Walking outside of the TARDIS, I was greeted by the familiar sight of Hogwarts Castle and the lake beside it. I noticed, however, that the magic in the air was thicker—more primal—than I was used to. If anything, it was almost as potent as it had been in the Konosuba world. Something to look into later, perhaps; maybe I could discover why ambient magic had begun to decline in the future.
As I walked toward the school, I was stopped by a pair of wizards standing guard, each wearing medieval clothing and tabards emblazoned with the symbols of the four founders proudly displayed on their chests.
"Halt, stranger! Why do you come here? Do you intend to join the school as a student, or perchance do you seek employment?" the first guard—a gangly man with long hair and an unkempt beard—asked as he looked me over.
"Hello, kind sirs. Unfortunately, I seek neither. I'm here to request an audience with your founders and possibly trade items and knowledge with them. I am from far away, and their great reputations led me here to seek the knowledge of this world," I lied smoothly.
"Eh, well, Lady Ravenclaw always does crave knowledge, and Master Salazar is quite fond of rare materials. He might be accommodating to such a stranger as yourself. Follow me then—I'll take you up to the castle," he replied.
I followed the guard through the castle, walking its familiar steps as I looked around, seeing students of all ages in the corridors as well as guards. Most people in this time period carried both a wand and a sword, and it seemed that the school functioned as both a primary academy and a college—a logical structure for a world still developing its systems of education. Before long, I was led into the Great Hall, bustling with people drinking ale and eating while the four founders sat at a long table, talking amongst themselves.
Leading me up to them, the guard announced, "My lords and ladies, this man requested an audience with you. He is reportedly from House Cross and is interested in trading knowledge and materials with your esteemed selves."
The founders scrutinized me, taking in my modern clothing before Godric Gryffindor—looking like a young Robert Baratheon—bellowed, "Ha! Well met, sir! I see from your build that you must be a warrior mage like myself. Before we talk of knowledge and barter, would you care for a spar? I find I learn more about a man from fighting than from days of talking!"
Giving him a short bow, I replied, "That would be fine with me. Just don't get angry if you happen to lose. What rules shall we abide by?" I added with a hint of cockiness.
"I like the balls on this one! Looks like he might be a real challenge—don't you think, Salazar?" Godric laughed with mirth.
The other founders looked intrigued. Salazar replied, "I suppose we'll see. However, I'm more interested in these so-called magical materials, so do hurry with your childish duel, hmm?"
Rowena added, "Yes, Godric, must you fight every stranger that visits? I want to hear what this man knows. It's well known that the Cross family possesses quite the collection of grimoires. Come, Helena—let's watch your uncle Godric finish this little fight so we can see what we can learn."
Helga simply waved us on. "You all go ahead; I've just started eating and abhor violence. When you're done, Ser Cross, I'll show you my magical plant collection, and we'll see if you have anything worth bartering."
Walking into an open chamber, Godric led me to a dueling platform. "First blood," he declared, grinning. "No rules, no limits—magic, sword, anything goes. We start when this rock hits the ground." He tossed a rock into the air.
Watching the rock in slow motion, I flickered my gaze toward Godric—sword in one hand, wand in the other. As soon as the rock struck the floor with a sharp clack, he lunged, sword igniting with orange flame. Instead of using my wand, I pulled my spear from my inventory. Having upgraded it during my time in Konosuba with all the rare materials I'd gathered, I unleashed the chain spear—metal chains shooting out behind the blade, snaking toward Godric as I parried his sword.
Limiting myself to his level, we clashed repeatedly, a contest of skill and magical prowess rather than brute force. Spells and strikes exchanged in a dance of fire and steel. At one point, he summoned spectral red lions that phased through solid matter before rematerializing for powerful attacks. I countered by transforming parts of my body into draconic appendages, courtesy of the alien shapeshifting tech I'd acquired.
After slaying the last lion with a slash from my revenant spear, I spun, striking his wrist with the butt of the shaft. His wand flew from his grasp, and before he could react, I swept his legs out and nicked his cheek with my clawed hand—Fenrir's power enhancing the strike. As he fell, Salazar called out, "Winner! Ser Cross!"
