Phenomenal Cosmic Power (Harry Potter/Multicross SI)
- Thread starter Pakeha
- Start date
- Crossover
Truly Le Fey exist to bring chaos
The day after Halloween
I didn't get a chance to dwell on Peeve's Halloween prank and why things were diverging from canon so quickly, as I had Hermione to contend with.
It seems she was more than happy to jump ship from Gryffindor and hang out with us Hufflepuffs.
It was a strange event that morning after Halloween. I was admiring the gouges in the table where I assume cutlery had made a bit of an impact, when Hermione nervously shuffled over and mumbled something about sitting with other houses.
Thankfully, Cedric was there to prevent me from scaring her off.
"Hermione Granger? Right?" he asked.
Nervously, she nodded, giving me a questioning look as if to ask if Cedric was okay.
"I'm Cedric Diggory," Cedric said cheerfully, holding out his hand. "Gabriel, the Prefect who took you back to Gryffindor last night, asked me to keep an eye on you."
Hermione nodded hesitantly.
"You already know Carnac, I see," Cedric continued. "He's a good sort, but a bit of a recluse."
"I am right here, you know!" I spoke up. "And I am not a recluse!"
"You spend more time in the kitchens with those elves than you do in the common room," Cedric shot back with a grin.
"How can I be a recluse then!" I argued. "I never get the chance to be alone in the kitchens-"
"Elves don't count," Cedric interrupted with an eye roll."
I scoffed at him.
"Elves don't count? Fine then, have it your way. I'll practice my spellwork in the Hufflepuff common room next time!"
Cedric's smile turned pained.
"On second thought, perhaps don't do that."
Chuckling, we both glanced back at Hermione who was watching the conversation with confusion.
"He's a bit bombastic with his spellwork," Cedric said wryly. "The elves put up with him, but I think the older years would have something to say if he tried casting bombarda in the common room."
"Do it one time, and you'll never live it down," I told Hermione sagely.
"Anyway," Cedric said, checking his watch, "I have to be off. Remember Hermione, if you need a helping hand just ask a Hufflepuff."
Grimacing at that little gem of alliteration, I turned to Hermione.
"Have a seat," I told her.
Hesitantly, she took one next to me and I buried my head in the book I'd been reading beforehand. Hermione, thankfully, seemed to take it as a cue to pull out her own reading material.
Well now. I could get used to this.
It seems she was more than happy to jump ship from Gryffindor and hang out with us Hufflepuffs.
It was a strange event that morning after Halloween. I was admiring the gouges in the table where I assume cutlery had made a bit of an impact, when Hermione nervously shuffled over and mumbled something about sitting with other houses.
Thankfully, Cedric was there to prevent me from scaring her off.
"Hermione Granger? Right?" he asked.
Nervously, she nodded, giving me a questioning look as if to ask if Cedric was okay.
"I'm Cedric Diggory," Cedric said cheerfully, holding out his hand. "Gabriel, the Prefect who took you back to Gryffindor last night, asked me to keep an eye on you."
Hermione nodded hesitantly.
"You already know Carnac, I see," Cedric continued. "He's a good sort, but a bit of a recluse."
"I am right here, you know!" I spoke up. "And I am not a recluse!"
"You spend more time in the kitchens with those elves than you do in the common room," Cedric shot back with a grin.
"How can I be a recluse then!" I argued. "I never get the chance to be alone in the kitchens-"
"Elves don't count," Cedric interrupted with an eye roll."
I scoffed at him.
"Elves don't count? Fine then, have it your way. I'll practice my spellwork in the Hufflepuff common room next time!"
Cedric's smile turned pained.
"On second thought, perhaps don't do that."
Chuckling, we both glanced back at Hermione who was watching the conversation with confusion.
"He's a bit bombastic with his spellwork," Cedric said wryly. "The elves put up with him, but I think the older years would have something to say if he tried casting bombarda in the common room."
"Do it one time, and you'll never live it down," I told Hermione sagely.
"Anyway," Cedric said, checking his watch, "I have to be off. Remember Hermione, if you need a helping hand just ask a Hufflepuff."
Grimacing at that little gem of alliteration, I turned to Hermione.
"Have a seat," I told her.
Hesitantly, she took one next to me and I buried my head in the book I'd been reading beforehand. Hermione, thankfully, seemed to take it as a cue to pull out her own reading material.
Well now. I could get used to this.
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Without Hermione around to play detective and drag the boys into things, Harry and Ron won't care about various clues that they may come across.
Harry's distracted with quidditch. That quidditch detention is several years long and implied to last to the end of his time at Hogwarts. It would be have been funny if he has brought it up to Umbridge that quidditch wasn't a sport, but long-running detention.
I'm wondering what Hermione will think of the MC. She's got her new best friend/older brother figure and maybe a slight crush. Hermione will quickly find out that the MC is rather similar to her. He enjoys reading through various books and seemingly isolated.
He is also always around folks or the house-elves. There is no real secret of where he is at or what he has been doing. Hermione just needs to sit with the MC for a bit. It won't take long for the Puffs of her year to chat as well as other years. They might not all be close friends, but she'd soon find herself befriended by the Puffs.
I can't wait until it gets around that the MC was the one that saved Hermione. No troll or anything involved, but it was an older bro/Puff moment. The prefects or even the girls in her own year should have noticed and taken action sooner. A first-year girl was upset crying in a bathroom due to being bullied by some housemates. That's all that she needed rescuing from for the Puffs.
I can't wait to find out if Quirrel just aborted his plan with the trolls. The MC did leak the news to the house elves and paintings rather than just Dumbledore and Snape. He could have just gone with Peeves for a distraction instead.
I can't wait for the MC to introduce her to the house elves and also mention the darker history behind it all. I could see Hermione on a mission after that.
Harry's distracted with quidditch. That quidditch detention is several years long and implied to last to the end of his time at Hogwarts. It would be have been funny if he has brought it up to Umbridge that quidditch wasn't a sport, but long-running detention.
I'm wondering what Hermione will think of the MC. She's got her new best friend/older brother figure and maybe a slight crush. Hermione will quickly find out that the MC is rather similar to her. He enjoys reading through various books and seemingly isolated.
He is also always around folks or the house-elves. There is no real secret of where he is at or what he has been doing. Hermione just needs to sit with the MC for a bit. It won't take long for the Puffs of her year to chat as well as other years. They might not all be close friends, but she'd soon find herself befriended by the Puffs.
I can't wait until it gets around that the MC was the one that saved Hermione. No troll or anything involved, but it was an older bro/Puff moment. The prefects or even the girls in her own year should have noticed and taken action sooner. A first-year girl was upset crying in a bathroom due to being bullied by some housemates. That's all that she needed rescuing from for the Puffs.
I can't wait to find out if Quirrel just aborted his plan with the trolls. The MC did leak the news to the house elves and paintings rather than just Dumbledore and Snape. He could have just gone with Peeves for a distraction instead.
I can't wait for the MC to introduce her to the house elves and also mention the darker history behind it all. I could see Hermione on a mission after that.
What wonderful start to a beautiful friendship!
Damn straight.
I don't remember that? Just that Professor McGonagall shanghaied him into Quidditch.
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The terrible twins.
Hahahaha... you fools! No one can have nice things!
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I came to several realisations over the course of that following month.
My foremost thought was that I had obliterated the Harry Potter timeline. There is no way I can think of that the golden trio will form now, especially not with Hermione's growing resentment of Ron, and that has all sorts of consequences I don't even want to think about.
As my new tagalong grew more comfortable around me, she began to open up. The discussions were varied, from classes to questions to theories on magic, but one thing that she kept bringing up was the Weasleys.
She liked Percy, but the rest were firmly on her hate list.
"I can't believe Ron!" she said to me one cold day in late November. "He's always going on and on about how hard classes are! If he put in even little effort, he'd actually get good marks, but no, all he wants to do is eat and play chess."
"Uh-huh," I hummed noncommittally. To be honest I was a little tired of the hate. I didn't know any of the Weasleys personally, beyond Charlie, but Hermione seemed to be getting more annoyed with their very presence as time wore on.
"At this rate, he'll be held back a year," she continued. "And I'm pretty sure he's going to drag Harry down with him!"
"Hmm."
"Are you even listening to me!" she demanded.
"Certainly," I replied. "But don't you think you may be going a little hard on Ron? It's his first year after all, and I know it certainly took me a while to get used to the classes and find my feet. Wizarding children don't go to secondary school after all, so coming to Hogwarts is a whole new setup."
"But you figured it out!" Hermione said in exasperation.
