I stared at my status screen, rationalizing what I saw there to myself, 'It was a vacation. Be glad there's any progress at all. Plus, everything's done and dealt with. The Grind isn't so pressing now, is it? The girls are safe and content. Excited for a new year, even. I'm not doing so bad myself either. I can be forgiven for focusing on other things, can't I?'
< Stats >
< +2 to Body, +3 to Soul >
< Body: 74+2=76/100+ >
< Mind: 78/100+ >
< Soul: 80+3=83/100+ >
< Combat (T6)>
< Attack 58/100, Defense 59/100, Agility 62/100, Evasion 59/100, Tactics 65/100, Accuracy 56/100, Focus 62/100, Awareness 62/100, Dueling 70/100, Melee 20/100, Healing 45/100 >
< Magic (T6)>
< +3 to Herbology, +3 to Wandless Magic, +5 to Transportation, +5 to Potter's Clay >
< Wanded Magic 74 (+5)/100, Magic Theory 79/100, Charms 68/100, Transfiguration 67/100, Herbology 46+3=49/100, DADA 75/100, Runes 64/100, Arithmancy 65/100, Astronomy 48/100, Divination 16/100, Occlumency 57/100, Transportation 45+5=50/100, Dark Arts 70/100, Wandless Magic 55+3=58/100, Black Blood Magic 55/100, Potter's Clay 6+5=11/100 >
< Social (T5)>
< +2 to Notoriety, +3 to Perception, +5 to Influence, +5 to Seduction
< Speech 55/100, Persuasion 50/100, Perception 47+3=50/100, Seduction 58+5=63/100, Teaching 62/100, Negotiation 32/100, Notoriety 66+2=68/100, Influence 60+5=65/100, Willpower 65/100, Luck 61/100 >
< Creation (T4)>
< Enchanting 48/100, Potions 40/100, Wards 59/100, Crafting 18/100, Conjuration 52/100, Ritual Magic 71/100 >
The summer after Voldemort's final fall was spent almost entirely on a private island for me and the coven. Not a care in the world between us. Add in our friends and families, and we were having the times of our lives, enjoying Heather's — and by extension everyone else's — newfound freedom. It was only in late August that we left the island. And even then, we only left to prepare for the coming school year.
It was a lazy, hedonistic vacation: the best kind and exactly what we all needed after a stressful year and its ending. As such, the Grind had taken a back seat for me. One of the most understated blessings that the System granted me was that my skills and stats couldn't degrade once they'd risen. Even as I lounged around for months on end, my levels were, at the very least, stable.
The only 'gains' I'd seen from the Grind over the summer were for things I was naturally doing during the vacation. Impressively, I'd gained < +2 to Body > from just sex and < +3 to Soul > from the sheer weight of relaxation. Seduction and Perception were much the same as Body. Influence and Notority were likely due to events back in Magical Britain. Wandless Magic and Transportation came naturally and embarrassingly enough, I'd seen an increase in Herbology due solely to the simple amount of magical smoke-leaf we were consuming.
The only skill I'd consciously dedicated time to was Potter's Clay. Heather's Family Magic. Essentially, it was Transfiguration taken to an even more illogical extreme. Every change affected by Potter's Clay was inherently permanent. Not just permanent, but bone-deep, more like spell-casted Alchemy than Transfiguration. The magic overwrote not just the present, but the target's past and future as well, brute-forcing the change into being a natural and expected part of reality.
We'd found books on it in Heather's vaults. Hermoine had seized them with two hands and quite literally ran off with them at first sight. Thankfully, Heather was a good sport about the whole thing. While Hermione and I were learning with her, Heather was naturally better at it than either of us, almost genetically inclined toward both theory and practice. But it was still a curiously fascinating branch of magic for the other two of us. We'd put a good few hours into it, even on vacation.
I intended to delve deeper into the subject during the school year. As well as slapping my cheeks and getting back into the Grind properly. I'd been lax over the summer but there were still things to do — still goals to reach for, quests to complete, and ever-more magical mysteries to explore. I wasn't about to stop grinding now that the most obvious threat was gone.
Pulling Septima into my side as she rested her head on my shoulder, I promised myself that much. She smiled up at me softly for a brief fleeting moment before returning her gaze forward. On my other side, Aurora drew lazy, absent circles on the back of my hand on the table, not so much bored as simply content. We sat up at the staff table of Hogwarts' Great Hall. Bella curled up as Shadow on my shoulders, an eternally treasured companion in either form. The students had already arrived and taken their seats below us, chattering excitedly as we all waited for Professor McGonagall to lead the Firsties in for their sorting.
