• Sunday, October 1st, •
• Hogwarts, Great Hall, •
[Harriet Potter]
"How noisy…" she grumbled in annoyance, once again trying to eat her breakfast without paying attention to the lively—noisy—atmosphere of the Great Hall.
She took a deep breath between bites, focusing on chewing and listening to her own breathing as a way to close her senses to the chaos her classmates were creating at eight in the morning on a Sunday.
"Whose idea was it to serve breakfast at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning ?" she complained, mostly to herself, as she stabbed her fork into a piece of sausage. "And really, how are they so energetic this early? We all stayed up late yesterday…"
She raised her head and looked around at the four long tables, laden with all kinds of food. The majority of students were eating and talking while their Archive interfaces—now customizable in all kinds of sizes and colors—floated nearby. Some were discussing them animatedly, while others stuffed their faces with food, relaying messages through the Archive, as was apparent from the arrow-like shapes flitting in and out of their interface boxes.
She sighed, took a bite of bacon, and looked to her side, where Hermione— her best friend— was munching on a piece of toast while staring intently into her own interface.
Harriet wanted to say something, but she couldn't really fault them; she understood why this was happening. She would be doing the same once she had her fill. It was just… couldn't they have been a little bit quieter?
She shook her head in resignation and began the breathing exercise that was now mandatory for all students. It helped calm her rising irritation, though it unfortunately didn't block her sense of smell or hearing. She was still acutely aware she was in the Great Hall; she could still smell the food and hear the clatter of cutlery, the sound of chewing, and the ruckus of loud conversation.
"It's all because of the update," she muttered quietly. "Now all the peaceful Sunday breakfasts are gone with the wind." Her mind drifted back to how it all started.
-flashback-
• Friday noon, lunch time, Great Hall •
They were all having lunch, enjoying the variety of food the house-elves had prepared and talking about different things, when they felt their connection to the Archive flicker.
It was just for a second, but they all felt it—a sensation akin to a string connected to their forehead changing texture. One moment it was a single strand of cotton; the next, it was smooth, refined silk. And suddenly, they were all hyper-aware of the connection they shared with the Archive.
"Bloody hell, what was that?"
"You felt it too?"
"Yeah, I did."
"You too?"
That was when everyone started opening their interfaces to check what had happened, and the frenzy began.
"Fucking hell, what happened to our Archive? We're still not used to the old one and now there's a new one!"
"Just click on something and see what you'll find!"
"Hey guys, check this out! There's a ranking system!"
"Yeah, I just saw it. I'm still trying to figure out why it gave me a red-colored E-minus as a rating."
"Wait a minute, you too?"
"Yeah! I tried to check why, and it got snarky with me, saying it was a shame it didn't have a rank lower than that!"
"Hahahahha! Mine is just a regular E, without anything."
"No kidding? Mine is E+. Hahahahha, I win!"
"Stop messing around and click on the rating letter! It shows you why you got that rank and what the color means!"
"Right! It says here it takes into account all our current knowledge, combat ability, magic power, etc., and then gives us the rank based on that… My magic power is E+, but my overall rank is still E-minus…."
"Mine too!"
"Yeah, and it's red-colored!"
"Oh, mine is orange."
"Really? Mine is green!"
"Ooooh, I found something interesting! There's a ranking list that has everyone connected to the Archive on it. Check out Headmaster Dumbledore's rank!"
"Merlin's saggy balls! It's B-minus! But why is it red in color? I thought that was the weakest thing!"
"Yeah, I just saw it. What do you think that means?"
"I don't know, but check out number two!"
"Professor McGonagall?? Why is she only a red-colored C-minus? Isn't she supposed to be, like, super powerful now?"
"Hey, I don't know what the ranking is all about, but it feels like we are missing some information."
"No offense, mate, but are you slow? Of course we are! Start by going into your profile tab and reading the new update features first!"
"Hey, no need to be mean. I just saw that, and it says the ranking system will be constantly updated as it's adapted to the larger world."
"Stop checking the ranking and go to the library first! There are some new features; they're all amazing."
"I saw that! Try reading about the new spell-casting assistant now. It's bloody awesome!"
"Hey, guys…" a quieter voice interjected, the excitement fading into unease. "Is it only me that has a bad feeling about this low-ranking thing?"
"Who cares…"
"Yeah, what he said."
"I second that."
— Flashback End —
And that was how Harriet found herself in this situation. There was a reason she had slept late and was still grumpy.
The update had brought a host of new, useful, and nifty features. There was the new 'Deep Dive' feature, for instance, which allowed a user to visit a mental realm where they could read, practice spell-casting, or even fight.