"Yeah," I agreed, "but I'm interested in magic. From what you've told me, Harry and Ron don't share that passion, so It'll be harder for them."
Hermione lapsed into a thoughtful silence, which gave me a chance to contemplate the second thing I'd realised about Hermione Granger.
I hadn't considered it at first, but I had been thinking of her as the character seen at the end of the Harry Potter books, instead of as the person she was now.
I'd been thinking of her as the brains of the golden trio and as someone who did the right thing, no matter the cost. But instead, Hermione was a bossy twelve-year-old, who was a stickler for rules, and held education to a high regard while expecting everyone else to do the same.
I felt disappointed, and a little resentful. Mostly towards myself for having unrealistic expectations, but I think Hermione realised something was off and that I was keeping her at arm's length.
I had no right to treat her like that. Not when I was the only person that she seemed to want to spend time with here.
After a long moment of silence, Hermione eventually finished mulling over my little nugget of wisdom.
"You may be right," she acquiesced. "But I still don't think a lack of interest is a good enough excuse to be lazy in class."
"The world needs all sorts Hermione," I told her. "Some are smart, some work hard, and some reserve their effort for the things they're passionate about. It's why we have the four Hogwarts houses after all."
"I think I was put into the wrong house," She muttered softly. I pretended not to hear.
We all have demons that we need to face by ourselves.
"Come on," I said before she could get into too much of a funk. "Let's head to the kitchens. It's been a while since I've visited the elves."
"Okay," she said with reluctance.
----------------------------------------------------------------
As we made our way down into the kitchens, the conversation drifted away from Hermione's annoyance with the Weasleys and onto more academic topics.
"So you're saying that Guernsey isn't part of Magical Britain?" Hermione asked as we wove through the maze of stone-vaulted hallways.
"Kind of," I said. "The British Ministry has the authority and backing of the Royal family, in a magical sense at least, so Crown Dependencies, such as Guernsey, Jersey and the Isle of Man are all technically under the aegis of the Ministry. But, since we've all got old magic that gives us an authority unto ourselves, we're left alone for the most part."
"What about Ireland?" Hermione asked. "Why is it part of magical Britain?"
"Because when the Statute of Secrecy went into effect, it still was part of the regular UK," I said with a grimace. "The border on the magical side just hasn't changed yet. It's unfair, but currently, the nationalism in magical Ireland isn't strong enough to cause a schism."
Before Hermione could begin probing into the rather tender relations between England and Ireland, I stepped up to the entrance of the kitchens and tickled the pear in the fruit bowl painting.
The portrait hole opened, and I ducked inside, freezing at the sight before me.
Two identical redheads stared back, jam scones still hanging out of their mouths.
Behind me, Hermione stepped into the room and froze. Her opinions about the rule-breaking duo were even worse than her thoughts on Ron.
Puck damn it!
"Well lookie here Fred," the twin on the right said, recovering from his surprise first and spitting out the scone. "And here I thought we had the kitchens all to ourselves."
"Funny, I thought the same thing," I retorted back before Fred could say anything. "When did you discover the kitchens?"
"They is visiting since last year!" one of the house-elves said helpfully from under a massive platter of sandwiches.
"Did we just get tattled on by a house-elf?" George asked in shock.
Fred shrugged, choking down his scone. "It seems so."
Stepping further into the kitchens, I realised Hermione was keeping behind me. Was she still traumatised by the house-elves? Or was it the twins?
"So," George said, taking the lead of the conversation again. "What brings you two down here?"
"The food and the company," I said, feeling rather peeved at his casual intrusion of my sanctuary.
All around us, the house-elves watched with wide eyes.
"At least we now know where you were disappearing to all this time," Fred commented. "And I can't blame you, these little guys know how to cook!"
"And no one comes down here," George added. "All the other spots we've found have people lining up to have a private snog."
I heard Hermione scoff behind me.
"So," I said when the twins remained silent. "What now?"
"What do you mean what now?" Fred queried.
"I don't exactly want an audience," I elaborated, "and I doubt you want someone watching over your shoulder when you plan your pranks. So what now?"
The twins shared a glance.
"You bring up a good point," George said. "Especially with Miss I-love-the-rules Granger-"
"If you think I'm just going to stand back and let you lose more points for Gryffindor," Hermione interrupted, "then you have another thing coming."
"Hermione," I said, trying to defuse the situation, but she was having none of it.
"Are you honestly trying to work something out with them‽" she demanded. "They're bullies!"
"Hold up! Time out!" George said. "We're not bullies!"
"We don't target people with our pranks," Fred agreed.
"What about Filch!" Hermione challenged. "What about the Slytherins?"
"You're defending them‽" Fred asked incredulously.
"What about Carnac‽" Hermione demanded.
"Wait! What‽" I glanced at Hermione in confusion. "These two haven't pranked me!"
"Yeah!" Fred said, "Charlie would be pissed off if we did anything to little Le Fay over here."
I sent him a glare to shut him up before turning to Hermione. She looked distressed.
"Hermione?"
"They started rumours about you," she said softly, and with a jolt, I realised she was close to tears. "They kept telling everyone you're a descendant of Morgana Le Fay."
I stared at her, feeling confused. Morgana's only child was Sir Ywain, and he wouldn't have even inherited the title of Le Fay. How did their rumours make sense? And why was Hermione so upset about it?
"It's true though!" Fred said from the background. "Charlie said that you were a Le Fay."
I stared at the twins with an expression of disbelief. Was this why no one was bullying me for my ancestry? Because they thought I had an Arthurian lineage instead of being a descendant from fairies… I guess Le Fay is more of a French thing.
Actually, that explains a lot.
"How are you so composed about all this‽" Hermione asked. "They were telling people you're descended from an evil sorceress!"
Oh shit! Now I get it.
"Hermione," I said softly. "Morgana being evil is just a Muggle belief. In actuality, she helped out King Arthur, and was the one who told him about Sir Lancelot's tryst with Guinevere."
Hermione stared at me, tears in her eyes.
"Why are you defending them?" she asked.
I struggled to think of how to put it into words. I'm pretty sure she was looking at this situation and seeing herself in my shoes. It wasn't a big deal to me, but to her, this was what brought her to tears on Halloween.
And I was just shrugging it off.
"Look, Hermione," I said, trying to piece together my disparate thoughts. "You're overreacting-"
-and fuck my life! Did I really just…
"You're just like everyone else!" Hermione sobbed, before storming out the door. I tried to go after her but the twins were already on me, holding me back.
"Le Fay! Stop!"
"I need to bloody apologise!" I snapped back.
"She won't listen to you!" George said. "If she's anything like our sister, she'll just hex you and keep going. Give it a few days!"
"And figure out what you're going to say first," Fred advised. "Otherwise you'll just sound insincere."
"Puck damn it!" I muttered. "Why in Merlin's name did I say that!"
The twins shared another glance but didn't comment, instead, leading me to a nearby bench.
"I don't know what that was all about," George said eventually, "but don't worry. We'll keep an eye on her in Gryffindor."
I nodded, feeling a little heartened at that. Hopefully, it would be alright.
Hopefully.
----------------------------------------------------------------
I came to several realisations over the course of that following month.
My foremost thought was that I had obliterated the Harry Potter timeline. There is no way I can think of that the golden trio will form now, especially not with Hermione's growing resentment of Ron, and that has all sorts of consequences I don't even want to think about.
As my new tagalong grew more comfortable around me, she began to open up. The discussions were varied, from classes to questions to theories on magic, but one thing that she kept bringing up was the Weasleys.
She liked Percy, but the rest were firmly on her hate list.
"I can't believe Ron!" she said to me one cold day in late November. "He's always going on and on about how hard classes are! If he put in even little effort, he'd actually get good marks, but no, all he wants to do is eat and play chess."
"Uh-huh," I hummed noncommittally. To be honest I was a little tired of the hate. I didn't know any of the Weasleys personally, beyond Charlie, but Hermione seemed to be getting more annoyed with their very presence as time wore on.
"At this rate, he'll be held back a year," she continued. "And I'm pretty sure he's going to drag Harry down with him!"
"Hmm."
"Are you even listening to me!" she demanded.
"Certainly," I replied. "But don't you think you may be going a little hard on Ron? It's his first year after all, and I know it certainly took me a while to get used to the classes and find my feet. Wizarding children don't go to secondary school after all, so coming to Hogwarts is a whole new setup."
"But you figured it out!" Hermione said in exasperation.
"Yeah," I agreed, "but I'm interested in magic. From what you've told me, Harry and Ron don't share that passion, so It'll be harder for them."
