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Karkat and the Sleeping Gods

Chapter Text

⇒ Karkat: Wake Up


Your name is Karkat Vantas. You are an Alternian troll who played a game of universal proportions with your friends. You had won the game, after defeating the Lord of Time and now, you think, you have awoken in the universe you created.


Except everything was wrong or slightly out of place like a puzzle with just a few missing pieces. You had memories of being human, you looked human, even. At least to other people. When you yourself had taken a spare moment to look into the mirror you could still see your fins, your gills, your yellow and grey (not dull dark red) eyes. You could still feel the familiar weight of your horns, could still see that your hands (grey skin still) had the pads on them that Dave and Rose had told you were similar to a cat or dogs, just shaped differently to fit a more human hand. You still had your claws.


You were still a troll, and yet for some reason you did not appear as one to other people.


Instead you looked like (and had the memories of) one Harry Potter, orphan child who lived with his aunt, uncle and cousin. Black hair (all over the place like it always is was and will be), small and skinny in the way that reminded you of Dave, skin tanned from being outside (tending to the garden, mowing the lawn) a lot, blunt nails, blunt teeth, poor close-sight (read-sight, whatever the human term for that is) so you had glasses but they weren’t quite right (broken, taped together at the bridge of your nose.


Your human outward appearance (or maybe it was the far weaker sun) helped so that you wouldn’t get nasty sun burns and die from staying out too long. It was something to be thankful for, you guess, despite your confusion as to why you were like this at all or why you got the sense of “this you is every doomed version of you, every memorable memory of the timelines in which you failed as a troll and as a leader, every single other you that got merged with and tacked onto the, well, main timeline version of yourself". This version of yourself. Dave would be better able to understand all the timeline shit but you don’t think he’d be able to explain it any better than you did. In fact, you think that’s exactly how he would have explained it to you.


The best course of action at this point? Take a trip down Harry Potter’s memory lane so far, go with the flow unless something comes up that would make you think otherwise, hope to all that’s sacred that you won’t have to deal with too much too soon, and get your bearings before anyone does or says something that tips them off to you not being normal (not being a normal wizard, or a normal non magic raised wizard, or just a normal human, that you were an alien to them, a mutant alien, that you shouldn’t-).


You and the large man you vaguely recognized from these memories (Hagrid, you think his name was, good name for a troll) were walking down this street toward a bank. You were eleven years old (a little over five sweeps, then) and would be attending a schoolfeeding facility for humans who had magic.


Magic, you think, was similar to psionics and Sburb/Sgrub powers with the exception that they weren’t so restricted and not many people were able to use it.


Better stay quiet for now, as much as you’d really like to just start asking question after question. Hagrid had already proved that he had something of a stubborn loyalty to his own views and hadn’t explained much to you at all. Your mind was still reeling from the influx of human knowledge and information (such as family units and bonds and how they didn't seem as complicated now) but you clamped down on the lost and unease and focused on things you did know. Which, admittedly, wasn't much at all when it came to the world of magical humans.


You didn’t want to so much as touch the memories of the other you’s that were in your head. Human and magic shit were enough to handle without throwing in your messed up self into the mix. At least the information going through your head so far was easy enough to handle.


You decided to busy your mind with other things during the walk, like how you could feel a thrum of power within you on top of an unfamiliar sensation in your back, just underneath your skin, that was starting to itch and become very uncomfortable. When you rolled your shoulders and twisted to test out the muscles of your back you could feel the strange thing moving with you and though it made the weird sensation worse, it didn’t exactly hurt. You resolved to let it be for now.


The power inside of you came in two parts, though even now you could sense they were mingling together and trying to combine into one force. The first was kind of like water and ran through everything inside of you, your blood, your bones, your muscles, everything. The second thing, in part, felt like your blood itself. Every pump of your bloodpusher and the paths your blood took. It was also something more abstract, tied to your blood (to other peoples blood) but also far harder to grasp and understand. You could, given the time to meditate on it, but right now you were approaching a desk in the bank that had a creature you’d never seen or heard of before. Hagrid said something about him but you didn’t pay much attention to what the man was saying.


This creature looked similar to a troll, but in the same way that a monkey looked similar to a human. Except this creature (goblin, was all you cared about from Hagrid’s explanation) had to be just as intelligent as a troll or human. You were faintly aware of how your ratty too large clothes looked on you, how your relatives treated you, how you were self conscious of all the stares you were no doubt accumulating. You were also painfully aware of how human you and real you were different in personality and resolved to not follow the weak, small, scared human wriggler act unless the timing and situation called for it.


You were nearing eight sweeps. You hadn’t been five sweeps old in what felt like twice that amount of time.


“Name and purpose.” The goblin asked in a clearly bored tone that made it sound like he just spoke a statement instead.


“Harry Potter. I’m here to get some money out of my vault.” You speak back, narrow eyed as you squint, trying to make your unfortunately small frame be able to see the teller better, “I was told I had one, anyway.”


“Key?” This time the tone did indicate a question.


“Ah. Here. I’ve got it somewhere.” Your head swivelled over to the man escorting (babysitting) you and snarled.


“Why would you have a key to my vault when this is the first time I’d be accessing it. Did my parents give you access? I know my aunt and uncle sure as fuck didn’t.” Hagrid seemed taken aback by your cursing. You didn’t care and kept up your glare which made the large man nervous.


“Ah. No. Dumbledore gave it to me.” And there was that name again. You knew that Dumbledore was the headmaster of the school you were going to, but that was it. You’d have to find more about this Dumbledore person later. Or now.


“And is Dumbledore my guardian in any legal capacity?” You shot back, glancing between him and the goblin teller.


“Dumbledore is the magical guardian of all magical orphans and muggleborns.” Something about this smelled distinctly like rotting fish.


Your frown deepened, turning fully to the goblin teller, “May I request to have any and all other persons access revoked or even, shit, even just fucking suspended until I can personally approve them? Or is that not possible and I’d have to go through this Dumbledore guy to do that?”


The goblin gave a wide, fang-filled grin, “Of course we can do that, Mr. Potter. Your magical guardian will still have limited access as we cannot change this unless you become emancipated or until you turn seventeen, but he will only be able to take out a limited amount of money per month.”


“Now wait a minute Harry you don’t have to do that-”


“Hagrid,” You interrupted him, “I don’t know the guy, and he has influence over potentially dozens, maybe even hundreds of other kids at a time. Surely he won’t care if one of them has some independence enough to take care of their own damn self.”


“Harry,” And now Hagrid was starting to sound condescending of all things.


That didn’t sit well with you at all.


You ignored him again and looked back at the goblin, “May I just have something so I can take money out of my account wherever I’m at so I can get on with getting my fucking school supplies, sir?” You asked in a semi-polite tone since you think you might like goblins now. The teller’s grin hadn’t left him.


“We can, yes, for a fee of course.” You shrug.


“Depends on how poor that Dumblefuck guy left me.”


Now, if you hadn’t been attracting attention earlier, you certainly did now with how loud the goblin was laughing and Hagrid’s stunned sputterings.


You don’t know what was so funny about any of this. You just wanted to grab whatever money you had and leave and buy what essentials you could and make due with what you couldn’t get. Maybe borrowing from a student that you could at least somewhat tolerate.


Several minutes passed and you now stood at the entrance to a clothes shop, Madam Malkins.


You’d been wrong. Your parents had been rich as fuck and not even Dumble-fucking-bore could get his hands into all of it. Apparently there were limitations even with magical guardianship that he’d only just barely been abiding by, with him, and now the headmaster was restricted even more.


At least now with your money situation handled, mostly, you could breathe a little easier with the security of no one being able to get their grimey claws on your shit. The teller asked before you left (and left Hagrid back at the bank) that you return to Gringotts after you got your shopping done. Something to do with meeting with your family’s account manager and discussing a few things with him.


Taking a breath to steady yourself in case the rest of your day turned pear shaped and you had to abscond the fuck out of Diagon Alley, you pushed the door open and walked up to the witch at the counter.


“Oh. Hello dear. First year at hogwarts?” You nod your head, distracted by the thoughts running through your head. You already bought a trunk and the shop owner there was kind enough to teach you how to shrink it and return it to normal size, so space wouldn’t be a problem. You had space for days in there and had payed at least ten extra galleons to get it warded to the highest point the owner offered and then add the feather light charm on top of it.


Magic was incredible.


One of the other employees there lead you to an area where they would be taking measurements to get your robes fitted for you. You asked for an extra set of casual robes because you really, really wanted out of these giant ragged hand-me-downs.


It was high on your growing list of priorities.


Humming a tune you were startled to hear a voice beside you, making you twitch and stop halfway from drawing on the sickles in the sylladex that still existed for you (you weren’t entirely sure if it was only you, as you hadn’t had the chance to check Trollian yet). You were glad you hadn’t, because the person standing there was a wriggler (like you were now, like you were again, human and not a troll but still).


He also had hair as light as Dave’s, skin just as pale, his eyes being an obvious difference that jarred you. They were silver, not red.


You could sense Time around him like you could sense Blood within you, even if you couldn’t really understand anything about why this was or what it even meant.


Was…was this Dave?


You only half listen to the other boy as you try to “look” closer with whatever sense was alerting you to the Blood and Time stuff. Maybe your other senses to, just to cover all your bases there. Yep, this was Dave. The apple scent was a big clue but the bond that you could more feel like a physical sensation than outright see (as would be Kankri’s territory) was what sold it. It wrapped around you like a warm soft blanket.


So why didn’t he recognize you?


