Phenomenal Cosmic Power (Harry Potter/Multicross SI)

[Pakeha]

I woke, seated in a comfy wicker chair, on a porch overlooking rolling green hills.

It was peaceful, with the distant chirping of cicadas and an ancient grapevine providing dappled shade from the cloudless sky.

Idilly, I wondered what the hell was going on.

One moment, I'd been in bed, scrolling through another fanfic and putting off sleep, and now…

"Where the hell am I?"

"Argentina, around 2105."

The speaker was a man sitting in another wicker chair, directly beneath the vine and silhouetted against the green hills beyond. He looked so normal, in jeans and a poet shirt with a trimmed beard and a cat on his lap, yet he hadn't been there before.

"Don't worry too much about my appearing act," the man said, absentmindedly petting his cat. "As for what's going on, well, have you heard of a ROB?"

I froze. Oh Shit!

The man nodded sagely.

"I see you do. That certainly makes things easier."

I stared at the Random Omnipotent Being with growing fear. He looked back with a small smile.

"While I'm not an old hand at this like some of my coworkers, I do feel that the random white void they tend to drag people into is a bit over the top. Ergo, Argentina. It's a bit less freaky."

I nodded, mind racing. Every idea I had, every thought of escape broke down as I came back to the simple fact that I was sitting across from something that had more power than most deities.

"Calm down mate," the ROB said casually. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Just hear my deal out, and then decide."

Instantly, the panic drained away.

"Did you just… shut down my emotions?"

The ROB shrugged unapologetically.

Silence reigned, the cicadas sung and the cat purred loudly.

"As I said, I have a deal for you,'' the ROB finally stated. "Pick three worlds from fiction and I'll insert you into them. All you have to do is last five years in each one, and I'll give you the power to travel the omniverse as a prize. You can even keep the powers and items you pick up along the way."

"So what…" I leaned back, trying to wrap my head around the offer. "You're just giving me all this power?"

"Nope," the ROB said. "You'll have to earn it. You need to survive five years in each world. Remember."

"What's to stop me from choosing an easy world?" I queried. "I could just live in some slice of life anime and…" trailing off, I realised it probably wasn't a good idea to voice such thoughts in front of the Random Omnipotent Being himself. Did he make it so I speak my mind or something?

"Nope, you were just wondering out loud," the ROB said cheerfully. "And, let's just say, the easier the world you choose, the more 'motivation' you'll face to do something. We can't have you ignore that call of adventure now can we?"

"Why are you even doing this?" I asked. "There has to be some catch. What do you even get out of this?"

"My my, you ask a lot of questions," the ROB chuckled. "Good for you."

Gently placing the cat on the deck, he stood up and strode over to the edge of the porch, looking out over the green hills.
"I find people are more willing to take risks if there is a prize to be had," the ROB admitted, glancing back my way. "That's basically what the power is. A carrot. Other ROBs prefer a big stick, but most of the time that just leads to unwilling participants lashing out at the world they are thrown into, which gets boring fast. If you're driven by your own motives, however, there's no knowing how you'll shape the world."

"So, you're offering multiversal travel up on a silver platter as a… carrot?"

"Omniversal, not Multiversal," the ROB objected lightly. "Think of the multiverse as a single cluster of divergent universes, all with the same basic physics. Omniversal travel allows you to access separate multiverses. Ones with separate physics. Ones where magic is a universal force, or where antimatter is more common than matter."

"Okay…" I said, feeling way out of my depth. "So, what do you get from all this?"

"Entertainment," the ROB said, facing me with a wide grin. "And also, I hope to get an ally out of this. If you survive, you get phenomenal cosmic power, and I get someone more likely to help me out in the future, either as an ally, a friend or, even just an enemy of my enemy."

I stared at the ROB. What the fuck could a ROB consider an enemy‽

"And if I say no?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"You're not the first, kid," the ROB said, turning back to face the hills. "Hell, even I was tempted to say no when I got my offer. It's all just so… big. So much to take in."

"What about my family?" I prompted. "Have you just yanked me out of my reality? Am I just gone from that world‽"

The ROB glanced my way with a troubled expression.
"Kid, here's something you need to learn. Every second of every day, your reality branches off into a near unknowable number of alternate versions. In many, you randomly die; from a heart attack, or spontaneous combustion, or micro meteor. Me making you disappear from one reality doesn't matter, and even if you said 'I wanna go back,' there would still be all those identical alternate realities left empty."

I stared at the ROB and he sighed.

"Forget I said that kid," he said. "It's too much too soon. Just think about this: If you want to dip out, then fine. I can slot you back into your boring life like nothing ever happened. But you'll always be left with the question of 'what if?' and trust me when I say that is the sort of thing that eats away at a person. So do you want to accept my generous offer, or should I send you back home?"

The cat jumped onto my lap and settled in. The ROB continued to stare out over those empty hills and I stewed over my answer. Finally, the ROB, taking his seat in the wicker chair opposite to me, gave me a questioning look.

"I accept," I said simply.

"Which three worlds do you choose?" the ROB asked. "Remember, the more boring the world, the more I'll be forced to intervene. Mostly because of other ROBs who want a good show, but still…"

"Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, and My Hero Academia," I said, blurting out the first three that came to mind.

The ROB grinned.
"Ballsy one, aren't you. At least those worlds are relatively safe. No major apocalyptic events to keep you from reaching the deadline."
Standing up, the ROB brushed himself off.
"Remember, survive five years. What you do during them is up to you, but don't die. I'll pop around at the end of each cycle to catch up with you, and see how you're doing. Beyond that, you're on your own.
Good luck."

With that, he snapped his fingers and the world faded to black.

 

[Pakeha]

Blinking in bewilderment, I looked around.

A sea of smiling young faces. Banners in green, blue, red, and yellow. A starry sky above, floating candles drifting across it…
Yup, I knew exactly where I was.

A quick glance at the table at the very front of the hall cured me of any doubts about my location. There, sat the unmistakable figures of Dumbledore and Snape, one in teal robes speckled with neon orange runes, the other dour and imposing with oily hair and unnaturally black robes.

How am I so calm about all this? Half an hour ago I was home and now…

Glancing down at myself my stomach sank.
"Fuck!" I hissed, staring at my pudgy child's hands. A quick pat on the cheek and I found my beard gone as well. There wasn't even any peach fuzz!

I looked around, taking in my surroundings a bit more frantically this time. Around me were first years, lined up in front of the wall just before the staff table, and as I watched, a stern-looking woman in emerald robes placed a stool and a tattered hat before us.

I stared at the hat. My calmness, long gone, was replaced by wide-eyed terror.

Of course, the ROB would stick me right in front of the magical mind scanner to be called out in front of everyone in Hogwarts. The de-aging was just adding insult to injury at this point!

Why in Puck's name did I trust that Mordred damned ROB!

The hat began to sing, but I heard only white noise. Stealing another glance at the staff table, I didn't see any turbans or pink toads.

Puck Damn!

Latching my eyes to the floor, I bit back a scream. I couldn't even trust that I was in canon! For all I knew, Dumbledore and Snape were corrupt, incompetent, or overly happy to use legilimens!

Casting my eyes around around did nothing to dissuade my fears.

There were no redheads lined up beside me. No sign of bushy-haired girls or whispers of the Boy-Who-Lived. Just thirty-eight nervous children.

Did the ROB drop me before the start of Canon? After? In a fanfic‽ Could I even trust my meta knowledge‽

A glance at the Gryffindor table and I spotted four redheads. The Weasleys I assumed.
Twins, a kid in glasses, and the oldest with a badge.

Before I could even begin to figure out who I was looking at, the sorting hat finished it's song with some line about unity and McGonagall stepped forward to give the sorting ceremony.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she called. "Archer, Edward!"