Hermione lapsed into a thoughtful silence, which gave me a chance to contemplate the second thing I'd realised about Hermione Granger.
I hadn't considered it at first, but I had been thinking of her as the character seen at the end of the Harry Potter books, instead of as the person she was now.
I'd been thinking of her as the brains of the golden trio and as someone who did the right thing, no matter the cost. But instead, Hermione was a bossy twelve-year-old, who was a stickler for rules, and held education to a high regard while expecting everyone else to do the same.
I felt disappointed, and a little resentful. Mostly towards myself for having unrealistic expectations, but I think Hermione realised something was off and that I was keeping her at arm's length.
I had no right to treat her like that. Not when I was the only person that she seemed to want to spend time with here.
After a long moment of silence, Hermione eventually finished mulling over my little nugget of wisdom.
"You may be right," she acquiesced. "But I still don't think a lack of interest is a good enough excuse to be lazy in class."
"The world needs all sorts Hermione," I told her. "Some are smart, some work hard, and some reserve their effort for the things they're passionate about. It's why we have the four Hogwarts houses after all."
"I think I was put into the wrong house," She muttered softly. I pretended not to hear.
We all have demons that we need to face by ourselves.
"Come on," I said before she could get into too much of a funk. "Let's head to the kitchens. It's been a while since I've visited the elves."
"Okay," she said with reluctance.
----------------------------------------------------------------
As we made our way down into the kitchens, the conversation drifted away from Hermione's annoyance with the Weasleys and onto more academic topics.
"So you're saying that Guernsey isn't part of Magical Britain?" Hermione asked as we wove through the maze of stone-vaulted hallways.
"Kind of," I said. "The British Ministry has the authority and backing of the Royal family, in a magical sense at least, so Crown Dependencies, such as Guernsey, Jersey and the Isle of Man are all technically under the aegis of the Ministry. But, since we've all got old magic that gives us an authority unto ourselves, we're left alone for the most part."
"What about Ireland?" Hermione asked. "Why is it part of magical Britain?"
"Because when the Statute of Secrecy went into effect, it still was part of the regular UK," I said with a grimace. "The border on the magical side just hasn't changed yet. It's unfair, but currently, the nationalism in magical Ireland isn't strong enough to cause a schism."
Before Hermione could begin probing into the rather tender relations between England and Ireland, I stepped up to the entrance of the kitchens and tickled the pear in the fruit bowl painting.
The portrait hole opened, and I ducked inside, freezing at the sight before me.
Two identical redheads stared back, jam scones still hanging out of their mouths.
Behind me, Hermione stepped into the room and froze. Her opinions about the rule-breaking duo were even worse than her thoughts on Ron.
Puck damn it!
"Well lookie here Fred," the twin on the right said, recovering from his surprise first and spitting out the scone. "And here I thought we had the kitchens all to ourselves."
"Funny, I thought the same thing," I retorted back before Fred could say anything. "When did you discover the kitchens?"
"They is visiting since last year!" one of the house-elves said helpfully from under a massive platter of sandwiches.
"Did we just get tattled on by a house-elf?" George asked in shock.
Fred shrugged, choking down his scone. "It seems so."
Stepping further into the kitchens, I realised Hermione was keeping behind me. Was she still traumatised by the house-elves? Or was it the twins?
"So," George said, taking the lead of the conversation again. "What brings you two down here?"
"The food and the company," I said, feeling rather peeved at his casual intrusion of my sanctuary.
All around us, the house-elves watched with wide eyes.
"At least we now know where you were disappearing to all this time," Fred commented. "And I can't blame you, these little guys know how to cook!"
"And no one comes down here," George added. "All the other spots we've found have people lining up to have a private snog."
I heard Hermione scoff behind me.
"So," I said when the twins remained silent. "What now?"
"What do you mean what now?" Fred queried.
"I don't exactly want an audience," I elaborated, "and I doubt you want someone watching over your shoulder when you plan your pranks. So what now?"
The twins shared a glance.
"You bring up a good point," George said. "Especially with Miss I-love-the-rules Granger-"
"If you think I'm just going to stand back and let you lose more points for Gryffindor," Hermione interrupted, "then you have another thing coming."
"Hermione," I said, trying to defuse the situation, but she was having none of it.
"Are you honestly trying to work something out with them‽" she demanded. "They're bullies!"
"Hold up! Time out!" George said. "We're not bullies!"
"We don't target people with our pranks," Fred agreed.
"What about Filch!" Hermione challenged. "What about the Slytherins?"
"You're defending them‽" Fred asked incredulously.
"What about Carnac‽" Hermione demanded.
"Wait! What‽" I glanced at Hermione in confusion. "These two haven't pranked me!"
"Yeah!" Fred said, "Charlie would be pissed off if we did anything to little Le Fay over here."
I sent him a glare to shut him up before turning to Hermione. She looked distressed.
"Hermione?"
"They started rumours about you," she said softly, and with a jolt, I realised she was close to tears. "They kept telling everyone you're a descendant of Morgana Le Fay."
I stared at her, feeling confused. Morgana's only child was Sir Ywain, and he wouldn't have even inherited the title of Le Fay. How did their rumours make sense? And why was Hermione so upset about it?
"It's true though!" Fred said from the background. "Charlie said that you were a Le Fay."
I stared at the twins with an expression of disbelief. Was this why no one was bullying me for my ancestry? Because they thought I had an Arthurian lineage instead of being a descendant from fairies… I guess Le Fay is more of a French thing.
Actually, that explains a lot.
"How are you so composed about all this‽" Hermione asked. "They were telling people you're descended from an evil sorceress!"
Oh shit! Now I get it.
"Hermione," I said softly. "Morgana being evil is just a Muggle belief. In actuality, she helped out King Arthur, and was the one who told him about Sir Lancelot's tryst with Guinevere."
Hermione stared at me, tears in her eyes.
"Why are you defending them?" she asked.
I struggled to think of how to put it into words. I'm pretty sure she was looking at this situation and seeing herself in my shoes. It wasn't a big deal to me, but to her, this was what brought her to tears on Halloween.
And I was just shrugging it off.
"Look, Hermione," I said, trying to piece together my disparate thoughts. "You're overreacting-"
-and fuck my life! Did I really just…
"You're just like everyone else!" Hermione sobbed, before storming out the door. I tried to go after her but the twins were already on me, holding me back.
"Le Fay! Stop!"
"I need to bloody apologise!" I snapped back.
"She won't listen to you!" George said. "If she's anything like our sister, she'll just hex you and keep going. Give it a few days!"
"And figure out what you're going to say first," Fred advised. "Otherwise you'll just sound insincere."
"Puck damn it!" I muttered. "Why in Merlin's name did I say that!"
The twins shared another glance but didn't comment, instead, leading me to a nearby bench.
"I don't know what that was all about," George said eventually, "but don't worry. We'll keep an eye on her in Gryffindor."
I nodded, feeling a little heartened at that. Hopefully, it would be alright.
Hopefully.
Man why'd he befriend her only to scorn her later ....
Mc is making himself as a dick
Trying for the Stone
The day before the train ride home for the Christmas Holidays I made my way towards the Room of Requirement with a bag full of books and something to prove.
Quirrell was stuck at the end-of-term staff meeting, and I needed something to take my mind off the situation with Hermione Granger.
She was avoiding me. When I'd first tried to approach her a few days after the kitchen event, she'd spotted me, turned around, and walked in the opposite direction.
After the next few attempts to apologise to her had failed, I'd backed off. She didn't want to speak to me, so I wasn't going to impose.
Dismissing those thoughts, I turned back to the task at hand. Stopping in the hallway before the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, I waited for a clique of Slytherin third-years to move on before pacing.
"I need to get to the end of the Stones gauntlet," I muttered.
I figured that trying to get past Dumbledore's trap would be a good distraction. It would also give me a chance to gauge my skill level when compared to Britain's greatest wizard.
"I need to get to the end of the Stones gauntlet."
This was my only real chance to go for the Philosopher's Stone. After Christmas, Dumbledore was going to change the test to the Mirror of Erised, and I wanted the stone too much to have a chance of passing that little worthiness test.
"I need to get to the end of the Stones gauntlet."
'Les secrets de la Pierre Philosophale' was my main source of information on the Philosopher's Stone, and it did a good job of painting the stone as an appealing prize.
The process of turning lead into gold through Chrysopoeia wasn't much, as the Room was still packed with unclaimed treasure.
