for years to come, assuming she doesn't eventually figure out some way to rejoin the student body.

How come?

Because she's spying on you. If she was actually in so much pain, and fear of her father, and so concerned with getting out of here - which, having 'failed' her mission, she should - there'd be no reason to get invested in you as an individual and seek your forgiveness. You were already leading her out. She could've kept her secrets, kept you in the dark, and returned to doing whatever it is she usually does. And yet...

She did. She asked my forgiveness.

Yes. And there comes the biggest part of the mystery - why spy on you? Are you related to her mission after all? A point of evidence in favor of me being related to the event. But then, she didn't seem to recognize your name either. So how does she know you're involved? And there's another angle to consider - is she the actual cause of that ghastly shrieking we've heard, or is that something unrelated?

Damn, Harry thought, realizing how much he didn't know.

And that's why I said that she's interrrresting. A big Hogwarts mystery unfolds in front of us.

Harry cast a furtive look back at Hecate and noticed her staring at the back of his head.

She immediately looked away at a blank painting frame, pretending she hadn't been doing anything suspicious.

---

After that most fascinating event, Harry and Hecate parted ways in the upper dungeon levels - he didn't see her again for the immediate future. And maybe that's fine, because he was more focused on education. Here is your curriculum for March and April --

Astronomy
*Irrelevant

Charms
*Free Practice
*Softening Charm (Practice)
*Levitation Charm (Practice)
*Featherlight Charm (Practice)
*Fire-Making Charm (Practice)
**Private Tutoring (Smokescreen Spell, Advanced Dueling techniques; actual simulated Duels against Flitwick himself - he'll go easy on you)

DADA
*Gargoyles
*A treasure hunt exercise where students must count the non-sentient Gargoyles of the castle and come back with code words the sentient gargoyles give out. Each word is part of a clue that leads to a chest somewhere on campus. This chest has tokens of proof that the task was completed. The Count is 25% of the grade, gathering all the pieces of the puzzle is another 25% of the grade. Returning to the class with the token is 50% of the grade. After staring at the stars as he regularly does, Harry figured out something like this might happen, and prepared accordingly - he'll pass with a 100% grade and help his friends do the same.
*Dark Wizards and the Dark Arts
*Herpo the Foul
*Morgana le Fay
*Maladora Grymm (Oddly familiar, this figure)
*Hags

Herbology
*Spiky Bush
*Daisies & Dandelions
*Gouging Spell / Practice
*Herbological Lore - Metaphysical Meaning of Plant Life
*Revision
*Herbology Project (Pick any plant you've learned about this year and cultivate it for next year. By default, Harry is going to pay someone else to do this for him, because he considers this a waste of time, but you can have him do this instead, if you consider it important for his education.)

History of Magic
*Hermetic Magecraft
*The Consideration of Forms by Plato

Potions
*The Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood, Part I
*The Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood, Part II
*Flobberworm Mucus Collection & Proper Squeezing Technique
*Azurenut Extract (as well as how to render it into an essential oil)
*Wiggenbark Extract

Transfiguration
*How Forms Affect Magic
*Practice
*Methodology
*Field Trip - Professor Pettigrew takes the class out to the lake and challenges everyone to transform nearby objects into the most comfortable seating arrangement they can come up with. A pretty comfy event; everyone experiences ++Pettigrew.

Now, is there anything that you'd like Harry to focus on or expand on?
[ ] Write-in
[ ] Maintain Standard Coursework - A balanced spreadsheet of skills.
[ ] Prepare For Astronomy OWLs - Harry's already considering the possibility, given a few glances at OWLs from previous years. At this rate, he'll easily be able to write his OWLs in the first months of his 2nd Year. If you select Excelsior, he may be able to do so this year instead.

At the moment you have 31.5 Gnosis.
[ ] Excelsior [7 Gnosis] - All of your learning endeavors are doubled for next trimester; applies evenly to your Domains of Greatness.
[ ] Eternal [Astrology] Mastery [14 Gnosis] - Attain complete [Master]-y, in the fields of Astronomy and Astrology. All of the remaining 5th Year syllabus will become clear and translucent to you, and everything else up to 7th Year won't be that far behind. Discounts Dark Astrology.
[ ] Rending of Untold Infinities [25 Gnosis] - Attain [Master] in the fields of Astronomy and Astrology, and then make significant progress towards [Archmaster]. A stupefying level of advancement. All through sheer talent, you become more knowledgeable in these fields than your own teacher!
[ ] Eternal [Ancient Runes] Mastery [32 Gnosis] - Attain complete [Master]-y in the field of Ancient Runes, and [Proficient] in the field of Transfiguration. If you even bother taking Ancient Runes as an elective, you're sure to ace it.

As usual, up to three (3) selections:

[ ] Homework - A dedication to your studies and student duties; not only do your homework, but go an extra step and a half for every assignment, and then do some ahead-of-curriculum reading for the topics involved, simply to be prepared and ahead of the curve. You're now learning the second year curriculum.

[ ] Experimentation - Play around with magic you know, as well as magic you barely know; either produce novel results or learn to cast spells you know in slightly fresher and more interesting ways. Alternatively, burn down your desk for nothing as you miscast, but at least it'll verify what doesn't work.

[ ] Write-in (As a few other examples of potential activities: explore the castle, sneak into the kitchen, familiarize with student body, etc.)

---

Here's a character sheet for this quest.

As a reminder, you can join Discord here for discussion, as well as alert pings to let you know an update is going to come out in a short while. All discussion on Discord counts partially towards your Gnosis progression and offers boosted rewards if relevant parts of discussion are reposted in the thread.

 

[Birdsie]

We Solemnly Swear We Are Up To No Good

"Hey, mate, I only wanted to say I'm really grateful for the group study sessions, they really helped with my Charms," Ron said, jogging to catch up with Harry as they left the Charms classroom. "I aced that exam. You're a proper good teacher, you know that?"

"Heh," Harry chuckled, as momentary self-consciousness came over him. Nonetheless, someone of his reputation couldn't afford to be humble - it'd make him look even more excessively admirable, especially to people eavesdropping on them. "Well, yeah, can't deny that. I... guess I know how to get things across pretty clearly."

Ron nodded in agreement. "Where you off to now?"

"Oh, I'm meeting with Sirius," Harry said.

"Yeah, I should probably get cracking too," the redhead answered in sudden realization. Glumly, he said, "Fred and George mentioned they wanted me for something. I'm not eager to help with whatever scheme they're cooking up, you know? I'll probably end up the patsy. Can't do anything about it, though, since I owe 'em."

Harry nodded. "See you later, then. Plunkballs in front of the Great Hall, as usual for Friday evenings?"

"Yeah. If anything changes, I'll write you." Ron paused, once more realizing that he'd forgotten something, then remembering it just as fast. "Oh, actually, a buncha blokes from Slytherin want in. Second Years. What do you think?"