I watched wide-eyed as one by one, the kids around me were called forward. What would I do when I was the last one‽

Katie Bell and Cho Chang, at least, gave me some idea that I was before canon, but it was little comfort as more and more people were called towards the hat leaving me more and more alone before the scrutiny of Hogwarts and it's mind-reading headmaster.

"Le Fay, Carnac!"

The sudden jolt of recognition came as a shock. Glancing around, I realised no one else had stepped forward.
What in Puck's name‽

Hesitantly, I took a step forward, then another. Was I Carnac? Had the ROB shoved me in someone else's body.
I should have felt disgusted, but instead, I felt relief. The ROB had given me a way out, a way to blend in, and by Puck I was going to take it, even if it came at the cost of the real Carnac's erasure.

Now… the hat.

Fuck it.

"So you're the one that's causing such ripples," the Sorting Hat said as soon as it touched my head. "Interesting."

I gulped.

"Oh calm down. I'm only here to sort you, not judge you. Although your case is curious… As far as I know, you're the first one who's slipped in from the outside. You've set magic into a bit of a tizzy."

What‽ Magic here is sentient‽

"No matter, no matter," the hat muttered. "It's beside the point anyway. Now, where to put you?"

"Not Slytherin," I muttered. Partly for the irony and partly because a half-breed like me wouldn't last a day there.

Wait! Half-breed‽

"Are you sure? Your ambition is something the house of the snakes would hone. No? Very well. Not Slytherin. Gryffindor? Perhaps. You can put your fear aside when it's needed, although you don't actively seek the challenge. Maybe not Gryffindor."

Darn.

"Hufflepuff? You want to stick to the shadows. Make connections. Maybe. Ravenclaw? Knowledge is power and you certainly plan to demonstrate that philosophy… This is why I don't sort adults. You're all too complex. Too many nuances…"

I was starting to sweat. What was taking this sentient sock puppet so long?

"Slytherin is still an option," the hat said hotly.

No. Nonononono.

"Fine," the hat stated." You decide."

That gave me pause. Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff?

"Hurry up. We don't have all night."

Hufflepuff.

"Hufflepuff!" the hat called out.

I stumbled to the table of yellow and black and ignored the grins and welcomes, too drained to deal with all this shit.

The feast continued as normal, but I could only manage a few mouthfuls of water and a half-hearted conversation with a few curious Hufflepuffs. I had other things to focus on, like my confusion, inner turmoil, and the bone-numbing terror that accompanied it.

Half-breed‽ What in Puck's name is a half-breed. For that matter, what the fuck is a Puck‽

I vaguely recalled fanfics where the SI was absorbed by the person they were inserted into… was that happening to me‽

Blessedly, Dumbledore was brief in introducing Professor Trocar, this year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and after orchestrating the musical cacophony of a school song, we were sent off.

The introduction to the Hufflepuff common room was also over quickly and as soon as my head touched the pillow, I was dead to the world.

 

[Pakeha]

I spent my first week looking over my shoulder, prepared to defend myself from jinxes and curses in the hallways. A tad paranoid, perhaps, but I couldn't help it.

It turns out, Carnac Le Fay left a few memories after his eviction from this body; worried memories about how the British would treat a Le Fay. A half-breed. Someone descended from the fairies.

I felt the paranoia was appropriate. The ROB may not have been as unsporting as I first thought, but he was apparently in it for the long con. I had enough fragmented memories to cover all my bases, but that came with the caveat of being a descendant of Pouques and Arragouset, while stuck in the same building as the children of Death Eaters.

To make matters worse, I don't remember faeries being mentioned in canon. Another sign that I was stuck in some knockoff fanon world.
Needless to say, I had a very nerve-wracking first week of school.

Sunday the second was spent trailing behind prefects with the other first years as we were shown where our classes were. Interesting, sure, but at the same time, I was unnerved by the normalcy of it. I shouldn't have been this used to talking portraits and moving armour and magic!

Personally, I blamed Carnac and his Puck-damned memories bleeding over into my mind.

That's how the first week went; gyrating between the feeling of normality and shock of realising I'd slipped into it so easily.

The classes didn't help.

On that first Monday, our two lessons were Transfiguration and Herbology. An easy start to our time here according to some of the more talkative upper years, but I still felt anxious.

Professor McGonagall seemed strict, yet fair and she did a good job of exciting us all with her demonstrations of magic, but as soon as she handed out the matchsticks we were meant to change into needles, I ran into roadblocks.

Apparently, Carnac's familiarity with magic couldn't stop me from overthinking the process, and I was stuck staring at the matchstick, contemplating how a wooden match, composed of carbon and phosphorus, could possibly be changed to metal. 'Magic,' sure, but if magic was energy, then wouldn't that just ignite the matchstick? I spent that entire class fruitlessly casting conmutocus and trying to get past the blatant violations of physics.

At least I wasn't the only one to have no success, and at the end of the class, Professor McGonagall stood before us for a final lecture.

"You will learn more about the methods behind incantations and wand movement from Professor Flitwick tomorrow," she said as class wrapped up, "but for Transfiguration to work you must exercise focus. That's what separates this class from the magic you'll learn in charms. Will is essential; you must not think of the spell as a suggestion or even a command, you must have the mindset that your match will transform into a needle. Leave no room for doubt and you will succeed."

Well, that's just great, I thought to myself as we all filed out. She drops that on us right at the end! And none of the textbooks I'd rummaged through even mention the state of mind or emotion behind magic besides a few vague references.

At least I had something to blame for my inability to complete the spell.

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After lunch was Herbology, and that was when I decided to swear off gardening. I don't know why, but it seemed like every plant, from the Tartary Lamb bushes to the Devils Snare cuttings seemed to want a piece of me.

"They like you," Professor Sprout mentioned as the tender green fronds of the dog-eating vines in the rafters tugged at my hair for the umpteenth time. "Normally they keep away from people they don't know."

"Great!" I muttered, swatting a probing sprout away before it could explore my ear. "If tearing my robes is a sign of affection, I don't want to see them when they're grumpy."

"I'll get one of your housemates to teach you reparo. Until then, trade places with Brian… I don't think the goose barnacle tree will be able to do as much damage. Also, I'd advise you to keep away from the whomping willow. She's a big fan of tough love."

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Our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was one I didn't recognise at all.

Professor Trocar was a gaunt, pale man who shared Snape's sense of fashion, and somehow managed to pull off being both professional and downright creepy. His classroom was in the dungeons, in an old cell with rust marks on the walls from long-gone shackles and he started the class with a cold air of experience.

"Over the course of this year," he told us, stalking back and forth at the front of the room, "I shall be teaching you how to properly defend yourself against the dark arts." He paused, becoming unnaturally still, and stared at each and every one of us before continuing.

"The dark arts is a wide field of magic, and as such, has many definitions, but the most succinct one I've found is this; 'magic cast with intent to harm.' Would someone care to elaborate?"

No one, not even the Ravenclaws that had constantly been asking questions in previous classes, moved.

"A pity. Kate Wilson, please take a stab in the dark at what I mean by 'magic cast with intent to harm.'"

"Um…" Kate was one of the more curious Ravenclaws, but you wouldn't know it if you looked at her now. "Intent to harm… so it's like how if you attempt to murder something it's attempted murder. So if you attempt to harm someone with magic, it's dark magic?"

"An admirable attempt my dear," Trocar said smoothly, "But not quite. Sampson Mars? Would you like to try elaborating?"

Next to me, Sampson stiffened. He was one of my dorm mates and seemed quite smart, although a bit quiet. He looked around before facing Professor Trocar with a pale face.

"Professor McGonagall said that magic needs… emotion and intent," Samson stuttered. "So, dark magic… is it magic that needs dark emotions?"