The immortality also wasn't something to write home about. Being reliant on the elixir (Aurum Potable as the book called it) seemed like more of a handicap, especially since in the Fantastic Beasts movies, Nicolas Flamel didn't seem to have retained his youth.
The cure-all, however, was something I found appealing. It would certainly be handy if the ROB kept his promise of multiversal travel.
Shaking my head, I glanced at the black door with the iron doorknob. It was now or never.
The stone room was the same as before. The chest was still in the centre, facing the curtain of black flames.
Stepping into the room, I took off my shoe and wedged it into the door so it couldn't close fully. A quick notice-me-not charm so that no one would notice the door from the hallway, and I was happy to turn back to the chest.
Pacing around it, I wondered what it was rigged with. Was it like a mimic from D&D? Like the Luggage from Terry Pratchett's work? That's what I would do if it was my trap.
Stuck to the front of the chest lid, just above the bronze combination lock was a folded note.
Grinning, I backed away and began to cast detection charms.
I'd gotten very good at detecting curses tied to the written letter thanks to my time digging through the Room of Requirement, and I refused to be entranced or blinded by some folded bit of parchment that Dumbledore left there as an afterthought.
After a good five minutes, I'd found nothing. Hesitantly I approached the chest again.
Looking closely at the bronze combination lock, I realised that instead of numbers, it had alchemical symbols engraved into each of the seven slots.
Perhaps that was what the note was for?
Reluctantly, I unfolded the parchment and tried to make out the cursive writing in the flickering torchlight.
'The seven luminaries of the old cosmology are the key.'
I left the note where it was and stood back. Cosmology? I hadn't thought to bring any Astrology books for Dumbledore's test. I knew alchemical symbols matched up with planets. Maybe that's what went into the seven slots.
One way to find out.
Pulling out 'Les secrets de la Pierre Philosophale,' I opened to the page of alchemy symbols and began matching up the slots.
Mercury. Venus. Earth… There was no symbol for the planet Earth, so I went with the character for elemental earth instead. Mars. Jupiter. Saturn… and there was no symbol for Neptune. Why was there no symbol for Neptune?
Trying to figure out what was going on, I shifted it around so the sun was first, and as soon as I'd slotted in Saturn as the seventh combination, the metal flashed white and I nearly screamed.
"Goat shagging son of a Puck damned bastard!" I swore, staring at my blistered finger. "Seriously Dumbledore! A hot lock! Kryono!"
The heat retreated from the lock and I glared at it.
"So, not that order then… Let's do this!"
Quirrell was stuck at the end-of-term staff meeting, and I needed something to take my mind off the situation with Hermione Granger.
She was avoiding me. When I'd first tried to approach her a few days after the kitchen event, she'd spotted me, turned around, and walked in the opposite direction.
After the next few attempts to apologise to her had failed, I'd backed off. She didn't want to speak to me, so I wasn't going to impose.
Dismissing those thoughts, I turned back to the task at hand. Stopping in the hallway before the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, I waited for a clique of Slytherin third-years to move on before pacing.
"I need to get to the end of the Stones gauntlet," I muttered.
I figured that trying to get past Dumbledore's trap would be a good distraction. It would also give me a chance to gauge my skill level when compared to Britain's greatest wizard.
"I need to get to the end of the Stones gauntlet."
This was my only real chance to go for the Philosopher's Stone. After Christmas, Dumbledore was going to change the test to the Mirror of Erised, and I wanted the stone too much to have a chance of passing that little worthiness test.
"I need to get to the end of the Stones gauntlet."
'Les secrets de la Pierre Philosophale' was my main source of information on the Philosopher's Stone, and it did a good job of painting the stone as an appealing prize.
The process of turning lead into gold through Chrysopoeia wasn't much, as the Room was still packed with unclaimed treasure.
The immortality also wasn't something to write home about. Being reliant on the elixir (Aurum Potable as the book called it) seemed like more of a handicap, especially since in the Fantastic Beasts movies, Nicolas Flamel didn't seem to have retained his youth.
The cure-all, however, was something I found appealing. It would certainly be handy if the ROB kept his promise of multiversal travel.
Shaking my head, I glanced at the black door with the iron doorknob. It was now or never.
The stone room was the same as before. The chest was still in the centre, facing the curtain of black flames.
Stepping into the room, I took off my shoe and wedged it into the door so it couldn't close fully. A quick notice-me-not charm so that no one would notice the door from the hallway, and I was happy to turn back to the chest.
Pacing around it, I wondered what it was rigged with. Was it like a mimic from D&D? Like the Luggage from Terry Pratchett's work? That's what I would do if it was my trap.
Stuck to the front of the chest lid, just above the bronze combination lock was a folded note.
Grinning, I backed away and began to cast detection charms.
I'd gotten very good at detecting curses tied to the written letter thanks to my time digging through the Room of Requirement, and I refused to be entranced or blinded by some folded bit of parchment that Dumbledore left there as an afterthought.
After a good five minutes, I'd found nothing. Hesitantly I approached the chest again.
Looking closely at the bronze combination lock, I realised that instead of numbers, it had alchemical symbols engraved into each of the seven slots.
Perhaps that was what the note was for?
Reluctantly, I unfolded the parchment and tried to make out the cursive writing in the flickering torchlight.
'The seven luminaries of the old cosmology are the key.'
I left the note where it was and stood back. Cosmology? I hadn't thought to bring any Astrology books for Dumbledore's test. I knew alchemical symbols matched up with planets. Maybe that's what went into the seven slots.
One way to find out.
Pulling out 'Les secrets de la Pierre Philosophale,' I opened to the page of alchemy symbols and began matching up the slots.
Mercury. Venus. Earth… There was no symbol for the planet Earth, so I went with the character for elemental earth instead. Mars. Jupiter. Saturn… and there was no symbol for Neptune. Why was there no symbol for Neptune?
Trying to figure out what was going on, I shifted it around so the sun was first, and as soon as I'd slotted in Saturn as the seventh combination, the metal flashed white and I nearly screamed.
"Goat shagging son of a Puck damned bastard!" I swore, staring at my blistered finger. "Seriously Dumbledore! A hot lock! Kryono!"
The heat retreated from the lock and I glared at it.
"So, not that order then… Let's do this!"
Thanks for the chapter and can he take someone with him to travel the multiverse....
Not for the first three world. Afterwards, then yes. If I get that far.
Heading home for the holidays.
Here's the resolution to that little bit of drama.
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I spent the carriage ride to Hogwarts Express that next day hiding my burnt fingers and mentally cursing Dumbledore.
I'd managed to try seventeen combinations before my time had run out, and all I had to show for it were the blisters on my fingertips. I was even starting to suspect Dumbledore had put the note there as a red herring.
Misdirection is the perfect distraction after all.
Pressing my fingers together, I winced at the barbs of pain. Thankfully, the Ravenclaw students I was sharing the carriage with were too busy chatting about the upcoming Yuletide festivities and holiday plans to care about the random Hufflepuff in their midst.
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As the carriage pulled to a halt, I held back, not wanting anyone to see my blistered hands. Unfortunately, as soon as the last Ravenclaw stepped out, two familiar redheads poked their heads in.
"How's it Carnac?" the twin on the left said.
"You excited about your Holidays?" the one on the right asked.
"Sure," I said slowly. The twins hadn't talked to me since the issue with Hermione, but I'd seen them watching me in the hallways.
"Hogwarts will just not be the same without you sneaking around the place," the twin on the right - George I think - bemoaned.
"Don't worry, we'll take good care of the kitchens," Fred said with a snicker. "And we'll be sure to tell the elves of your valiant sacrifice."
"Sacrifice?" I asked in confusion.
The twins grinned.
"Of course," George elaborated. "You're giving up the wonderful Hogwarts meals for French food!"
"A great sacrifice indeed!" Fred said solemnly.
"But I'm not French!" I objected.
"Shush now," Fred laughed. "You don't have to explain your reasons. We understand."
"But all jokes aside," George said, "We actually came down here for a bit more than chit-chat."
"Yeah! We were hoping to meet you in the entry hall," Fred said jovially, "but you slipped past us. Forced us to come down here in the cold and the snow-"
George smacked his brother in the back of the head, before turning back to me.
"Don't mind him. He's just being a drama queen."
"The betrayal!" Fred wailed. "Oh, brother of mine! How could you?"
Rolling his eyes, George ignored Fred's theatric lamentation.
"We got Percy to check in on Hermione," he said. "She wasn't doing too well. Did you manage to apologise?"
"I tried," I told him, "but she's been avoiding me."
Fred nodded.
"The way Percy told it," he said, "She felt betrayed. Said that she realised that you were just pretending to be friends with her and that you 'showed your true nature' the other day."