'Still,' I thought. 'So, so much has changed since we last sat here…'
Across all of Magical Britain, the air was alive in a way I'd never experienced before. The Dark Old Guard had been arrested or killed in Voldemort's final fall. The Ministry had been overthrown. There, the paper-pushers would follow the order of law and society, even if they didn't necessarily agree with the changes that were happening. The Dark Faction of the Wizengamot — almost entirely composed of young, newly-appointed Lords and Ladies now for some reason… — had seen the writing on the wall. It was impossible not to when it was shoved in their faces like it had been. Some still clung to their backward beliefs but a surprising number of them were genuinely on board with the revolution.
On the whole, Magical Britain wanted to change. Wizards and Witches would never be called quick to change. But the momentum was against those who wished to maintain the status quo, few though they were nowadays. That momentum was furthered as the younger generation was actually allowed chances to prove themselves. The recent graduates of Hogwarts — basically the classes of '82 to '95 — had taken up much of the 'revolution's' momentum now that politics and the running of society wasn't just a game for old, corrupt fools.
That'd been the most important and impactful move of the newest Minister. At first, Cedric's candidacy was mostly a joke. It quickly gathered genuine support though and became something very, very real. Swept along with the flow, Cedric did the most intelligent thing any Minister could have done: delegate, delegate, delegate. While the Wizengamot were still trying to come to terms with (relatively) recent events, 'the youth' were pushing just about every change they could.
As such, the true push for revolution and change had shifted onto the shoulders of the recent Hogwarts alumni. Enough so that Cedric was able to come back for the chance to finish his Seventh Year. But Hogwarts was where it all started. Even months later, the mood in the Great Hall was electric. Nowhere more so than around the new Fifth Years, who'd 'somehow' become even more popular as a group than the Seventh Years (apart from Cedric, of course). I suppose that's just what happens when you help spark a successful student revolution.
Hogwarts actually had more students than it should have this year. We'd received several transfer students from both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. It seemed they'd grown somewhat invested in the situation here in Magical Britain after taking part in the 'Bloody Good Fudging Coup'. That one of those transfers was Gabrielle didn't surprise me one bit. That another was Svetlana, keeping an eye on her 'Little Dragon' didn't surprise me either.
Victor and Fleur had returned for the year as well, though not as students. Instead, Dumbledore had taken them on in situations similar to my own. They would be working as assistant professors while pursuing their masteries — Victor under Snape (surprisingly) for DADA/Potions and Fleur under Flitwick for Charms. Of course, if asked, Fleur would give a very different reasoning.
"I cannot leave poor, dear, misunderstood Atlas to my Devil-Sister's impure and sullied machinations! Why, who would defend his virtue~? His purity~? Who, I ask, but moi~? Yes, it is for his good, not my selfish desires. I misidentified his intentions, marking him a Devil last year. He is anything but~! The true Devil is the wicked little sister who led us astray. As such, I am here to repent, to protect him, to bask in his love though I am unworthy~…!"
She, uh… didn't stop once she got going too. No matter who asked. Several students had already been sucked into her almost religious ramblings… And Professor Flitwick. All it took was an innocent question in an otherwise normal conversation for her to break out into a certifiably Fleur-like verbal sprint. And if left uninterrupted for long enough, she'd even start extolling my virtues as a 'divine' lover, to the worryingly eager attention of a growing crowd of Witches…
Other than Fleur and Victor, a few parents — the ones who'd been along on the Black Vacation that summer — were in attendance, if only for the first Hogwarts feast of the year. Apparently, attending was as easy as simply asking but no one ever did. Dumbledore was happy to accept guests, which led to Cygnus, Ada, Phoebe, Sirius, and Narcissa — who was just starting to show her pregnancy, though it was still concealed well by her usual robes — sitting up at the head table with the rest of the staff. Amelia was there as Head of the DMLE — mostly because the (relatively) recently appointed Minister was still a student — and Tonks was there as Cedric's guard.
A familiar (yet unmissed) face even returned to Hogwarts this year. And he did so in a way no one was expecting, especially from him. Last seen being dragged from the Great Hall by his ear by an enraged father, Ronald Weasley was back a changed man.
He bowed to Heather from the waist, "Heather, I'm deeply, irreversibly sorry for my actions against you. They were wrong and I was being a right prat even before I tried to do the unforgivable. I don't expect you to forgive me. But you should know that I know I was wrong and that I'm still on punishment. Which I intend to see out wholeheartedly."