"Exactly, Mr. Mars," Trocar said, giving him a toothy grin. "Five points to Hufflepuff. Yes, dark magic, the sort I will teach you to both detect and defend against, is magic that requires negative emotions to cast. Greed, anger, hatred, manipulation, and spite can all fuel dark magic. For example, the killing curse requires an adamant desire for the target to die. The Cruciatus curse requires the need for the target to feel pain. Even the Imperius curse requires a sickly desire to control. In magic, the intent is everything, and that is what makes dark magic so dangerous, not only for the victim but also the caster. But I've gone on long enough. Who can tell me what separates dark creatures from most magical beasts?"

The class concluded with homework to research basic jinx-detection spells and a promise that we'd be getting a bit more practical work next lesson.

As we were ushered out into the corridor, I listened to multiple whispered conversations about Trocar. About how he must be a Dementor, or Vampire, or Strigoi, and I could almost believe it. After all, every time he looked out over the class, some primordial part of my brain screamed to run away.

Hopefully, Dumbledore isn't that incompetent.

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Charms with Professor Flitwick was fun, and his enthusiasm had everyone in class excited to learn more.

Heck, he managed to make Lumos, the spell that could be replaced by a flashlight, interesting.

"Wands out," he'd said at the beginning of the lesson. "I know you are all dying to use them, but just hold on a moment… That means you, Mr. Davidson… Now, today we'll be going over Lumos."

The reaction was instant. All the muggle-borns were staring with apt attention and whispering excitedly to their neighbours, while the pure-bloods and half-bloods all groaned and rolled their eyes and muttered about learning Lumos when they were five.

"I know, I know," Professor Flitwick said with exuberance. "It's a simple spell, but it's essential we all go over the wand movement and enunciation. Magic has an unfortunate tendency to backfire, as I'm sure you all know from Professor McGonagall, and Lumos is one of the spells that won't wreck tremendous harm if you pronounce it wrong."

Everyone was attentive now. The muggle-borns had stopped whispering and the wizarding children no longer looked bored.

"Now," the professor continued, wordlessly animating a piece of chalk to begin scrawling on the blackboard. "The spell, as I said, is Lumos. Loo-mos. Got that? The wand movement is simple, just do a small loop like so."

As he demonstrated, the tip of his wand began to shine and he held it up for all to see.

"As you can see, a simple spell, but there is something that needs to be covered yet… Does anyone have a clue as to what it may be?"

One of the Slytherin girls raised her hand and Professor Flitwick gestured at them excitedly.

"Go on Miss Maeve. Tell us what it is!"

"You still have to tell us how to turn it off Professor," Maeve said softly.

"Yes! Quite right! Well done Miss Maeve, and take five points for Slytherin. Now, one must never cast a spell without knowing how to end it! If there is one thing that you take away from this lesson, it is that! To end Lumos, the charm is Nox, and the wand movement is a tiny wave shape."

The light vanished and Professor Flitwick grinned at us.

"Now… it's your turn to give it a go!"

Staring at my wand, I tried to concentrate. This would be my first spell. My first bit of magic…

"Lumos."

Grinning, I held up my wand, staring at the soft halo of light. Experimentally, I poked the tip of my wand, expecting it to feel warm, but there wasn't any heat. It did seem to be emitting a slight humming sound, though.

Weird.

I concentrated on the spell, imagining that magic was being pushed into my wand and the spell grew brighter, the humming louder.
Very cool. And now…

"Nox."

The light flickered out.

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Regrettably, Charms was the last truly enjoyable class for the week.

The boredom of Binn's history, the terror of Hooch's flying lessons, and the exhaustion of Astronomy all wore me down, and I could tell it was starting to get to some of my classmates. By Friday, all I wanted to do was sleep.

Unfortunately, Friday was the day we had potions.

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Potions was the class I'd been dreading all week. The way Snape was described in the books was horrible and the fact that he was a mind reader extraordinaire just made the whole thing even more nerve-wracking.

I sat as far back in the class as I could, and even if that put me up against the supply closet and hoped to Merlin that Snape didn't notice me.
After the roll call had concluded, Snape turned to us with barely veiled contempt.

"You are here to learn the subtle art of potion-making," he stated in a cold, clear voice. "As there is little wand waving to hold your attention here, many of you may not believe this is magic."

He paused. A true drama king, although I'm pretty sure he said that exact same thing in Harry's first year as well.

"I don't expect you to understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron," he said, with quiet passion. "The hidden power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitch the body and ensnare the mind... I can teach you how to brew fortune, bottle dreams, and even stopper death."

His speech finished in a whisper. The class was completely silent.

"We will start off with seeing who bothered to open their textbooks," he stated after a quiet moment. "Who can tell me what flower is used in both the soothing and rage potion?"

Several Ravenclaw students raised their hands, but Snape ignored them entirely.

"Davidson!" he stated. "What is the answer?"

Jeremy Davidson was a roommate from Hufflepuff. He hadn't raised his hand.

"I…. I don't know sir," Davidson stammered.

"Do I look like a sir to you, Davidson?" Snape sneered.

"No Professor," Davidson said softly. He looked like he was going to cry.

Snape slowly turned away, scrutinising the rest of us.

"Even an idiot should know that dried petunia petals are essential in those two potions. Let us try again. Le Fay. What is the main ingredient of the befuddlement potion?"

I jolted. He was going after the people who weren't raising their hands.
Shit!

Before I could say 'I don't know' out of instinct, I felt the now-familiar fuzzy sensation of one of Carnac's memories bleeding through.

"Jimsonweed? Professor," I half asked, half stated.

Snape watched me closely.

"Since you seem so unsure, I'll ask another question," he said with cruel delight. "What might one use a bezoar for?"

Easy.

"Poison, Professor. It can be used as a remedy for poison."

Snape stared at me for a good ten seconds, giving me plenty of time to doubt my answer. Then he gave me a thin smile.
"It seems someone has read their potions textbook. One point for Hufflepuff."

Next to me, Sampson gave me a small smile, but I was too focused on the blackboard to care. I'm pretty sure I looked into Snape's eyes… not good.

The rest of the lesson passed agonisingly slowly and I swear I felt Snape's eyes boring into me, analysing my every move. I was so jittery, I nearly made several mistakes in brewing the boil-cure potion, and even then I probably ruined it anyway by contaminating it with sweat.

At the end of the class, I felt nervous, and could not wait to finish the final lesson of Charms so the week would finally be over.
Then I'd just have to contend with the homework.

 

[Pakeha]

Five weeks in and I'd found some semblance of normalcy, even if normalcy now involves moving staircases, talking portraits, and dancing suits of armour.

When I'd first arrived, I'd mulled over the possibility that Carnac Le Fay was just a creation of the ROB. A puppet complete with the information needed to navigate this strange new world.

The memories quickly dissuaded me of that notion.

The recollections that have bled through so far aren't that impressive; just a few spells Carnac knew, trivia about the wizarding world any magical child should know, and enough information to successfully pretend to be him when writing home.

Staring at the blank parchment before me, I felt scummy. Here I was, playing the part of a dead child for his parents, who didn't even know anything was amiss.

Writing to Giles, Carnac's older brother, was worse though. While Carnac's parents were happy to ask how I was doing, Giles had question after question about how I was finding Hogwarts and Britain in general. Questions that I had to scramble to answer in a way that wouldn't arouse suspicion.

The only silver lining was that Giles had elected to follow in my… Carnac's parent's footsteps and go to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic instead of Hogwarts, which meant I didn't have to deal with this whole charade while stuck in the same building as someone who knew the real Carnac.

I pushed aside the blank parchment after another moment of deliberation. I wasn't focused enough to do letter writing now, and while I could do homework, I wasn't in the right headspace.

I needed a break. To do something different…

That gave me an idea.

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Tracking down the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy's dancing trolls took much longer than I thought it would, although, standing before it, it was hard to overlook.

