Another fuckin potter'verse. Damn you Office of Fate.
The admittedly rather handsome vampire calling himself Godric,
'Actually looking actually a bit like the one from that True Blood series but a hair the color of blood-stained Gold, which at first this did give me pause I really don't want to deal with a crossover universe but it would be exciting,'
He stared almost placidly with not quite a glare or even indifference and a blank and still as stone personage studying me. Bitch ain't even breathing. Do they even need to? Oh well he was definitely annoyed and probably pissed, considering he was chained with burning silver to a grubby bed at an inn in the middle of nowhere France. Honestly I have no idea why he isn't getting up if he is as old as the vibes feel he might be.
To be fair, I didn't mean to run into a hungry Old as fuck Vampire at a bar while Polyjuice potioned into some random sexy dutch young ladies self. And on the run after a month of apparently being Isekaied into a child version of Harry Fucking Potter. But I guess I can use this to my advantage.
'Thank the Gods I kept most of my memories when I woke up in a puddle of blood with the memories of a traumatized child. Even if I get a massive migraine even thinking of thinking about how I got here.'
~~~~~
'Oh gods I'm in a puddle of congealing blood in an attic what the FUCK my Dude‽ Okay yeah no why am I a Tiny Child? I'm not, I'ma Thicc ass Woman! And a fuckin Adult!!! I never really cared about gender and always wanted to pee standing up but still!'
At that thought I felt almost a rippling shiver in my body and pushed it down. I really didn't want to vomit even if it didn't quite feel like that.
From the Top. My first priority was getting the hell outta there. Only problem? From "Harry Potter's" memories pouring in and I guess merging with me and my adult memories,
('or was it the other way around?')
I remember,
(' they remember, the child , what the hell they were just a stupid, scared, craving love child' )
His? Their, our? Uncle Vernon coming home angry after work having a brandy or two and dragging us, me, them, up and threw them in the attic with the sound of something shattering as our small body and head bounced off some boxes. He shouted at us for a while about something we, I couldn't remember my head hurt so much and was so Fuzzy, kicking us in the ribs with a crack for good measure, my shriek making him grin in sadistic pleasure and taking his Beloved wife and Precious son, on a weekend vacation trip.
At least Aunt Petunia had the grace to put a shriveled apple and a sandwich in a little paper baggie that was pretty much just two slices of bread with a sliver of meat and plasticy American cheese inside before just. Shutting us up there bleeding from a head wound and curled around a chest that,
' i can't get the breath out of my chest with this pain! Can't get enough air!!! Please, I'll be good! It hurts please, make it stop! Just Make It Stop! MaKe It StOp. mAKE iT sTOP. I woUld GiVe AnyThInG TO MAKE THIS END LET IT BE SOMEONE ELSE'S TURN' the broken child begged the void.
'oh...they asked for a trade and I guess magic always has a price right?...' sadly, head aching, I thought.
Gasping wetly the child didn't know their uncle had kicked them hard enough to shatter their ribs and puncture their heart. The child died of a broken heart all alone in more ways then one.
I glanced around the attic and noticed a old chest behind where my head laid that was soaked in my blood and the lock was glowing? Still kinda out of it, torn between childish curiosity and adult logic, I do the stupid thing and open it. It stung like a bee sting making me yelp and fall flat on my ass again slipping in the drying blood.
I was quickly wiping my sticky, tacky hands on a sheet covering some boxes.
'Fuck, dont think about it, deep breaths babe,'
I gagged on the choking scent of old coppery pennies that invaded my nose and throat. I grabbed the sheet and rubbed my hands and face and arms vigorously and threw it on the...mess.
To distract myself from, well Everything and especially the shock setting in I turned to the warm brown, almost artfully blood splattered trunk. It opened to a multilayer trunk(?), Multi compartment maybe. To a fuckin potions kit. In a space to small to hold this much space it stored a mini cauldron, probably gone bad dried ingredients, a few old boxes of off brand baking soda, and lots of papers of complicated math papers. I don't know much about algebra, hardly just basic American High School stuff, and this shit looked like some wonky Sy-fy physics mixed with futhark runes and obscure(?) pagan stuff.
'Fuck magic is real huh?' I thought pretty dazed.
I saw a dial like on Newt Scamander's case in the movies, by the lock which in hindsight was probably a blood lock and shut the case again gently , in case it spit acid at me or turned into a mimic or something, then I twisted the nob to see a few different compartment names, maybe four or five? I was pretty out of it and didn't get a real look.
I turned the nob to "Muggle" and opened it to a few opened old letters on top of a soft comforting vibe giving lavender baby blanket I left bloody fingerprints on when I felt it. Along with some teens clothes, robes, some broken quills and candy wrappers and pocket change?
'oh, these must be nuts and sickles. Oh sweet British pounds from the 70s! Neat! I always loved coin collecting.'