Harry's nose wrinkled up in complete disdain. Although there was nothing inherently wrong about Slytherins playing plunkballs with them, they'd heard rumors about a Slytherin team that habitually cheated with extraordinarily subtle Levitation Charms. "What are they betting?"

"A tenner through head," Ron answered; code for ten Galleons per individual. "And six eggs."

"Hm. I'll give you my answer in an hour."

"Alright. See you later." Ron nodded, then broke off to use another hallway - moving upstairs.

Amazing. Harry, you already know that I hate teaching you spells because I believe I should foster independence, but I'll make you a deal - as long as you donate... half of your winnings, to a charity of my choosing, I'll teach you an advanced Charm that can make detecting cheating much easier. I'm not sure you can learn it by evening, though.

After reaching the overgrown and slightly messy Clock Tower Courtyard - deprived of any student presence. His guardian and godfather, Sirius, was standing by the rickety, wooden bridge, leading in the direction of the Forbidden Forest and Professor Hagrid's house.

"There you are," Sirius remarked. A keen, suspicious overtone shone over his eyes, and Harry immediately understood that Sirius was having doubts about the cause of Harry's tardiness. "It took you a while, Harry... You didn't stay behind in the classroom to help others cheat on the Charms exam, did you?"

"Obviously not," Harry said. "There'd be no point. I know they're bewitched to prevent cheating."

Hesitantly, Sirius nodded. "I shouldn't have doubted you."

My, are you shaping up to be a magnificent liar.

I'm not lying, Harry noted. I'm twisting the truth. I didn't help anyone cheat, technically, and what I said is true. I know you don't approve, and I don't care. I'm not letting my friends achieve anything less than an Outstanding grade.

Right, right. Keep telling yourself that, you little sociopath.

Harry frowned externally, and Sirius must've thought it was a frown directed at him, from the sudden change of expression - a sad frown of his own. Harry, immediately, grinned at him sheepishly and said, "I'm not angry or anything. Just thinking."

"Yes. Me too."

Wordlessly, they began a most tranquil and companionable stroll across the wooden bridge's length. Its storied floorboards creaked loudly under their shoes. Across to his right and left, Harry saw the deep and magnificent ravine that ran parallel to the castle's southern wing. A gorge of natural basalt and gray slate rock, with not a dribble of green anywhere. A small, sky-reflecting pond ran its length, transforming into a stream and river at various points as the water's paths compressed and opened up, before finally, its rushing waters terminated in the picturesque Black Lake, waters glittering with crescents of refracted sunlight. The bridge was fortunate to have a roof over it, shielding them from the worst of the yellow-bright rays.

It was a comforting silence that hovered between them; the knowledge that you didn't need to speak to have a friend with you. Harry decidedly thought his friendship with Sirius was much different from his friendship with anyone else. Whereas Harry's conversations with Ron were built on a foundation of mutual babble about Quidditch and chess, or other shared interests, and his conversations with Hermione were mostly centered on book recommendations and thaumaturgic debate, Sirius was a quiet soul. There didn't have to be any conversation between them, for them to find company among themselves. It was a very unique relationship. A kind of paternal love that was different from Uncle Vernon's cheerful remarks and daily advice.

"I should probably tell you about our Hogwarts exploits sometime," Sirius, uncharacteristically, spoke.

"Yours?" Harry asked the question, with emphasis on the subject being plural.

Sirius nodded sagely. "Me, James, Peter, and Remus. And, somewhat later on, your mother, Lily. You're quite different from... us, Harry - you're a diligent student, you don't get in trouble, and you most definitely aren't a menace to the school. We used to call ourselves the Marauders, and we had a creed: 'we solemnly swear that we are up to no good.' It... somehow feels like that was ages ago. An entire lifetime, you know? And yet, it hasn't really even been two decades."

"Peter?" Harry noticed the familiar name. "Do you mean Professor Pettigrew?"

"Yes... Actually, I never mentioned this to you, but I'm also an Animagus. All of us were - your father was a magnificent stag, and Remus, well... I'll tell you about Remus another time. As for me, I was... I am a black dog. It's rather appropriate, given my name."

"Sirius - the dog star, of the Canis Major constellation," Harry recognized absently, drawing a glance from Sirius, who probably made note of his godson's insane aptitude for Astronomy at some point. "And you ended up a black dog. If I were to become an Animagus, would I be... a hairy pot?"

Sirius laughed. "No, I don't think so, Harry. The Animagus transformation doesn't make you into... inanimate objects, only animals."

The boy hummed in deep thought. "How about a dragon?"

His guardian's reaction was that of a steady blink, and then a contemplative glance downwards. "A dragon, you say? I think the last time anyone held such an odd form was over a thousand years ago, historically. No one is sure whether it's true, though."

The conversation lagged there, before Harry brought up something else, "So, the Marauders, huh? Tell me about them."

"Ah, there's not much to tell, I'm afraid," Sirius answered. "We became Animagi to support Remus with his unique condition. And then, we got up to all sorts of mischief for the duration of our stay at the school. I'm afraid those funny years are over for me. I don't think I could ever again muster that much disrespect for authority anymore."

A thought - stray, unbidden - that Harry sensed in Sirius' mind. He wanted to speak it very much, but couldn't - not in front of Harry.

'Something died in me when they died.'

A clever plan hatched in Harry's mind, with languid slowness and incapacitating hesitation. Its enactment was almost as anxiety-inducing as kissing a girl used to be, though Harry managed to forge ahead with his resolve - his sulky guardian needed some cheering up.

"Hey, don't worry," Harry said brightly, skipping ahead with a smile and spinning around with a proud grin. He called upon a youthful cheer that hadn't been fully in him ever since the night when the Dursleys died. "I'll be your James Potter, how about that? I'm pretty much the same guy already, no? And we can get up to some mischief together, on my credit. Actually, you know what? I can pull double, even triple duty - I'll also be my mom and that Remus guy as well. And then we invite Professor Pettigrew and we have the Marauders reassembled, no real problem! Who do you want to prank?"

A snort of confusion emerged from Sirius' nose; he was looking at Harry with amused disbelief - a kind of incredulity that his godson would even propose such an inane scheme. "Harry, come now, I don't..."

"No, no, no!" Harry waved a chastising finger. "Don't think you're getting away that easy! We're pranking... Professor Snape, and that's final, okay!? If you don't help me, and if Professor Pettigrew doesn't help either, I'll report you both for becoming unregistered Animagi in your teens. Then, Veritaserum will do the rest. I'll do it myself after that."

Sirius, doubtful of his godson's threat, snorted again.

"As if, Harry. Peter will never agree to something stupid like this."

Later, in Pettigrew's office, among ticking clocks and sitting in comfortable chairs -

"I admit, it sounds quite fun. I've never been a fan of Snivellus." Harry's Transfiguration Professor leaned forward, intrigued. "When do we begin?"

Heh, Snivellus - I'll have to remember that one, Geist said.

"I can't believe this insanity is happening." Sirius pressed a hand to his forehead, concealing his eyes in shame. He pulled it away, glaring at them both, especially at Professor Pettigrew. "Peter, have you ever maybe considered we're in our thirties and... should behave like it?"