Seriously, whoever created it is one sick fuck, what with the writhing bloody figure of Barnabas in the centre and the trolls in pink tutus twirling around him, pausing every few seconds to club the poor man. I hope the art isn't sentient, because that seems like literal hell.

Eventually, I found it in myself to turn away from that train-wreck of a scene and face the opposite wall, and without further ado, I began pacing.

The Come and Go room was exactly like I imagined it. Dusty furniture, stacks of tattered books, and mounds of ragged robes. It was like a hoarder's wet dream, and I had so many questions about how it worked. So many ideas of how to utilise it.

Stepping back out, I checked for any onlookers, before pacing back and forth again.

This time, the room opened into a vaulted chamber. Piles of knuts, sickles and even a few gold gallions littered the floor, pouring out of the tattered remains of moleskin pouches and thief-proof purses. Silver spoons marked with the Hogwarts crest, muggle currency, and coinage from all eras of Britain's history spilled out from school trunks and statues sported a hundred years worth of jewellery that students had left behind.

And that was me just asking the room for treasure.

I was so, so tempted to get a closer look, but thankfully, common sense won out over that impulse. Many of my roommates were rather creative with the anti-theft jinxes on their trunks and personal effects and I was willing to bet that many of the students who'd lost their stuff here were similar.

Only one way to find out.

"Ostend Venenum," I enunciated.

In the room, several of the bags and trunks began to glow. A sign of unsavoury magic. Still, I didn't try to enter. The Magic-detection spell was a first year charm, so there was no way It had uncovered all the cursed items in the room, and the remaining dark magic was probably of the more malicious type, if a certain diadem on a bust in the corner was any indication.

Stepping back, I closed the door to the literal cursed hoard and began pacing again.

The library I wished for was large, not as large as the Hogwarts Library, but it still contained more books than I expected, stuffed into bookcases, heaped on tables and piled in towering stacks.

A quick 'Ostend Venenum' was all the confirmation I needed to know this room was as dangerous as the treasury, but from the safety of the doorway, I was able to spot some curious tomes.

Finally, after a few minutes of perusing, I decided it was time to test the Room of Requirement's ability to create passageways.
I wished to get into the Chamber of Secrets.

This time, the doorway opened into a stairwell leading straight down.

"Lumos," I whispered, hesitantly stepping in and wedging the door open behind me. I hadn't expected this to be so easy
Slowly, I crept forward, following the corkscrew staircase down into the bowels of the castle.

After what felt like forever, I reached the bottom, where a silver-framed door was set into the water-streaked stone wall.
In place of a door handle was a coiled snake with emeralds for eyes.

Before I could get too close, the snake shivered, stretched out and hissed at me. A Parseltongue password perhaps?

Step by step, I backed away. I could probably get to the Chamber via the pipe-system if I really wanted to, but that had the risk of me getting lost and running into the big fuck-off-snake in the dark… No, if it came down to it and I needed to get into the Chamber of Secrets, I'd use this door. After all, it probably wouldn't stand up against a defodio or barrage of bombarda.

I just had to learn those bloody spells.

Walking back up the stairway, I emerged back onto the seventh-floor corridor opposite from the tapestry of trolls in tutus, deep in thought.

I could probably use the Room of Requirement to bypass the traps and get to the Philosophers stone if the need arose, and, while my failure to actually get into the Chamber of Secrets was disappointing, the door probably wouldn't last long if I got desperate.

Glancing around, I set off towards the library to find books with the spells I needed. A bit of extracurricular activity never hurt anyone.

And knowing my luck, I'd probably need to get through that door sooner rather than later.

 

[Pakeha]

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Here's a bit of fluff.

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A week before Christmas break, I was in the kitchens, practicing spell-work and trying not to think about my inevitable trip home. I'd tried to weasel my way out of it, and stay at Hogwarts for the holidays but my… but Carnac's parents were having none of it.
Damn memory bleed-through.

Around me, house-elves scurried about their tasks as I repeated the same old spells over and over again. I even had an audience, with a nearby bench occupied by a crew of cleaning elves, back from mopping Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, just watching my efforts over a cold mug of butterbeer.

"Reparo!" I repeated for the umpteenth time, trying to force magic through my wand and into the spell.

Within the abandoned fireplace ahead of me, fragments of my target, a shattered teapot, flew into the air and slotted themselves back together.

"You's getting faster!"

I spared a glance for Glirus. He was a strange elf, who'd made it his mission to mind me while I was in the kitchens.

"That's the plan," I said breathily. Magic is surprisingly draining when done too much.

"Why's you want to get faster?" Glirus asked, garnering a few warning glares from his fellow elves. "You's is good at you's repairing. Why's you want to be quicker?"

"I just do," I said. "Reparo is a useful spell to have and I want to perfect it."

That's actually pretty close to the truth. I still remember the scene from Fantastic Beasts where it was used to repair New York. That may not have happened in this universe, but apparently, repair spells of that scale had…
But it wasn't the whole reason.

"Could you please break it again, Glirus?" I asked.

Happily, the elf popped over to the fireplace and hurled the teapot into the brickwork with a burst of magic before popping back to his seat.

"Thanks… Reparo!"

The shattering and fixing of the teapot continued, over and over again, with Glirus watching on with wide-eyed fascination. Finally, needing a break, I slumped onto one of the nearby benches and Glirus handed me a towel.

"You's working too hard!" he said pointedly, earning a few glares from the other house-elves. "You's doing the same thing over and over again! Why's you not just have house-elf to fix broken things?"

"Not everyone can afford a house-elf," I said, before biting my tongue. "I'm sorry, that was fucking insensitive."

Glirus watched me expectantly as if waiting for me to elaborate, and I scrambled to think of a topic to switch to. Something that didn't have anything to do with what was essentially slavery.

"Hey Glirus, do you… um. Are you interested in magic?"

"Oh! Yes, Master Le Fay! I is always being interested in magic!"

"Anything that you think is particularly interesting?" I asked.

"Yes!" Glirus practically bounced on his seat, vibrating with excitement. "I is always cleaning down in the dungeons and I is seeing Professor Trocar! He is always doing little spells with his hands like us elves!"

Professor Trocar? Doing wandless magic? That was curious, and, come to think of it, I'd never seen him use a wand…

"Hey, Glirus," I asked softly. "Do you ever get the feeling there's something off about Professor Trocar?"

Glancing around Glirus leaned closer. A fruitless endeavour, seeing as all the nearby elves were obviously listening in.

"I is talking to matron elf," Glirus said in a conspiratorial whisper. "She is saying Professor Trocar is always needing the same meals. Always black pudding and blood sausages. Never anything else! No treacle tarts or tea! Matron says he's not even wanting any herbs in his meals!"

I stared at Glirus in dread. Trocar only ate blood-based products?!

"Carnac! There you are!"

I jumped, wheeling around just in time to see a pink-haired head duck through the portrait-hole entrance.

"By Puck! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" I gasped.

"Sorry," Tonks said, sounding completely insincere. "I was in a rush to get here. Professor Trocar assigned us a five-foot essay on the alternative uses of a patronus!"

I glanced at where Glirus had been seconds ago, but he was long gone, along with all the other elves on break. For some reason, they didn't like people seeing them idle.

I'd have to catch up with him later. To ask for some garlic.

"I mean, I didn't know anything about that spell this morning," Tonks continued, oblivious to my plight, "and now he wants us to write an essay!"

"I thought you wanted to become an Auror?" I asked, turning back to my broken teapot and shoving aside the feeling of anxiety to worry about later.

"I mean, yeah," Tonks said offhandedly, "but only Azkaban guards need to know how to do patronuses!"

Before I could get in a comment about dismissing useful magic, the portrait-hole opened again and Cedric and Charlie Weasley ducked through.

"You're early Carnac," Cedric commented, slumping down next to Tonks. "You practicing your spell-work again?"

I nodded, purposely ignoring Cedric's frown.