"I…" Heather nodded stiffly at Ron's bowed apology. "I don't think we'll ever be friends again, Ron. You're right. What you did was unforgivable. But… so long as you leave me alone, I suppose we can be cordial from here on out."
Ron, showing how much he truly had changed, just nodded and accepted Heather's words. He didn't rage or whine. He merely took a seat far away from Heather at the Gryffindor table with a composure that he most certainly didn't have the year before. It earned him a few inquisitive looks. His actions against Heather would always stay as a black mark on him but he did genuinely seem to be changing from the child that he was into something that much more closely resembled a proper man and scion of a Pure-Blood house.
Already, that was turning out much better than I could have expected. Whatever Arthur had done to him had done Ron good. His petulant jealousy was nowhere to be found and he carried himself with an almost nobility that he was sorely missing before. He was still far from perfect, of course, but he was better. And he seemed to be interested in bettering himself, not for Heather or anyone else's approval but for his own peace of mind.
Eventually, the new Firsties were led in by Professor McGonagall and sorted into their respective houses. They were met by cheers, even from Slytherin and Ravenclaw. To a degree, at least. Up at the head table, we politely clapped along to every sorting.
Well… most of us. Sirius was too busy almost literally barking up Amelia and Phoebe's pant legs as if he were in his dog form. Amelia bore his attention with stoic exasperation. Phoebe, fittingly, gave him honest-to-goodness headpats to help keep him in line. And Sirius himself earned his fair share of glares from Professor McGonagall.
When everyone had seated themselves, Dumbledore stood, smiling genially, "Gentle Witches and Wizards, welcome back to Hogwarts. Yes, I can confirm. You are back. This isn't just a hallucinatory illusion brought about by Pomona and Severus' 'special' stock. Another year of magic and learning is starting here at Hogwarts and I am oh-so-glad you're all joining us again or for the first time.
"Why, we even have our illustrious new Minister in attendance this year! Cedric, you glorious young man! Stand and give your eager populace what they want…"
Cedric stood sheepishly and Dumbledore didn't even give him a second to wave as he'd asked, eyes twinkling with amusement as he cut back in, to Cedric's visible relief. "Okay, that's enough. Always leave them wanting more, my boy. Yes, last year was perhaps the most eventful year in Hogwarts' recent history. A tournament, a dark lord's defeat, and even a coup. Why, I don't think I can say how proud of you all I am. Good show, one and all, I say! Wonderful, truly wonderful stuff. And thank Merlin we finally have some reasonable and promising people in power in this damned country…"
He smiled an expression of genuine pride and a touch of elderly mischief, "One way or another, your generation will be a force for change. I look forward to working with all of you when you leave these hallowed halls. And showing you all that some of us old timers can still shake things up with you young'ins."
A round of noise went through the Great Hall, equal parts groaning and laughter, as Dumbledore played into his grandfatherly reputation in such an 'uncharacteristic' way. 'Young'ins' was a nice touch… Still, the clamor was accompanied by backs sitting straighter, Dumbledore's genuine pride settling into the students' minds.
"Now, the usual announcements. Much like Atlas Black last year, we'll be joined by two new assistant professors this year. I do hope most of you remember Miss Fleur Delacour and Mister Victor Krum, yes? Dementia is supposed to be the domain of the old and 'feeble' — like myself, of course," Dumbledore teased with air quotes. Absolutely no one believed Dumbledore could ever be considered feeble. "But you can never be too sure with Witches and Wizards…"
"Additionally, Defense Against the Dark Arts will be taught by my good friend Alastor Moody this year," Dumbledore's words carried a sense of deja vu since he'd introduced the same thing at last year's opening feast. "Don't worry, this one is the real Moody. I made sure to check this time. He tried to kill me three times this morning so he is most definitely the real Alastor."
Moody grunted from the staff table, his infamous eye whirling around to glare at the incredulous looks Dumbledore's words received from the audience, "Constant vigilance!"
"Indeed, my friend," Dumbledore chuckled. "For more general announcements, the Forbidden Forest is, in fact, forbidden. Threat of painful death, venture in if you dare, yadda yadda. Now, one last-…
He trailed off, looking into the distance at something no one else could see, "… Oh. Oh, dear. Atlas, would you care to join me outside for a moment?"
I blinked as Dumbledore's opening speech was suddenly derailed for seemingly no reason. Confused murmurings quickly spread throughout the Great Hall as people wondered what was going on. The students didn't have a clue and the staff weren't any better. Standing slowly and giving Septima and Aurora's hands a reassuring squeeze each, I made my way over to Dumbledore.