"I have, Sirius, but... I'm sorry to remind you that the Marauders are eternal," the man said wisely, then turned to Harry. "And quite besides - our duty as teachers is to educate, and this counts as prime education. It's a rite of passage for the next generation of mischief-makers. Do you have any friends you'd like to invite, Harry?"

A difficult query - Hermione was too uptight, Daphne was too diffident, Ron was too busy with his brothers... "Maybe Neville and... hm."

"Hm?"

"Draco Malfoy does owe me a favor..."

Professor Pettigrew burst into delighted laughter. "Do you hear that, Sirius? We may recruit Malfoy's boy into a camorra yet, and not to mention; against the Slytherin Head of House? Doesn't this sound indulgently devilish to you?"

"Ugh, fine," Sirius relented, sounding as though he was stuck in a limbo of disbelief at his own immaturity. "We'll prank Severus. But nothing major, alright? No stealing his underwear, vanishing his robes in a public place, or anything of the sort. He's a teacher now, for Merlin's sake, and so are we. If anyone finds out we're even seriously planning something like this, and on the behalf of a First-Year student's harebrained proposition, to say we and our careers are cooked would be the understatement of the century. "

Harry and Peter nodded in agreement. The Transfiguration Professor said, "Alright, so let's figure out the plan of action. We'll plan ahead - a fast operation, in and out before dinner." Mr. Pettigrew moved his wand and summoned an old scrap of folded-up paper into his open hand.

"You..." Sirius looked actually stumped by the action, or rather, its product - he was astonished, eyes wide in equal parts childlike wonder and speechless, gobsmacked disbelief. A second later, he continued, "You, you still have that old thing?"

"I've kept it with me, yes," Peter said, then unfolded the paper scrap and tapped his wand on it. "We solemnly swear we are up to no good."

In front of Harry's eyes, a geometric mess of sharpened outlines appeared on the parchment, fading into existence as though in response to Pettigrew's words - dark ink formed into a... map, one that displayed a system of branching corridors and chambers, as well as phantasmal footsteps with hovering name-banners, gently bobbing across the map. All of them seemed to be moving around, going about their day. It was a map of Hogwarts, and the people within, rendered in real-time with magic.

Woah, Geist sounded genuinely, deeply woah'd. I'll say, that's some advanced enchanting. Even I'd have encounter slight problems making something like that. I wonder how it works. Is it maybe tied to the castle defenses or something?

"It's the Marauders' Map," Sirius clarified, noticing Harry's astonished puzzlement. "It shows you the castle's floor plan, including who's where. It also contains all of the secret passageways, though not the method for entering them. We used this to plan our... operations in advance."

"It appears that Severus is in his office, grading papers," Pettigrew said, having located Snape. "Now, what do we do..."

---

As Sirius said, your plan shouldn't be too complicated or offensive - maybe blow something noxious up in his classroom, something that's resistant to Scouring Charms, so he'll need to clean it up with his own hands?

[ ] Boom - Detonate an alchemical mixture of particularly sticky and resilient qualities in the Potions classroom that can't be easily removed, as mentioned above. It's sure to get on his nerves, as it cannot be easily removed.

[ ] Snivellus Sux - Paint the obnoxious mantra, 'Snivellus Snape Sucks' all over the dungeon walls. Make sure to hide some of them in creative places, so people will keep finding the writing for weeks to come.

[ ] Bewitch His Cauldron - The next time he starts up the fire to brew a potion, it'll be twice as hot. It's sure to ruin whatever he's attempting to make, and Severus, for all his flaws, is competent enough in his craft to not be harmed should the potion go unstable.

[ ] Write-in

If you wish, you may formulate a custom prank - and reveal your possession of the Invisibility Cloak (or your other skills) to your partners-in-crime.

Also, who else do you invite to help you with the prank?

[ ] Nobody - OG Marauders only, even though you're an OG only on a pure technicality of standing in for the OGs who are missing-in-action.
[ ] Neville - He'll probably agree; it's Friday, he's got nothing better to do, and it sounds like an exciting way to spend the afternoon.
[ ] Neville and Malfoy - As above, but also with Malfoy for dirty work (and being a scapegoat if you're detected.)

 

[Birdsie]

All In Front of You

I cannot believe we are doing something this stupid. And yet - I can very much believe it, because you're Harry Potter, this is Sirius Black, and we're pranking Snape.

After five minutes, Professor Pettigrew returned, slipping back into the dungeon corridor using the same crack he'd clambered into in order to access the Potions classroom. He swiftly transformed back into human form and nodded. "Clear," he said. "Is everyone ready?"

"Yes."

"Yes," Neville added, a little discomfited and surprised at such an undertaking being led by his own professors.

"Alohomora," Harry said. And then, Sirius and Mr. Peter went inside and began ensorcelling and laying down the enchantments on various objects in the room. Meanwhile, Harry began to carve a runic matrix on the very doorstep, while Neville stayed behind to make sure no one was coming. As predicted - the operation was fast. The Professors were excellent in matters of enchanting, and Harry's runic arrays would handle the rest of the work. Although not many passed by their hallway, Neville's watchkeeping was superb anyway, scattering minor distractions in the immediate vicinity of the doorway and controlling them in order to make people look away whenever they passed by..

Operation, 'Teacher, Teach Thyself' was over in fifteen minutes. Afterward, Sirius made sure to lock the door and scrub the security record that it had been made to open completely from its history, such that anyone casting spells to figure out anything of the sort would be left relatively clueless as to the perpetrators' identities.

Maybe it wasn't glamorous, for its absence of immediate effects, but according to Mr. Peter, the payoff would be huge in the next week. He was almost saddened that he wasn't able to leave his own class in order to observe the shenanigans unfold - half the sweetness in pranks was the ability to reap what you sowed; the affronted or disgusted grimaces on their faces, or the sheer anger when they realized they'd been had. In the aftermath, upon reaching the Marble Staircase, Professor Pettigrew approached Harry with the Marauders' Map, saying, "Mischief managed," over it, and thereby demonstrating how it could be magically returned to simple paper. And then, he gifted it to Harry.

"Call it an early birthday present," the man had said, to Sirius' immense exasperation. "And your runework was impressive, Mr. Potter. Five points to Hufflepuff. You did good as well, Mr. Longbottom; five points. I commend you on your extracurricular skills."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied with a noble salute.

And so, the four Marauders, both the old and the new - though Harry was spiritually standing in the place of several others - departed in opposite directions, in order to allay any concerns of their whereabouts. It was probable that even uninformed and clueless, Ron would eagerly vouch for Harry and Neville, but it'd be better to actually do some work to establish that alibi - they'd play some plunkballs and then return to the Hufflepuff Basement and maybe rest for a while. At least, that was the plan.

"That... was interesting," Neville said, as they walked away in the direction of the Great Hall. "I'd have never thought that Professor Pettigrew and Black are that... well, infantile. Not that I'm complaining, though. Snape deserves it."

