Where the hell am I?
4th year in Harry Potter, just after sorting and after Dumbledore announcements there's a loud bang and a flash of light as a body is thrown across the Gryffindor table and across all the food. White haired kid with startling blue eyes, looks foreign and frankly disgusted by the fact that he was now covered in food.
Nonchalant but confused.
Frustrated but amused. Amused by what? The fact that everyone in the room he was now in was pointing sticks at him. He spoke out in the common Hunter language, only to be faced with mumbled, faintly familiar gibberish. The only person not holding a stick to his frame was a tall old man with eyes as twinkling and curious as his own. He spoke and his voice seemed to flatten and silence the mumblings from the children around him.
“Do you speak English?” At first Killua was confused by the language. He recognised it but was struggling to put it together with the injection of the unfamiliar phrase of ‘English'
“Any at all?” the old man added and he recognised it as the somewhat uncommonly spoken language Karkish which originated from somewhere in the Azian continent. Naturally he learnt it at somepoint in his fucked childhood, but why did the old man call it ‘English?’
He looked up. “Yeah, I understand you old man. Took me a bit to remember though. I just have a couple of quick questions if you don’t mind. Where am I perhaps? And why are you all pointing sticks at me?” Everyone in the hall collectively blinked. And more mumbling, albeit a bit more frustrated now as they all started calling him a ‘muggle’ whatever that means. Though it sounded insulting so Killua opened his mouth to say something snarky about them shutting their mouths but before he could get to it, the old man interrupted and silenced the room again. He was a surprising presence and it was obvious that everyone respected him. So killua listened to what he had to say.
“Ah, I’m sorry if you felt threatened by the gesture. As for where you are right now, you are in a castle in Scotland that’s used for education. Though I’m certain we can send you back where you came from. Though conversations like that would best be had in a smaller room with less eyes and ears. I’m sure you would agree.”
He spoke fast. Killua could barely get a thought in past ‘Scotland? Where?’ before he was being ushered out of the room by a strict looking lady with a high and tight bun of gray hair and the strangest forest green hat he has ever seen. Fashion obviously didn’t exist here as it was all the more reason to get back to Yorknew where his sister and Gon were. Though Gon wasn’t much better in terms of fashion…
He lifted his hands to put them behind his head when he spotted a lump of … something stuck on his sleeve and he was reminded that he was still covered in food. Killua made a gagging sound as he flicked it off. The old strict woman who had absentmindedly introduced herself as ‘Professor McGonagall’ noticed the retching noises and took care of his situation with a flick of her stick and a few muttered words. WHAT! Killua patted himself down frantically but… nothing. Not a stain was left. He snapped his attention to the ‘Professor’ as she smiled at him, clearly amused at his shock. But it couldn’t be. The first thing he checked for when he was thrown into that room was nen usage. But he found nothing! So that couldn’t be. He checked again using Gyo and stopped walking.
Nothing. Not in the sense that a normal person had no control and leaked their life force. There was literally nothing. No leakage, no aura nodes. Except… Her hands… On each of her fingers were half closed aura nodes that leaked a small amount of aura that nearly instantly dissipated into the air. It was a frankly alien feature to killua as he had never seen aura nodes and aura act like that.
“Are you alright?”
“How did you do that?” Killua demanded. It all seemed unnatural to him but McGonagall gave him a warm smile and a simple answer that left him with just as many questions.
“It’s magic.”
The next time ‘magic’ was used Killua looked carefully and it left him even more outraged. It was the fucking stick. It acted as a catalyst, McGonagall lifted it, pointed it and he watched as aura flowed into the stick and was amplified. He didn’t know how exactly to describe it but amplification seemed an apt description as the aura seemed to condense to the point of bursting within that little stick. He could feel it radiating from the wood where he stood, it was warm. And then the woman mumbled some more words and the aura changed, it reached and fucking opened the door for them. Killua felt his right eye twitch. Changing aura? Not just in terms of shape but everything! Colour, shape, size, it was strangely transparent and thin… He didn’t know what it was but at this point it wasn’t nen control at all. It was like the aura followed the orders set by the words she spoke, like she gave up control of her aura to the fucking stick and just told the stick what to do. Could sticks be sentient? Either way it was super weird. He didn’t say anything, just scrutinised her actions and she seemed to enjoy his reaction of furrowed eyebrows and mild disgust.