'Let's not forget that the fights are saved and can be reviewed by everyone,' she thought, her mood souring as she remembered the video of her getting one-shotted by Professor Dumbledore when she'd decided to challenge his simulation. Her only solace was the fact that there were multiple such videos, some where students had even tried to attack him physically and were literally slapped to death.
Yeah, that had been a big eye-opener. And the same went for McGonagall. Every simulation they attempted ended with them being killed in one or two spells.
That's why she had slept late and was full of exhaustion yesterday. She had been trying to learn new spells using the Deep Dive, but that feature ate away magic and mental power like crazy. She remembered being so dizzy afterward that she wasn't sure if she had passed out or simply fallen asleep.
"Hey, Harriet."
She was broken out of her thoughts when someone nudged her. She turned her head and saw her best friend looking at her.
"What?" she grumbled, leaning in.
"Why are you grumpy this early in the morning?" Hermione asked.
"I stayed up late yesterday," she answered with a frown.
"Oh, did you do the Spell-Assistance Dive again? You know you shouldn't do that so often. That's why there's a warning designed for Gryffindors specifically, after the general prompt…"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. But it's so much fun…"
"I know, but you should do it in moderation," Hermione said with a frown before changing the subject. "Anyway, I was just watching the statistics section, and the new user count is skyrocketing. There's even a new general chat, but it's restricted for us students."
Harriet just stared at her friend, trying to figure out why she thought she would be interested in something like that when the cause was already obvious.
"Did you forget about the books shaped white stone steles that started appearing all over the world yesterday? It was in the front page in yesterday's newspaper."
"Yeah, I know, but didn't the papers say the ministries around the world are warding the areas off while they make sure everything is safe?"
"Well, there's your answer. Everything is fine," Harriet shrugged. What was the use of discussing this stuff when they had rankings to worry about?
"Ugh… I swear it's like talking to a statue. Or a moving painting. I rarely get you to say something useful or even stay on topic," Hermione grumbled, making Harriet chuckle.
"Hey, it's not my fault you're interested in something we'll know all about in an hour when the morning papers arrive."
"Yeah, yeah. Just eat your breakfast."
Harriet didn't know why, but she suddenly felt so much better.
X_
[Alastor Moody]
"Finally back in London," Alastor muttered under his breath as he walked down the street, his appearance disguised to avoid attracting Muggle attention.
Soon, he arrived at his destination—a red colored telephone booth. He stepped into the booth, took the receiver, and dialed the number to open the passage to the Ministry. He relaxed slightly for a few seconds as the booth shifted and descended, allowing a fraction of the tension from the hell he'd endured over the past few days to leave his body—not too much, though. He never relaxed too much.
He took a deep breath as the booth slowed, readying his wand, tensing his muscles, and scanning for any sign of an ambush as the door opened. He ignored the stabbing pain from his prosthetic leg as he walked, his magical eye whirling madly in its socket, searching for threats.
There weren't any, but he wasn't about to let his guard down. 'That's how they get you.' He thought, 'They let you feel safe before striking when you least expect it.' That wouldn't work on him; he lived in a state of constant vigilance.
After navigating the Ministry's stone hallways, he arrived at Amelia's office. He frowned, finding it open and devoid of both guards and a secretary. He waved his wand, casting a series of detection charms, before stepping inside.
"Lass, where's your guard?" he grunted. "And your secretary?"
"We are kind of short-staffed at the moment, so I sent them to fill some other openings," Amelia grumbled, her tone betraying how much she despised the current situation.
"Is that why you called me? You even went as far as to use the coin."
"Well, owls don't reach you, and none of the other methods you gave me worked, so…" Amelia replied with resignation.
"Figured that when I got the message. So, what's got you so riled up? You used the coin, knowing those stuck-up Unspeakables won't re-enchant it without a direct order from the Minister himself."
"Ugh, it's Dumbledore again," she answered. "He went off-grid, and then—bam!—one week later, stone steles are spawning all over the world. We have one right in the middle of Diagon Alley. The worst part is, we can't ward against it. The entire thirty-meter radius around it is somehow un-wardable. And we can't just close the alley, now can we…?" she ranted, massaging the bridge of her nose.
"And what do these stone steles do?" he asked, fully prepared to hear something ridiculous.
"Oh, nothing big," she replied with heavy sarcasm. "It just gives anyone who touches it access to the Archive. I don't know what he was thinking. Does he not realize he'll be helping all kinds of dangerous people get stronger? What if dark wizards get access to this? Does he think we can afford a new Voldemort or Grindelwald? We still haven't found the old one!"
Moody grunted in acknowledgment. He knew her fears were valid, at least from her position and point of view. But, "Have you considered the possibility that he already knew these risks and considered them low on the list of threats?"