"What's going on, Albus?" I asked, keeping my voice at a whisper to prevent any potential panic.
"Nothing too concerning, I should hope," Dumbledore answered casually. "Hogwarts simply seems to be under some form of attack."
I winced as his voice and answer rang out through the Great Hall, almost instantly causing the panic I was hoping to avoid. Dumbledore gave a sheepish smile for having forgotten about his standard Sonorous Charm, "Ah… Oops?"
"That'll certainly get people moving," I muttered.
"Remain calm, please," Dumbledore announced. "There's probably nothing to worry about. You can put away the sword-… Where in Avalon did you find a sword, Miss Bones…? I'm both concerned and impressed. No, that was not permission to join her with a dagger of your own, Mister Zabini."
"Albus," I facepalmed with a groan. "Please stop talking. You're not helping nearly as much as you think you are."
Dumbledore chortled — honest-to-god chortled… "Very well, Atlas. I shall defer the defense of Hogwarts to your capable hands. After all, who better to take care of a new Dark Lord than the Man-Who-Helped?"
"You didn't say anything about a Dark Lord," I glared at him lightly. "Fine. Just… come on. You're not getting out of this that easily."
Dumbledore gave a carefree, little shrug. I couldn't help but feel that he was much too amused by this whole situation. Sure, practically nothing could threaten Hogwarts' wards, not even a hundred Voldemorts at his peak. But there was still — apparently — a Dark Lord outside, banging on the proverbial door. Even if the trust he was showing in me was heartening, I'd prefer if he was a bit more serious about it.
Sighing, I turned to address the rest of the staff, "I doubt you'll be able to stop them from following and watching but do try to keep them under control, yes? Albus and I will handle the rest."
Septima stood out of her seat and came over to worry over me, pressing a brief but meaningful peck to my lips, "Do be careful, dear..."
Aurora followed her, repeating the gesture with a bit more fire behind it, "Go get 'em, tiger~."
"Worry and fear should be the farthest things from our minds!" Fleur declared. Her eyes betrayed that she didn't wholly believe her own words despite her confidence in me, "With the castle at his back, Atlas cannot fail! H-He cannot…"
I smiled to reassure her, projecting my voice so the rest of the Great Hall heard as well, "We dealt with one Dark Lord handily enough. What's another?"
A general clamor of cheers and confidence spread at my words. It helped raise my own confidence the rest of the way there. I'd been rather lax over the summer but I quite literally couldn't regress. I liked my chances against any Witch or Wizard except perhaps Dumbledore or the very few who were at his level. Even then, with Dumbledore and Hogwarts herself as backup, we'd pull through somehow. That didn't change the fact that ignorance was always a worrying enemy to be up against. All we knew — even Dumbledore, connected to the Hogwarts wards as he was — was 'Dark Lord'.
Still, I drew my wand, checked the Black Dueling Revolver hidden on my hip inside my robes, and confidently walked to confront our unexpected guest. Dumbledore followed from a few steps back, seeming more than pleased to leave the leading to his 'successor' — a title he'd called me at the last year and that I hadn't been able to escape upon my return. Thankfully, he hadn't declared so publically but I didn't doubt that more than a few people had seen where the wind was blowing.
As we walked down the length of the Great Hall, we drew our fair share of 'stragglers'. That is to say, just about the whole Great Hall got up to try and follow us. They were kept in line by the other professors — like herding cats — but one noticeable young woman bodily shoved her way through the crowd to walk beside me with purpose in each step of her much shorter legs.
Heather glared up at me, "I'm standing next to you."
"Are you?" A smile pulled at my lips despite my words.
"Just try and stop me."
"Do you doubt I could?"
"Doubt you could without a fight," Heather shot right back.
"… Fair. Still, I probably should try…"
"After this is over and dealt with, I might let you."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you~?" I smirked.
Heather didn't flinch or give an inch, "Call it my reward for dealing with another Dark Lord."
Behind us, Dumbledore chuckled 'to himself'. Heather and I shared a glance… and collectively decided to ignore the old man. As we reached the castle's main entrance, the crowd behind us had dwindled to nothing. The other professors readily took up the task I'd given them, preventing the students from wandering into a potential battlefield. Still, I didn't doubt the whole castle would be watching from the windows.
I paused before the tall double main doors, asking, "… Shall we?"
Heather nodded firmly, "Right with you, Atlas."
Dumbledore waved his hand, "After you, my friend~."
The doors swung outward with his gesture. I stepped forward to face the music with a stoic expression on my face. Immediately, we were greeted by a scene that was as impressive as it was pathetic.