Hufflepuff is unlike any other house at Hogwarts. We look out for each other, and when Cedric noticed I didn't hang out with my dorm-mates, he'd taken me under his wing.
Said I reminded him of his neighbour or something.

The first time Cedric had dragged me here, I'd been shocked to find myself meeting with two other people from canon. Coincidences like that just shouldn't happen, and I'd been convinced it was some complex scheme from that Puck damned ROB!
If I'm honest, I was being paranoid.

It turns out that Cedric knows Charlie from growing up in the same area, and Charlie is friends with Tonks since they're both in the same year.
Somehow, they made the friendship work, even with Cedric only in his second year, and both Charlie and Tonks in their last.

"So!" Charlie announced, setting down his textbooks on the table before Tonks and Cedric. "Who's ready for Homework!"

The two of them groaned.

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During one of the numerous breaks from homework, I paused my spell-work to listen to Tonks as she made a scene.

"What are you going to do next year without us here?" she lamented dramatically to Cedric. "All alone! No friends-"

"I have other friends!" Cedric interrupted. "It's just that they only want to talk about Quidditch. I can barely get any homework done with them around."

"So you only use us for help with Homework!" Tonks faux wailed. "And here I thought us Hufflepuffs stuck together through thick and thin…"

"Leave him alone, Tonks," Charlie said with an eye roll. "He's just upset we beat your team a hundred and ten to nil."

"I nearly had that snitch!" Cedric complained, "and then you came out of nowhere!"

"You just need to be more aware of your surroundings Cedric," Charlie grinned with an air of smug satisfaction.

"Watch it, mister!" Tonks said warningly, a smile playing across her lips. "I wouldn't be so high and mighty if I were you. After all, you're in a room with three Hufflepuffs, and we may take exception to you being too Gryffindorish. Isn't that right Carnac!"

"I didn't see the game," I admitted with a shrug, "so I'm not getting involved in this."

"Traitor!" Tonks gasped.

The conversation soon lapsed into a pleasant silence, broken only by the scratching of quills and my whispered confractus and repero charms, shattering and repairing the teapot over and over again.
Eventually, though, Tonks got bored and spoke up.

"Can I just say something?" she asked. "I'm actually kind of jealous. This is our last year here, and I'm happy to be done with school and all that, but next year is the year that Harry-blimmin-Potter is starting! And we miss him by that much!" She held her fingers together for emphasis and Cedric laughed.

"If you're really that anxious to meet him, you could just flunk-"

"Absolutely not!" Tonks exclaimed, drawing a few pointed looks from the ever-busy house-elves. "I'm done with school, and I already have a spot at the Auror Academy next year… but still, It would be kind of cool to be at Hogwarts at the same time as the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Can we please not talk about The Boy-Who-Lived," Charlie groaned. "I'm going to have to put up with enough of that rubbish at home! Ginny's had a crush on him forever."

"Cute!" Tonks cooed. "Does she write sappy poetry about her 'one true love?' I remember doing that when I was her age-"

"You still act like that now!" Cedric laughed.

"I wouldn't know," Charlie cut in before Tonks could shoot back a reply. "The last time the twins got ahold of her diary, she managed to steal Fred's wand and nailed them both with the pimple jinx. I'm scared of what she'd do to me if I asked about her sappy poetry."

"Really!" Cedric asked in disbelief. "There's no way Ginny would do that!"

"Everyone's always on their best behaviour when you come over," Charlie protested, "but the rest of the time it's bedlam."

Cedric rolled his eyes and Tonks glanced my way.

"Oy, Carnac! Are you done with your spell-work yet?"

"One last one!" I promised, turning back to the pot in the fireplace. "Bombarda."

The teapot shattered, spraying shards of porcelain across the floor. The house-elves screamed in surprise and popped away from the explosion, leaving me standing before the cracked fireplace.

"Merlin!" Charlie screamed. "Carnac, what was that!"

"That's a fourth-year spell!" Tonks laughed. "Is that what you were practicing before I got here!"

Ignoring them, I pointed my wand at the now empty fireplace. Concentrating, I gave it my all.

"Reparo!"

Fragments of teapot zipped across the room, fragmenting against obstacles and each other in a haste to reform the teapot. As soon as it was whole, cracks spider-webbed across it, disappearing instantly as I kept pushing magic into the spell.

The teapot, fragmented only moments before, sat intact in the hearth of the fireplace.

I stared at the scratch marks on the stone floor and gouges in the wooden tables, left over by the flying fragments of porcelain.

It was probably stupid to do that without proper protection, but Puck-damn I felt victorious.

Panting slightly, I turned to the upper years with a grin. They were watching my attempt at a reverse frag bomb in shock.

Now, I wonder if I can do that with an claymore mine?

 

[Pakeha]

Heading to London for Christmas aboard the Hogwarts Express was a novel experience. Outside, the snow blanketed hills whisked past, and muggle towns and cities flew by as I watched, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach.

I was going to meet Carnac's family. His Mémaen and Père and brother. From the memories that had bled through, I knew them as if they were my own, but I was still nervous.

I don't think my classmates noticed my brittle smile or lack of Christmas cheer, but then again, they probably didn't know me well enough to read me. It's not like I hung out with them outside of class.

At King's Cross Station, I had to push my way through the throngs of wizarding families and wait in line to use the floo for what felt like a lifetime. Finally stepping into the green fire, I took a shaky breath and said the familiar words.

"La Maison Le Fay. Guernsey."

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Wiping the soot out of my eyes, I stumbled out of the fireplace at home, almost tripping over my luggage. Looking around, everything seemed so familiar.

"Carnac!"

My Mémaen stepped through the door, giving me a long appraising look. Before I could even attempt to brush myself off, she hurried forward and wrapped me in a hug.

"Mémaen," I complained, trying to wriggle out of her embrace, "can't breath."

Mémaen let me go and stepped back to hold me at arm's length.

"Oh, look at you," she said happily, looking me up and down. "I swear you're a foot taller."

"Mémaen!" I complained, forgetting myself in the moment. It just felt so familiar.

"Welcome home, 'pitit pouques,'" she said, ignoring my petulance with an amused smile. "Now, Giles arrived home this morning and should be in the living room with your Père. I've already told him off for not writing home more often, but since this is your first time away, I'll give you a break. But I expect regular letters next term, mister."

"I'll write Mémaen."

"Good." She looked me over once more and smiled. "Now go put your things away and go see your brother and Père. Tell them dinner will be ready in an hour."

"Yes Mémaen," I said, hurrying to my room.

The house looked pretty much the same as I remembered it, besides the Christmas decorations; sprigs of holly and mistletoe with pine-wreath above every doorway. My parents had gone all out in decorating the place this year.

Shaking my head, I tried to focus my thoughts. Carnac's parents! Not mine!

But it was so hard to remember while surrounded by reminders of childhood memories.

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Catching up with the family was great, and soon our conversations moved to the dining room as we sat around the table, discussing Giles's acceptance into the Beauxbâtons quidditch team and how Père managed to get a contract for Guernsey to act as a waypoint for the floo network instead of one of the other Channel Islands (suck it Jersey!).

As dinner was being served out, Père kept glancing at both Giles and me with an expression of excitement, a smile flickering across his face. When Mémaen sat down, she gave him a nod and he beamed.

"Boys," he said. "I have something very interesting to share with you both. "Something you both need to keep quiet about."

"Is it something about the Floo deal?" Giles asked, leaning forward in interest.

"It's related to that," Père admitted, "but only marginally. It's actually a rumour that's been going around in the higher echelons of the Ministry of Magic and the Ministère des Affaires Magiques. I only just found out about it when the floo business was being wrapped up. Madam Edgecombe was the one to tell me. Do you remember her? Head of the British Floo Network office?"

Both Giles and I nodded, sharing a small questioning glance with each other. Where was this going?