Touching his cheek and seeing a drop of blood, Godric laughed heartily. "Good show, Ser Cross! That's the first time I've lost in twenty years. After a fight like that, it's only right we share a drink!"
Pulling me back toward the Great Hall, he summoned the magical serving staff, and soon tavern witches filled mugs with ale as we partied. Somehow, I ended up standing between Godric and Salazar, teaching them songs from Queen and leading a rowdy chorus of "We Will, We Will Rock You!"
The next morning, feeling as good as ever, I walked back to the Great Hall. The founders and several students were lounging around, nursing headaches—which I promptly fixed using the Horse Talisman.
As the ale mugs began to empty and the room quieted, I found myself seated among the Founders, each one turning their attention to me with curiosity rather than suspicion.
Rowena Ravenclaw leaned forward first, her daughter sitting next to her, as she looked at me dark eyes sharp and intelligent. "You wield power unfamiliar to me, Ser Cross. It resonates not with wand or bloodline, but with will. What sort of magic do you practice?"
"Nen," I replied. "It's a discipline that refines the life energy within oneself into a controllable force. It strengthens body, mind, and magic alike."
She studied me for a long moment, intrigued. "Fascinating. To mold one's own essence into structured energy—imagine what it could mean for spellcraft. Our Arithmancy models could never predict such variance." Her tone shifted almost imperceptibly, curious and hungry for knowledge. "Would you consider writing down its principles? For preservation, if nothing else."
"I will," I said with a smirk. "Though you might find its philosophy a bit too... pragmatic for the modern academic."
Rowena actually smiled. "Pragmatism is wisdom in armor."
Across the table, Helga Hufflepuff chuckled softly, her warm eyes kind beneath her golden hair. "You're far too serious, Rowena. This man looks like he could use something to eat that isn't ale." She gestured to the spread of food before us. "Tell me, Ser Cross, in your lands—how do you heal the weary? Do you use plants as we do, or rely solely on spellwork?"
"Both," I answered, accepting the bread she offered. "But I've learned that the strongest healers are those who understand the living magic in every blade of grass. Where I come from, we call it aura resonance—the harmony between one's spirit and nature."
Her face brightened. "Ah, the essence of harmony. You understand more than most. Perhaps you'd like to see my gardens tomorrow? There are plants here long lost to time—some even respond to emotion."
"That," I said, smiling, "I'd like very much."
Salazar Slytherin finally spoke, his voice smooth but edged like a serpent's fang. "You intrigue me, Ser Cross. Few men can match Godric in battle and walk away grinning." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You said you were from a distant land—one that values power. Tell me, how do your people deal with those who misuse magic?"
I met his gaze evenly. "By making sure they never get the chance to try again."
For a moment, silence hung heavy between us. Then Salazar's lips curved into a faint, approving smile. "Direct. I can respect that." He tapped his wand on the table, runes flickering briefly in the air. "I could teach you something in return—a language older than Latin. One that commands obedience not from incantation, but from intent. The tongue of serpents."
"Parseltongue?" I asked, feigning curiosity though I already knew.
He inclined his head slightly. "A crude name. But yes. Few can use it safely—it binds the speaker's will to the very essence of magic. Speak wrongly, and it can consume you. I suspect you'd fare better than most."
Finally, Godric Gryffindor clapped me on the back so hard the table shook. "Enough of that grim talk! Ser Cross here fights like a lion and drinks like one too! But tell me, what drives you? Power? Honor? Women?" His grin was infectious.
"Knowledge," I answered honestly. "Power is temporary. Knowledge endures."
Godric roared with laughter. "Ha! Spoken like Rowena's long-lost twin! Still, a man who seeks knowledge and strength both—those are the ones destiny notices."
He raised his mug high, foam spilling down his hand. "To Ser Cross—warrior, scholar, and drunkard! May we meet again in glory!"
The hall erupted in cheers.
After a long discussion, during which I traded knowledge and a sizable sum of gold, I finally acquired the ancient materials I'd come for. Waving goodbye, I walked back to the TARDIS, thinking, Well, hopefully this doesn't mess up the timeline too much.