Pausing as one, all three of us watched as about 200 feet away, a Witch flung herself against Hogwarts' wards over and over again like a bug to a bug zapper. The impressive part was that she was flying as she did. Genuinely and seemingly under her own power. She was also cloaked in an aura of magical power. An impressive amount of it, enough to cause the wards to flicker with each impact. It was very, very poorly controlled and directed though.
The pathetic part was… everything else. Especially the part where she was trying the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. Though the whole 'bug zapper' bit was a close second.
"Should we…?" Heather trailed off.
"Put her out of her misery? I'm honestly considering it," I replied.
Dumbledore chuckled, "Let's at least see what she wants."
"You're rather calm about this, Albus," I noted as we began walking to meet the maniac at the wardline.
"Of course," Dumbledore nodded coolly. "Age, if nothing else, is great for keeping one's composure. Though depending on her answers, I might just join you in putting her out of her misery…"
With his words, he allowed the briefest glimpse of what lay underneath his calmly amused exterior. His magic roiled like cloud cover that stretched into the horizon in every direction. Ready, prepared, just waiting to unleash the deluge of 'rain' it had stored away. With his brief 'lapse' of control, the impression of his magic asserted itself on the physical world. It was enough to make even the bug zapper maniac hesitate, though she didn't seem to realize why or where the feeling was coming from.
"Uh, yeah…" Heather shuddered slightly. "Why are we helping you again?"
Dumbledore gave her an indulgent smile, "Because I am old and I would rather like capable hands to take my place eventually. Or would you have me doing everything myself forever?"
"Heh, ideally…?" Heather chuckled awkwardly.
Coming to a stop on the other side of the wardline from the maniac, I cleared my throat, "Ahem."
Even then, it took a moment for her to notice us, shaking off her bug-zapping-induced daze, "… Finally! Do you realize how long-! Never mind! TREMBLE, FOOLS! The Dark Lady Lilith of Liechtenstein flies before you!"
"Never heard of you," I deadpanned.
"While I appreciate the female representation, I don't think you're the best role model in this case," Heather quipped.
"SILENCE!" Dark Lady Lilith ended up being the one to tremble… with rage. "I don't need your approval or recognition! I shall earn them when I tear this castle stone from stone!"
Heather opened her mouth for another quip but stopped at Dumbledore's hand on her shoulder. Which allowed Dark Lady Lilith to continue her maniacal ramblings.
"I've heard that dark fool Voldemort was defeated! That leaves the British Isles as open territory! Ripe for the taking by any Dark Lord or Lady! Even more so by me! I have no need for minions or weakness like the contemptuous snake-fucker before me! After I tear this castle down, I shall rebuild it in my image so I may rule your timid and easily swayed populace from a seat of terror and power!"
Again, Heather moved to interrupt. I stopped her this time, placing a hand over her mouth before she could speak. What was the age-old wisdom? Never interrupt your enemy when they're making a mistake. Thankfully, Heather seemed to realize what we were getting at with a pointed glance from me.
"Who needs minions or artifacts when I have power?! More power than a dozen men or women! Even leylines are nothing before me! Soon, I shall have even more! I will overwhelm these wards and forcefully evict you all from your puny castle! So it has been prophesized!"
To be fair to her, she did have power in spades. She might have exceeded Dumbledore in pure magical reserves. But it was just that. Just power. Raw and wild, with no control to speak of. Even now, her aura of power snapped at the air around her, randomly transfiguring it and shooting off half-formed spell sparks.
Finally, Dumbledore spoke up in reply, "Well, at the very least, I'm glad to hear you don't intend to harm anyone inside the castle."
"Hardly," Dark Lady Lilith scoffed harshly. "I'm not a barbarian. If they stand aside and surrender like good little sheep, I won't harm a hair on their heads."
"Excellent. The Wizarding World is sorely lacking in civilized Dark Lords and Ladies," Dumbledore nodded before humming inquisitively. "Hmm, Atlas? Your thoughts?"
"Personally? I think she has a bad case of the monologues," I deadpanned.
Heather snorted, "Tom was worse but yeah, she just keeps yappin'."
Dumbledore sighed fondly, "Ahh, I used to love Gellert's monologues. Well, before… yes, let's just say 'before' and leave it at that…"
"That's three for three," I mused. "Is being a Dark Lord a condition? Dark-Lord-ism?"
"Symptoms may include but are not limited to," Heather adopted a rapid-fire voice straight out of a bad commercial. "Monologues, delusions of grandeur, a distorted worldview, general insanity, unnecessary symbolism, a penchant for pretentious pageantry, an overreliance on prophecy, and loss of the ability to take a joke."