“Hey. Are you even listening to me?” You jolted out of your thoughts, fighting back the urge to pick at your claws (nails) and bite your lip til it bled.


“Sorry. I was lost in thought. No, I don’t fucking know what house I’ll be in. For all I know, I could be kicked out for not belonging in any of them, or I do get placed in a house but it's only because I’m not good enough for the others.” Because at least you were paying attention enough to know what he’d asked you and what he’d been saying earlier, such as his name (not Dave), “And my name’s Harry. Call me whatever else though, I don’t give a shit.”


If Dave (Draco, his name is Draco now) was taken aback by your swearing, he didn’t mention it, though he did raise his eyebrows in the way you knew said “okay that was something I didn’t expect”. The employees thankfully weren’t near enough to have heard you, lest they try (and fail) to get you to stop.


“Alright then Harry.” He continued on to ask who your parents were and if they were both magical.


You shrugged, “I mean yeah they were both magical but they’re also both dead so…yeah that’s a thing I guess. Raised by muggles who told me jack diddley fucking squat about magic or my parents to. So wherever you’re going with this, just know that I have zero percent of an idea of why any of it should matter.”


You excused yourself to change into the extra set of clothes you’d ordered, paid for the others that were ready for you and placed those in your trunk. Your robes fit well on you and were comfortable, a contrast to what you had been wearing before. Draco was at the shop entrance with what you could tell to be his father, but there was also a strange feeling around him to. It left the taste of salt on your tongue more than anything else.


“And who is this?”


“This is Harry,” You gave a small, quick bow of your head as Draco introduced you. Outside of the shop, the alley was bustling with more people and voices than you had ever been witness to. Even in the most crowded of dream bubbles they had all been versions of people you knew, or were the dancestors of those people. Now there were dozens of strangers and their children and their pets. There was meat not too far off. There was what you think is a metallic scent (or at least you associate it with that because it lingered on all the coins you used) everywhere. Your horns were tingling something fierce from all the magic energy (close enough to psionic energy, apparently) around you.


You hadn’t had the time to notice all this earlier, lost in thought as you had been.


“Harry…” Draco’s father (the human term jumped to your mind more easily now than it used to) drew out, clearly waiting for you to give him your surname. It gave you something to focus on.


“Potter, if you must know. Not like it fucking matters if I’m famous or not because like I told Draco here, I know jack shit about pretty much any magical thing you’d throw at me.”


“Harry Potter? And you...frequently use language like that?” You blew out a breath, reaching up and pushing back enough of your hair to show your scar for a couple seconds as a response.


“Yes and yes. Now. Do you mind if I tag along for the rest of this shopping trip, or…?” You left the question hanging there, watching as who you think is Draco’s mother join them just in time to see the scar. Great, now you’ve left them all stunned.


“Of course you can.” Draco’s mom practically cooed, snapping the two guys out of whatever silence you had accidentally put them under.


“I thought we were going to get me a broom next.”


“Draco we can get that later.”


As you followed along you chose to stay silent unless one of them was asking you a question. You shopped for books that ended up being larger in number than what was on the list. One of the additions being about wizarding culture and traditions in the United Kingdom. A second was about runes and rituals involving them that had interested you. The third was titled Deities and Spirits Throughout Magical History and the fourth had been a surprise from Draco’s mom (Narcissa) when she’d split off from the group as you made a stop at the apothecary. The book she’d gotten was on Blood Magic.


When you’d asked, suspiciously, why she’d picked this one out specifically she just said it felt right.


As you left with even more items in your trunk than, again, was strictly necessary, you and Draco got to talking again. This time, the topic was Quidditch. You snarked at each other and had to direct each other back on topic when you veered off because Draco was explaining something about the wizarding world that you didn’t understand. He told you (gesturing with his hand and eyes lit up in the way that he-as-Dave often did when talking about photography or mixing music) about most of the positions and why you needed a broom to fly (it was the enchantments, not the broom itself) and how it was the biggest sport in wizarding Europe.


“Okay so what does the seeker do then?” He’d left that part out, it seems, because that’s the part he was wanting to tryout for, when he was able to next year. However his description of what the position did left you confused.


“Okay wait a minute,” You say as he was going through different wands of the Ollivander’s wand shop. The owner of the place had taken one look at the two of you before grinning so wide you idly thought his face would split in half. You’d let Draco go first and the Ollivander guy had taken to whistling a tune as he searched for the one that your...friend, you guess, would use.


“So the seeker, if they catch the snitch, gets award a metric fuck ton of points, their team wins, and the game is over. Did I hear that right?” You ask, folding your arms across your chest.




“So why the hell would you even have any of the other positions? Why have a point system at all if the seeker can just win the game for you? Why have the other players do anything other than, maybe, protect said seeker which wouldn’t even require as many players as there apparently are? How much do the points even matter? Do you need a certain amount before the snitch is able to be caught?”


You stop yourself as Draco just rolled his eyes, gave you a, “I’ll tell you later.” and then turned to try out yet another wand. This one was the fourth, you think, as it gave a shower of brilliant red and shining silver sparks. The magic pulse sent a shiver through you, and then Ollivander was telling you about the wand.


“Aspen wood, good for those who are accomplished duelists, or destined to be so, at any rate.” Duelist, swordfighter, “They do especially well with martial magic. Dragon heartstring core. Twelve inches, sturdy.”


And then it was your turn, and the atmosphere around you took a different turn. Instead of the lighthearted and happy tone, it fell into something tense and waiting.


Ollivander’s first wand for you was apple wood. You swallowed a laugh, though the smile on your face you couldn’t fight. The next one was a phoenix feather core that, when you waved it, created a blast of wind that shook everything in the shop that was not bolted down. Clearly not a match. The third one was dragon heartstring core and acacia wood, which, while better, wasn’t right either.


Then the man tried different wood combinations with the dragon heartstring, to see if it wasn’t just the wood type or the combination that was off. There was only one other try at the phoenix feather core, paired with holly, but while that did something (it was warm, too warm, hot, hot) you had to drop it before the damage (a headache and a burned chair) could get much worse.


With each wand you tried it was like trying to force that energy inside you, the one attached to Blood but wasn’t, through a small tube while having a lake’s worth of the stuff. Too much is far too easy. Too much, and that tube would either overflow, or it would break.


“Lets try a unicorn hair one.” He says as he takes away the stack of (eight? Yes, eight) wand containers and pulls out another one, “Black Walnut, Unicorn tail hair, Nine inches, Springy.”


You really only cared about the wood and core, seeing as you had no idea what the other two attributes were even supposed to mean.


This one was closer. It was more like trying to push your magic through jello (a strange human food you had and surprisingly liked) though so, to your disappointment and gnawing, growing anxiety, this one wasn’t right either.


Mr. Ollivander wasn’t dismayed. In fact he looked ecstatic, rushing immediately to get one with a different wood. Willow felt like pushing through mud and Beech was like sand slipping through your fingers and sticking to your hands.


He pulled out one with Ash wood, and when you flicked it, letting your magic trickle through it, it was like water. It was like soaking in your ablution trap (bathtub) on a hot dim season night. It was relaxing.


But something was missing. It was so close but something wasn’t right still that it almost hurt. As it was, you moved so fast your hand blurred, placing the wand on the desk and took a step back.


“Not that one.” God, you sounded awful, “It was close. Really, really close.” You wanted it to be right but there apparently was some truth to the wand choosing the wizard.


“How close, Harry?” Draco asked from beside you, voice low.

“Wood. Core, sort of. Not quite. Something about it wasn’t...wasn’t enough?” You shoved down the emotion sphere stuck in your throat and tried to push the ache in your chest down along with it.


Mr. Ollivander hummed, thinking as he took the wand and left to search for another one.


You waited for five minutes before the man came back with a wand that looked the same except for it being a bit longer, “There have been phoenixes who have given wing feathers and crest feathers, dragons who have freely given their scales and loose fangs.” He started before looking up to pin you with a stare, “Unicorns have sometimes given their horn shavings, but I’ve only ever known of one who freely gave some of their blood.”


He held the wand out to you in open palms, which you hesitantly (a little shaky, to), picked up in your right hand (the hand you use most despite you being able to use both well enough). You let out a breath, relaxed, and gave a flick of your wrist while opening the floodgates.


It was like the ground gave out beneath you. You felt completely submerged in the water sensation you’d felt earlier. It was up to your grub scars, then your torso gills, your neck gills, your ear fins, your horns. You felt weightless and free and you felt as if you could outrun anything and-




Someone was chuckling, oh, right, it was Mr. Ollivander, “It looks like my gut was right. Again.”


“How much for it?” You faintly heard yourself ask.


“Seven galleons.” You fish out the coins and place them on the desk, half listening to the speculation on why unicorn blood (freely given, not stolen, not drained to death), and not tail hair for the core that Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were conversing about in hushed tones. You felt like you were walking on clouds, Draco jumping in to steer the conversation to how you would probably get something crazy rare as an animal once they walk into the pet shop.


You’d already, not even within an hour of “waking up” as it were, have given people the notion that you are not normal (you were famous, okay, you were expected to be great, okay). You can deal with this. You can handle whatever else this universe had to throw at you. All you had to do now was show people that your being special and famous and, damn, some kind of savior, didn’t mean you didn’t have normal wizard problems.


On one horn your instincts were screaming at you to blend in, look small, hide away your abnormalities and pray to whoever would listen that no one powerful took notice and decided you shouldn’t exist (which, they would probably be right). On the other horn, you just wanted to rip off this disguise, show off everything even the weird feelings in your back that were an ever present sensation, and just tell everyone straight up that you were their god, a creator of their universe; not hiding like half of you wanted to and screamed at you that going undetected was the only sensible thing you could do right now.