“Why do you look so upset there?” She smirked at him, fucking old hag.
“I’m upset cause you could have opened the door like a normal fucking person; it’s really not that hard. Show off.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and scowled and grumbled as McGonagall chuckled at his annoyance.
“Sorry, but your reaction is very interesting. You don’t seem surprised or awed like I usually find from kids your age. Also I would appreciate if you watched your language”
“Well, I was kind of just chucked onto your big as-, ahem, very large table out of nowhere. It was even day where I just was and now it’s night. So, I’m just kind of accepting this so my brain doesn’t explode.” He naturally lied through his teeth about his reaction. These people clearly didn’t know what nen was with how they were treating their aura and he would prefer to keep it that way.
“I see. Speaking of where did you come from?”
“Yorknew. I was on a walk after my sisters and best friend kicked me out of the apartment to ‘take a god damn break you worry-aholic’. Whatever that means…”
“Yorknew?” The professor looked confused. “Surely you mean New York, and if it was the day where you came from that would make sense if you jumped here, from all the way in America.”
Killua frowned again.
“No, I definitely meant-”
“Oh, we’re here. Sorry for interrupting; what were you saying?” Killua stared at the wall and the weird statue that appeared to be a chimaera ant like creature that was part lion and bird of some sort. He had never seen it before. But that was the real kicker for him, as it all came together in his head.
A language he knew of but using some unknown name? Even if these people lived in isolation, the word ‘English’ had to come from somewhere. The unfamiliar locations, Scotland, New York, America. Weird unknown creatures. But damning of all was the crazy fucking aura nodes these people had. Magic…
Killua had somehow found himself in another world. Fuck he was screwed… Professor McGonagall had picked up that he was deep in thought and wasn’t going to continue talking so she instead turned to the statue and spoke clearly, “Pop rocks”. Killua watched with a dead straight face as the statue fucking grunted and started spinning. Revealing a spiraling set of stairs that was hidden from view. Fuck he was so screwed. He followed McGonagall up those moving stairs without saying a word. She was concerned about his sudden silence but figured that he might just be coming to terms with his situation (she wasn’t wrong). They wandered into a large room which Killua didn’t want to contemplate on the architecture of the magic castle he was apparently in, as he was still trying to wrap his head around a moving statue. Then the paintings started moving, and talking, and Killua was over it ‘cause WHAT THE EVER LIVING FUUUUU.
The old man was there too, and some tall greasy looking guy who appeared to be cosplaying as a bat. They gave him similar amused looks that McGonagall had given him on the way there as his veins felt like they would burst from his forehead and his right eye was rapidly twitching and while Killua was usually pretty damn good at controlling his expressions, he was far to fucked with the whole ‘in a different world’ situation to even try to pretend like he was unbothered. All he knew was that these magic using people with their weird hats, talking painting and sticks better not have had anything to do with him being ripped away from what he could assume would be all contact from Gon and his sisters or else he might just commit genocide. Genocide that he would probably feel bad about after as McGonagall seemed rather pleasant and she had cleaned his clothes for him. And damn it, this ‘magic’ might be his only way home.
“Would you like to take a seat?” Killua looked up from his frantic and brooding thoughts. It was the old man. He looked at the very comfortable looking armchair and decided it might be a trap for all he knew.
“I’d rather stand thank you.”
“Perfectly fine! Anyway I’m very sorry about this inconvenience but we’ll be sure to send you right back to your home. Though, you will depart with a few less memories…”
“Excuse me?!”
“Secrecy on the existence of magic, I’m sure you’ll understand that you weren’t meant to have this knowledge in the first place. It simply means that we’ll just have to obliviate you.”
“Obliviate? Now hold on!” Killua was getting frantic now, damn old man talking too fast.
“It won’t hurt, so you don’t have to worry about that. Now, where did you come from before you came to Hogwarts?”