The twins looked at me expectantly and I sighed.
"Do you know what happened on Halloween?"
"Of course!" Fred said. "Peeves turned the feast into a food fight!"
"Not that," I muttered. "I mean with Hermione?"
The twins tilted their heads in unison. Watching me questioningly.
"Your brother, Ron, he said some rather hurtful things that Hermione overheard," I elaborated. "Called her a know-it-all. I don't want to divulge too much of what she told me, but it was just the latest of a long line of events that was wearing her down, and she ended up crying in the bathroom."
"I think we may need to have a little talk with ickle Ronniekins after this," Fred muttered.
"I ended up helping her out," I continued, "but… I don't know what I was thinking. I just wasn't prepared to deal with her."
"Deal with her?" George probed.
Shaking my head, I tried to think of how to explain that I'd gone into the whole thing with expectations that didn't hold up to reality.
"Well now," George said after I didn't continue. "It seems to me you need to get your shit sorted Carnac."
"So, Hermione crying in the kitchens was what? Her realising you didn't want her around? Her not liking us?"
"I don't know," I frowned. "I think it was partly because she doesn't like your rule-breaking, and partly because I defended you, but I just don't know."
George watched me with a thoughtful expression, before shrugging.
"Lucky for you," he said, "we're still keeping an eye on her."
"We sent one of the friendlier firsties, Neville Longbottom, her way for help in potions," Fred said. "They seem to be getting along alright."
"Just make sure to apologise," George said sternly. "Now, you'd better get going, or you'll miss the train."
Hastily, I grabbed my luggage together and hurried towards the station, waving goodbye to the twins as I went. They waved back jovially, dispelling the air of seriousness that had mired our conversation.
On the train, I managed to find a quiet apartment with some Slytherins and sat down, deep in thought.
I'd put a bit of thought into how I'd treated Hermione Granger. When I'd first met her, I'd treated her like a character to collect, and once she'd begun to follow me around, and I'd realise she was her own person, I'd held her at arm's length, not sure how to react.
Letting out a shaky sigh, I put my head in my hands, ignoring the burn of my blistered fingers.
I had two options; I could sit there, feeling sorry for myself, or I could try and resolve this mess.
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As the train began to move, I stepped out into the hallway and began walking down the train, peering into each compartment I passed.
At the back of the train, I found where Hermione was seated, and with a quick knock on wood, I slid the door open.
"Hermione. Can we talk?"
Before she could respond, the chubby kid she shared the compartment with stood up, barring my way.
"Sh-she doesn't want to talk to you!" Neville Longbottom stammered, hands clenched in fists.
Nodding, I stepped back out of the doorway.
"I just want to apologise," I said sincerely.
Neville glanced back at Hermione, who was still looking at me with wide eyes.
"I wanted to say," I continued, "that what I did was wrong. I disregarded you, and didn't treat you with respect. I didn't know how to handle having someone following me around, but that's no excuse for how I treated you. So, I'm sorry. I know you probably don't want to be friends with me, but the least I can is say I did wrong, and that I'm sorry. "
Hermione narrowed her eyes, scrutinising me. After a long pause, she gave me a small nod.
"I forgive you," she said quietly. "But if you do that again…"
"I won't," I said firmly.
Neville glanced between the two of us before taking his seat, watching me with suspicion.
"I have to ask," Hermione blurted out, "why were you defending the Weasleys?"
Sighing, I shrugged.
"Fred and George… I know their older brother, Charlie. He used to say they were too inquisitive for their own good, and mentioned they experimented with magic…"
I trailed off, realising I'd wanted to befriend them for the same reason as with Hermione. Because of my knowledge of them from the books.
Puck damn I'm a horrible person.
Hermione watched me for a moment, before tilting her head slightly.
"Lavender Brown, one of my dorm-mates, said the twins managed to animate some origami figures with a written charm," she said, looking at me pensively. "Do you think they'd be willing to show how they did it?"
"It's up to them if they want to show their workings," I said hesitantly. "And you know it's all probably going into their pranks."
Hermione nodded, looking thoughtful, and I turned to Neville with a pained smile.
"I'm Carnac Le Fay," I told him, holding out my hand. "I suppose you've heard of me?"
"Yeah," Neville replied, looking at my hand like it was a venomous snake. "I'm Neville Longbottom."
Hopefully, it was only the blisters and not my reputation that was unnerving him.
"Nice to meet you, Neville."
The compartment descended into an awkward silence and I decided I'd overstayed my welcome.
"I'll be off now, you two," I told them, stepping out into the hallway. "I left my trunk unattended with a bunch of Slytherins, and I don't want them getting any ideas. The both of you have a Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," they repeated back as I closed the door.
Walking back through the crowded corridor, I chewed over my interaction with the two Gryffindors and my realisation about the Weasley Twins.
I was forgiven, but I doubt Hermione would forget how I'd walked around on eggshells the entire time she'd been following me.
As for the twins, I would back off a bit. I needed time to see them for who they were, and not who I thought they were.
I hope to Puck I don't make a habit of this.
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I have absolutely no personal context for apologies of that significance, so writing that was a pain. Did it seem realistic enough?
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I spent the carriage ride to Hogwarts Express that next day hiding my burnt fingers and mentally cursing Dumbledore.
I'd managed to try seventeen combinations before my time had run out, and all I had to show for it were the blisters on my fingertips. I was even starting to suspect Dumbledore had put the note there as a red herring.
Misdirection is the perfect distraction after all.
Pressing my fingers together, I winced at the barbs of pain. Thankfully, the Ravenclaw students I was sharing the carriage with were too busy chatting about the upcoming Yuletide festivities and holiday plans to care about the random Hufflepuff in their midst.
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As the carriage pulled to a halt, I held back, not wanting anyone to see my blistered hands. Unfortunately, as soon as the last Ravenclaw stepped out, two familiar redheads poked their heads in.
"How's it Carnac?" the twin on the left said.
"You excited about your Holidays?" the one on the right asked.
"Sure," I said slowly. The twins hadn't talked to me since the issue with Hermione, but I'd seen them watching me in the hallways.
"Hogwarts will just not be the same without you sneaking around the place," the twin on the right - George I think - bemoaned.
"Don't worry, we'll take good care of the kitchens," Fred said with a snicker. "And we'll be sure to tell the elves of your valiant sacrifice."
"Sacrifice?" I asked in confusion.
The twins grinned.
"Of course," George elaborated. "You're giving up the wonderful Hogwarts meals for French food!"
"A great sacrifice indeed!" Fred said solemnly.
"But I'm not French!" I objected.
"Shush now," Fred laughed. "You don't have to explain your reasons. We understand."
"But all jokes aside," George said, "We actually came down here for a bit more than chit-chat."
"Yeah! We were hoping to meet you in the entry hall," Fred said jovially, "but you slipped past us. Forced us to come down here in the cold and the snow-"
George smacked his brother in the back of the head, before turning back to me.
"Don't mind him. He's just being a drama queen."
"The betrayal!" Fred wailed. "Oh, brother of mine! How could you?"
Rolling his eyes, George ignored Fred's theatric lamentation.
"We got Percy to check in on Hermione," he said. "She wasn't doing too well. Did you manage to apologise?"
"I tried," I told him, "but she's been avoiding me."
Fred nodded.
"The way Percy told it," he said, "She felt betrayed. Said that she realised that you were just pretending to be friends with her and that you 'showed your true nature' the other day."
The twins looked at me expectantly and I sighed.
"Do you know what happened on Halloween?"
"Of course!" Fred said. "Peeves turned the feast into a food fight!"
"Not that," I muttered. "I mean with Hermione?"
The twins tilted their heads in unison. Watching me questioningly.
"Your brother, Ron, he said some rather hurtful things that Hermione overheard," I elaborated. "Called her a know-it-all. I don't want to divulge too much of what she told me, but it was just the latest of a long line of events that was wearing her down, and she ended up crying in the bathroom."
"I think we may need to have a little talk with ickle Ronniekins after this," Fred muttered.
"I ended up helping her out," I continued, "but… I don't know what I was thinking. I just wasn't prepared to deal with her."
"Deal with her?" George probed.
Shaking my head, I tried to think of how to explain that I'd gone into the whole thing with expectations that didn't hold up to reality.
"Well now," George said after I didn't continue. "It seems to me you need to get your shit sorted Carnac."
"So, Hermione crying in the kitchens was what? Her realising you didn't want her around? Her not liking us?"
"I don't know," I frowned. "I think it was partly because she doesn't like your rule-breaking, and partly because I defended you, but I just don't know."