Before you could think any further, however, an owl (day, no, night-time feather beast) decided that now was the time to introduce it's talons to your poor, unprotected self.

Chapter Text

⇒ Karkat: Do Something

You were a bit too busy trying not to fall over due to a bird landing on your shoulder to do something sensible like shoo the nighttime feather beast away. You were also too busy staring at said feather beast because this wasn’t normal. You didn’t even mean normal as in normal behavior, because of course it wasn’t these things were tame and magical. What you meant was that this one in particular wasn’t some dumb creature after all.

The image of the owl wavered, and you saw a small, maybe a foot high feathered (winged) human looking (vaguely) creature in it's (her?) place. She still had claws and bird feet, and had wings in place of arms and hands, her tail feathers were still there to, but aside from that most of her looked like a ridiculously tiny human. Oh, and there were the eyes, and the feathers for hair, but really.

Well then. Better suck it up, assume that no one else could see this for a while until you had the chance to talk, and ask this being what and who she even was. Seriously.

“Ah. Looks like she took a likin’ to ya. Snowy there normally keeps to herself, but it seems she’s found a human she’s willing to leave with.” The shop owner, or at least the guy who was behind the counter when they’d first walked in, commented in a light and happy tone.

“^That’s right! He’s mine! All the ofur creatures here are dumb. Do mew even know how long I’ve been waiting?^” The question it seemed was directed at you, even though from a quick glance around, no one had heard her or seen anything they considered odd, “^Ugh. Just my luck. Well, I know mew can hear me, so I’ll go ahead and introduce myself. I am Davepeta. Feel furee to cawll me whatefur.”

“How much for the owl, sir?”

“Nine galleons for her, a cage, and other supplies to take care of her.”

Davepeta? Just your luck. You walk out of the store with a Draco that had gotten an “owl” he named Artemis. That owl being magical, you could tell, somehow, but also had to be a mix of some kind. There was no way Earth owls could grow to that size normally. Lusii could have. Lusii often did. But Earth creatures? The only ones comparable to their Lusii equivalents in how large they could be were the elephants, giraffes, and you think whales but you’d never seen one even in Earth movies, only heard references to their size.

“Shouldn’t you want to be with Dave?” You hissed to the former game sprite whose color scheme prevailed even now, orange-brown skin and burnt orange feathers, orange eyes and pale green hair. It seemed the only thing green besides their hair was was their primary and secondary flight feathers in a spring green tone that faded into a golden color before becoming that bright orange that somehow worked with everything else.

“^Nope. Now. What’re mew gonna cawll me? If mew go with Davepeta people are bound to ask why.^”

“I haven’t had time to even skim through any of my books yet for a reasonable name and explanation, calm your shit. We aren’t even done shopping and if anyone catches on that I’m not in fact just mumbling to myself they’re gonna look at me like I’m crazy.”

“^Mew mean Dave, or Draco, whatefur, will look at mew crazy.^”

“How do you even know about that?” Davepeta held up a claw as they replied.

“^Furmer Game Sprite.^” Like that explained everything. You groaned while hitting your head against your palm. It probably did explain everything.


Everything else went smoothly, believe it or not. You ducked back into Gringotts with the Malfoys (you hadn’t seen Hagrid yet but weren’t too worried) and found the goblin who you’d spoken to earlier that day.

“Mr. Potter. Mr, Mrs, and Heir Malfoy.” He said in greeting with a half snarl half sneer on his face. You wondered briefly how he got his face to contort like that before attempting to mimic it yourself.

“Okay so. What kind of shit do I have to do here?” You ask after giving up when you clearly failed but surprised the teller anyway. Somehow. At least you think you surprised him. Maybe you hadn’t.

Davepeta had taken to perching, or sitting, on your shoulder, giving running commentary on the passerby’s with their faerie (I’m still a spurrite, just not a game one.”) knight of heart (“that’s my clawspect!”) powers. This person had a bad breakup last week but hey they’ll find someone soon. That couple is my new OTP they’re purrfect for each ofur. Things like that. That guy is nasty let’s avoid him, thanks.

Now however, the sprite was raising an eyebrow at the goblin who you think could see them and not their owl disguise.

“You will be meeting with your family’s account manager. There has been...troubling evidence found if you don’t mind my saying.” The teller looked like he really didn’t care whether or not you minded, so you chose the route that had you (and Davepeta) soon seated in a well furnished room that had two large couches facing each other and a fireplace roaring off to the side.

Davepeta sat on the back of the couch above your head (curse your minuscule height) and in a show of boredom or vanity (or both), began preening their wings. With their face. Because they didn’t have arms or hands. Yeah.

“So. I was thinking of giving you a name that doesn’t start with a D or R,” You start off as you skim through one of your books while you waited for your account manager to get everything he would apparently need, “And I was thinking Hedwig sounded nice.”

It did sound nice. In Alternian it came from words that meant something like wilderness and you think songbird or maybe journey. Either way, it wasn’t something embarrassing like Karkat. Who named a grub “care (for) and condemn (or curse)” anyway?

“Name request apurroved.” You sighed, closing the book with a thump conveniently as who you assumed to be you account manager walked into the room.

“Hello, Heir Potter.” You gave the goblin an unimpressed look between dropping that Hogwarts book back into your truck, “Or should I greet you with more groveling, God of Blood?”

You choked on your own spit to the point where Davepeta hopped down beside you and the goblin whose name you didn’t know actually looked a little concerned.

Once you caught your breath and steadied your heart you gave the magical being a halfhearted glare, “If that was meant to be a joke it wasn’t fucking funny. I would ask how you knew but hell if weirder things haven’t happened to me.”

“It is no joke, Blood Knight. I do not know why you have chosen to disguise yourself as human, but as a mortal it isn’t my place to question. I suspect, though, that most magical beings you come across may be able to see through the ward, just as you in turn can see through any of theirs.” The goblin explained with a head tilt toward Davepeta, “I am named Silvergear, and for three generations I have been the Potters’ account manager. I and those under me have searched for any discrepancies in your vaults currently and what should still be there, and what we have seen is what had us ask for you to come back sooner, rather than later.”

You gave a nod of your head as Davepeta, calmed now that you weren’t at risk of passing out into unconsciousness, flitted back to the top of the couch behind your head. With the cue to continue, Silvergear pressed on to describe in more detail how much Dumbledore had been taking from your vault (again was the statement of him having barely skimmed by with what was reasonable and legal), with the money being traced further not into his account but to two other accounts. One had Dumbledore’s name attached even though it was not tied to his family, and the other? Well. A few hundred galleons had been going to the Dursleys. Every. Single. Month.

The memories associated with these human relations of yours rushed over you and you didn’t care to stop them. They had done nothing for you (for Harry), they had given their own son anything he asked for while you (Harry) got, what? A cupboard as a room. Hand-me-down clothes that were far too big. A sock and a clothes hanger were the norm for Christmas presents if you got any gift at all for the holiday and God forbid they ever do anything for you on your birthday. You were laden down with a list of chores you would never be able to complete in the time they give you and then they punished you in some manner afterward. No food? Well, that wasn’t anything new (Alternia sucked and that’s all there is to say on the matter) but still. Sneaking around the house at night to get something in you after somehow (magically) unlocking your (the) cupboard was hardly fun.

They’d done more but you had seen and remembered enough to rise back out of your mind with fury in your eyes. The money may have been given out with good intentions, you would give him the benefit of the doubt there, but it stood to reason that you hadn’t seen any of it and the Dursleys had instead splurged on it and grew content with it always coming in every month so long as they kept you, what? Alive maybe?

Fuck. That.

“Anything else?” You manage to make your words clear through the growl ripping through you from your chest and up through your throat. Davepeta didn’t seem all that happy either.

“Only that several items are now missing from the main Potter vault, most of them heirlooms of varying age from four generations back to forty. Though one has been on record to be even older.”


“Only for one, though it had been withdrawn by your...mortal father and so if it had in fact been stolen from him, it would have to have been after the withdrawal.”

“Fuckin’ dickholes everywhere Gog dammit.” You mumble to yourself before taking a breath that failed to calm you down, “Alright. What happened to the others?”

“We’ve identified four in total outside of the one that Dumbledore has in his possession. The first was lost thirty four generations ago, a staff that doubles as twin blades.” You nearly cursed aloud. Terezi’s weapon of choice was among the Potters possessions? How?

Silver gear continued, “The second we haven’t been able to track down yet though I can assure you that we will. The third and forth were found as a pair and are being returned to the Potter vaults as we speak.”

“Okay,” You paused once to formulate how you’d say this, “I don’t know what the other heirlooms are. I’m sure they’re important. But that staff? I need it back.” You needed to find Terezi and return it to her.

“Lord Blood? There is also the matter of your mortal parents will.” Lord? Seriously? You wanted to refuse the title but then what else was he going to call you if he refused to use your mortal name? Your real name that no one but your Crew had any business calling you in this universe as far as you were concerned? Okay maybe. Maybe only a chosen few outside of them if they needed to know. But Silvergear currently did not rank among those yet.

Besides. None of the others what contacted you yet. If they were even “awake” and remembered at all. Not that you would wish all of the confusion that these memories of more than a dozen timelines has caused you on anyone else.

“...Okay. What about it?” You were cautious. After all of this with the money and the missing heirlooms you were pretty hesitant about diving horns first into yet another issue that Dumbledore, even if he wasn’t the cause of, was at least a part of or had some kind of indirect influence in.