“I believe he came from somewhere in New York in America, Headmaster.” McGonagall interjected.
BANG. The three adults jumped as the sound of Killua’s fist slammed against the desk that the old man was sitting at.
“Wait a GOD DAMN second will you!” Killua snarled and he couldn’t stop from a slightest sliver of bloodlust slipped out sending cold shivers of death down the spines of the three of them.
He sighed as they all gave him wary looks, suddenly on edge.
“Now. A few things are gonna happen here. You will help me get home, because I am certain that it’s your guys’ fucking magic that got me into this mess. Secondly, I am gonna remember everything. None of that ‘obliviate’ bullshit, got it. I’m not consenting to having my mind fucked with thank you. And third, you lot are gonna have a fun time because I’ve deduced that the issue is a little more severe then you probably think, because unless you assholes have accurate plant or universe hopping transportation, I’ve been very much fucked over by you bastards.”
The old man and McGonagall looked confronted by the sudden burst of anger and most likely the choice language that Killua had slipped in. It was then that the greasy haired man spoke, and his voice sounded exactly like what it would sound like if his hair could talk. Slow, viscus, with a sarcastic undertone.
“Disregarding your opinion on having your, quote unquote, ‘mind fucked with’” McGonagall winced while a brief flicker of amusement flickered in the old man’s eyes. “Would you mind expanding on the whole ‘universe hopping transportation’… I’m sure we’re all curious.” Killua sighed, it was honestly inevitable to reveal this if he wanted to get back home, but sharing potential blackmail on himself never felt nice. Especially when the people you're sharing with were talking about wiping your memories. He flopped down onto the armchair, too fucked to care about any potential traps at the moment.
“It means exactly what you think it means. I am pretty damn sure that I’m not from this world.”
The silence was resounding as they contemplated. But was broken by the old man, who looked, frankly, doubtful.
“While that is an interesting theory, do you have any evidence to back up your claim?” McGonagall and Greasy both gave him side eye, waiting for answers.
“Easy.” Killua sat up. “McGonagall, I didn’t misspeak when telling you where I came from.”
“Pardon?” She looked confused.
“I came from Yorknew, not New York. And I don’t know where the hell Scotland or America are. And you called this language English? To me, we’re all speaking Karkish which originates in the Azian continent. It’s an uncommon language that I learnt on a whim when I was 7.” At this point the three of them were looking like he had grown another head. But he kept going.
“It’s all far too different. I like to think I have a decent grasp on geography, but all these place names just don’t exist where I’m from. On top of that we don’t have ‘magic’.”
McGonagall cut in there. “To be fair, you probably wouldn’t have known magic exists even in your… world…” She trailed off as she unintentionally agreed with Killua. Greasy snorted at her attempt at reasoning. While the old man just stroked his beard and stared at Killua thoughtfully.
“What’s your name?” The old man asked, “I believe it was rude of us not to have asked earlier.”
“Killua.”
“Do you have a last name?” Greasy drawled.
“It’s Zoldyck, but I prefer to be called Killua.” McGonagall hummed in confirmation. “And what are your names? So I won't refer to you guys as Old Man and Greasy in the future.” His hands were back behind his head nonchalantly. McGonagall choked, while the old man laughed out loud and greasy glowered at him.
The old man then smiled widely. “Well, ‘Greasy’ as you have so eloquently put it, is Severus Snape. My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumblebore. It is a pleasure to meet you, although under rather distressing circumstances.”
“One, that’s a mouthful, and two; distressing is putting it lightly. I left my sisters back home with my rather danger prone best friend and I’d prefer it if I could get back to them pronto, before Gon inevitably gets kidnapped again.” (somewhere in the universe Gon sneezes while he’s panicking over Killua’s disappearance.) McGonagall looked like she wanted to speak, suddenly lifting her hand and opening her mouth. But Albus got there first.
“Oh, dear, that does sound like trouble. Don’t worry, I'm sure we’ll figure out a way to get you back.”
Albus’ comforting tone was cut through by greasy, now named Severus. “If I may… Perhaps we could fare better on the task of getting you back if we unravel the mystery of how you got here in the first place?”