"She said that there are rumours going around the Ministry about a new prophecy!" Père announced with a Cheshire grin.

"A new prophecy?" Giles asked cautiously. "But don't those happen all the time?"

"Ohoho," Père chuckled, wagging his finger at Giles. "I haven't even gotten to the best part! Madam Edgecombe said that apparently this prophecy was so important that Minister Fudge was called down to the Department of Mysteries, and that, she heard the same thing happened at the Ministère des Affaires Magiques as well."

"So!" I prompted. That did not sound good, especially since there was no mention of something like that in the Harry Potter books.

"So, it wasn't just some two-bit palm reader's parlour trick. According to several of my colleagues within the British and French Ministries, this is a big one. One that even the International Confederation of Wizards are talking about."

My mouth was dry. This sounded like a big shift from canon. I subdued the roiling feeling of panic. I was being paranoid again.
There was no way I could know everything that went on in the original timeline, so, It wouldn't do to worry about every new detail that cropped up.

"I think you've left them waiting for long enough dear," Mémaen said softly. "Why don't you tell them the prophecy."

I turned to face Père so fast my neck clicked audibly.

Père looked disgruntled.
"I was getting to that-"

"You know the Prophecy!" Giles almost shouted. "How!"

"One of my contacts in France overheard some of the higher-ups from the Department of Records talking," Père said bluntly, "and yes, I am inclined to believe him."

"Stop playing it out," Mémaen chided lightly.

"I'm getting to it!" Père protested. "So, he unfortunately only overheard a few phrases; 'Les fileur de destin,' and 'bon voisin.'"

"That's it‽" Giles asked, as I wracked my brain, combing through Carnac's memories of French diction.

"Don't you see!" Père exclaimed. "They were talking about 'Les fileur de destin.' 'The weaver of destiny!' Of fate!"

"And they said they'd be a 'bon voisin,'" I said. "A 'good neighbour.'" Good neighbour… that sounded familiar.

"So what?" Giles asked again. "I don't see how that is something that has the Ministries in a tizzy."

"Not just a tizzy," Père stated. "It's a secret. They are keeping it out of the press and preventing it from leaking to the general public. I heard the British even muzzled that Rita woman. The one who writes all the gossip pieces for the Prophet."

Giles shrugged, uninterested, and Père deflated. The wind was taken out of his sails by the lack of Gile's enthusiasm.

I, on the other hand, was still mulling over that prophecy. 'Les fileur de destin.' 'Bon voisin.' The weaver of fate is a good neighbour? The good neighbour is the weaver of fate? I felt I should know what it meant.

"So, Carnac," Mémaen said, stirring me from my thoughts. "How are you finding Hogwarts?"

"No one made any issues for you yet?" Père added. "Because you know how those British are."

Rolling my eyes, I put the thoughts of prophecy aside. Père's disregard for the British was what had made my first few weeks at Hogwarts living hell. He'd filled my head up with stories of blood purists that I had not seen any sign of yet.

"No, Père. It's been fine," I told him. "No one's commented about me being a Le Fay. I told you how I got sorted into Hufflepuff, right? Well, they're probably the friendliest house."

"And what about your teachers?" Giles asked.

I glanced his way. He already knew that from all the letters. What was his game?

"They're good," I said, quickly recounting what we'd been learning in each class, while trying to gloss over the flaws of Snape and Professor Binns, but when I got to Professor Trocar, Père held up a hand.

"Trocar‽ Are you sure that's his real name‽"

"Yes… why do you ask?"

"Do you know his first name‽" Père questioned. "What does he look like‽"

I shot Giles a curious look, but he seemed just as confused as me. Mémaen seemed deep in thought, as if trying to recall something.
"I don't know his first name," I admitted, "but he's tall and kind of pale, and he honestly gives me the creeps."

Mémaen gasped and Père looked me dead in the eye.

"He's a vampire."

I shrugged. I'd known since halfway through the first term and, while Vampires were dark creatures according to the Ministry, I didn't put too much stock in their classifications, especially since the said werewolves were evil beings, and I still remembered Remus Lupin was both a werewolf and a good man.

"Not only that," Père continued, looking pale, "but the Trocar clan were involved in the fairy hunts."

That sounded familiar… but I couldn't place where I'd heard it. Giles looked equally confused.

"Fairy hunts?"

"After the Statute of Secrecy was enacted, the Wizengamot decided that fairies and the other magical creatures of Britain posed too much of a threat to the new secrecy," Père explained. "They exterminated most, using vampires to sniff out those that went into hiding. Only the Centaurs, Goblins, and Leprechauns survived in any meaningful number, and that's only because of magical contracts dating back to the Romans, Anglos, and Normans, respectively."

I'd never heard of all this. I think Binns may have droned on about the hunts at one point, but I'd assumed they'd been limited to just hunts. Not a full-blown genocide.

"What about house-elves," I asked. "There are heaps of them at Hogwarts."

"House-elves," Père spat, "you mean those hairless stunted runts the wizarding gentry keep as slaves? Those things are no more house-elves that a muggle poodle is a wolf. House-elves were culled. Not in the same way as many other fairies, but they were culled all the same. They used to be as numerous and diverse as trees in the forest; brownies, hobs, and fenodyree, all proud and fierce. Now look at their descendants. They don't hold a candle."

He breathed out heavily and shook his head sadly.

"I'm getting sidetracked. Yes, fairies were killed off, and yes it was a tragedy, but that is a discussion for another time. For now, be wary of Trocar and any other vampires you meet. They are not to be trusted. Understand?"

I nodded, but I couldn't help but wonder. Père was wrong about British wizards giving me grief over my ancestry. Could he be wrong about vampires as well?

The table descended into silence, with no one knowing quite what to say after such a heavy topic, finally Mémaen cleared her throat.

"How about we put these dark topics aside. It's Christmas after all."

"Oui," Père agreed. "I've said my piece. Just… Carnac, be careful when you get back to Hogwarts."

"I will," I promised.

 

[Pakeha]

With the return from the Christmas break, classes suddenly seemed to take on a new intensity. The Professors started piling on more homework to our weekly workload, the classes delved into the theory behind every single spell we'd learned, and the hours spent trying to perfect every single charm and potion became more gruelling.

Easter flew by almost unnoticed, and with the end of year exams looming, Charlie and Tonk's banter died down as they worried over their homework, preparing for their N.E.W.T. papers.

I, on the other hand, had decided not to stress myself out over exams.

With the seventh years struggling away behind piles of books and Cedric off with his other friends, I was a bit freer in what I could research, and I now had a whole new world of spells open to me.

"Kryono," I said, aiming at the dented cauldron in the same abandoned fireplace I'd tested spells in a hundred times before.

Frost crept across the black metal and I ended the spell in a rush. It wasn't supposed to do that! It was supposed to be a cooling charm, not a freezing spell. I checked the tattered tome on the table beside me, rereading the spell's description for the umpteenth time. I'm pretty sure I had the wand-movement wrong.

Unfortunately, unclear instructions were only one of the many issues I'd had with the books from the Room of Requirement. They were stashed away for a reason after all.

The history books are dry and filled with out of date information, the potions books have recipes that require herbs that went extinct centuries ago, and even the private grimoires and notebooks of past students are disappointing, filled with joke spells, or magic that requires full-on chanting and hectic wand-movement to work.

Even with all that, I've still managed to find a few gems.

"Ardere Armos!" I said carefully, whipping my wand-arm forward. In the abandoned fireplace, the frost vaporised as the dented cauldron glowed cherry red.

"Kryono," I said, uttering the counter-spell.

Slowly, the heat leached out of it, leaving the cauldron blackened and the hearth speckled with flakes of hammerscale. Thankfully, this time, I didn't turn the fireplace into an icebox.

"You's do know some strange magic," Glirus chirped from the nearby bench.