“Specifically? Their will was never read.”

You were going to lose it. Your temper will have physical effects on you through your disguise. You were going to spit venom and breathe fire and in all your godly power make whoever fucked you over This Time be in for a universe of hurt.

Trolls didn’t have wills in the same way humans did, all laid out and organized with paperwork. Not Alternian trolls unless you were a teal blood or higher. Instead your quadrants would take one thing that you owned as a keepsake while the rest was sold off and the hive demolished to make room for some fresh out of the caverns wriggler. For the Potter Family to be as old and wealthy as they were with, at the time of your mortal parents deaths, other relatives dead, that their wills weren’t was just wrong. How were their friend-moirails to know what your ancestor-parents wanted them to have outside of their keepsake?

“How soon can it be read?”

Chapter Text

⇒ Karkat: Don’t Go Home


“As soon as we can allow for it to be opened, which should at maximum be a week before you leave for Hogwarts. That way any long distance friends, relatives or others in the will have time to show up.”


That was what Silvergear had told you as you left him with a thank you and a goodbye, rejoining the Malfoys who had been waiting for you. You hadn’t thought they’d stick around.


It was also about the time that Hagrid showed up again looking worried and winded.


“Sorry.” Was the automatic response, “I didn’t think you’d be looking for me. This whole time?”


The giant of a man gave a nod of his head and, well, made some kind of attempt at greeting the Malfoys.


“What’re you doing with them?” He’d asked you like you had made some kind of dumb decision or mistake.


“What do you mean by that?”


And back and forth that went for a good few rounds before you flippantly told him, no, repeated that you could take care of yourself and then said that you were with them because Draco is a friend you made and you had wanted to stick around and talk to him more. It’s not like you’d get the chance to do so again before school started, you had pointed out with maybe a passing jab at your relatives complete with some creative cursing. Anything by owl wouldn’t be allowed at all, and anything by “normal” mail would take long enough that you may only get a letter or back and forth once around before school. The farther they were from your ever so loving home, the longer it took for mail to get there and back. Even owl mail couldn’t possibly get around that without something like teleportation and then the whole concept of owl mail may just be obsolete because you could just teleport your mail instead.


You could have gone on longer but thought better of it in case you delved into Dave’s rambling metaphor territory any further.


One look at Draco and his dad told you they’d found it all entertaining while Narcissa you think would be taking notes if she’d had the pen and paper. Or a phone. Wait no. Damn. You’d have to hide your phone wouldn’t you? What was even the norm for phones? Would you even get internet connection to find your friends? What if you found more of them at Hogwarts but none of them remembered anything either? Would giving Terezi, whoever she was now, her staff be enough for her to remember everything?


What about Dave? Rose? Kanaya? Vriska? Fuck. Did you even want Gamzee to remember? Could you even make that choice?


Karkat Vantas stop that train of thought right now, you thought harshly. You know what kinds of places it will lead if you don’t. You can’t just tune out like that, at least when there are people around. Especially when there’s people around.


Draco waved a hand in front of your face by now, “We’re heading back home.” He said and your bloodpusher sank.


You were going to be expected to go back to your relative’s house. Maybe you could avoid it. Ask if there was anywhere like the Leaky Cauldron, or maybe go with Draco and his family if they’d allow it.


You weren’t sure if they would, though.


“Hey uh, quick question. Is there anywhere like a hotel around here?” You saw Narcissa’s eyes narrow as she and the other two adults were giving you curious or skeptical looks.


“Well. There is the Leaky Cauldron but that place is, well, also a pub. Lucius,” So that’s what his name was, “Do you know of anywhere outside of Diagon Alley?”


“Depends on why he’s asking.” Lucius replied. You gulped, hating yourself a little (or a lot) even though you had a good reason for this. You wouldn’t be taking advantage of these people.


“My relatives don’t like me.” You explained in a bored, flat tone, feeling Davepeta shift where they were perched on your shoulder to lay a wing on your head behind your horns, “They don’t like me and they don’t like magic.”


No one knew of another hotel or anything like it close by. Not one that was magical anyway. Hagrid gave you a train ticket to a King’s Cross Station, Platform 9 ¾. You, Hagrid, and the Malfoy’s parted ways after you assured Narcissa and Lucius, and Hagrid, that you would be okay getting home by yourself. Seriously. Even though you wouldn’t be going home at all. As far as you were concerned, in this universe, you didn’t have one.


You think Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy knew of your plan but since they hadn’t said anything, you didn't care to dwell on it. Hagrid took some convincing but he got you to the Leaky Cauldron anyway thinking that your relatives would pick you up from there.


Not that they would, but he didn’t know that. He didn’t need to, really. What he didn’t know, in this instance, wouldn’t hurt him.


You talked to Tom and got a room, paying a few galleons (four, you counted) for the month you’d planned to stay here until school started. Roughly one per week.


The first few days passed with you reading through your school books, finishing the history one before going through the others. You saved the Blood Magic and Rune books for last.


Davepeta has free reign of the room, the window being left open most days and during a couple warmer nights for them to come and go as they pleased. The sprite came back one day though with Draco’s owl tagging along behind, giving you a chance to actually use the owl treats you’d bought.


You took the rolled up paper that was tied to one of the owl’s legs and, unraveling it, found it to be a letter. It wasn’t just from Draco either, even though it was, apparently, all in his handwriting.




I do hope I can call you Harry, even though you have called me you’re friend multiple times. It’s not an uncommon thing for friends, and acquaintances, to call each other, at least in this part of the Wizarding World, by their surnames still.


But I, and my parents, aren’t sending this to you just to give you lessons on our culture. We all want to know how you’re doing, and if you really did go back to your muggle aunt and uncle. You did say that they didn’t much like you, or magic but, did they take the news well? That you have magic?


Mother is wondering if you have started to read through the book she got you. I also remember that you picked up a book about Runes. Have you read it yet? Is it interesting?


It was your birthday recently, right? What did you get? Was there anything this year that you wanted that you got?




The questions went on for about half the page. You felt a warmth in your chest this seemed like such a Dave thing, to ramble on, even though he would do so with half completed thoughts and switch to a vastly different topic by the end if you let him go for that long, that he’d forget what he’d been trying to say when he started talking.


Draco, at least in written format, rambled with more...coherency. Separating his thoughts out and finishing them to a degree before jumping to something new. Probably because he had his parents help him where he might not know what to say or how to form the questions in his head. Even with the change, though, you could recognize it and found your bloodpusher, your heart (you knew by now that you’d be jumping from one term to the other for many things often enough that you just didn’t care at this point, settled on using both, and moved on), because he didn’t remember anything, he wasn’t Dave, he was Draco right now, and it wasn’t fair.


Oh, but remembering would mean remembering that goddamn batshit pirrouetting off the handle insane Guardian he had and the asinine bullshit he’d been put through for the first six sweeps of his life because of said inept, wretched, shitspewing maggot and just- It wouldn’t be fair to Him to have to have those memories again just because you wanted him to remember You.


In your internal monologue you almost forgot to give the owl his treats, let Davepeta know you were okay, just thinking, and after setting your book as a hard surface for the parchment, begin writing a reply.














After sending it off you commit to reading through the Runes book only for the day, finding it far more interesting than you had thought at first. You also made a mental note to ask in your next letter some questions about things in the culture and traditions book that you’d found confusing.


The next morning came, it was dark when you woke up so that meant you didn’t get a whole lot of sleep, not that it was unusual for you. You sighed and turned on a lamp light (that somehow ran on magic) and pulled out the Deities and Spirits book to get a head start on it since the Runes one came in sections. You’d finished the part that went through beginner’s theory before deciding to put it down since after that was practical and you couldn’t exactly practice that just yet. At least. You didn’t want to without someone there in the event that you (inevitably) fuck something up.


This one though?


It hit a nerve.


How the fuck did something like this exist?


MAIN TITLE/NAME: Knight of Blood

GOD OF: Unconditional Love, Blood (Shared with the Seer), the Arts, Contracts and Treaties, the Hearth, Crabs (arguably all semi-aquatic species), Moon and Tides (in certain circles)

OTHER TITLES/NAMES: The Peacemaker, The Forger of Bonds

SYMBOLS: Karkinos the Crab (And its corresponding Zodiac sign), the Sickle, Full or Crescent Moon (in certain circles), A common symbol for injuries (seen below, shared with the Seer of Blood)


You didn’t read the rest of what was, apparently, your own fucking...three page section, front and back, to this, this thing!

Who else was in here?!

You flipped through the pages until you come across what could only be Dave’s part, the fifth one in.


MAIN TITLE/NAME: Knight of Time

GOD OF: Fire, Heat, Time (Shared with the Maid and the Witch), Wealth, Crows (some circles believe the god to appear part crow, others say he only has the wings of the bird while others still argue that they are simply his favored and sacred animal and nothing more), Music


SYMBOLS: Corvus the Crow, the Broadsword, the Broken Sword, Time symbols (Gears, Hourglasses, Clocks, etc. Shared with the Maid and Witch of Time)


You didn’t really read what Other Titles Dave had. All of this was getting to you. You weren’t sure you were thinking anything intelligible, either.


MAIN TITLE/NAME: Heir of Breath

GOD OF: The Sky, Storms, Flight...


SYMBOLS: Hammer, Clouds, Tornadoes, A common symbol for wind (Shared with the Page and Rogue of Breath)


MAIN TITLE/NAME: Witch of Space

GOD OF: Space (Shared with the Sylph and Maid), The Hunt, The Earth...


MAIN TITLE/NAME: Sylph of Space

GOD OF: Space (Shared with the Witch and the Maid), Creativity, the Undead...