McGonagall scoffed, “I see we have all suddenly caved into the idea that this boy is from another world. I still find that piece of information seriously difficult to just accept from a couple of sentences.”
“Those sentences that correlate with his general confusion. If I remember clearly, it took Killua a while to recognise English. That most likely wouldn’t have occurred if he was living in New York as you assumed.” Severus argued.
“Well-”
“Also. You aren’t taking into account the glaring hint of his frighteningly white hair? That is natural… Isn’t it?”
Killua blinked in confusion. He furrowed his eyebrows and squinted at Severus. “Yeah it’s natural, but what has my hair colour got to do with anything?”
Severus looked smugly at McGonagall. “You see?” McGonagall suddenly looked resigned.
“What was that about?” Killua asked.
“White or silver hair isn’t a natural colour here. You would have to bleach your hair and dye it to get it anything near your colour. Or you’d have to use magic or be a natural metamorphmagus.”
“A natural what now?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Killua shrugged. “Anyway, back on topic. How I got here definitely has something to do with your magic bullshit. There’s no one where I come from who would have the motivation to boot me out of my home planet or hold the power to. Unless Nanika made a mistake or something… Otherwise I’m like 95% sure magic was what dragged me here.”
Albus (still stroking his beard) added, “You say that magic was the cause of your arrival but there is the issue that if it was, it wasn’t anything done at Hogwarts. Honestly, I’m concerned that your arrival happened here in the first place with the barriers.”
“Barriers?” Killua sat up as Severus explained to him.
“There are very strong wards set up around the castle which prohibit hostile magical attacks from the outside, as well as any apparition attempts. Apparition is a magic that allows you to transport yourself to a different location.”
“So… Teleportation? No one can teleport into this castle? Then how did I get here?”
“That is what I was worried about, Killua.” Albus sighed. “If the wards are failing then that is a very big problem.”
McGonagall jumped in then. “What if it wasn’t apparition? What if it was something else that the wards weren’t set to defend against.” Albus snapped his fingers.
“Good thinking Minerva, perhaps it was something like conjuration or maybe even a summoning ritual of an unknown sort.” The old man’s eyes were twinkling with thinly veiled excitement as the three adults started spinning theory after theory on the situation. Killua tried to keep up but it was rather difficult when he had no understanding of the magical jargon they were throwing around. Severus at least tried to explain and dumb stuff down for him but McGonagall and Albus were in the zone and moving far too fast in the discussion that Severus and Killua just gave up.
At some point Albus had pulled out a tea set and snacks so Killua was content on nibbling those and letting the adults do the thinking for once. Until they started talking about what to do with Killua while they figured out how to get him back while dealing with ‘unspeakables’ and stupid magic politics.
“Well, we’ve already agreed on protecting him from the Unspeakables and the Ministry, so I’m afraid the safest thing would be to keep Killua here in the castle…”
“Hey, Old Man, you aren’t thinking of locking me up here right? Cause if I ever wanted to get out, not even your magic will be able to stop me.” It was about the 10th time in which Killua has lightly threatened them so they were used to it now.
“Of course you won’t be locked up here. Just very strongly advised to stay. Besides, I like to think that Hogwarts would be an entertaining enough place for you to make your home in the meantime until we can send you back to your world.”
“Really?”
“If the students can survive here for 7 years… I’m sure you can make do, at the very least…”
“Does that mean you’re gonna let me participate in lessons?”
McGonagall interrupted. “I’m personally not too sure about that idea. We have to keep in mind that Killua is a muggle and the other students most definitely won’t be very reciprocating to the idea of having him sit in the lessons with them. Especially the Slytherins. I’m also worried that it would give a bad message to the students. The statue of secrecy exists for a reason and Killua would be a walking example of all of us breaking that law.”
“His situation is special though, surely you recognise that, Minerva.” Albus spoke kindly. “It’s not like we can trap him in a room, or put him into a magic induced sleep until we sort this out. It simply wouldn’t be ethical.”