"You're not the only one who likes learning new magic," I replied, stepping forward to check if the spell had worked properly.

Glirus stared at the cauldron. Deep in thought.

"Why's you always practicing?" he asked eventually. "Why in the kitchens?"

Shrugging, I continued to examine the cauldron.

"As I said before, I like learning new magic," I said. "Plus, you're good company."

A quick glance at Glirus and I knew it was the wrong thing to say. He was staring at me in awe.

Merlin no! Please Glirus, don't turn into Dobby.

"Also," I continued, trying to head off whatever Glirus was thinking, "my friends like to study here. Although I think they mainly come here for the snacks."

"I heard that Le Fay!" Tonks called out from behind her stack of books. "I am motivated by more than food you know."

I didn't deign to answer her, instead, glancing back at Glirus, who was still staring at me with wide eyes.

Turning back to the cauldron, I cast another 'Ardere Armos' while doing my damndest to ignore the situation I'd created.

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"Hey, Carnac!" Tonk's asked during one of her numerous interludes between cramming, "what spell is that?"

Ever since my foray into overpowered charms, both Tonks and Charlie had taken a sudden interest in my spell-work. I guess it pays to know when to duck after all, although the way Tonks was staring at the white-hot cauldron, I think she realised the desk wouldn't be a good enough shield if I set this one off.

"Ardere Armos," I replied. "I'm pretty sure it was a jinx to cook knights in their armour. Not very useful nowadays, but it seems to work well enough on all the metal I've tried it on."

Tonks nodded absentmindedly, and I subtly moved in front of the open tome I'd gotten the spell from. Most of the magic was okay, but there were a few spells that I suspect the Ministry wouldn't approve of. Plus, I didn't want to answer any questions about where I'd gotten it from.
"I have to ask," Tonks said eventually. "Why are you so relaxed with your exams coming up? Most people are cramming for their end-of-year tests, but you're playing with new spells. I know you're not exactly doing O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s, but normally firsties are a bit more panicked than you are. Heck, I remember Cedric was absolutely frantic last year for his finals."

"I feel pretty confident," I said lightly, which was true. My spell-work was spot on, and I knew everything I needed to know for the essays. Plus, I wasn't too worried about following the curriculum.

After all, a certain pact with an eldritch being meant that I wouldn't even get the chance to finish my schooling at Hogwarts.

"In the practicals, I can understand," Tonks scoffed. "I'm scared you'll give the Professors a heart attack when you turn a splinter into a great-sword or overpower your lumos or something. But, I haven't even seen you touch a quill. How are you with the theoretical side of things? On the essay writing?"

"I'm good," I said.

Tonks gave me a long, contemplative look, before shaking her head.

"Okay then," she said, glancing in disdain at the books piled around her. "I'll let you get back to your thing."

Staring at the cauldron, I stared at the smouldering metal. I felt a little bit ashamed about turning away Tonk's small offer of help, even if it was an excuse to put off her own work.

"Do yous know any more spells? Master Le Fay?" Glirus asked before I could get too angsty. "Or are yous done for today?"

"I'm done," I said softly.

Maybe it was best if I did a little bit of a swotting for the written exams after all.

 

[Pakeha]

Waiting to be let into the classroom for the first exam, I saw I wasn't the only one to feel trepidation. There was no talking or joking as we sat down, just the frantic muttering of stressed children or the stony silence of acceptance.

By the end of the written portion of the exam, I felt despondent. My wrist felt sore from the anticheating quill, which was a tad too long, and I was positive that the resulting blobs and streaks of ink would get me marked down.

The essays continued in much the same vein, yet somehow, the practicals were more stressful, though they had no reason to be, and waiting to be called into the stuffy classroom for my turn was like waiting for the gallows.

Overall, I think I achieved a passable score, or at least managed not to flunk. With the Transfiguration test, I had some difficulty changing the mouse into a snuff box when it tried to run away halfway through the transformation, but I made up for that mistake with charms, where I made my pineapple do an Irish dance in addition to the tap-dance much to the delight of Professor Flitwick.

In the kitchens, after the last nerve-wracking test with Snape, I took the chance to relax and load up on comfort food from the elves. The seventh years still had their exams, so I was all alone to enjoy a pint of butterbeer while the house-elves rushed around, preparing that night's dinner.

"You's did good?" one of the kitchen hands asked worriedly as he slid over the fifth mug.

I glanced at him tiredly, opting not to answer. I was hamming my weariness up a bit, but I still felt tired. The stress and the exhaustion from late-night cramming sessions had taken a bit out of me.

"Master Le Fay," Gliris chirped, popping out of nowhere next to me. "You's have a Professor asking for you's."

"Who is it?" I asked warily.

"It's Professor Trocar, master Le Fay. He's wanting to meet you in his office."

I nodded absentmindedly even as the hairs on the nape of my neck stood on end. There was no way in hell that I was going to be caught dead alone with Trocar. The last thing I needed was an end-of-year vampire attack.

Despite my resolution, as the afternoon wore on, I felt more and more on edge.

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Around six, the matron elf found time to chase me out of the kitchens with a wooden spoon, and I made my way through the winding underbelly of the school, towards the Great Hall.

I had just reached the staircase leading to the ground floor when I sensed a presence behind me. Wheeling around, I saw him.

Professor Trocar was wreathed in his trademark black cloak. Face as cold and unreadable as a statue.

"I requested you meet me in my office," he stated softly. "Didn't your parents teach you not to leave people waiting?"

I tried to school my face, but his cold smile told me he knew exactly how scared I was.

"It was smart of you to seek the safety of the kitchen," he said. "That is one of the few places I cannot go. Even now, you reek of the substance."

Garlic! Puck damn it, how the hell did I forget to grab garlic‽

"Oh, come now," Trocar crooned, probably mistaking my mental anguish for something else entirely. "Surely you've heard the rumours? You must know what I am by now."

"A vampire," I whispered.

"Correct." Trocar bent forward until his face was inches from mine. I should have felt his breath, or warmth, but he was cold as the grave. "Us vampires have always been seen as evil," he hummed. "It is true we all have an affinity for black magic, but calm yourself. I'm not going to hurt you."

Trocar's toothy grin did not put me at ease.

"I see greatness in you, Good Neighbour" he said softly, looming over me. "And I hope to foster that greatness into something legendary. Just as Melis the Greek taught Dracula, I offer my tutorage to you."

I cringed. There was so much to unpack in that single sentence.

The comparison to Dracula had me worried. Vlad the Impaler, in this world, was the first true vampire and a dark wizard akin to Ekrizdis or Koschei. He was the one who destroyed Solomonărie, the wizarding school of the Balkans, and drove back the Ottomans from Europe.
I couldn't understand why Trocar thought I'd live up to the first Vampire's reputation.

Focusing on the most innocuous thing I could find in that statement, I asked; "Good neighbour?"

"You don't know?" Trocar asked. "You don't know about the prophecy?"

A jolt of fear ran through me. The prophecy.

Good neighbour… It was a euphemism to refer to fairy-folk.

Trocar watched me for a long moment before backing away, nose scrunched in disgust.

"You reek of garlic boy."

The non sequitur caught me off guard, and as Trocar turned away, I stared at his back with uncertainty.

"I believe you are the prophesied 'Les fileur de destin,'" he said over his shoulder. "At the sorting, I felt a stirring in magic, something I thought nothing of at the time, but, over the course of this year, I've sensed a change in you. It is as if you were a hollow shell, newly filled with the spark of life. A spark that has only recently coalesced into a proper soul."

Fuck. Fuck my life, Fuck Murphy, and Fuck the ROB who dropped me in this dimension.

"How did you find out‽" I demanded. "How did you find out about the prophecy‽"

Trocar grinned at me, showing his fangs.

"That is something we can discuss in years to come," he said smoothly. "But now, I must be gone. Stay safe Le Fay, for it may very well be years before we reacquaint. But we will meet again."