What the actual, literal fuck? You closed the book with a heady thud, it seemingly thicker than when you’d first picked it up but hey, this was a magical object it could probably do that. Davepeta, who’d stuck around, flinched and you nearly let loose another set of curses because seriously, Vantas, pay more attention to your surroundings it’s not that hard!


Draco’s reply came back at the end of the week. You had gone through more theory in the Runes book but only gotten through this introduction blurb in the Blood Magic book, distracted as you were by your thoughts leading back to that book. That stupidly insufferable book.




Why don’t you think you’ll be good at anything? You have that wand and the wand chooses the wizard, right? I’d certainly be willing to believe it now that I’ve seen, you know, what it took to find that wand for you in the first place. Do you mind telling how that felt by the way? Mine was like hot cocoa and sitting in front of a fire before Yule and wow this sounds....kind of stupid now that I’m putting it into words. You don’t have to tell me.


But. About your muggle relatives, that’s. That’s terrible! I’d hate being lied to like that if it were me. I’m sorry they don’t like you. And, about your presents, and your birthday? I won’t ask about it.


So, changing to a different topic, I remember you saying you didn’t know what house you would be in. Slytherins, the house I’ll be in, are the resourceful and clever and ambitious ones; Gryffindor are the brave and chivalrous types, supposedly; Ravenclaws are the smart and witty and Hufflepuffs have hardwork and loyalty I think. Hope this helps.


I know this is out of the blue but there’s this shop in France that mother and father are taking me to next week that has all sorts of magical instruments and a few muggle ones to, I guess. I don’t know which ones to try first, though. I’m sure I’ll find something but wanted to know which ones you thought were good.




It was a welcome reprieve from everything that was swirling around in your thinkpan.






They’d ultimately lead him to Dave after all.




It was, apparently, something that he subconsciously looked for with people he gets crushes on, and dates. Gamzee had been a one-time occurance.
















You’d almost written your actual, first, whatever, name instead of Harry. Hopefully Draco wouldn’t ask.


You sent the letter off with an Artemis who had been starting to get impatient since he had been waiting for a while, and flopped back onto the bed.


This was going to be a long three weeks.

Chapter Text

⇒ Karkat: Finally be on your way to Hogwarts

“Why should I have to go back there?! Why did I ever have to?!”

“I’m sorry, my boy-”

“I’m not your anything!” You had snapped at the headmaster, teeth gnashing and lips drawn back in a snarl.

“Mr. Potter, if you would please sit back down…”

The will reading, or, at least, the aftermath of it hadn’t been at all pleasant, after the initial reading was over. The two professors accompanying Dumbledore either yelled at him and demanded an explanation as you had or had sat there were the scent of shock and disbelief and a half dozen other emotions radiating from them.

After the goblins and magic police got everyone somewhat settled down, it was agreed that those who were in the will would be given what would now be theirs, and that your human godfather would be given a truth serum trial on the spot. While it worked, there was still a process that he had to go through now to deem him healthy enough to take care of you. No one knew how long that would take.

And so for a week more you stayed at the Cauldron, and for a week more, you dived into your books and even picked up a couple more. However when you went to see if you could find a book on Wizarding Law, you found nothing. When you asked the clerk at the counter about it she at first dismissed you saying you were much too young but, when you went and told her it was for your guardian (which brought to mind uncle Vernon reading one of these books willingly an you had to suppress a laugh), she said there weren’t any in stock. No one but those in Ministry positions where the laws were relevant to their work knew much of them. Some were common knowledge, like the statute of secrecy, but pretty much everything else?

And yet you were able to get that book on traditions and old customs, holidays and rituals just fine.

Now, a week later, you held a ticket in one hand, all of your belongings in a cart held in the other hand, and had Davepeta in the cage you had bought with them but had until now, never used.

“^What are mew going to do wren mew get to school?^” They asked as you think you spotted the appropriate pillar to run head first into. Tom had told you what to look for as you were leaving how to get to the right platform and you were starting to feel very grateful for the advice.

You were also concluding that you hated crowds.

“Wait, there’s more to this schoolfeeding thing than learning shit? Half of which we never never use again?”

Davepeta rolled their eyes, “^Seriously though, what are mew gonna do? Ofur people are going to expect things furom mew. Things that they think mewl be grreat at, things that mewl like, how mewl act. Do mew have a plan in mind?”

“Yeah. It’s called get,” You replied as you stepped on the train, “on the train, find an empty compartment, sit down, and wait until I actually get to the place before I make a decision.”

You do find an empty compartment, just like you said you would, but sadly, it didn’t stay empty for very long. Some other kid with bright ginger red hair poked his head in, found you, asked if you minded if he came in and sat down, and like a douche canoe didn’t wait for a reply and sat down across from you anyway.

Davepeta laughing at your dismay didn’t help the twitch that seemed to have spontaneously developed in your right eye.

“So, what’s your name?” Ginger ale asked. As if you’d be polite and make casual conversation back. As if you might actually be already or soon become friends.

You didn't think so.

“My name’s Fuck Off.”

He looked at you with wide eyes, “Wow. Rude much? And can you not curse?”

You glared at him, “No, I don’t think I will and yes, I am in fact being rude. So glad you noticed, but, see, you’re the one who was rude first.”

“Seriously? I was rude first?”

“You invited yourself in without waiting for me to tell you whether or not I wanted you to fuck off, so yes, you were being very rude.”

The kid rolled his eyes, “Well the fact that you wanted me to…”


You raised an eyebrow, sitting back in your seat as Davepeta was watching not bothering to hide their amusement, “Fuck off?”

“Yes. That. That you wanted me to before I even said a word-”

“Okay now you’re just assuming shit. I didn’t want you to fuck off before you spoke, I wanted you to fuck off the instant I saw you. There’s a difference. Get it right.”

“My name’s Ron, then. Ron Weasley, and have you ever, at all in your life, heard of hospitality?” You pretended to think about it for a few seconds, just to annoy him further.

“Yes I know hospitality. I knew hospitality well before one day they said we’re done and man could you imagine my confusion? We had a good thing going. Hospitality just up and left like dude, you’re leaving me with this shitty ass apartment? What gives? Well, I did find out. Hospitality left me for someone else and I can at least be assured that person wasn’t you.”

And then what should happen but someone else poking their head through the door?

At least this face you didn’t feel the need to, or the urge to, hit upside the head. Or, well...wait.

Were you almost black-flirting? That was black-flirting, wasn’t it? With an eleven year old? Oh mother grub. Okay, okay maybe there’s a reason for this- maybe it’s one of your crew in disguise. But who would it even be and why couldn’t you tell who they were?

“I’m looking for a toad, have either of you seen one?”

And then there’s that girl at the door which gave you an exasperated feeling but not much else. Not much more.

God dammit!

“Get one of the older years, or a prefect. One of them should either be able to help you then and there or direct you to someone else who can.” Your reply was nothing like the tone you’d taken with the Ron-Maybe-Not-Ron kid. It was more amiable, which he had to have picked up on if his pouting- sorry, withering death glare had anything to say about it.

The girl visibly brightened and you added, “Also, since my solitude here seems to have been broken already by somebody,” You say pointedly, looking at Ron without moving your head, “You can come back here when you’re done if you want.”

Now she beamed, “Thank you. Ah, my name’s Hermione. Hermione Granger. What’s yours?”

“Harry.” You shrug, “Now, go get that toad before someone accidentally steps on it.”

As the door closed again you turn back to see Ron pouting while looking out the window.

Good. You didn’t want to get into another argument so soon anyway.

But why couldn’t you tell who anyone else was? Why only Dave?

“^The sooner they are to waking, the more you’ll be able to tell who they are.^” Shit, had you said that out loud, “^No, as your furmiliar I’m just able to read mew like an open book.^”

Well that wasn’t any better.

You dove back into one of your books while you waited for Hermione to get back so you could have some decent company.

One legend involving the Knights of Blood and Time tells of how Time had fallen in love with the mortal that would go on to become Blood. Time would, as their relationship grew, shed his feathers which he could not fly without, and fashion them into a cape and hood which Blood would then wear, essentially giving Blood the decision of when and how often Time would leave. While this method was inefficient, inherently, with his duties, Blood had made him agree to tell him if there was something that needed his attention. Blood was not keen on having the other gods be cross with him nor give them reason to smite him. Time would use his cape to keep his mortal safe from his enemies and be able to tell if Blood was in danger if they ever got separated. Blood could sense his devotion in the feathers in turn, and even when Time had to go he’d always leave a single feather behind so the mortal would always have a piece of him wherever they both went.

There was another tale of the Seer of Light, and how once her visions became so bad, so horribly terrible, that she tried to obscure her Sight with wine.

There was a third tale of the Sylph of Space, the Knight of Blood, the Orb of Life (you knew it to be the Matriorb), and the quests, the hope, and the doubt surrounding having it only to lose it. To have lost it only to regain it. How the Rogue of Void stole it back from the nothingness it had become, bringing with it Hope and Life and Heart (soul) for the “Drow” (which sounded nothing like Troll and you would fight anyone that claimed otherwise).

In this misnaming you found that the humans of this world gave the species name “Troll” to something else entirely. Something that, to you, looked kind of ugly. Or maybe a lot ugly.

“May I come in?” Ah, there she was again. You nodded, waving toward the spaces next to you and Ron, letting her decide.

She sat down with a grin, “Thank you so much for your help. It was Neville’s toad, you see, but he’d lost it and had been very worried.”