Severus scoffed at this. “As much as I agree that we shouldn’t put the kid to sleep… Since when have you ever cared about being entirely ethical? If you just want to learn more about a different world then say that.”
Albus simply laughed but didn’t deny it. Killua snorted at the exchange.
“I really don’t care if you’re using me as an info source for my world, just don’t pull any magic coma bull, please and thank you.”
“Really!” Albus perked up instantly. “If that’s the case I do have a few ques-”
“Not. The time, Albus.” Severus pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke. Evident disappointment on his face. Killua grinned as the three of them bickered with each other. He had to admit it, they were growing on him at a surprisingly rapid pace. It definitely surprised him though, he was never one to fully trust adults, preferring the company of people around his age or at least in their teens. But despite being years older than him, he could see himself becoming friends with the strict and logical Minerva, the ‘I’m dead inside and you’re making it worse’ Severus and the kooky old man Albus. He felt weirdly comfortable with the three of them, and he couldn’t help but wonder if one of them had put some sort of a spell on him that made him drop his guard. He watched as McGonagall slapped Severus over the head when he questioned the intelligence of ‘Gryffindors’ (whatever that meant) and he burst out laughing. Yeah, even if they had placed a spell on him, he uncharacteristically didn’t mind.
It took them ‘till late at night to fully sort out the details. Where Killua would be staying for one. There was a lot of debate on whether he should be put in a school house and dormitory, or a spare guest room. They landed on the guest room though, mainly influenced by Killua's strong opinion on being shoved into a room with a bunch of strangers even if they were his age. They also, (mainly to console Killua’s distaste on being practically on house arrest in the castle) decided that giving Killua free roam of the castle during the day would be best, he was also given permission to enter and partake in any class he was interested in with heavy conditions to not be a nuisance and disrupt other student learning. So, overall Killua was fairly happy as he was led to where he would be staying for the duration he was in this world.
And if he suddenly felt homesick and shed a few tears at the fact that his sisters and Gon were nowhere near him, with no way of contacting them, well… No one was around to judge him.
~~~~*~~~~
It felt like the entire Gryffindore house was abuzz from all the recent events. Chatter and fretted conversations buzzed around the golden trio. There was simply so much gossip to talk about and it was only the first day! Harry’s mind itself felt like it was being overrun with thoughts of the Death Eater attack at the Quidditch World Cup, the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament, the new scarred defence teacher and that strange silver haired muggle that literally rolled across his roast lamb dinner. It was mainly on the silver haired boy though, that entire situation was just… weird. Hermione for one was freaking out beside him at the moment and repeating “You can’t apparate into Hogwarts” over and over like a strange mantra. Even Ron had given up trying to calm her down and was instead injecting his own panicked questions into the throng.
“Where the hell did he come from? Why was he so calm about being thrown across the table? What are the Professors going to do with him? What was that weird language he spoke?” Harry had no answers and just sat on the red cushy couch staring into the flames of the fireplace.
“YOU’RE RIGHT RON!” He nearly jumped out of his skin at Hermione’s sudden outburst though.
“I’m what?” Ron asked, confused.
“THAT LANGUAGE! I’ve never heard anything like it!” Hermione cried. Harry watched in mild amazement as she started dissecting the few spoken words they heard from the strange boy before he switched to English. Comparing and contrasting each syllable to other languages that it could have possibly stemmed from. He ended up tuning her out though, simply thankful she wasn’t repeating the same sentence over and over again like a deranged and broken record. Harry sighed, deciding he should go to bed before he got a stroke thinking about everything.
“I'm going to sleep now, there’s too much to think about. You coming, Ron?” He glanced at his ginger friend, he looked about as exhausted as he felt.
“Yeah, I’m with you mate. I feel like I could sleep for a week…”
“Oh, goodnight then!” Hermione waved as they both staggered up the stairs to the sweet comfort of their comforters.
It’s fine. Harry decided. That weird white haired boy would probably be gone in the morning. Obliviated and safely returned to his home. That was the usual procedure for this sort of thing, right? With those comforting thoughts, Harry finally drifted off.
Only to awake to chaos.