"They used to be troublemakers in their school years from what I've gathered, alongside my dad, mom, and some other man that I don't know about," Harry replied with a shrug. "Kind of like us, but... with less secrets between them, I suppose."

"Secrets?" Neville asked him, discomforted by the idea of secrets between them. Neville glanced down, towards his hand, and then raised it - displaying both rings, with the ruby and sapphire jewels. "Are you talking about these?"

"I... yeah, I guess I am. I've suspected that you had some kind of secret stuff going on pretty much since the beginning of the year, Neville - I didn't want to make a big deal about it. I care about our friendship more, than I care about pushing you on things you want to keep private." Inside, Harry was feeling the slightest bit of anxiety. It was a mistake to bring up this conversation topic. It could easily go astray and completely push them apart. "If you don't want to talk about it, though, I completely get it. I'm willing to zip my mouth and pretend this conversation never happened."

"I'm..." Neville seemed to be seriously considering and weighing the nature of Harry's words. A contemplative, uneasy look had appeared on his face, with a deeply thoughtful scrunching of the eyelids. "Actually, I think you deserve to know. I do have secrets, Harry, a lot of them, and I think you deserve to know as my friend."

"Really?" Harry was surprised to hear that.

"Yeah," Neville said. "I mean, you might be in danger simply by associating with me, for all I know."

Harry's eyes widened a little. "It's that serious?"

Neville scanned their environment carefully and slowed down. "Do you want me to tell you?"

"Yes," Harry said immediately.

Neville nodded in response, not saying anything but directing Harry to a small alcove in the corridor. Inside was a small table, and cushioned seats on opposite sides, perfect for two people. As soon as they situated themselves within and adjusted the cushions, Neville glanced around once more, then reached for his wand and cast a spell, with precise and trained motions; it was a complex spell because the wand movements alone took him almost ten seconds to complete. At the end, he spoke the incantation.

"Muffliato." Around them, the distant hubbub of the castle and the quiet rustling of the torch flames quieted down, almost imperceptible even when Harry strained his ears.

"Isn't that a Fifth Year Charm?" Harry furrowed his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Neville said without a wink of shame. "Alright, so, around... maybe a week prior to our first meeting, at the Hogwarts Express, before I went to school, I had this incredibly vivid, lucid dream. I was lying in bed and sweating, tossing and turning, and when I stood up, my room was gone. Instead, I was in some kind of... mystical grove, surrounded by crazy plant life. A lot of the flora there was magical, I'm pretty sure, and ever since we started Herbology and I browsed through the library, I realized many of those plants actually exist in real life - which is crazy, because I'd never seen them before. Do you get what I mean? I had a prophetic dream of some kind."

Harry nodded. Although he comprehended the meaning of Neville's explanation, he also couldn't exactly say that he completely understood, because no matter how dogged his attempts, Harry had never been able to remember or hold onto the contents of a dream for longer than a handful of seconds. Any lingering impressions or images in his mind usually faded completely by the time he sat down for breakfast, and he never cared enough to apply more effort and dedication to memorizing and internalizing those impressions. They'd always been very slippery to him as a result.

"And here's the fulcrum," Neville said, leaning in conspiratorially. "In that dream, in that grove, I met an old lady in a white gown. Like, really, seriously weathered. She looked over two hundred years. You think McGonagall looks old, but the woman I'd seen looked sort of like a skeleton with paper-thin human skin on it. Really wasn't pretty."

Harry nodded again, silent, imagining the woman and finding her persona vaguely unsettling. His resultant grimace must've shown, because Neville also nodded, in empathy.

"Anyway, she started to talk to me, in this really husky voice," Neville said. He looked around obliquely and tracked the passage of a trio of older Slytherins, who paid them no heed. After they were gone, he kept going, "I couldn't understand most of it. She was talking a bunch of nonsense. I only caught the gist of it. Essentially, there are special people around Hogwarts - chosen people. Some group of people called the Guardians selected these chosen people to do something, to help in a fight against some other group of people called the Ancients. Before I go on, I gotta ask - do you believe me?"

"I wouldn't be listening if I didn't," Harry said, with a sort of helpless shrug. "If I thought you were lying to blow me off or making fun of me, I'd probably remark on it and call you a stupid poophead. I hope you aren't, though?" It came out questioning.

"I'm not, I promise," Neville answered seriously. "I'm laying my secrets bare."

"Alright."

"So, the lady in white - one of the Guardians, apparently - informed that the, quote, 'mind-children of Merlin' scattered rings around Hogwarts," Neville said, raising his bejeweled hand. "A single ring for each Founder. She informed me that I must collect the rings and find the other chosen people, and 'distribute' the rings 'accordingly.' I'm still not sure what that means, but she also said that doing so is how I'll hatch, and then she implied that if I don't hatch by the end of the year, bad things might happen to me. I've already got Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, as you see, but I'm yet to find Hufflepuff and Slytherin."

"Huh."

Huh. Geist was stumped for a moment. Well, he's clearly bullshitting.

Is he?

I've never heard of ugly prophetic dream ladies, and Guardians and Ancients, and whatever else he's yapping on about. Maybe you should call Pomfrey to check on his head. It sounds like the ravings of a maddened Pureblood that isn't sure what reality is anymore. A true marauder, in that sense, I suppose!

I believe him.

Of course you do. Whatever. I'm going to sleep.

"So, where did you find these rings?" Harry asked.

"As hard as it might be to believe, I literally stumbled on Gryffindor's by what's probably sheer accident," Neville confessed with a sheepish grin. "It was sorta... just, well, lying on the dungeon floor. As soon as I saw it, though, I understood what I was looking at."

Harry nodded. "And Ravenclaw's?"

"Do you remember that supernova we stared at?" Harry nodded in response. "I wasn't entirely honest with you. See, apparently, Rowena Ravenclaw had some ability to, like, imbue stars with magic. So, she made a star and put her ring in it, and then set it to explode at some point in the future and release the ring. I needed a sketch of the supernova to approximate where it'd land, and surprisingly - or maybe by her design - it landed on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. I got pretty lucky with that. I don't have a clue where Hufflepuff and Slytherin might be."

Wait... No way.

Hm?

I change my mind, Harry. I believe him, now, and I think I know where Slytherin's ring is - I saw it, in the Chamber of Secrets.

"I..." Harry stopped to ruminate. "I think Slytherin's might be in the Chamber of Secrets."

"That place really exists?" Neville asked.

Harry merely shrugged. "Probably? I mean, why else would the story of it exist?"

"Point taken." Neville nodded.

"Anyway, I definitely want to help you find the rest of the rings," Harry said. "If you're in danger unless you find and give them out to the right people, then as your friend, I have to do that. I'll go to the library and see what I can find on the Chamber of Secrets. Have you maybe searched the Hufflepuff Basement for Hufflepuff's?"

"Yeah. Pretty thoroughly, too," Neville admitted. The boy looked down. "It'd be a serious problem if someone in the past found any of the remaining rings before us, and, like, took 'em home as a souvenir."