George watched me with a thoughtful expression, before shrugging.
"Lucky for you," he said, "we're still keeping an eye on her."
"We sent one of the friendlier firsties, Neville Longbottom, her way for help in potions," Fred said. "They seem to be getting along alright."
"Just make sure to apologise," George said sternly. "Now, you'd better get going, or you'll miss the train."
Hastily, I grabbed my luggage together and hurried towards the station, waving goodbye to the twins as I went. They waved back jovially, dispelling the air of seriousness that had mired our conversation.
On the train, I managed to find a quiet apartment with some Slytherins and sat down, deep in thought.
I'd put a bit of thought into how I'd treated Hermione Granger. When I'd first met her, I'd treated her like a character to collect, and once she'd begun to follow me around, and I'd realise she was her own person, I'd held her at arm's length, not sure how to react.
Letting out a shaky sigh, I put my head in my hands, ignoring the burn of my blistered fingers.
I had two options; I could sit there, feeling sorry for myself, or I could try and resolve this mess.
----------------------------------------------------------------
As the train began to move, I stepped out into the hallway and began walking down the train, peering into each compartment I passed.
At the back of the train, I found where Hermione was seated, and with a quick knock on wood, I slid the door open.
"Hermione. Can we talk?"
Before she could respond, the chubby kid she shared the compartment with stood up, barring my way.
"Sh-she doesn't want to talk to you!" Neville Longbottom stammered, hands clenched in fists.
Nodding, I stepped back out of the doorway.
"I just want to apologise," I said sincerely.
Neville glanced back at Hermione, who was still looking at me with wide eyes.
"I wanted to say," I continued, "that what I did was wrong. I disregarded you, and didn't treat you with respect. I didn't know how to handle having someone following me around, but that's no excuse for how I treated you. So, I'm sorry. I know you probably don't want to be friends with me, but the least I can is say I did wrong, and that I'm sorry. "
Hermione narrowed her eyes, scrutinising me. After a long pause, she gave me a small nod.
"I forgive you," she said quietly. "But if you do that again…"
"I won't," I said firmly.
Neville glanced between the two of us before taking his seat, watching me with suspicion.
"I have to ask," Hermione blurted out, "why were you defending the Weasleys?"
Sighing, I shrugged.
"Fred and George… I know their older brother, Charlie. He used to say they were too inquisitive for their own good, and mentioned they experimented with magic…"
I trailed off, realising I'd wanted to befriend them for the same reason as with Hermione. Because of my knowledge of them from the books.
Puck damn I'm a horrible person.
Hermione watched me for a moment, before tilting her head slightly.
"Lavender Brown, one of my dorm-mates, said the twins managed to animate some origami figures with a written charm," she said, looking at me pensively. "Do you think they'd be willing to show how they did it?"
"It's up to them if they want to show their workings," I said hesitantly. "And you know it's all probably going into their pranks."
Hermione nodded, looking thoughtful, and I turned to Neville with a pained smile.
"I'm Carnac Le Fay," I told him, holding out my hand. "I suppose you've heard of me?"
"Yeah," Neville replied, looking at my hand like it was a venomous snake. "I'm Neville Longbottom."
Hopefully, it was only the blisters and not my reputation that was unnerving him.
"Nice to meet you, Neville."
The compartment descended into an awkward silence and I decided I'd overstayed my welcome.
"I'll be off now, you two," I told them, stepping out into the hallway. "I left my trunk unattended with a bunch of Slytherins, and I don't want them getting any ideas. The both of you have a Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," they repeated back as I closed the door.
Walking back through the crowded corridor, I chewed over my interaction with the two Gryffindors and my realisation about the Weasley Twins.
I was forgiven, but I doubt Hermione would forget how I'd walked around on eggshells the entire time she'd been following me.
As for the twins, I would back off a bit. I needed time to see them for who they were, and not who I thought they were.
I hope to Puck I don't make a habit of this.
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I have absolutely no personal context for apologies of that significance, so writing that was a pain. Did it seem realistic enough?
Boy apologizes to girl for being a boy. Did nothing wrong and was trying his best to help girl. Girl took offense at the slightest thing and took it out on the easiest boy target she could. The one that was trying to actually help her.
Having a little tag-along might have felt rather creepy to him. He was defending the Twins for what the thought were rather good reasons. Instead of letting him explain any of them though? She runs off in a huff and blames him for having opinions and not automatically backing her up.
He's suddenly against her because he doesn't hold to the same opinions and let her pick his friends? Heck, he wasn't even defending the Twins that strongly. But she felt it was an utter betrayal?
If anything, she should be apologizing to him. Sighs, we know this story though. Boy can't be right. Girl is upset so boy is automatically wrong until Girl is happy again.
Having a little tag-along might have felt rather creepy to him. He was defending the Twins for what the thought were rather good reasons. Instead of letting him explain any of them though? She runs off in a huff and blames him for having opinions and not automatically backing her up.
He's suddenly against her because he doesn't hold to the same opinions and let her pick his friends? Heck, he wasn't even defending the Twins that strongly. But she felt it was an utter betrayal?
If anything, she should be apologizing to him. Sighs, we know this story though. Boy can't be right. Girl is upset so boy is automatically wrong until Girl is happy again.
Last edited:
It was awkward as all hell so yeah perfectly realistic for this scene.
The Mirror of Erised
The Christmas holidays passed by far too quickly. My parents asked the usual questions about school, Giles regaled us with stories of his time at Beauxbatons, and I spun tales about how I was finding Hogwarts. It was nice to take a break from the stress and troubles of school, but that respite was short-lived.
Just like with first year, on my return to school, I had to contend with the increased workload, but unlike the last year, I didn't have to suffer through it alone.
"I don't get it!" Neville Longbottom said dejectedly on the final day of term before the Easter break. "Did I get the stirring wrong?"
The two young Gryffindors had actually been the ones to seek me out in the new year. Apparently, whatever residual hang-ups Hermione had about me were far less important than study, and she'd dragged Neville along as well.
"Yeah…" Hermione said, peering at the potions manual as the two of them revised that day's class. "It says here the balding potion needs to be stirred clockwise three times, before one final counterclockwise stir. It doesn't say why though…"
"Clockwise is to reinforce the positive traits of the potion," I said, looking up from my book. "Something to do with the movement of the sun."
"How does that work?" Neville asked hesitantly. The kid had opened up a bit from when I'd first met him, but he was still a little tentative around me. "I mean," he continued, "why does it need good luck?"
I waved the question away in dismission.
"I don't know Neville. Potions is a mess of chemical reactions and ritual magic. I wouldn't worry too much about understanding the inner workings, unless you want to go into that nonsense as a career."
Hermione scoffed at my snub of potions.
"But if he doesn't understand it, he won't know where he makes mistakes!" she complained.
I shrugged. "As I said, understanding Potions is an effort in futility. Go into it at your own risk."
Hermione turned back to the book defiantly, Neville slumped in defeat, and I went back to putting off my Transfiguration essay and enjoying the companionable silence.
I'd missed this. Ever since Charlie and Tonks had left, Cedric had been off with his own friend group and I'd had only the elves to socialise with, so it was nice to just hang out with people. Even if they were firsties.
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Slowly, the silence of the Library was broken, and I listened with half an ear as the two began talking about classmates, gossip, and herbology.
"Parvati was telling me the other day," Hermione said quietly, "that her father's thinking of opening up a new business. He does imports, but apparently, his father, Parvati's grandfather, grew Tartary Lambs in India, and so he wants to start growing some here in Britain."
"Tartary Lambs!" Neville muttered excitedly. "They're so cool! My Nan got me one when I was eight!"
"Tartary Lambs?" I asked, putting down my book. "That name sounds familiar… are they like pumpkin plants, except instead of pumpkins, there's sheep growing at the end of the vines?"
"Yeah!" Neville said excitedly. "Their wool can be used for all sorts of things, and it's very magical, so robe-makers always use it for enchanted clothes."
"Really?" I said mildly. I remembered where I'd heard of the Tartary Lamb before. It was one of the plants in my first year of herbology to take a chunk out of my sleeve.
"I've heard they grow fields and fields of them over in India," Neville said happily. "They also grow lots of other cool plants over there, like blue peaches, and snake vines, and Ponticum trees, and-"
"Anyway," Hermione interrupted before we could get too far off track, "Parvati said her dad bought some land in Essex and has planted some local Tartary Lamb plants that can withstand the cold. He's going to try and get a contract with Madam Malkin's or Gladrags Wizardwear to supply them with wool."