Staring at the vampire as he disappeared into the darkness, I felt chills.

Things just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

 

[Pakeha]

There was no announcement from the staff to explain Trocar's absence, but with his non-attendance of the End-of-Term Feast, rumours overtook the school.

Standing at the Hogsmeade station, waiting to board, I the overheard some truely wild rumours about Trocar's disappearance. Some Ravenclaw girls whispered that he was driven out by vampire hunters, while a Gryffindor fifth year loudly claimed Snape had trapped him in the dungeons out of jealousy for copying his style.

I didn't add to the rumour mill, but I had my own theory that he'd simply walked away. To me, Trocar seemed like the sort that would just slip off into the night once his business was complete.

----------------------------------------------------------------

On the train ride back to London, I holed up in a compartment with Tonks and Charlie, listening as the two of them chattered away, arguing about tests, reliving Hogwarts memories with melancholy, and discussing future plans.

"I can't wait," Charlie said breathlessly. "I mean, I'm finally going to be able to work with dragons! Professor McGonagall helped me get scholarships from both the Snowdon Reserve and the Romanian Sanctuary!"

"Which one are you thinking of going with?" I asked. I already knowing the answer, but it was nice to see him so impassioned.

"The Romanian Sanctuary," Charlie said instantly. "I've been to the Snowdon Reserve, and it's great, but they've only got a pride of Welsh Green, and a few Ruddy Pyrrex. The Romanian Sanctuary, meanwhile, has dragons from all over Europe!"

"You and your dragons!" Tonks laughed. Turning to me, she whispered; "he's actually going with the Romanian option to get away from his mum!"

"Tonks! Carnac doesn't need to know that!" Charlie said, having the sense to look abashed. "And what about you? You said that you were becoming-"

"-I'm becoming an Auror!" Tonks spoke over him, glaring daggers. "Because I want to make a difference!"

"You told me you-" Charlie was cut off as Tonks struck him with a silencing charm. Turning to me, she smiled sweetly.

"Do you have anything to add?"

I held up my hands in surrender, shaking my head.

"Good!" she said, hitting Charlie with the counterspell. "Now, does anyone know what happened to-"

"Hey guys," Cedric said, stepping into the compartment. "What did I miss?"

"Oh, nothing," Tonks said, grinning. "We were just talking about you. Carnac was saying he saw you with a girl!"

"I did not!" I denied with an eye roll. "We were talking about what these two are doing after Hogwarts."

"Cool," Cedric said, taking a seat. "By the way Charlie, I ran into Oliver Wood on the way here. He's searching for you."

Charlie paled. "You didn't tell him where I am?" he asked.

"The Twins seemed to be doing a good enough job distracting him," Cedric replied, with a grin. "They were asking him about his thoughts on last summer's Quidditch World Cup."

"Good," Charlie said, sounding relieved. "That should keep him busy. When school started, all he talked about was the Scottish defeat against Canada. I hope the Twins are ready for a rant."

"Why are you even hiding from Wood?" I asked. "Isn't he one of your friends?"

Tonks began laughing and Charlie elbowed her in the ribs before turning to me.

"Wood's been trying to tear me a new one ever since I said I was going to go into dragon keeping instead of Quidditch-"

"-You should have heard him Carnac!" Tonk's gasped. "He walked right up to poor Charlie in the Entry Hall and laid into him in front of everyone!"

"He thinks I should play Professionally," Charlie grimaced, shaking his head. "Too much stress for too little reward. I think I'll leave that up to the Twins or Ron. They've got more passion for Quidditch than me."

Cedric rolled his eyes and Tonks mouthed 'He's crazy,' while pointing a thumb at Charlie.

"I'm not crazy!" Charlie objected, "I just can't see myself doing it professionally."

"But Charlie, think of the money!" Cedric said, joining in banter.

Charlie scoffed derisively, leaning back and closing his eyes. A comfortable silence settled over the train compartment as Tonks began twirling her wand and Cedric stuck his nose in a book, and I began to mull over my meeting with Trocar.

I'm not ashamed to say, my encounter with the vampire had rattled me. I mean, here was a who-knows-how-old bloodsucker, saying he'd like to teach me like Melis the Greek taught Dracula, all because of a prophecy.

Thinking over the prophecy, I was of two minds.

Firstly, I didn't even know the whole prophecy, and the lines I did know were vague. For one, there are hundreds of Le Fay, half-fairies, and even a few full-blooded fairies the 'good neighbour' title could refer to, and that's assuming it even refers to a fairy at all.

The 'Les fileuses de destiny' part is even less clear and could refer to the individual literally becoming someone who shapes fate, (which is heavy magic that hasn't been seen for thousands of years) to them being the beginning of a new bloodline of prophets.

Despite all that uncertainty, I have my own private theory. Something that makes me think that maybe, just maybe, the prophecy refers to me after all.

Prophecies, in general, are unavoidable. If you try and change them, you end up making them come true, and that seemed especially true in the canon, where not even time-travel could change events. But here, I'm an unexpected variable. I wasn't in the Harry Potter series, and theoretically, as an outsider, I can muck with events and change the future. Puck knows I'm going to try.

Maybe the 'weaver of fate' title is just magic's way of trying to get a handle on the situation by recognising my ability to change things.
I don't know for certain, but if that's the case, then were there past 'Les fileur de destiny' like me? Food for thought.

Anyway, I'm not too bothered with the prophecy. Either I can't change it, or it's not definite, so not worth the worry. What I am concerned about is the attention it'll get me.

Trocar already knows, and that's one person too many. If Dumbledore or, Merlin forgive, Voldemort finds out, my arse is grass.
"Hey, Carnac," Charlie asked. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," I told him, pushing aside my worries. I'd have time to dwell on them over the Summer. Until then, I'd enjoy the remaining time I had with my friends to the fullest.

 

[Pakeha]

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore watched the Hogwarts Express depart from Hogsmeade pensively.

Much had occurred over the past year that had demanded his attention, ranging from the young Weasley Twin's rather amusing pranks, to assisting the Deutsches Zaubereiministerium while they helped smooth over the reunification of East and West Germany.

Unfortunately, the thing that occupied his thoughts was much more serious and much closer to home. Professor Trocar was on his mind, and for the first time that year, it was not because of the man's vampiric afflictions.

When Eldred Worple, one of Horace Slughorn's old students, had recommended the vampire, Albus had been apprehensive. Vampires, after all, had a notoriety for being dark creatures.

Then again, Albus wasn't one to judge people by stereotypes.

Minerva had been apoplectic when she'd found out, slipping into Scottish brogue so thick, Albus had had trouble understanding her. Regrettably, by that point, it was too late as the contract was signed, and the matter had been laid to rest.

Despite what Minerva's off-colour remarks about senility may have suggested, Albus wasn't stupid. Kooky, perhaps, and most certainly eccentric, but not stupid.

Whenever Trocar had left his chambers, he'd been under constant surveillance from the portraits and suits of armour. An ingenious idea, Albus had thought at the time, as no one paid the paintings in Hogwarts any notice.

For a time, Albus had been content, and fortunately, Professor Trocar hadn't bitten anyone, nor had he seemed interested in anything beyond his teaching and more… esoteric studies. Unfortunately, he'd drawn something to Albus's attention. Carnac Le Fay; the possible 'Les fileur de destin,' and a hope for defeating Tom.

Albus sighed, watching the wisp of steam from the Hogwarts Express vanish among the hills before turning back to his office, full of silvery nicknacks and his old phoenix, Fawkes.

It was unfortunate because, while he could utilise young Carnac, and spare Harry Potter the dark fate that awaited him, it would come at a cost. One child's innocence for another.

Seating himself, Albus Dumbledore steepled his fingers, deep in thought.

He'd need to think on this deeply.