If only because of your own time spent frog hunting and how important it had been that it be done right, you didn’t scoff or roll your eyes. You just nodded your head all serious like and, after taking a glance back at your book again, snapped it shut after memorizing the page you’d been on.

“I didn’t get your last name earlier.” She added after a minute or so, probably having thought on how to phrase the question or if you had said your full name and she had just forgotten it because of the task she’d been on.

You shrugged, “Potter.” Might as well get it over with.

Ron’s attention, along with his head, snapped in your direction as Hermione went bug-eyed.

“Potter? As in Harry Potter?”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier?” They asked at the same time, both their voices overlapping.

Now, you scoffed, “Yes, and I didn’t say anything because I’d get reactions like the ones you just gave me. I didn’t want to make it seem like a big deal.”

“But you are a big deal.”

“While that’s sweet of you, Hermione, maybe consider that I don’t, in fact, want the spotlight, or the fame, considering what had happened for me to be the “proclaimed hero” or “savior” in the first place..”

Hermione winced in sympathy.

“But you’re famous.”

“Yes, and?” Ron was really annoying and you really couldn’t help pressing his buttons as he was pushing yours with what you think was almost the same ease.

“You can do whatever you want. Have whatever you want.”

“The minute that people know I’m at Hogwarts I more than likely won’t have any privacy whatsoever unless I find a way to keep some of it. Not going to think I’ll keep all of it because that’s not how being a celebrity works, shithead. The minute that people know who I am, they’re going to judge me, just as you just did with ignoring the fact I just fucking told you that I didn’t want the attention I very well know I’m going to get. Wherever I do get placed as far as the houses go? People are going to assume things about me just as they would everyone else who gets placed in any of the houses. See where I’m going with this or do I have to keep on and give you a ten page rant about it?”

Ron frowned and you both kept on snipping at each other for awhile, much to Hermione’s irritation though to be fair, you did make an attempt to stop and change the subject to something more...friendly, but that alas wasn’t to be. It was also this scene which Draco (you had to start getting used to calling him that, at least out loud) happened upon when he opened the door to your compartment.

“Hey! Harry I heard you were-”

“Oh would you shove it and go away, Malfoy?”

“For your information, Ron.” You snap at him with a growl, “Draco here is my friend.” Ignoring him as much as you can now you placed your attention elsewhere, “Hi Draco, what’s up?” You asked all casual like, putting on a maybe too wide smile for extra effort.

Draco huffed, rolling his eyes, “Just wanted to know if you got in okay, but seeing as I’m not welcome here…” He trailed off, glaring at Ron.

“Nah man you’re always welcome, unless you don’t want to be around this one here to which I wouldn’t blame you.”

“But Harry, he’s a Malfoy.” Ron protested. You raised one eyebrow at him, confused.

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything?” You say though it came out more as a question, looking in between the two other boys and wondering what they had against each other.

“Family feud, well, sort of. Weasels never really liked us much besides.” Draco supplied, “Though it could also because my family is known as a “dark” one while his is “light”.”

Oh. Magical core alignment? What the hell? That’s what this is, no, what this could be about?


“Harry, he is entirely the wrong sort of person to be friends with.” You kicked Ron in the shin and glare at him.

“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, no thanks to your attitude.”

And then you started to spiral again while Draco stood there mostly still in the doorway. After another couple minutes of this though Hermione had gotten fed up with your shit, apparently.


You both snapped your mouths shut and even Draco looked a little stunned.

“You are both either going to shut up, or maybe actually try to get along. Draco, you’re welcome to be here for as long as you want. Ron, don’t antagonize either of them. Harry, try to focus on something other than one-upping Ron even though, yes, I know, it’s easy to do.”


“Yes ma’am.” You say without much thought to it because you actually got quadrant vacillation whiplash even though you aren’t black for Ron what the hell no way. You aren’t just in denial. There’s no way you’ll ever be black for that guy. Never. Nope. Not going to happen. Remember those last few minutes? No? You didn’t either.

Even though now you are accepting of Hermione being your auspistice with pretty much anyone else but that would have to be under careful examination later.

How much longer until you reached the school? Couldn’t be that long, could it? You checked with Draco, wh for his part looked at you as if he couldn’t comprehend why you’d turn to him of all people for the time, before giving you three hours and fourteen minutes. You gave a little grin at the look he gave you, before being drawn into a rather interesting conversation with Hermione about the things she’d been reading about in the books she’d bought for the year, to which you showed her some of the more...extracurricular ones you’d obtained during your time in Diagon. Not the blood magic one, of course not, with Ron for company, but the one you’d been reading about with all the stories it told of you and your crew and the one on runes for sure.

You only got away near the end of the train ride with promises of hunting down both books at a later point in time so that she could have copies for herself.

Chapter Text

You had to take a breath as you reached Hogwarts. Descriptions of it hadn’t done it any justice, and the enchanted boat ride across the lake with lanterns to light your way made the now short trip there nearly breathtaking. You stared wide eyed the entire way up and into the castle, taking in the architecture sure, but also getting a read on the magic of this place. It wasn’t stationary or billowing lightly, like fog. It wasn’t the heavy blanket feeling that you got in Ollivanders and Gringotts that was nice and something you’d quickly gotten used to. No, the magic at this castle school felt alive and moved as if it were, too. It danced around the castle walls and wound around your feet and moved like a breath through your hair. It felt like being buried in a pile of blankets and pillows and all of your favorite novels.


“Harry?” You jolted, startled out of whatever space your mind had wandered to at Hermione’s voice. She was looking at you with concern, backed up by Draco who was a bit further away in this crowd of eleven year olds and trying, you think, to keep a mask of indifference over his face. All the while sneaking glances back at you and Hermione, who smiled and nodded her head in a way that had his shoulders lowering.


“You were worried?” You guessed, hissing the words between your teeth as you looked around again. There were four long tables, dozens of students sitting at each one, and a fifth table at the end of the giant hall-like room. Candles floated by magic, the ceiling showed the night sky, and it took more effort than you realized to not just stare again like you had been.


Hermione poked you in the shoulder, bringing you back to reality, “Yes, we’re going to be put into one of the houses soon. You missed the ghosts, the hat, the song. I thought you’d go and fall dead asleep on the floor if I pushed you too hard.”


Ghosts? Okay then. Creepy, weird, and right up Aradia’s alley but okay then.

“Hermione Granger.”


You stood still and paid rapt attention as Hermione walked forward to sit on a stool, the hat that talked and had something like a face being placed on her head. While you couldn’t see the magic at work, or really feel it from this distance, you could still tell something was happening. Four long minutes passed by before the hat called out ‘RAVENCLAW!’ and Hermione was allowed to hop off the stool and head over to the table where all the smart people sat.


There were maybe a dozen names called in between, before Draco was next.


You wondered the whole time, up until ‘SLYTHERIN!’ was announced and two names later you were called on, why a hat. What was it that the hat did that determined where you would be placed? Did it ask you questions that you were meant to answer as honestly as possible? Were you given a scenario and it was how you acted or reacted that determined where you fit best? How was this hat even able to determine…?


Your thoughts trailed off as you reached the stool, turning to sit down in front of the entire student body who were a mix of silence and hushed whispers.


‘Ah, I see you’ve got quite the impressive barrier, godling.’ A voice spoke inside your think pan, ‘I must admit though that I need to get a better look inside that head of yours, if I am to sort you where you would best fit in. Unless of course, you want to simply choose?’


‘No,’ You tried thinking back, feeling stupid as you did so and imagining a gate being opened, ‘I need to fit in. If I pick a house I turn out to not be suited for? That would draw too much attention I don’t need right now.’


‘Yes, yes I suppose you’re right. Now, yes that’ll do just fine, thank you,’ The hat sounded subdued, ‘I could put you in Gryffindor, where those brave, chivalrous, and daring go. You exhibit traits that would let you fit in well there. You could alternatively be just as great if you were to go to Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Though you are not particularly fond of knowledge for knowledge’s sake, you do have quite a mind about you, Mr. Potter, and can be equally witty, clever, and resourceful when you put your mind to something. That said, all in all, you value loyalty and are no stranger to hard work and dedicating yourself to an ideal or task. My lord, I must reiterate that you can choose, here. Where most mortal eleven year olds exhibit strong traits and value one or two houses over the others…’


Doesn’t this hat know just how much his choices in the past have completely and utterly ruined things for everyone involved?


‘Then put them on a an imaginary spinning wheel, put on an imaginary blindfold and throw a dart at it or something!’


You think the hat sighed, but wasn’t able to process why until he drew in a more physical breath and bellowed, “HUFFLEPUFF!”


Hermione started clapping along with the Hufflepuff table, who were doing, well, more than clapping. They actually did a thing where they raised their drinks, which you didn’t much understand since it didn’t feature too many times in the human films you saw. You knew it was done during binding ceremonies, though that grain of knowledge wasn’t helping you right now. And they weren’t even all saying something. Some, sure, chanted out, “TO POTTER!” or something involving your name, while others just cheered and made a lot of noise before taking a huge gulp. One guy, as you got up from the stool, an older teen if you had to guess, was chugging his while others were cheering him on.


This was not what you expected of the Loyal and Hardworking house. Gryffindor, certainly, but Hufflepuff?


Oh well, this is to be your fate for however many sweeps.


The hat, you placed back onto the stool and you walked over to the hufflepuff table, your robes now sporting yellow alongside the black. As you sat down and tuned out most of the other students, Ron having gone to Gryffindor, which was a relief, you were startled when Dumbledore commenced the feast. Holy. Shit. That was a lot of food.