"Awesome," I said. "It's good to know people are trying to break into new markets."
"I know right!" Hermione said excitedly.
Ever since mid-February, when we'd begun these little study sessions, Hermione had been showing an unusual interest in magical Britain, and was taking full advantage of Neville and me by asking about how it worked, and about the little cultural norms.
I suspect the inquisitiveness was sparked by my comment about evil Morgana being a muggle thing. Maybe it had made her realise there was a difference between Wizarding and Muggle culture? Whatever the case, she was certainly doing a good job of grasping the subtle nuances between Magical and Muggle Britain.
Shaking my head, I dislodged that contemplation and tuned out the conversation as Neville began to talk about the Indian herbology sector, instead, focusing on my book.
Enchanted mirrors by Rorim Salg, was a random pick from the library shelves, but so far it was proving insightful, especially the bits about using them for scrying.
"Here's something interesting," I said out loud during a lull in the conversation. "Do either of you know why silver hurts werewolves?"
Hermione looked at me expectantly, while Neville looked at me in apprehension.
"Apparently," I said, "silver has rhabdophobical properties. It kind of rejects magic. That's why werewolves can be harmed by it, and why silver mirrors don't reflect vampires, and why goblin silver is so prized."
"Do other metals react to magic differently?" Hermione asked inquisitively.
"I know gold does," I said. "It absorbs magic. That's why the Philosopher's stone is the only way to permanently create gold. Even the gemino charm can only make faux gold instead of the real thing."
"My Uncle Algie once told me about cold iron," Neville contributed. "He said it didn't like magic…"
I tuned out the conversation, skimming through the book. Communication mirrors, talking mirrors, mirrors to reflect the best or worst qualities of the viewer. It all looked interesting.
Flipping the page, I froze. The Mirror of Erised.
"A source of high hopes and unreachable dreams," I muttered, reading out the description. "It unveils the true aim of one's life, as well as the onlooker's greatest weakness."
"Did you say something?" Hermione asked.
"No…" I said thoughtfully, glancing at my watch. Today was the last day before Easter break and, as such, Quirrell was trapped in the end-of-term staff meeting.
I had fifteen minutes until it concluded.
Finding out my deepest desire may actually be useful.
"I've just got to do something," I said, standing up. "I'll catch up with the two of you later?"
"Where are you going?" Hermione asked. "Have you even finished your Transfiguration essay?"
Giving a deflective grin, I shoved my parchments and books into my bag and hurried off. I didn't have much time.
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Weaving my way between the groups of students milling in the corridors, I managed to make it to the Room of Requirement within minutes, although waiting for people to clear out of the hallway cost me precious time.
Hastily, I opened the doorway to the end of the Stone's gauntlet and rushed inside, casting the notice-me-not-charm on the door and wedging my bag in the gap, before letting out a shaky breath.
Seven minutes.
Steeling my resolve, I marched around in front of the mirror, and stopped, eyes fixed on the lower frame.
I wanted to find out my deepest desire. It was a spur of the moment decision, but now was my chance to find out what was driving me onwards.
Even so, standing before the Mirror of Erised, I felt anxious. What if my greatest desire was something vapid?
Gritting my teeth, I pushed down that stupid thought. If it was vapid or mundane, at least I would know.
Taking one final breath, I looked up, staring my reflection in the eye.
In the mirror, I was older and dressed in a muggle suit. I was leaning against the railing of a balcony, overlooking a futuristic city. Spires of glass and metal towered above green foliage and the red-tiled buildings that looked straight out of Rome or Paris. Hovercraft whirred overhead, and in the streets below, I could see throngs of people and humanoids and aliens bustling and intermingling in open-air markets and public gardens. It was the city of the future, and I knew, deep in my bones, that this was something I had made.
Blinking, I turned away from the mirror, eyes wet. I wanted to create a city? An empire? No, I wanted to make a legacy millions could appreciate.
"I want to leave my mark…" I realised. "That's why I'm doing all this?"
Thinking back, I remembered the ROB's comment about how he could send me home, but how I'd always have the question about 'what if.'
I stepped back, keeping my eyes on the floor. I could see why the mirror was described as a source of high hopes and unreachable dreams. I couldn't imagine how I'd be able to achieve an empire like the one in the mirror. Not in a thousand years.
Making sure to grab my bag, I shuffled out the door, shutting it with a definite click. I would not be coming back here. The Stone wasn't worth me going through that gut-wrenching depiction of unreachable dreams again.
I needed to clear my head. I had something to strive towards now, but first I needed to survive the ROB's tasks.
Just like with first year, on my return to school, I had to contend with the increased workload, but unlike the last year, I didn't have to suffer through it alone.
"I don't get it!" Neville Longbottom said dejectedly on the final day of term before the Easter break. "Did I get the stirring wrong?"
The two young Gryffindors had actually been the ones to seek me out in the new year. Apparently, whatever residual hang-ups Hermione had about me were far less important than study, and she'd dragged Neville along as well.
"Yeah…" Hermione said, peering at the potions manual as the two of them revised that day's class. "It says here the balding potion needs to be stirred clockwise three times, before one final counterclockwise stir. It doesn't say why though…"
"Clockwise is to reinforce the positive traits of the potion," I said, looking up from my book. "Something to do with the movement of the sun."
"How does that work?" Neville asked hesitantly. The kid had opened up a bit from when I'd first met him, but he was still a little tentative around me. "I mean," he continued, "why does it need good luck?"
I waved the question away in dismission.
"I don't know Neville. Potions is a mess of chemical reactions and ritual magic. I wouldn't worry too much about understanding the inner workings, unless you want to go into that nonsense as a career."
Hermione scoffed at my snub of potions.
"But if he doesn't understand it, he won't know where he makes mistakes!" she complained.
I shrugged. "As I said, understanding Potions is an effort in futility. Go into it at your own risk."
Hermione turned back to the book defiantly, Neville slumped in defeat, and I went back to putting off my Transfiguration essay and enjoying the companionable silence.
I'd missed this. Ever since Charlie and Tonks had left, Cedric had been off with his own friend group and I'd had only the elves to socialise with, so it was nice to just hang out with people. Even if they were firsties.
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Slowly, the silence of the Library was broken, and I listened with half an ear as the two began talking about classmates, gossip, and herbology.
"Parvati was telling me the other day," Hermione said quietly, "that her father's thinking of opening up a new business. He does imports, but apparently, his father, Parvati's grandfather, grew Tartary Lambs in India, and so he wants to start growing some here in Britain."
"Tartary Lambs!" Neville muttered excitedly. "They're so cool! My Nan got me one when I was eight!"
"Tartary Lambs?" I asked, putting down my book. "That name sounds familiar… are they like pumpkin plants, except instead of pumpkins, there's sheep growing at the end of the vines?"
"Yeah!" Neville said excitedly. "Their wool can be used for all sorts of things, and it's very magical, so robe-makers always use it for enchanted clothes."
"Really?" I said mildly. I remembered where I'd heard of the Tartary Lamb before. It was one of the plants in my first year of herbology to take a chunk out of my sleeve.
"I've heard they grow fields and fields of them over in India," Neville said happily. "They also grow lots of other cool plants over there, like blue peaches, and snake vines, and Ponticum trees, and-"
"Anyway," Hermione interrupted before we could get too far off track, "Parvati said her dad bought some land in Essex and has planted some local Tartary Lamb plants that can withstand the cold. He's going to try and get a contract with Madam Malkin's or Gladrags Wizardwear to supply them with wool."
"Awesome," I said. "It's good to know people are trying to break into new markets."
"I know right!" Hermione said excitedly.
Ever since mid-February, when we'd begun these little study sessions, Hermione had been showing an unusual interest in magical Britain, and was taking full advantage of Neville and me by asking about how it worked, and about the little cultural norms.
I suspect the inquisitiveness was sparked by my comment about evil Morgana being a muggle thing. Maybe it had made her realise there was a difference between Wizarding and Muggle culture? Whatever the case, she was certainly doing a good job of grasping the subtle nuances between Magical and Muggle Britain.
Shaking my head, I dislodged that contemplation and tuned out the conversation as Neville began to talk about the Indian herbology sector, instead, focusing on my book.
Enchanted mirrors by Rorim Salg, was a random pick from the library shelves, but so far it was proving insightful, especially the bits about using them for scrying.
"Here's something interesting," I said out loud during a lull in the conversation. "Do either of you know why silver hurts werewolves?"
Hermione looked at me expectantly, while Neville looked at me in apprehension.