"My Astrologer's instinct tells me that didn't happen," Harry reassured him.

Neville merely raised an eyebrow at him. "Astrologer's instinct, huh? Actually, are you sure you're not one of the chosen ones I'm looking for?"

---

A crazy day, so far - helping people cheat, pranking Snape, hearing your friend's secrets...

[ ] Confess: I Am Chosen - "I'm not trying to sound arrogant, but it'd make sense, given my past history."
[ ] Keep Yourself Obscure - "I don't think so."

[ ] Also Tell Him Your Secrets - If you'd like, you can also inform Neville that you have a Cloak of Invisibility, practice the Dark Arts, have summoned demons in the past, or have the Dark Lord's voice talking in your head. You can choose and pick secrets if you want, but given how open he's been, that's a bit skeevy.

[ ] Write-in

 

[Birdsie]

Hallowed Be Thy Hurricane, Thy Sword, Thy Blade

After promptly sharing their secrets - most of which Geist was fine with, requesting only that Harry inform Neville of an ability to call upon the Dark Lord's memories, as opposed to having a part of his spirit embedded in his psyche - the determined Hufflepuffs went on an ardent campaign of seeking out the remaining rings.

There wasn't a single ring anywhere in Dumbledore's office or its vicinity. Neville had confirmed this by disguising his examinations of the office as visits to faithfully report on investigation 'progress.' However, even knowing this, Harry decided to confirm - he'd brought up the Headmaster's office in a casual conversation with Professor Hagrid, and when the part-giant's thoughts naturally strayed towards its password, Harry utilized his Legilimency in order to snatch it away. After that, it was a simple matter of waiting for the Headmaster to leave school on Ministry business, and Harry went into the office at night, wearing the Cloak of Invisibility. There was indeed no ring anywhere.

After Geist's encouragement to open the Chamber of Secrets and recover what might potentially be the ring of Slytherin, Harry went into the second-floor female bathroom, under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak - keeping his eyes on the target and not staring at any of the girls surrounding him. The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was down an empty corridor that was out of sight, and which most girls sort of assumed led to nowhere, due to unfinished construction. After repeating a set of hissed syllables in Parseltongue under Geist's careful guidance, a part of the wall opened up to admit Harry, allowing him to descend using a circular staircase.

"Is this seriously the only entrance to the Chamber of Secrets?" At this point, Harry was not hormonal enough to get easily embarrassed by walking into a girls' bathroom, but the experience of doing such a thing - especially in such a clandestine manner, in the middle of the day - was still a little harrowing.

It's the only secure entrance that I know about, Geist answered dryly. If you wanted the ones with deadly monsters, traps, and puzzles, you should've told me.

Harry descended the darkened steps with a glum expression. His path was sparsely illuminated by irregular torches; the light was unevenly distributed, but present in sufficient quantity that he was never completely blind as to where the next step was.

"Can you remind me why I'm doing this alone?"

The Invisibility Cloak can't fit several people under its concealing aegis. Also, Neville could get the wrong idea by hearing you speak Parseltongue. That's considerably difficult to explain, even if you have my memories.

After several minutes of walking down, deeper into the chalky, untreated atmosphere of the dungeon levels, and then underneath what might've been the Black Lake judging from the water-dripping cracks in the ceiling, it started to feel like Harry was about to reach the deepest part of Hogwarts. He started to hear cave sounds; a gentle stream running far away and the echo of rocks creaking and cracking under subterranean pressure. At this point, Harry felt safe that he wasn't being followed and that probably no one noticed his presence down here.

He removed the Cloak of Invisibility and promptly cast a Charm he'd learned in his free time. Its effects weren't much different from a standard Wand-Lighting Charm, but instead of being attached to his wand, the orb of luminescence orbited around him. If anyone was hoping to ambush him, they'd fire a spell at the light and miss.

I can feel it. We're getting near.

Ahead, the caves opened up; stalagmites and stalactites hanging around a darkened entry like the teeth of an enormous, stone beast. A single waterfall of murky water descended through a crack in the rocks, feeding into a natural underground pond. It reflected the white light floating around Harry's shoulders, casting wavering, aqua-blue patterns like amplified images of cells over the walls of the cave. The ancient, magical primordium here was deep and strong, dense and heavy like the earth in comparison to the surface's intangible mystical wind; suffusing every inch of stone, and every breath of air; the environment felt imposing and larger-than-life.

A single, nervous inhalation and Harry could feel an invigorating sensation in his lungs, then in his body; a paranormal shiver, almost like the magic in the oxygen unbonded from its material substrate, flooding into him as an electrifying, wakening jolt of vivacious power.

Slowly and carefully, Harry approached the rotund gate leading into the Chamber of Secrets. It was made from dark iron and studded with snake iconography; its lock consisted of seven steel cylinders kept in place by an inanimate snake. A single phrase in Parseltongue commanded the snake to animate and move, unlocking the door.

Excellent. Now- Geist's voice was drowned out by overwhelming torment.

Harry stopped and hissed, doubling over. His forehead scar burned up like a cosmic pulsar, with a sudden, drumming, berserk pain - a mind-consuming pain without reason, rhyme, or restraint - one that repeatedly flared with abrupt, knifelike agony, making him wince in something resembling a dancing cadence. Absently, Harry touched a hand up there, fingertips numb and tingly as though ants were marching across them, and pulled it away to see marks of fresh blood on his fingers; red, wet, greasy, and slimy. His scar was bleeding profusely, as though someone had aggravated and scratched open the wound; a blood waterfall emergent from a crack of lightning.

Something is... wrong, Geist remarked, his voice uncannily weak, slow, and absent; as though he were speaking from another room. It started to fade away into some outer void. Something... feels wrong.

An agitation that Harry couldn't quite describe in detail filled him - a sensation that was pure, explicit danger rendered into information that could be perceived by the mind on a conscious level. His breath hitched repeatedly, lungs unstable; creeping anxiety hammered and forged into mounting fear.

"Hey there, kid," said the raspy voice of an old man. A bolt of scarlet light formed in the entrance to the Chamber then sparked and hissed as it accelerated in his direction.

A hundred lessons of dueling training kicked in, within a hundredth of a second. His nerves sharpened, adrenal instincts engaged. Harry didn't bother with elegant flicks, but rather, swatted the incoming red petard aside with a full-arm Deflection Charm. He replied, lips moving automatically, wrist twitching in movement on its own, "Flipendo!"

A translucent bolt of kinetic energy shot in the approximate direction of the foe. A mild curiosity was apparent in his voice, as he answered, "Protego," and stopped the Knockback Jinx, dispersing its mighty force into nothingness. Nothing happened; no more attacks, no more spells or shuffled movement - a moment of silent repose.

As Harry quickly, desperately recovered his stance, into one prepared to attack and defend in equal measure, the scar was still twitching and surging with a sensation like someone was pouring napalm into it and pulling on it. Harry and the inexplicable attacker stared each other down, barely able to make one another's figures.