Your stomach growled and twisted just thinking about it. Everything smelled sugary in one way or another, even the drinks which also smelled like pumpkin. Your face scrunched up as if to sneeze, rubbing at your nose because the smell alone was pretty overwhelming. You’d been doing okay when it was just the people and pumpkin drink, but now with meat and another kind of meat and fruit and bread and bread based sweets? It was an assault on your nose like most meals at the pub were. Except hardly anything you had there was sweet. Nope. It was mostly soups and bread that you could dip into it and mashed potatoes. Things that tasted different but were close to what you were used to eating as a troll.


Other than the toast, which you immediately grabbed, you were hard pressed to find anything that wasn’t ‘regular and safe honey glazed oink beast’ or ‘fruit that you’d never seen before’ or ‘bread with a dozen different combinations of fruit, chocolate, honey, syrup and sugar’. Jegus what were you even supposed to do? Your stomach, digestion sack, yeah, would revolt, violently, if you were to even try all of that. Maybe the fruit would be okay though. You’ve had berries before, thanks to Rose, and there were some that was just sitting there in a bowl for you to grab mixed in with other fruits.


You ultimately decide to go with that.


Toast, plain, and various fruits, also plain.


Your nose wrinkled again as the cup you had filled up with that pumpkin drink. Nope. You were going to go drinkless this time. You didn’t care what kinds of looks you were likely to be getting as you busied yourself with a slice of the burned human grubloaf.


If you didn’t know any better you would say that the looks you were receiving were those of genuine concern, but these people didn’t know you even if they knew of you. And with your track record of luck, it was probably all false anyway.


The entire feast you kept your head down, grabbing two more pieces of the loaf but ending stashing one in one of your robe pockets with some charms you saw Tom use a lot for the pub food and that shrinking charm the guy in the trunk shop used on yours to show you how to do that. The other one you were still just nibbling on like a squeak beast even as the prefects of his house lead him and all the other first half sweeps to the Hufflepuff common block.


Despite your mind being wide awake and running a mile a minute, your body was starting to feel tired. It was a thing you were fighting against even knowing that the others with you were looking about the same. You fought to pay attention to the prefect who was showing you all how to get into the common room, which you knew even as tired as you suddenly were, that you would remember later. You moved on autopilot, as Rose and Dave called it, through the warm and cozy space to the boys dormitory to get ready for sleep. Stupid humans being diurnal.


The sleeping platforms were wonderful and the patchwork covers had a smell that made you feel more at home, more comfortable.


And yet no matter how long you laid there with your gander bulbs closed you could not bring yourself to sleep.


It got to the point that you slid off of the platform and shuffled over to the bathroom. Not needing a light, you turned one on further inside anyway so you could get a good look at your reflection again.


Up until this point you’d avoided looking at yourself through any reflective surfaces that you could reasonably get away with. The contrast of seeing gray skin there only to look down at yourself and see some kind of light pinkish brown was jarring enough. On top of everything else? Your horns. Your eyes. It was hard to get used to. So you didn’t.


And then there was the matter of your wings.


You think you hated them.


If you kept them folded up and hidden for too long then it would come back to bite you in the ass in the form of persistent itching and general uncomfortableness. That in turn made wearing any sort of top be a nightmare for the day until you had the time at night to close yourself off, let the fuckers out and stretch, before pulling them right back in again and cleaning up all of the tiny dust-like scales you could reasonably get to. Anything left over you hope would be assumed as glitter and thrown away. Even better if they dissolved or something after a period of time.


But you couldn’t be sure if that, could you? Not without testing it and not without the risk of being caught.


Unless no one could see the wings.


It’s be just your luck, to go through all this effort and not even need to in the end.


You fold up your wings again after some stretches, try to clean up the bathroom as best you could in a short amount of time while also being quiet, and head back to your designated sleeping platform. You sat there on the bed for another minute, wondering if you’d spontaneously become tired and pass out right there and then.


Ah, but it was not your luck. As always.


You push open your trunk, grab a loose piece of parchment, one of your larger sized books (the one on runes you think), a pen (like a sensible person), and once back on your bed remembered that you were not supposed to be able to see in the dark as well as you could. There wasn’t really a way to “see properly” though that didn’t involve a light spell nor....wait.


You had that luminescence thing that only seadwellers were supposed to have and you’d just up and forgot about it until now.


You had a reputation to keep here, what with that ‘memory of a large trunk nose beast’ thing that Dave and Rose mentioned more than once that you had. Or that your memory was at least reminiscent of it. Which meant you could forget things every now and a again but even so, you made a promise to yourself to not let that become a regular thing.




You had the ‘glowy glowy thing’, name courtesy of one Dave Strider.


Might as well use it, one might be thinking. But no. You’d rarely ever used it and just like how you’d learned to control your blushing and tears to hide your color, you’d at least somewhat learned to control this.


So no. You would not be using that particular option, which left you in the dark again to try and attempt sleep. Spoiler, you hardly got an hour before everyone around you was waking up. Being the light sleeper that you are, the commotion woke you up and had you moving in no time at all.


Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, for what little you’d gotten, you made sure you were presentable for the day before leaving the common room and starting toward the Great Hall. Nothing like sugary everything to give someone a boost of energy for the day before they crashed by around lunch time right? Right.




You were saved from sugar hell by Davepeta as you were putting the meat and toast on your plate with minimal sweet things on it like that tree sap stuff.


“^Heads up, Karkitten, you’ve got mail!”

Chapter Text

“^Heads up, Karkitten, you’ve got mail!^”


Was your only warning before the disguised fae landed on the table. There was only so much space however, so they then hopped and gliding over onto your shoulder with a flurry of wings, and then stuck out one disguised foot for you to take the mail they had brought.


You’d need to find something to- you had a whole bunch of food right here on the table. Half of which was meat.


“Here,” You pick up some of the bacon after the mail was on the table, and set some on your plate for them. Davepeta dives for the food, hopping back onto the table with little fanfare and their thank you is almost entirely muffled by the fact that their mouth is stuffed full of bacon.


You paid little attention to your housemates up until now, while you were going over which of the letters came from who. A space was made to your left and before you could get a word in, there was a girl sitting beside you.


Something about her pinged as being very familiar.


Upon having this realization you wanted to just plant your face on the table and not do anything for the rest of the day because only one person you knew of had a scent that reminded you of Alternia’s acid rain.


Nope. Nope. You weren’t going to do it. You would resolutely read this one letter from the bank that this girl whose NAME you did not know, looking for all the world occupied with her own business right beside you.


But you knew better by now.


Mothergrubfucker, she’s looking over and seeing it and you were not prepared for this.


“Harry, right?”


You nodded your head, silent.


“I heard you didn’t grow up, you know, around wizards. Do you know how to unseal something?” You glance further down the page, finding a very elaborate seal, “It works kind of like a port-key. A teleporter, but for items and I’ve only ever known the bank and the ministry to use them. Here. You just tap it with your wand and put a little magic in it. It should just pop right out.”


You nod again, think pan short circuiting between who you would like to believe this was and who she was while Asleep. Nevertheless the information you made a note to remember later, when you got the chance during lunch to head back to your dorm and open it.


In the meantime, you had more to read.


There was a letter from your godfather who was apparently doing great with his mental and physical therapy even with this short period of time. There was also one, surprisingly, from Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.


They wanted to know, specifically, who you lived with and where you lived so that they could go meet your guardians to talk with them. You know, so that in the future Draco could possibly go over to your place for, say, part of a break before you going to theirs for another part. Your blood seemed to chill at that. You weren’t all that afraid of your aunt and uncle here, but the memories of some of what they’d done was leaving an impression on your mind that you couldn’t help. You held back a visible wince at the very thought of the Malfoy’s going to see them, and could only visualize the end to that first meeting resulting in both adults being sent to prison or perhaps even being sent straight to the medicullers.


Or having their memories wiped.


Or just them straight up being dead. And who the hell even knew what would happen to Dudley in these scenarios. You didn’t know either the magical or the normal system for these kinds of situations. You weren’t the legislacerator here. And yet even though you’d love nothing more than to never have to see them again…


Dumbledore may catch on. He may try to get in the way of things. Your own fallback for safety against him may be in jeopardy unless you can come up with a way to salvage the situation. It was a fitting explanation for how you behaved so different from what an Actual Hero, much less Harry Potter, should act, right? That was a thing with humans, you think, given both Rose and Dave’s circumstances.


This may also harm Dumbledore’s reputation. It may bring more things to light.


You’d have to weigh the pros and cons again later. You can’t rush into things like this. This wasn’t a physical fight. This wasn’t Sgrub. You had to use your think pan and resolutely not think about Draco or the Acid Rain girl who’s name you Really don’t want to think about.


Not until you know the name of her Sleeping self.


Your classes were fairly uneventful. Really. Up until Potions, you were bored out of your skull.


And then Professor Snape, one of the people from the will reading, decided to try and call you out. You answer his questions with a clipped tone, distracted half by your own thoughts and half by Davepeta who was hissing behind you in a strange, laughing sort of way. Like a fire crackling in just the right pattern to resemble laughter. You weren’t really paying attention to his reaction, either, seeing as it had been a real fun time just to convince him to let “Hedwig” in, and that when told, “she” would stay out of the way no problem, “sir”.


You think, by the end of class, that the potions professor platonically hates your entrails. Just a bit, though, by the halting, monotone dismissal he gives at the end of class after you completed a “surprisingly well done” potion. Or he could just hate everyone. Or hate wrigglers, but in those two cases, why allow him to teach?