What she said and the way she said it straight-up folded Dumbledore. He doubled over in genuine, uncontrollable laughter, pulled straight from his soul. I couldn't help but chuckle along too. Dark Lady Lilith glared down at us, visibly fuming. Heather shot her a teasing smirk, more of a taunt, really.
After several seconds of Dumbledore trying to regain control of himself, the Dark Lady snapped, "What the Hell are you laughing for?! Can't you see it's already over for you?! I have the high ground! The highest ground! Furthermore, bear witness!"
With her last shout and a touch of flair, Dark Lady Lilith ripped open her shirt, baring her whole chest to the world. Her breasts bounced free, pale skin shimmering in the moonlight. Rosy peaks capped full, snowswept orbs of blessed feminine prowess. Seemingly tattooed, dark lines formed symbols that led away from her nipples, covering the vast expanse of her cleavage, like script on parchment.
Heather squawked before being sent into a fit of giggles as she reached up to playfully cover my eyes, "Oh no~! 'Dark' titties! Atlas, look away before you're swayed to her cause!"
"While this is far from my area of expertise, they are… nice breasts…?" Dumbledore offered, both confused and amused.
"Of course, they are!" Dark Lady Lilith scowled. "Look! The runes atop my perfect skin tie me to a ritual that's already in progress! Any moment now, I'll be tapped into a distant leyline and fed enough power to rival the sun! Your days are numbered and your doom has come, mortals!"
"Yet somehow, you're still monologuing…" I muttered under my breath.
"That…" Dumbledore stared, and not at the Dark Lady's tits. "Is so far past suicide that I might actually be speechless."
"So it's as bad as it sounds?" Heather casually asked as if Lilith wasn't even there.
"Worse," Dumbledore shook his head. "Under no circumstances would a human body be able to withstand the power of a leyline. Hell, even a Dragon would pop like so much confetti. The very concept is ridiculous."
"Y-You're ridiculous!" Dark Lady Lilith shot back petulantly. "Shut up! Just shut up! Soon, I'll show you the error of your-… Ha, it's starting-!"
Before she could even finish her sentence, Lilith drew in a harsh breath. Then, she began to glow. Starting with the script-like tattoos on her chest and radiating out to encompass her whole body in an instant. With the glow came the most tortured, desperate, and unholy scream I'd ever heard. Not even Voldemort and his Horcruxes had made a sound close to this. It was the worst thing I'd ever heard… right up until Lilith's glowing, screaming, magically combusting corpse fell onto the wardline for a final time, and the world beyond began to tear itself apart.
With barely a moment's hesitation, I snatched up Heather. And then Dumbledore as well. He was a bit harder to carry, not fitting nearly as well underneath my arm. But desperate times, and all that.
This certainly counted, in my opinion. Saying the world was tearing itself apart was still somehow putting it lightly. Magic beyond anything I'd ever felt burned like the sun from Lilith's still screaming form. The glow compressed itself into a ball that sat at the very edge of the wards, unleashing a tapped leyline into the world. Worse still, the leylines beneath Hogwarts began to react as well. I could feel the Earth itself rebelling beneath our feet.
Bodily carrying both of them, I dashed for the castle doors and the sanctuary we might find inside them. Behind me, outside the wardline, the world began to disappear. A storm of magic ripped away at everything it touched. Only the wards kept it from running into the castle grounds. But even then, they only acted as a bubble as the leylines beneath Hogwarts joined the storm of magic.
"Doors, Albus! Doors!" I shouted as I raced us across the threshold.
"Yes, shutting them does seem slightly prudent," Dumbledore mused nonchalantly.
The tall doors to the castle shut with a bang. The last thing we saw from outside was the world past the wardline exploding into nothingness. There was a great shift. In the air, in the noise, and in very the magic of reality. It wasn't like any magical transportation I'd ever experienced but somehow, I'm sure all of us could feel that we were suddenly far, far from home…
Something that was only confirmed when we found a window to peek out of. For one, where it had been night before, the sun was now high in the sky. For another, the terrain had changed to something unrecognizable. Everything within the wards and the castle grounds was the same, as far as we could see. The lake was still there, at least. But when we turned to its shore where the Forbidden Forest should have lay… there was nothing. At least, nothing we recognized.
It was as if the whole castle and its grounds were unceremoniously dropped in a foreign land. The area past the wardline certainly wasn't the Scottish Highlands. It was both not rocky enough in places it should have been and too thriving with dense, untamed, and most of all, unfamiliar forests starting just past the Black Lake. A light dusting of snow covered the flatter, clearer areas and an ever-present chill hung in the shockingly clear blue sky.