"Who are you?" Harry finally asked.

A dark, bitter chuckle came from the darkness. The man emerged from the Chamber's doorway, and Harry's eyes drank in his strange silhouette. The unknown individual wore a tattered gray robe. Resting on its chest was a faded badge with the mark of a hooded skull crossed by five, spiked wands. Aside from the robes, he was virtually mummified; covered in so many rolls of bandaging that making out his skin color was impossible under the lighting conditions of the cave. The only visible parts of his face were a psychotic, energized grin and widened bloodshot eyes, sadistically crinkled.

"Me? I'm a wonder a hundred years in the making," the man said, pointing a wand in Harry's direction with his arm slightly bent at the elbow - Harry frowned, because that was an indicator the man was trained in dueling and combat; enough to know such a stance would counter-act a Disarming Charm rather well.

Harry readied himself to defend against whatever spell the man decided to use. However, no incantation came. Nothing happened.

Suddenly, the unknown man stumbled back a step, looked up at the ceiling with sudden tears in his eyes - glinting in the strange half-darkness of the cave - then started to laugh maniacally, voice profoundly hoarse.

"Stupefy!" Harry cried out.

A ruse - one hand kept in extension, the man's wrist moved to cast a spell with his wand, seemingly without thought, in order to protect him. A see-through disk of energy formed in front of the bandaged man, its color a brilliant, translucent white-blue. It was a powerful Charm.

"Expelliarmus. Impedimenta!" Harry attempted to no avail, every spell crashing against the shield and dispersing promptly. He'd attuned his shield to energy-based Charms. A different approach was needed; Harry's vision was poor, but he managed to see an opportunity.

"Flipendo!"

A stalagmite detached with a pop and then clattered from the ceiling alongside the debris of small rocks. The man's eyes widened as the demise came from the same ceiling he'd been staring at, instead of facing Harry. There wasn't enough proper time to move his wand or to re-attune his Shield Charm. There was, however, more than enough time and space around him to dodge - and in doing so, expose himself to further attack; a part of the plan that Geist had posited. However, rather than doing any of that, the man's grin widened alongside his eyes as the stalagmite came, standing rooted to his spot, as though adamant to see what might happen should the falling projectile land.

He managed to let out a single, full, 'ha' in the half-second of time before impact, then screamed with his entire throat and body when the stalagmite smashed into his face, squashed his eyes, and pierced deeply into an eye socket. Somehow, by some miracle; perhaps wizard endurance or something more, it didn't kill him on the spot. The bandaged man stood there, a cave-bound picture frame of horrific gore placed in reality, the constant rhythm of his exhilarated and exhausted breath like a shuddering metronome; not unlike Harry's own raggedness caused by the animated agony spearing through his scar.

Harry's entire body was overwhelmed by numbness; a knot of trepidation laced in his stomach, pushing away at his internal organs as if prodding him to vomit.

No amount of after-hours combat training in an elegant Charms classroom, or grim memories of bodies carted away under tarps could've prepared him to see that amount of blood spread over a human face. He stepped back, horrified to see as the man's hand went up to his eyelid, spreading over the cheek, where blood trickled down in a stream.

The bandaged man clutched the stalagmite; then, with a slow, gradual application of force, like a syringe entering one's arm in reverse, began to pull it back. He screamed in fresh torment as this happened, only to breathe and then spit out a wad of bloodied saliva once the stalagmite was removed. He defiantly tossed away the heavy rock, its tip covered in dark fluid, and stood there, breathing and potentially considering the fact he'd lost an eyeball to a fallen cave-stone.

And then, as though the whole event and its conclusion was nothing more than a simple circus show with excellent visual effects, he again burst into a maddened laughter. Harry was equally terrified and confused, while the bandaged man spoke through his genuinely delighted laughter: "My eye! Hahaha! I'll never see again! Ha-ha-ha-ha!"

His laughter cut out suddenly, like someone pressing a button on a tape recorder.

"You're good, kid," the bandaged man said in an unamused tone. Then, in a frank, honest voice, "Incredible, even."

"Impedimenta!" Another rayburst of translucent force, simply to distract the man, as Harry reached into his robe's interior pocket and pulled out several, rune-scribed rocks. He scattered them around in a single throw, and then, on impact with the floor, the rocks expanded and sprouted additional igneous mass, growing into boulders. After a mere second of growing, the imperative rune of Saturn kicked in and enabled the secondary array, launching the man-sized boulders in a sequence of one-by-one attacks, giving Harry enough time to slip on the Invisibility Cloak while the bandaged man's eyes were occupied on responding to the attacks.

As soon as the entire thing was over, split and cracked pieces of rock surrounding him, the bandaged man chuckled in merriment. "Hiding, are we? How smart, boy! I'll give you five points! Five points to Hufflepuff indeed... However, there is a critical fact you didn't account for - Revelio!"

A streamer of pale cyan light rose above the man's head. It hovered for a second, then dissipated like mist. The bandaged man looked up in brief, sincere confusion, then gently tapped his wand as if checking to see whether or not it worked correctly.

"Ahem, Revelio." He repeated the spell, with identical results. A little frustrated by the event, the man grit his teeth and looked around. "Hmm..."

Realizing that combat wasn't about to restart - at least, not immediately - Harry started to walk past him, intending to strike unexpectedly from the back. Alternatively, if Harry was able to get close enough, he'd be able to apply a knock-out rune directly to the unknown wizard's nape.

The man, in the meantime, raised his hand and transformed a part of the floor into a fine, gray dust. He cast yet another spell, one that conjured a mighty gust, blowing the dust over the cave. Magically, none of it settled on Harry, blowing past - and somewhat, even through - him, as though the cloak's surface was dustophobic.

The bandaged man looked confused and stupefied, seemingly concluding that Harry was no longer present, having escaped at some point. He moved from his spot, in a sudden, rapid jog, in the direction of the stairs. Harry felt a mote of hesitation, uncertain whether to fire an attack in the man's back, or ignore him.

In the end, Harry allowed him to flee, or pursue a nonexistent enemy, or do whatever he was hellbent on doing. He'd taken a whole stalagmite to the eye - possibly the brain - and was relatively unphased, physically or psychologically, so Harry was glad that he wouldn't have to continue fighting him. A true freak of an opponent.

After entering the 'Antechamber' of Secrets and closing the gate behind himself, Harry slowly pulled off his Invisibility Cloak. Once the bandaged man left Harry's vicinity, the bleeding and pain in his scar dulled, then stopped completely. After that, Geist's presence slowly slithered back into Harry's consciousness, as though waking up.

Harry, on pure instinct, all but slammed his memories of the encounter into Geist's lap.

"I have several questions," Harry said. Uncharacteristically, he swore, "First, who the fuck was that?"