"Apparently," I said, "silver has rhabdophobical properties. It kind of rejects magic. That's why werewolves can be harmed by it, and why silver mirrors don't reflect vampires, and why goblin silver is so prized."
"Do other metals react to magic differently?" Hermione asked inquisitively.
"I know gold does," I said. "It absorbs magic. That's why the Philosopher's stone is the only way to permanently create gold. Even the gemino charm can only make faux gold instead of the real thing."
"My Uncle Algie once told me about cold iron," Neville contributed. "He said it didn't like magic…"
I tuned out the conversation, skimming through the book. Communication mirrors, talking mirrors, mirrors to reflect the best or worst qualities of the viewer. It all looked interesting.
Flipping the page, I froze. The Mirror of Erised.
"A source of high hopes and unreachable dreams," I muttered, reading out the description. "It unveils the true aim of one's life, as well as the onlooker's greatest weakness."
"Did you say something?" Hermione asked.
"No…" I said thoughtfully, glancing at my watch. Today was the last day before Easter break and, as such, Quirrell was trapped in the end-of-term staff meeting.
I had fifteen minutes until it concluded.
Finding out my deepest desire may actually be useful.
"I've just got to do something," I said, standing up. "I'll catch up with the two of you later?"
"Where are you going?" Hermione asked. "Have you even finished your Transfiguration essay?"
Giving a deflective grin, I shoved my parchments and books into my bag and hurried off. I didn't have much time.
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Weaving my way between the groups of students milling in the corridors, I managed to make it to the Room of Requirement within minutes, although waiting for people to clear out of the hallway cost me precious time.
Hastily, I opened the doorway to the end of the Stone's gauntlet and rushed inside, casting the notice-me-not-charm on the door and wedging my bag in the gap, before letting out a shaky breath.
Seven minutes.
Steeling my resolve, I marched around in front of the mirror, and stopped, eyes fixed on the lower frame.
I wanted to find out my deepest desire. It was a spur of the moment decision, but now was my chance to find out what was driving me onwards.
Even so, standing before the Mirror of Erised, I felt anxious. What if my greatest desire was something vapid?
Gritting my teeth, I pushed down that stupid thought. If it was vapid or mundane, at least I would know.
Taking one final breath, I looked up, staring my reflection in the eye.
In the mirror, I was older and dressed in a muggle suit. I was leaning against the railing of a balcony, overlooking a futuristic city. Spires of glass and metal towered above green foliage and the red-tiled buildings that looked straight out of Rome or Paris. Hovercraft whirred overhead, and in the streets below, I could see throngs of people and humanoids and aliens bustling and intermingling in open-air markets and public gardens. It was the city of the future, and I knew, deep in my bones, that this was something I had made.
Blinking, I turned away from the mirror, eyes wet. I wanted to create a city? An empire? No, I wanted to make a legacy millions could appreciate.
"I want to leave my mark…" I realised. "That's why I'm doing all this?"
Thinking back, I remembered the ROB's comment about how he could send me home, but how I'd always have the question about 'what if.'
I stepped back, keeping my eyes on the floor. I could see why the mirror was described as a source of high hopes and unreachable dreams. I couldn't imagine how I'd be able to achieve an empire like the one in the mirror. Not in a thousand years.
Making sure to grab my bag, I shuffled out the door, shutting it with a definite click. I would not be coming back here. The Stone wasn't worth me going through that gut-wrenching depiction of unreachable dreams again.
I needed to clear my head. I had something to strive towards now, but first I needed to survive the ROB's tasks.
Albus's thoughts.
Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore stared at the trinket upon his desk, deep in thought. To the casual observer, the gyroscope-like bauble with the glass ball at its centre may have seemed like a curiosity, but to Albus Dumbledore, the fact that the silver circlets around the ball were spinning was a sign of great trouble.
Pulling out his wand, Albus wordlessly tapped the silver device, and one by one, the metal bands slowed their spinning and settled into place. Once the last of the rings had stilled, Albus picked up the curio and peered into the glass ball in the centre.
In it, he saw the stone chamber that held his final trap for the Philosopher's stone, as clearly as if he was peering out from the mirror itself. Pensively, he watched the entryway, waiting for whom-ever had triggered his magical tripwire to step through the black flames.
Instead, something else happened. Someone stepped into view from beyond the scope of the device. It was a student. A familiar student.
"By Merlin," Albus said softly, unable to properly voice his thoughts.
Carnac Le Fay, the possible 'Les fileur de destin,' stood in front of the mirror for a long moment, in apparent indecision.
"Is he there for the stone?" Albus mumbled to himself, watching the young man closely.
The boy seemed to have come to a conclusion on whatever thoughts he was wrestling with, as in a sudden burst of determination, he clenched his fists and glared at his reflection.
No, Albus realized. He wasn't there for the stone. He was there for the Mirror of Erised
Albus sat back, confused and comforted by that.
The boy was curious, and he desired the power of knowledge instead of immortality or riches… but why? And how did he know the Mirror was there? How did he even circumnavigate the gauntlet? Was there a back door?
Stroking his beard, Albus leaned forward to watch as Carnac Le Fay abruptly tore his eyes away from the mirror and strode off, back out of sight.
The boy knew too much, Albus thought, staring at the now empty room, but attempting to approach him could lead to issues.
The last thing Albus wanted was to spook the boy. If Carnac Le Fay took exception to Dumbledore, then that was a bridge burned and a chance to harness the power of 'Les fileur de destin' lost. And if word got out that Professor Albus Dumbledore was paying attention to a single student, a Le Fay nonetheless, then people may begin to ask why.
Frowning deeply, Dumbledore stood and placed the bauble back on the shelf. He'd bide his time for now, and wait for an opening to meet the boy in person, but for now, it would pay to have a painting or two to trail the child.
To find out what other secrets Carnac Le Fay may be hiding.
Pulling out his wand, Albus wordlessly tapped the silver device, and one by one, the metal bands slowed their spinning and settled into place. Once the last of the rings had stilled, Albus picked up the curio and peered into the glass ball in the centre.
In it, he saw the stone chamber that held his final trap for the Philosopher's stone, as clearly as if he was peering out from the mirror itself. Pensively, he watched the entryway, waiting for whom-ever had triggered his magical tripwire to step through the black flames.
Instead, something else happened. Someone stepped into view from beyond the scope of the device. It was a student. A familiar student.
"By Merlin," Albus said softly, unable to properly voice his thoughts.
Carnac Le Fay, the possible 'Les fileur de destin,' stood in front of the mirror for a long moment, in apparent indecision.
"Is he there for the stone?" Albus mumbled to himself, watching the young man closely.
The boy seemed to have come to a conclusion on whatever thoughts he was wrestling with, as in a sudden burst of determination, he clenched his fists and glared at his reflection.
No, Albus realized. He wasn't there for the stone. He was there for the Mirror of Erised
Albus sat back, confused and comforted by that.
The boy was curious, and he desired the power of knowledge instead of immortality or riches… but why? And how did he know the Mirror was there? How did he even circumnavigate the gauntlet? Was there a back door?
Stroking his beard, Albus leaned forward to watch as Carnac Le Fay abruptly tore his eyes away from the mirror and strode off, back out of sight.
The boy knew too much, Albus thought, staring at the now empty room, but attempting to approach him could lead to issues.
The last thing Albus wanted was to spook the boy. If Carnac Le Fay took exception to Dumbledore, then that was a bridge burned and a chance to harness the power of 'Les fileur de destin' lost. And if word got out that Professor Albus Dumbledore was paying attention to a single student, a Le Fay nonetheless, then people may begin to ask why.
Frowning deeply, Dumbledore stood and placed the bauble back on the shelf. He'd bide his time for now, and wait for an opening to meet the boy in person, but for now, it would pay to have a painting or two to trail the child.
To find out what other secrets Carnac Le Fay may be hiding.
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With omniversal trading he can easily get rich enough to found his own town/colony in for example mass effect.
Just grab some chocolate bars and sell them in Nomad to aliens for their tech, sell the star drives and weapon systems in mass effect and buy your colony.
Just grab some chocolate bars and sell them in Nomad to aliens for their tech, sell the star drives and weapon systems in mass effect and buy your colony.
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- Location
- Elsewhere
A puck is a small, hard disk used in hockey.
This almost certainly means you're half Canadian.
I'm not sure if you're joking or not, so I'll just say that Puck is a famous fairy.
- Location
- Earth
- Pronouns
- He/Him
It seems strange that he swears by Puck. You'd think with how important names tend to be in their stories, and Carnac being part fairy himself, he would be less likely to use it, rather than more.