It shouldn't even have been autumn yet. And the skies of Scotland were never this clear or this starkly blue. While the new area around the castle was relatively hilly, it wasn't 'Highland' hilly and there were way too many evergreen trees for comfort at that moment. An unfamiliar, poorly 'paved' road of worn dirt and crushed gravel ran along the unfamiliar forest's edge, eventually leading up to the wardline and continuing on into the unknown on either side.
< System updated with World Transfer and new World Parameters! Welcome to Planetos, Gamer! Would you like to check the changes in Status? >
Something croaked in my throat at both the foreign scene outside and the notification from my System, "… Fuck."
IIIII
Daved Mikaelson was of the Smallfolk. He knew that as he drank and breathed, as he ate and slept. There was no mistaking or escaping his station in life. And Daved was mostly fine with that. Mostly content. But he was also a young man of only ten and six namedays. As such, a fire for exploration and adventure did so burn in his gut.
His existence should have been a simple one. Merely tending his family's farmstead, paying homage to the Old Gods, and tax to the land's noble Lord. But even with his brief experiences in the world — his short life so far — Daved had come to realize that no man's life was truly simple.
For Daved, he was the oldest of three. His father had been called to war with the Ironborn Rebellion. That was six years ago, nearly to the day. With his absence, Daved had taken up responsibility in the home. For his mother and grandfather and younger siblings. That responsibility continued when his father never returned.
There were no bones to be buried, no true closure to be had. Just their Lord's compensation: the cost of his wartime equipment, paid out in silver. A pittance compared to the life of a father. After a brief but harsh year of winter in the North, that pittance was sorely needed.
Grandfather may have been the head of the family but he was old yet. Not quite feeble. He still helped around the homestead where he could. But the wolf's share of the work fell onto Daved's shoulders. For his dearest younger sister and pain-in-the-arse youngest brother, Daved toiled. But when he could — on his trips into the village only a half-day's ride away — he relished the chance to get away from the responsibility thrust upon him so early.
He counted his blessings that he and his family were afforded a horse — an old mare who had a few good years left before she started to go lame. Until then, she was steady and reliable, able to carry a fair few packs of supplies that the village could offer for Grandfather's carvings.
Daved stuck to the road during his trips. To venture from it was to invite death, especially in the harsh woods of the North. He'd never forgotten his childhood stories. Of beasts among the dense trees, wearing the flesh of both animal and man. Wildlings would be a rare sight this far south of the Wall but they were always a possibility. Stranger still, the stories of monsters or even Children of the Forest who survived the fates of their kin.
Usually, Daved's desire for adventure was easily ignored. Even when the very earth beneath his feet shook he did not run off to sate his piqued curiosity. He did, however, speed up his pace, wishing to get into the village to see if anyone knew more. As fate would have it, his curiosity sated itself.
Following the road around the edge of the forest, a certain scene came into view between the trees. It was a scene that baffled belief and strained Daved's mind. He gaped as the sight of a grand castle — a monumental structure the likes of which he'd never seen or conceived — became clearer and clearer, eventually coming unobscured by the forest as the road curved around it.
Pointed towers reached high into the sky. So many that Daved couldn't count them all. More than the fingers on his two hands for certain. The biggest tower even had a tower coming off it! Covered bridges stretched between the towers, connecting the whole castle to itself like the bloodways of a man's skin. Window upon window, some with glass that glinted in the bright Northern sun, looked out upon the world. But strangely, there were no walls around the keep and many towers.
It was impossible. It made Daved question reality as he knew it. He'd traveled this route dozens of times. He couldn't have missed a scene like this, a castle to rival any Lord's. Riding forward, Daved realized that even the land was different. There'd been no lake here, certainly not one to this scale. Around the castle, there was grass, untouched by snow or melting morning's frost. And the way it started abruptly at a certain point made it look as if the castle and its grounds were a world apart.
Daved dismounted his mare and led her along. Any sense of caution had been blasted from his mind by the sheer impossibility of the scene he witnessed. He should have known if a structure like this was being raised in the area. No, he would have known. There was no way he couldn't. It'd been scant fortnights since his last trip to the village. Great keeps of stone and wood were not made from nothing. Yet it was as if the castle had appeared overnight.
The quaking earth, Daved realized. Was it a sign? Was it responsible for the castle or was it the opposite? Limited though his knowledge was, Daved could imagine a suddenly appearing castle and lake would shake the ground. Movement at a distance caught Daved's eye. Three figures came from the castle, descending along the constructed path that led down from the castle opposite to the lake.