"What possible threat could be more dangerous than dozens of empowered dark wizards running amok, huh?" Amelia frowned, staring intently at his face before her eyes widened in disbelief. "Don't tell me you've bought that 'gods' nonsense from the papers. Do you know how much ridicule we've faced these past few days because of that…"
"Lower your voice, lass," he told her firmly. "You're under too much stress if you're that irritable. Call your forces back and go home."
"Oh? Call them back from where? They're all in Diagon Alley, failing to do their jobs."
Moody couldn't help but sigh. He had predicted this the moment he heard about the stele. He'd guessed they would fail and were just lingering to dodge their responsibilities. He was also pretty sure the news of what the stele did was leaked by one of them. It wasn't like he could fault them either—you couldn't really convince anyone in magical Britain to ignore something with Dumbledore's name on it. Wizards and witches here worshipped him. Even those who claimed to hate him would follow his lead because they trusted he wouldn't steer them wrong. That wasn't a reputation you got from being a kind old man. It was a way of life, a mark he left after proving he had consistently acted in their interest. It was a near-century-old reputation he'd earned as their teacher, Headmaster, and defender.
"So what do you want me to do? Just leave it be and go home, lass. You look exhausted," Alastor said as he stood up and began to leave.
"Wait a minute, Alastor! Where are you going?" Amelia almost yelled as she stood up quickly from her seat. "This is not why I called you here!"
He stopped and turned his head towards her, his magical eye whirling wildly as soon as it landed on her. "Stop right there, lass," he said, raising his wand. "Something is different about you. Your magic…." He stopped mid-sentence, casting a series of scanning charms while Amelia just stood there, staring at him with a dumbfounded look.
"Oh…" he muttered, lowering his wand. "Well, pardon me, lass. I didn't know you were pregnant…" He looked away, avoiding eye contact as he apologized, a tiny tinge of shame and a flicker of fear washing over him. Shame for his blunt handling of the situation, and fear because he knew how close he had come to being cursed if he'd accidentally harmed her… magic doesn't take kindly to those who harm babies and pregnant women…
"I'm not… pregnant… am I?" The lass herself seemed unsure, still looking stunned as she muttered and started counting on her fingers.
"Okay, Amelia, sit down first," he said, waving his wand to move her chair closer and helping her sit. "Now, tell me what you wanted me to do, and then let's get you home."
"Oh… I just wanted you to look for Dumbledore…" Amelia said, finally regaining some of her senses. "But now, to hell with Dumbledore. I am going home…" She stood up, shoved him aside, and walked out of her own office without sparing him a glance.
Alastor Moody had rarely been stunned in his life. Still, he couldn't help but smile. He was happy for her. He knew just how much she wanted a child, and he knew just how tormented both she and Sirius had been over their inability to have one.
He sighed as he, too, left the office, not forgetting to close the door behind him, before deciding to just go home. He didn't have anything else to do, not when the black market was already hunting for him.
"Sigh, now I have to avoid the black market for a while," he lamented his bad luck as he walked out of the Ministry, remaining fully aware of his surroundings despite being deep in thought. "It's all Albus's fault, but now even I can't deny that he might be right."
He wasn't a hundred percent sure yet, but when had he ever been? The clues were already there. Plus, the mobilization of these black market dregs bugged him the wrong way. No matter how much fake money he'd spent as misdirection, they couldn't have organized this quickly just to catch him—unless someone powerful was pulling their strings…
Alastor went through his usual routine and precautions for returning home, just to be on the safe side. But it seemed today wasn't his lucky day.
Just as he was walking down the dirt road that led to his house—a spacious property that made it hard for anyone to find a place to hide and lay an ambush—his magical eye caught a trace in the air. Somewhere ahead of him, there was a discrepancy. He was certain there was something there, even though there was nothing to see. It wasn't a Disillusionment Charm or any kind of invisibility he knew, but that did not matter.
He threw himself to the right and started casting his usual three-spell combo: a Stunner, a Leg-Locker Curse, and a Petrification Spell. The standard first volley one ought to use in case of an ambush.
Of course, his spells didn't land, but they served their purpose, revealing the figures waiting for him. Two wizards, along with a man-snake-looking creature. 'A monster,' he thought as he looked at the half-man, half-snake thing standing behind the wizards.
"Sss, very good,sss. I would have been very disappointed if you didn't notice usss," the snake-thing hissed, its tone more mockery than actual praise.
'Voldemort?' he thought, before quickly discarding the possibility. Even Voldemort's magic didn't feel this revolting. Sure, it was oppressive, filled with hatred and malice, but it didn't feel this... corrupt.