I haven't the faintest. An Azkaban escapee, potentially. That's an Azkaban prison uniform that he was wearing, Geist explained, then further specified: The robe, not the bandages. I'm assuming those are a... personal touch. However, no one's escaped from Azkaban in a heck of a long time, and even should he indeed be an ex-convict, it doesn't explain what he's doing in Hogwarts, in the Chamber of goddamn Secrets. And why, for that matter, your scar had such an adverse reaction to his presence. And why he's seemingly immune to dying to high-velocity rock impact right to his fucked-up head. Why did you allow him to escape?

"Are you kidding!?" Harry asked, in true affront. "You said it yourself, Geist! He didn't even seem to care about the hole in his face! I am not you - I'm not some prodigy in fighting terrible monsters. I am not dueling someone like that, especially to the death, if I can help it!"

Alright, calm down - point taken. Still, you made eye contact with him at several points; any clues?

Harry shook his head, feeling Geist's disappointment and sharing it. "Occlumens. Stupidly powerful, too - he didn't bother with standard occlusion techniques. Attempting to read his surface thoughts was like trying to read a stone wall. When I pressed further, I sensed an enormous mind with lots of memories, but its contents were so jumbled and moving around so rapidly I couldn't catch anything. Whatever brand of insanity he's got, it's pretty damn intense. How come the Basilisk didn't kill him?"

The Basilisk doesn't really leave her nest unless to hunt for sustenance, and it's under strict orders from me to not hurt or bother people. She wouldn't willingly do anything to hurt him, even if she was completely aware he'd managed to enter this place somehow. Whatever. It doesn't matter - we're in here now, and he's gone. Hopefully, he'll be spotted by the wards and someone will apprehend him.

"I doubt it."

Me too. But what can we do?.

---

All things considered, you haven't performed too badly, managing to evade and distract a foe using your accumulated skills - although, you get the feeling that your opponent wasn't fighting you seriously.

Now, however, you are in the Chamber of Secrets. 'Home, sweet home,' Geist says.

What do you wish to do?

[ ] Just Reclaim the Ring - Apparently, the artifact that Geist believes might be the Ring of Slytherin is gently resting on a plinth in a trophy alcove at the northern side of the Chamber of Secrets - which, itself, is more like a castle wing in size, than a single chamber; a bit of a misnomer, there.

Anyway, simply pluck the ring and leave as fast as possible. No point lagging in here, especially when that freak might decide to return anytime he pleases.

[ ] Moderate Exploration - Alongside the above, locate the Basilisk and speak with her, as an intermediary between her and Geist. Mainly, check up on her health and give her new orders to eat any potential intruders; yourself, obviously, excluded. Maybe also look around at some of the more interesting features.

[ ] Full Exploration - It's the weekend right now, so you might as well help yourself and stay here for a couple of hours, see what the legendary Chamber of Secrets has to offer. Neville might get worried about your disappearance, though.

 

[Birdsie]

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

The Chamber of Secrets was, in a single, pure word: magnificent. It was larger than even the Great Hall, with multiple sub-wings that spanned multiple levels, tunnels and corridors elegantly converging upon the central chamber where a statue of Salazar Slytherin stood on a pedestal. The central chamber was a giant hall of weathered stone, and behind the statue was a giant face carved in stone, its open mouth allegedly holding the nest of the Basilisk.

Although somewhat anxious at the prospect of doing so, Harry was curious whether it'd be possible to speak to the Basilisk. Geist said that it was probably a bad and risky idea, as Harry wasn't a natural Parseltongue. Although Geist could remember the exact sibilance and tone of the password into the Chamber, as he'd used it a hundred times before, conveying a question or statement to the Basilisk and persuading her to listen would be in another department entirely.

Harry was slightly more disappointed to learn he wouldn't find any egg fragments. A Basilisk egg was, in essence, a simple chicken egg hatched by a toad. If Harry wanted a Basilisk of his own, it was as simple as buying a chicken egg, getting a toad to sit down on it, and then making sure it stays that way. It was simple to make a Basilisk.

It was much, much harder to train one, apparently.

Do you see that fountain in the corner?

Harry glanced in that direction, and felt that describing the artifact in question as a fountain was maybe a little excessive and exaggerated - it was pretty much an oversized, marble sink with no faucet handle. A translucent liquid - probably water - flowed down its spout in an endless stream.

"Sure."

Its 'water' is actually an enchanted, alchemical compound. It looks and tastes exactly like normal water, but there's a switch that, when used, makes that alchemical compound enter an active state, where it behaves as though it's pure aqua regia. Another use of the switch undoes the change. It's a global effect, and instant as far as I know.

"Huh. What did he use it for?"

As far as I know, he made it as a proof of concept, to prove to Rowena Ravenclaw that he was a better alchemist than her, and in case he ever wanted to brutally poison someone remotely without any conclusive evidence pointing towards himself, though I'm pretty sure he never used it.

"Interesting."

They continued exploring the Chamber of Secrets, and indeed, many of Salazar Slytherin's more interesting inventions and artifacts lay scattered around. There was a lightweight, phony replica of the Sword of Gryffindor in the storage room, enchanted to never dull. Next to it, an unenchanted and clearly unfinished diadem. Another part of the same room had a brass clockwork device composed of segmented humanoid arms that, upon verbal request, would begin to gather invisible strings of aetherial energy from the surrounding air, and then delicately knead them into a desired item of clothing. At the stage of completion, the clothes were magically enchanted to not be transparent anymore. It wasn't very useful because, according to Geist, the clothes produced in such a manner generally tended to decay in less than five days.

"It's amazing that he, like, used gears and stuff," Harry said, poking a brass cog with his wand. "Pretty advanced tech."

Actually, the gear was invented in the third century BC by Greek engineers; Archimedes in particular. The Romans made widespread use of them and popularized them, so by the fourth century AD, there'd probably be some knowledge of them among early Anglo-Saxon scholars, including wizards. It wasn't as advanced and alien as you'd think. I'm betting this machine is something Slytherin made while he was still studying under Merlin; those flawed artifacts meant to replicate his fellow students' relics were probably some of the last. You can see, from the web of enchantments on them, that while his process was exponentially more refined, he'd lost most of his gusto by that period.

"The Romans were pretty advanced," Harry guessed, looking at his wand, and remembering that its wood had originated in Rome. Even to this day, British wizards and witches used incantations in Latin; a language that'd be dead otherwise - as well as the method of casting that Romans pioneered.

Insanely so, by the standards of their time and their contemporaries, Geist agreed. A hint of pride slipped into his voice. The Romans invented the concept of boarding in naval warfare. They were among the first civilizations to use glass vessels and windows. They had aqueducts and sewer systems, not to mention a modernized political system, advanced military strategy, and logistical support networks; their roads and bridges were particularly notable, and many of them survived to the modern day. Much of Rome was lost and recovered by modern civilization later on. Did you know they even had a modern-style shopping mall, in the capital city? Elevators included.

"No way."

They did. Although the elevators had to be worked by slaves using a system of pulleys and ropes, there wasn't electricity yet. I'm confident they'd have figured it out eventually, though, had their hegemony not tragically ended. As seen by case evidence, the Romans were insanely forward-thinking. If you could speak Ancient Roman and moved back in time to live in their capital, then, aside from the presence of slaves, moderate cultural differences, and absence of some very modern inventions we're used to, like the microwave, you'd probably find that not so much has changed from what you're already living.