"Old Gods be kind…" Daved muttered to himself, realizing he'd been seen.
He couldn't avoid confrontation. He might ride away for the moment but Daved knew that action would come back to bite him. If the three figures were not Highborn or their servants at the very least, Daved would eat his boots. The impossibility of it all paled before the trouble Highborn attention could cause him and his family. As such, Daved mounted his mare again and rode to meet the likely Lords, stopping only when he reached the edge of the castle's ground, as denoted by the jarring lack of snow.
Dismounting his horse, Daved bowed and waited there. He held the position stiffly, just knowing that he was undoubtedly and unknowingly committing some Highborn slight. But Lords liked bowing, right…? His mare at least seemed quite content with the offered grass, bowing her head as well to graze.
"Oi, dude, the Hell?!" A maiden's voice called out to him, making Daved start. "What're you even doing?"
The vulgarity from such a fair voice made Daved doubt his 'Lordly' assumption for a moment. Sneaking a peek up at the approaching figures put that doubt to rest again. No Smallfolk could be so pretty, nor dressed so finely if strangely, nor appearing as if she'd bathed just that morn.
Daved noticed the Lady's bared legs and hastily averted his eyes again to avoid offense. Before he did, he caught a glimpse of the other two figures, all but confirming their Highborn status in his eyes. For who else could hope to wear glass in front of their eyes in such an eccentric and luxuriant fashion?
The leading noble Lord's voice was exasperated when he spoke, "Heather, don't go scaring our one hope for information, please. The poor man can't even look at us."
The accents they spoke with were strange and foreign, impossible for Daved to even begin to place. He was only Smallfolk, after all. He'd never even been as far as White Harbor to the south. Their words were unfamiliar but Daved was quick enough to place their purpose. The Lords needed information. Why or what Daved could offer as a Smallfolk, he didn't dare guess.
"A-Apologies, me'lord, me'lady," Daved stuttered. "Ah don't be meaning oh'fense. Ah'm just a bit rattled, is all."
"As are we," The old Lord — older than Grandfather by far — chuckled. "Perhaps we can help settle each other's nerves, no? Please, stand and speak with us, young man. What is your name, to start?"
Nervously, Daved stood, looking everywhere he could but at the maiden, "D-Daved, me'lord. Daved Mikaelson. At yer service, o'course."
The younger Lord — only a few namedays older than Daved — nodded and Daved's breath caught in his throat at the Highborn's show of respect, "Nice to meet you. I'm Atlas and the old man is Albus. Heather is the young lady you've already had the pleasure of meeting."
"Damn straight, it's a pleasure…" Lady Heather grumbled.
"Ha!" To his horror, Daved couldn't stop a bark of laughter from escaping at that.
Daved's horror faded before he could attempt to apologize when Lady Heather flashed him a grin that could have conquered kingdoms, "Nice. No need for all that stuffy 'milady' stuff. I'm, what? A year older than you maybe?"
"E-Even still, me'lady," Daved hastily stuttered, averting his eyes from her again. "Ah'm only Smallfolk. Wouldn't be right…"
Lord Atlas gave Daved a queer, piercing stare, only speaking after a moment of careful consideration and examination, "… Where are we, Daved?"
Daved blinked at the strange question, "The North, me'lord."
"North of where?" the strange questions continued.
"About half a week's ride from White Harbor," Daved still answered dutifully.
Lord Atlas sighed, "What continent are we on? What country?"
"A-Ah'm not sure I follow, me'lord…" Daved replied, growing nervous as he didn't seem to be meeting the Lord's expectations.
"This land as a whole," Lord Albus clarified. "What do you call it?"
"The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros," Daved answered, relieved to be able to. "Ruled by King Robert Baratheon on the Iron Throne. The North is ruled by Lord Paramount Eddard Stark and this land here looks to Lord Manderly of White Harbor. But ah'm afraid that'd be all I know of rulin', me'lords..."
The Lords and Lady exchanged worried glances before Lord Atlas turned back to Daved with another question, "And what year is it?"
"Err…" Daved hesitated, "Ah'm not sure, me'lord. Ah know it's been six years since the Ironborn Rebellion was crushed and about five or so since the last winter ended. Some twenty-and-nine tens since the Dragons came to Westeros."
"Years since the last winter…?" Lady Heather muttered, seemingly catching onto something strange in his words.
"So it seems," Lord Albus sighed, suddenly wearing his many years heavily. "I think we are a long, long way from home, my friends…"