I glanced through the correspondence, finding out it was in fact Lily Potter 'nee Evans school trunk, with some random things from James Potter thrown in. Stuff he didn't want to see or remember I guess now.
After reading a few letters of back and forth between Lily and James Potter, and eventually just a confrontational James to Petunia Dursley 'nee Evans I was confused, and it wasn't helping my head any. Apparently Petunia kept her drafts to keep track of what bullshit the two sisters and one's husband were throwing at each other? I looked at the dates on the letters and actually did in fact turn my head to vomit on the now bile soaked sticky bloody dust-sheet. The last letter was dated two years ago when I, was five years old.
'I? he? They, fuck it whoever I am now is a nonbinary. I was a girl before and I don't really care for gender roles but I do like flowy skirts much more than pants.'
Turns out Lily Potter 'nee Evans died in the attack at Godric's Hollow. James Potter, lived along with The Boy-who-lived Charlus Fleamont Potter the III, and their squib spare. He dropped me off with a letter not dissimilar to how it went with Dumbledore in the O.G. books and universe we all know.
Summary is the Sperm donor piece of shit didn't want us and we were useless without magic, so he didn't want to keep us while "grieving and caring for The Savior".
'Bitch what in the actual Fuck‽ It's a Child not the next coming of Christ! You can't handle two kids so you fucked off and just dropped kicked this one to the curb?! Your letters mention Sirius and Remus are alive but you don't want them and their "Dark Taint" near your children? You obviously only have one child Sperm Donor and honestly you should have just had none!'
'Okay no calm down...wait...what was my name again? '
A sharp pain in my head, like the light starting to stream through the attics east facing window became a dagger lobotomizing my brain that made me lose consciousness for a short time. I have flashes of friends and family and loved ones calling for me in laughter and anger and play. A flash of red-red-blood-red hair, the feeling of love the scent of blood, the demand to move thrice, a choice between two babe in front of him, the screaming child or the one watching calmly with curiosity. Darkness.
'Okay, not thinking about that for now then got it. I need to get out of this situation and get out of here.'
I almost absentmindedly, almost knowing but not exactly what to do or I am doing, place everything back in the trunk and spin the nob rapidly three times shrinking it to the size of an average smartphone, slipping it into the pocket of my ratty hand-me-downs.
'Oh man, getting used to technology being so behind the times is going to be annoying. Maybe I can learn hacking as computers are just becoming big? Can I cheat and make investments in start ups or will it be different in a different universe?'
I don't recall how in the fuck I got out of the House let alone all the way to Diagon Alley in bloody London. I had never been to Europe in my past life or even left Surrey in this one! I was probably mostly running on Spite, Pottermore knowledge, and Anger at the Gods. I've read enough books and Fanfiction to know going to the establishment first is a Bad Idea™ in this situation.
First thing first, it was noontime-ish so it was cleaning the blood off,
'Was it mine? I don't think I'm in pain anywhere except my headache but that's probably the Isekai? Why are my hands so small? I'm seven but I'm not, I'm 24?'
And getting some clothes and money. First I think I ran the hottest shower that house had ever seen and threw myself in after emptying my pockets in the sink, bloody clothes and all. Glad I had that snack and my mini-trunk undamaged so far. I don't know how long I spent scrubbing my, with adult hindsight, malnourished filthy body. And yeah I'm definitely a boy, and standing up to pee is so weird.
I vaguely remember stealing Dudley's "hidden piggy bank" which came up to £47 and grabbing Petunia's old pastel blue purse with flowers embroidered on it from her closet and shoving her hidden savings probably almost a thousand euros from my new memories along with the shrunken trunk and the meal she left me yesterday? Then I escaped to a neighbor's backyard to steal some clothes from a frickin clothesline since there was no way I was going to wear "Harry's" clothes in public that's asking for C.P.S. or whatever the mid 80s British equivalent is.
'I didn't even know people used clotheslines anymore except bigger cities, but hey it's apparently the 80s. In London. Oh gods I'm going to see all the weird fun clothing trends in person. I can get some clothes from the beginning of the Punk Movement! My millennial thrifting sensibilities have me frothing almost.'
Finally somehow standing in the back courtyard of The Leaky CAULDRON
'holy fuck I'm actually in a damn potter-nerd's Isekai fantasy'.
Either way, I vaguely remember waiting out back for some sod to walk through the portal(?) and let me into the Alley to hide and lay low while Intel gathering.
'It's a quiet moment in the morning, I think I'll spout some crap to anyone who questions me about what I'm doing out alone and say, "My momma said I'm a big kid now, who can pick up the veggies for our cooking today!" Gods I hope I can mimic a local accent and they speak regular English around here.'