"What are you?" Alastor demanded, already shifting his strategy and casting a barrage of semi-lethal spells. There was a protocol for dealing with wizards, and even he had to abide by it, at least initially.
A Cutting Curse shot forth, followed by two consecutive Bone-Crushing Curses, along with a Blood-Boiling Curse. He had to break off mid-sequence, jumping back and ducking to avoid a purple-colored spell, then leaping left to evade another.
'These guys are experienced,' he thought, his respect for the threat level rising instantly. He could tell by the way they parried his spells away using efficiently half-formed shields. He abandoned all pretense of protocol and began casting more esoteric curses. A Heart-Stopping Hex followed by a Skin-Rupturing Curse, before he had to stop mid-cast and hastily erect a shield.
Two red-colored spells hit the shield, bounced to the side, struck the ground stirring up dirt, and fizzled out. Alastor, of course, didn't wait to see what other spells the wizards would cast next; he hadn't forgotten about the monster standing there, watching the fight with a sickening expression on its face.
He summoned his Archive interface and sent a quick SOS message to Dumbledore before continuing the fight, which was escalating rapidly. He noticed their spells were now aimed at his extremities—his arms or legs—as if they wanted to incapacitate him, not kill him.
That assumption solidified into truth when the ugly snake monster started laughing weirdly. "Ssshhehehehehhh. Oh, how I wish I didn't have orders to bring you back," it said. "Your kind make the best prey. Those cautious, paranoid types that jump at every noise… they are so much fun to hunt."
Alastor, of course, went for the Killing Curse, aimed directly at its face. That was the moment to attack. Wait for it to finish its monologue? He wasn't stupid. In a fight, you aim to incapacitate or kill your opponents, not chat with them. Chatting is how you get killed.
He didn't stop there, firing another Killing Curse at the monster before he had to jump and twist his upper body to the left to avoid a curse and bat away another right after.
'It seems I'll have to use that,' he thought. He quickly waved his wand in a small circular motion thrice before jabbing it sharply forward, launching a white-colored spell towards one of the wizards. The wizard dodged, but that wasn't the end of it; Alastor made a sharp pulling motion with his wand, making the spell swerve and strike the man through the back.
This was one of the spells he'd learned through the Spell Learning Assistant in the Archive. He hadn't mastered it yet, but that was fine. He didn't need it to be colorless; any wizard worth their salt would still sense it coming.
With one of the wizards down, a fist-sized hole in his midsection, he now had only two opponents to focus on. Just as he was about to cast that spell again, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. His instincts screamed, and he instinctively jumped to the right and rolled on the ground.
"Sss, I was having fun seeing you struggle, but no more. That's why I hate your type. You don't listen when one is in the mood for talking," the monster said, its voice coming from where Alastor had stood a second ago.
"Now that you have killed one of them, it's time to stop playing sssso…" the monster said as it lifted a hand and pointed at him. A magical circle flared to life, and Alastor felt his entire body go numb.
'Paralysis?' he thought, trying to move his body to no avail. Everything was locked. He tried to open the Archive to send another message to Dumbledore, but as soon as the screen appeared, the monster just waved its other hand. Another circle appeared, and Alastor felt his consciousness fade.
The last thing he heard was the monster's voice saying, "Ah, ah, ah… we can't have you using the rest of your tricks. My next meal depends on whether I can bring you back or not."
X
[ ???? ]
As he saw the man named Alastor Moody succumb to his paralysis and unconsciousness spells, he turned his head and saw the remaining wizard already waving his stick to get rid of the evidence.
He snorted openly as the wizard turned his dead companion's body into dust, not even caring to retrieve it for burial or a pyre. These humans were disgusting. They had no respect for their food. At least he ate what he killed. This one didn't even care to do that, turning his so-called friend to dust without batting an eye. And they called him the monster.
'Bunch of hypocrites.' He turned his head and sneered in distaste as he levitated their target and brought him closer. A teleportation circle ignited under his feet. It was time to bring his prey home and collect his reward.
'I really want to kill them and eat them here,' he thought, but held himself back. If he did, he was as good as dead. He had a tracking spell on him, and that fucking Fallen was far stronger than him. Plus, that wand-waving monster, Dumbledore, was going around the world killing any monsters he found.
The only reason he was still alive was the Fallen's protection, no matter how hateful he found it. At least this way, he could get his food and bide his time to grow stronger.
"Alright, let'ssss go," he snarled, the moment the wizard shuffled to his side. He didn't bother with further conversation, merely grabbing the man's shoulder. The teleportation circle flared with dark energy, and with a 'poof', they were gone.
X_
A/N: sorry for the irregular updates these days, I have kids at home and an aunt who's in depression…. Anyway I hope you enjoy this.