Typing in the correct timespace coordinates, I returned to present-day Hogwarts. As I walked to my quarters, I noticed a portrait I hadn't seen before: me and the founders drinking together in the Great Hall, the caption reading, "The Lord Cross dines with the Founders as the Hogwarts school song is created." The timeless classic: We Will Rock You.
Palming my face, I muttered, "This is the last time I get shit-faced drunk in the past."
Weeks Later
The first task of the tournament was finally upon us. After countless tutoring sessions, I'd given Hermione and Fleur copies of the Vassal Staff, allowing them to level up specific spells. Eventually, I'd have to take them somewhere to train further—maybe even the Gamer world to acquire the ID Create skill for dungeon training. Fleur and Liliana had also taken the super soldier serum, becoming stronger—and, in Liliana's case, even more timelessly beautiful. Fleur was… well, Fleur—but now almost unfairly perfect.
In the stands, we waited as the champions entered the tent, Hermione joining me after giving Harry a much-needed pep talk. The order was slightly different this time—Krum first, then Cedric, Fleur, and finally Harry.
Krum's attempt went the same as before: the dragon crushed several of her own eggs, costing him points. Cedric distracted his dragon with a conjured dog and barely escaped with the egg, singed but triumphant. Then came Fleur.
As she walked out, she waved to me in the crowd—Hermione giving me a pointed look that clearly said, Why is she waving to you, huh? Ignoring her, I watched as Fleur moved like a blur, trapping the dragon with the spell we'd perfected together before grabbing the egg in under thirty seconds. She blew exaggerated kisses to the crowd, earning roaring applause and nearly perfect scores—except from Karkaroff, who gave her a seven, drawing loud boos from the audience.
Finally, it was Harry's turn. The crowd booed him at first—especially the Slytherins—but as he crouched, aura flaring, anticipation grew. When he launched forward, he was a blur, sprinting straight toward the Horntail's maw. But before anyone could blink, he appeared on the other side of the arena, golden egg held high. Cheers erupted across the stands—Hogwarts' loyalty flipping as fast as ever, except for the still-silent Slytherins.
Hermione threw her arms around me in excitement. "Harry did it!" she cried. Later, when the scores came in—Harry and Fleur tied for first, Krum third, Cedric last—we finally headed off to celebrate. Before leaving, I pulled Harry aside and whispered, "Congrats, Harry. Come see me later tonight in the Room of Requirement—there are things we need to discuss."
Later that night, Harry arrived under his cloak, taking a seat across from me."So," he asked, "what did you want to talk about, mate?"
"Two things," I said. "First, I've been investigating who put your name in the Goblet. My findings point to Filch."
"Filch? Not to offend you, Ethan, but that doesn't make sense. The guy's a squib! I don't think he could've fooled the Goblet."
"That's why I had you bring the Marauder's Map," I said, gesturing to it. "Look here—this room is where Filch sleeps."
Harry squinted. "There are two names… Filch and Barty Crouch Jr.? Does Filch have a gay lover or something? Wait—that's the name of the guy who died, right?"
"Close. The one who died was Crouch Senior. Crouch Junior supposedly died in Azkaban. He was one of the people who tortured the Longbottoms into insanity. Life sentence."
"Then how is he here? Is the map wrong?"
"The map can't lie, Harry. I think this man is here for you. Filch is likely being used as a Polyjuice material source—Crouch posing as him. Who better to infiltrate Hogwarts than a man everyone ignores? We'll watch him carefully, find his plan, and turn it against Voldemort. Then we end this."
Harry swallowed. "Damn, Ethan… you're scarier than I thought. Shouldn't we tell Dumbledore?"
"That's up to you," I said. "But if you trust me, I'll help you. Dumbledore's mercy let Voldemort survive. When we're done, no one will call him You-Know-Who—they'll ask who the fuck he thought he was."
Harry's eyes hardened. "Okay, I'm in. I'll play dumb, but when it's time, I want to be there. He killed my parents—I want my revenge."
I clapped him on the back. "Good lad. Patience. Enjoy the year for now."
"Oh—and I plan to exonerate your godfather, Sirius."
Harry's head snapped up. "You know about him too!?"
I smiled. "Harry, my young friend… I know just about everything."
He left soon after, and I teleported back to my room—where Liliana was already waiting in my bed.It was going to be a busy year indeed.