I stuck close to a, I can only call her a hag, to pass through the Gateway cause she looked like a deathly pale old long nose warty toad-face classic terrifying witch. Like Grandmama Addams from the Addams family animated but dipped in something Eldritch. When I sidled up to her she chuckled at me and let me walk by her side after glancing at me with solid black eyes and a far too wide pointy smile and I smiled back with blood on my teeth and a tired anger in my eyes. She nodded to me and I blinked, nodding back and walking just a step closer to her when some men at a table looked our way making me uncomfortable, and at a glance from her looked uncomfortable themselves anywhere else but us now.
'Huh. I guess Like recognizes Like.'
After entering the alley she stared at me and I stared back for a moment or an hour. I think I'm in shock from dying (twice?). It was mesmerizing the void in her eyes. She blinked, breaking eye contact first, ( ' i win') patted my head with a dirty hand and told me,
"Watch after yourself Stardust." She said in a soothing Slavic tinted British accented english then shoved some papers in my hands along with some bronze maybe knuts and shuffled off into a side alley's darkness.
' Stardust huh? I guess I might be. Hey cannon Potter is related to the Blacks right? I need a new name. Why name a child a boring Harry when you could have had a Hadrian or a Hades? Hmmm my mom from Before, I'll call it that it makes enough sense, She used to love Star Trek, and Especially the Mutare Nebula. If I have to stay a kid I'll end up going to some police station around London and saying my name is Mutare...Black. It's a common enough Surname in the Mundane world and useful in the Magical. And a middle to remember My own love of Tolkien stuff too like my Before Families own Tradition of a Tolkien name my grandparents started. Hmm... I know
"My name is Mutare Arathorn Black. And I will be my own person, the next I die will be on My Own Terms and No Others. So I have said, so Mote it Be." I whisper to myself. I feel that bodily ripple again, along with the feeling like glass shattered near me echoing but not in my ears.
Mind slightly fuzzy with a headache again, I look down from that strange encounter long over now. In my hands it was some random flyers for broomsticks, a farmers market and potion ingredients, some vague arcane diagrams and, oh hey, a vague map of Diagon and the connecting alley's with places noted. Noice. Folding and stuffing the rest of the papers into my ugly pastel blue purse I have on under the stolen vintage bomber jacket, I used the map to start walking to the Raven's-Roost Public Library to use their facilities and pass the fuck out in a bathroom corner stall. Or in a random corner. I don't know what they have prowling in the UK, let alone Magic™ UK.
Well I bought a morning street vendor's meat bun, trying to save my "gifted" last meal, and I only got a minorly weird look for 'muggle' money. Or maybe it's the kid(?) Walking alone thing.
'Damn I need a look at myself. Why didn't I check in Private Drive? Oh yeah, the blood I left everywhere. Well, onto the... Rhetoric Alley? Seriously? How did they pick the names, were they just being Punny?'
The whole alley is trippy and almost like a living Studio Ghibli gif almost. Or more like if you took some 'shrooms and had a Bad Trip, but like cut by half and mixed with all of the Harry Potter book descriptions and the movies put together. Trippy and nothing is probably what it seems. Everything, even most of the people are Very Uncanny Valley vibes.
'Bitch why didn't I take a steak or a pocket knife from those bastards' house?'
I turned the street corner at the map marked dancing dryad fountain and bam tucked in between the corner store and a trinket shop was a five story looking Grecian pillared building with a brass Raven Skull door knocker in the center of the door with no door knobs and above it is 'Raven's-Roost' painted in fancy calligraphy with a moving pages wooden book.
I looked around finishing my snack,
'Hmm is it a Dryad who deals with plants and Nymphs with water? I hope my anime and Percy Jackson Greek/roman gods and Lore Olympus hyper fixation knowledge is correct. I can only eat half of this thing, they really didn't feed us huh? Wait, us? Nope. Not thinking about it. Freak out later.'
I wrapped my half eaten bun and stick it in my purse. And knock with the strange knocker.
'Man I really do hope there is no riddles from this door my brain is not down for thinking at this time. I guess dying twice and reincarnation takes a toll on your body and especially brain with this headache,'
A croak sounds as the three headed door knocker seem to... wake up? This shit is so weird.
"What, is your Name?" The raven center Skull demanded. The left glaring with glowing red eyes and the right silent and almost still.
'Well it's easier than Monty Python I guess.'
I open my mouth to speak and find my throat closing on its own almost choking me.
'Dont speak, can't speak, we'll get Punished! We can't be Bad Again! We can't be Bad! The fuck?! We are doing what we, no fucking I need to do to survive!!!'
I square my shoulders and glare at the door,
"My name is Mutare Arathorn Black."
A light flashes from the head on the left and a card with my name printed on it along with a moving glaring photo from the right heads mouth. Oh a library card.
The door swings open to a library that goes back probably three school busses and up about 15 stories of levels of the library with walkways and tired academics and students of all ages and backgrounds and every book probably ever published. I glanced at the outside of the TARDIS level bullshittery wizards are capable of them back inside, sigh and take my first step across the threshold.
'Gods damn it, why couldn't I have been given a body old enough for alcohol?'