The day passed by in a virtual haze. You took History of Magic as an opportunity to read up on the books you’ve gained, and also made another note to grab some history books for yourself that wasn’t centered around...what had Binns been talking about again? Something about a war. Or multiple ones. Multiple people around you had decided to just go ahead and take a nap. Ron included.


Lucky little shits.


Another two days passed and you still hadn’t been able to really answer your mail except send a letter off with Davepeta to the bank about meeting them over the weekend. Their letter was something about the heirlooms that were sealed in the letter they had been able to find, and something to do with your magic that was the thing they wanted to meet with you about. You honestly had only skimmed it and replied with the mental promise of reading it more thoroughly later.


Your lack of sleep was finally beginning to show enough, though that not only was Hermione concerned, but Susan, the acid rain girl, and also your professors.


And Draco too, in the unfortunately few times you were able to see him long enough to chat for longer than a minute.


It was whilst in charms that it, well, caught up to you. You were reviewing the levitation charm when you, mumbling the words and yet somehow managing the wand motions correctly, lifted not only your own feather, but also Hermione’s. And the three students sitting in the rows both in front of you and the ones behind you.


Your magic had rushed to whatever call you gave it. Even a half-assed, couldn’t be bothered to give a shit kind of call. And your wand was no better.


The unicorn blood you could feel with your non wizarding magic, on occasion, was sunk deep into the wood of your wand. Absorbed by it. your wand wasn’t at all hollow like others were to allow for their cores. Yours was just a branch of wood, saturated in the blood of a creature you’d only ever heard of.


Being a Knight of Blood, well, your wand equally leaped to channel the magic you fed through it.


A bit too eager.


As in not only were the feathers floating but you, gogdamned you, were floating right alongside them and you were this close to being too out of it to care.


As it was, you were only out of it enough to not care about what anyone other than your teacher had to say, humming and nodding your head before halting your magic bit by bit so you wouldn’t just crash back into your chair.


Looking back you don’t know how you had the mental awareness to even do that much, but you did and were grateful for it. A feather you were not.


“Mr. Potter,” Professor Flitwick’s teacher-student bond between him and yourself twanged and shifted like a lion in a cage, rattling the bars and the vibration of it told you pretty much everything you needed to know right then before he finished his sentence. He was concerned for you, saw the dark circles under your eyes and had felt your magic as it gently radiated out of you and those feathers in small gentle rippling waves. He wanted to know if and how he could help you.


“Please see me after class.”


You waved your friend on, asking Davepeta to go with her for the moment, or go out and enjoy themself for a while, as you remained in your seat after the rest of the class was dismissed.


You blink once, slowly, as Flitwick brought himself to eye level and then leveled you with a steady gaze. You hum again, although to your ears it sounded more like a rattling buzz.


“Sorry for causing a scene, Professor.” You think back to that ‘celebrity’ comment that Snape had made, and then to the Dursley’s, and then what was left of your Sleeping mind shivered before shutting that thought down, “It won’t happen again, Sir.”


There was a glint in his eyes as he spoke, “Oh I’m sure there will be a next time, Mr. Potter. I would be remiss to scold you or give you detention for this even if I were mad, which I assure you I am not. Self levitation is not something one would normally consider, often relating the spell to objects or other living beings beside the caster, if asked about it. I’m proud, Mr. Potter, that you’ve managed to accomplish this in fact. Especially with as exhausted you must be right now.”


His tone turns pointed and you wilt under the lusus-gaze he’s giving you, “Now. I would like for this to be a simple fix but first I need you to answer something for me, alright?”


You nodded your head again, ears, and fins drooping behind your glamour, eyes struggling to remain open.


“How much rest have you been getting?”


“Mmm, a few hours.”


“A night?” He asked with a raised eyebrow like he didn’t want to believe that option. You hesitated, frowning.


Your non answer it seemed was all he needed to come to his own conclusion.


“Alright. I’m sure your friends, or at least your owl, will be waiting out there for you. I’ll write up a note, you have Herbology next don't you? Yes, I’ll just hop over...tell Ms. Granger that I’ve told you to get to the Hospital Wing. I’m sure if nothing else she’ll have some dreamless sleep potion…”


“S’not the problem.”


Ah. See, here’s where you curse yourself for getting to this point. You just were not in the right state of mind, if you had the guess, to go around protesting that you were fine. That your voice wasn’t nearly so grouchy or loud or even grating to the ears of some, was just another tell.


“Oh? Then may I ask…?” He’s afraid to prod too much. Afraid that you’ll close right up. Wonder why.


“It’s.” You found it hard to form the words, “It’s a lot. In my head. Can’t get it all out, don’t want too, sometimes, so it stays and it buzzes and it’s Loud.”


You could stay awake for another week, you think. You used to be able to at least. In the game you hadn’t slept at all during your session so why was it this easy for you to feel the effects?


“Sometimes I tried to write it but words won’t...I’m not very good at art so that’s out and it’d be embarrassing anyway if anyone saw my drawings, and then...and then there are people that want to know things that I don’t know if I should tell them and other people that don’t remember things that I know but I don’t know if I should help them because maybe they want to forget.”


You feel a whine crawling up the back of your throat and slam your mouth shut with an audible click before it could go anywhere.


“I’m sorry.”


Professor Flitwick had sympathy swirling around him, sympathy for you. You didn’t understand.


“A dreamless sleep will make you feel drowsy, Mr. Potter,” He explains gently, “And you will soon after fall asleep, though when you do you will not dream. Hence, the name. It helps with those suffering from nightmares, true, but also with those having trouble with finding sleep that sorely need it.”




“Thank you, Professor.”


It wasn’t very long at all, though your sense of time was more out of sorts than usual, before you had a vial of the potion in your hands, Madam Pomfrey muttering a spell in front of you, and then chugging it back in one gulp.


You were distantly aware of the healer tsking at the action, before there was a sharp inhalation of breath from someone, you didn’t know who it was, before your consciousness dropped off this plane of existence altogether.


⇒ Karkat: DREAM


There were a lot of things by now that you were afraid of. By this point, there are a lot of things. Being found out as a troll, feared despite the whole deity thing, and then locked up because they found they couldn’t quite kill you and so feared you more. Someone, anyone, of your crew dying because of you, directly or indirectly. Dying again in some cases. Dying permanently.


You hadn’t quite gone through even half the list when something flew toward you. Whatever it was had been moving too fast for you to see, to react to it until it had clamped down tight around your wrists.

You looked down, to see chains, shackles, bent and shaped into your sign. Of all things, it had to be your sign.


You realize a few seconds later you were shaking because they felt real and what if they were, what if someone had found out about you and thought to cull you, or expose you and have the people around you cull you instead? They were in your sign after all that couldn’t be a coincidence and why won’t they come off? Why couldn’t you twist out of them or break them? Why wasn’t anyone doing anything?!

Your breaths were coming out shorter, quicker, your pusher loud in your ears so it took you a good minute to realize that every time you tried to get the damned shackles off of you, they heated up more, and more, and more until they started turning red and hissing and the skin beneath them, thick as it was, was, was, there was-


There was blood. Your blood. You had to get it off, you had to get it and the shackles off. You could barely tell what was going on around you or if this was real because you were contorting yourself and hunched over, on the ground, attempting to use your knees or do that twist and popping (or was it breaking) the wrist to get one of your hands, your wrist free and maybe have to do it to the other one to get that one out too. As it was you were halfway to being that desperate. Would you heal if this got any worse? Could it get worse? People were seeing your blood, you were bleeding you had to get these things off so you could make yourself stop bleeding!


There were distant voices. Harsh and biting ones that snapped at you and at each other. Others that you think were calling your name, but you don’t know what for. Probably mocking you.


You think you had more to add to that list, now, thinking about why those voices sounded so familiar. You had to get these things off of you first, though, before you can address those voices.




What was that? It had cut through your thoughts, had made the heat not so bad to bear and distracted you for the moment from everything else.


“Harry! Wake up, please!”


Why was it asking that? Who was Harree? You were Karkat, not Harree.


“—why didn’t it work?”


What didn’t work?


“—don’t know for sure.”


“Harry, please, it’s just a dream.”


Oh fuck, this voice sounded sad now. You don’t want it to be sad for some reason you weren’t questioning right now. She, you think, sounded familiar too. Why was that, when she called you by a different name?


Even when you can't recall her name, you think she sounded like someone else.


⇒ Karkat: WAKE




Why did you feel as if a hornbeast lusus decided to tap dance on your skull?


You hiss as you crack your eyes open only to be met with far too bright light, and pull a sheet that had been placed over you up further over your head.


“Can someone *please* turn off the gog damned lights?” You grumbled.


“Well I would but then I wouldn’t be able to see you, Mr. Potter. And please, watch your language young man.” Who was that— oh. That was the mediculler. Right. You had been sent here because of lack of sleep. You were supposed to have been given a dreamless potion but apparently it didn’t work on you. Or it wasn’t enough in quantity to work on you. Or some other third thing you couldn’t be bothered in that moment to think up.


You see her almost but not quite glaring at you as she shows you a scroll.


A scroll that, when unrolled, goes from the height of her head all the way down to the floor and was covered in print that you would be able to read. If you understood what was being written that is.


It was all gibberish to you.


“This, Mr. Potter, is a record of your current ailments, both physical and magical.”


Oh. Ouch. How many were there? You counted by lines that you could visibly see and there had to be at least two dozen.


You look back at her face and it reminded you so much of Kanaya in that second it physically hurt.


The scroll gained an inch with the sound of paper rustling and the mediculler’s glare only narrowed at your nervous chuckling.


You don’t think you’ll be getting out of here for a while.