"Damn, the Romans were amazing," Harry admitted, vaguely but genuinely astonished. "They really came up with all of this great stuff?"

Yeah, but then a bunch of bloodthirsty, thoughtless barbarians came and took it away.

"So," Harry said, poking another gear. "The moral of the story is, that the main secret of the world is that the Romans basically did and figured everything out already. And we're just kinda aping them."

Exactly. The only problem is that we don't have slaves, but we can work on that in the future.

An uneasy silence.

I was joking, Harry.

"Oh." He released a nervous, flittering breath.

Jesus Christ...

"Sorry, sorry."

Anyway, do you remember what I mentioned about the risks of speaking with the Basilisk? I changed my mind - if you're planning to stay down here, I can show you how to speak parts of it. Find the library section, there are notebooks on speaking Parseltongue there.

Harry slumped but moved in accordance with the orders. "Ugh. I'm gonna be learning a new language?"

Not learning. It's going to be more of a reminder for me. After that, I'll tell you what to say - it'll be fine. We'll simply ask the Basilisk how she's feeling today and tell her that anyone wearing an Azkaban uniform is probably dangerous and should be eaten or something.

---

Alongside Geist, Harry's managed to communicate with the Basilisk and chat with her. However, most of the questions you wanted to ask - such as the Founders or the Ancients and the Guardians, shall have to wait until you're a full-fledged Parseltongue of your own. At the moment, your fluency in the language is terrible.

Also, it was unnecessary to call upon Ornias for anything. Harry simply used his diary to inform Neville about what's happened. Neville seemed distressed that an Azkaban escapee might be wandering about Hogwarts and intends to inform the faculty that he saw a suspicious bandaged man wandering the hallways. Harry agreed with this.

And finally, you wanted to inscribe runic defenses on the entrances of the Chamber. Harry even came up with a pretty advanced and sophisticated array on the spot. However, as soon as he started carving the runes, they faded away - apparently, the Chamber has enchantments on to prevent tampering. Only the Heir of Slytherin may alter the Chamber permanently, and having a soul fragment of the previous (or current?) Heir of Slytherin in your forehead apparently doesn't count according to the Chamber's stringent definition. A good defense you suppose, otherwise, any schmuck with a corpse and some knowledge of Dark Arts would be able to do as they please in this context.

At the moment, you have 44.755 Gnosis. Almost on the border of transcendence.

Now, since you've decided to perform a Full Exploration, you may select up to two (2) boons that Harry found down here, aside from the Ring of Slytherin itself (which looks identical to Neville's other rings, only with emeralds.) If you pay a further surcharge of 2 Gnosis, you may select three (3) objects instead; for 7 Gnosis, you may select four (4).

[ ] Old Wand - Apparently, one of Salazar Slytherin's spares. It's seemingly not as powerful or well-attuned to you as the one you currently wield, but according to Geist, it doesn't have the Ministry's Underage Magic Trace on it, so you can cast in public with it and nobody will know. Also, its core is a Basilisk horn, so a Parseltongue may communicate with it, in order to set its parameters to another type of magic (though it does particularly well in potions, alchemy, and spells that manipulate fluids.)

[ ] Alchemy Primer - An ancient, battered tome, its cover stained, its parchment worn and crinkled by the passed ages. It contains a recipe for the most interesting potions that Salazar Slytherin invented; Geist already knows most of these. However, it also contains a record of alchemical methodologies and symbols that, coincidentally, Geist was never very interested in but might prove enormously useful for your continued advancement in the discipline of Ancient Runes.

[ ] Impossible Perfection - A meticulous record of a specific, recurring astronomical event that exists in another layer of celestial reality. It's not something that you'd be able to conceivably research at the moment, but maybe in several years. Apparently, Slytherin kept referring to it as, 'the perfect diamond in the sky.' He seemed mildly obsessed.

[ ] Book of Dark Law - A well-preserved record tome holding, apparently, a bunch of spells that are considered Dark Arts, or at least were considered Dark Arts at the time of its writing. It holds a bunch of joyous and long-forgotten spells, such as the 'Salt King Spell,' 'Dementor-Summoning Curse,' and 'Eye-Melting Curse.'

[ ] Blood of Slytherin [7 Gnosis] - A single, graduated canister with a liter of preserved, human blood - and you have a pretty good concept of who it belongs to. Its uses in alchemy and ritual are not to be overstated.

A single drop can be substituted for a spoon's volume of any other potions ingredient or alchemical compound in existence, no matter how rare, and near-perfect quality and purity. A single full mouthful, ingested directly, cures grievous wounds and disease; amputated limbs or lost organs regrow, and throws the imbiber into a hypnotic trance in which they perceive visions of potential futures; futures-that-might-be, and futures-that-might-have-been, and stranger things yet. A skilled alchemist may be able to use slightly under half a liter in order to create a homunculus with a genetic and thaumospiritual make-up that's a 99.25% match to Slytherin's own.

It has multiple effects that are currently barred or hidden from you; either beyond your understanding or your means. If you become a skilled potion-maker and alchemist, you will eventually be able to realize the full potential of this precious liquid.

[ ] Secret of Heaven [12 Gnosis] - A secret that Geist is not able to speak of, as part of his geas. As such, all you know is that it exists somewhere in the Chamber of Secrets and that you can potentially locate it, but not where it is, nor what it does. How excitingly curious.

All that Geist was able to tell you was that using this secret, among other things, he was able to figure out how to bypass the problematic rule known as Newton's Hidden Law (which states that self-levitation is not possible under any circumstances due to a number of thaumaturgical interactions,) and fly without a broom at high speeds.

[ ] Secret of Ocean [7 Gnosis] - A secret that Geist is not able to speak of, as part of his geas. As such, all you know is that it exists somewhere in the Chamber of Secrets and that you can potentially locate it, but not where it is, nor what it does. How excitingly curious.

All that Geist was able to tell you was that using this secret, he figured out the location of Atlantis.

[ ] Secret of Earth [4 Gnosis] - A secret that Geist is not able to speak of, as part of his geas. As such, all you know is that it exists somewhere in the Chamber of Secrets and that you can potentially locate it, but not where it is, nor what it does. How excitingly curious.

All that Geist was able to tell you was that using this secret, he figured out a method of soul-preservation that, among other things, is what allows his fragmented to exist within you as a separate entity in any sense of the word - had he not known it, he'd have simply passed from this world.

---

The Chamber of Secrets indeed. How many of them you'll carry out, however, is up to you - I should mention that repeat explorations in the future are unlikely to yield any more loot, barring spending of Gnosis.

Here's a character sheet for this quest.

As a reminder, you can join Discord here for discussion, as well as alert pings to let you know an update is going to come out in a short while. All discussion on Discord counts partially towards your Gnosis progression and offers boosted rewards if relevant parts of discussion are reposted in the thread.