• Hogwarts, Seventh Floor Corridor, West Tower, Thursday, 10 AM •
[Cassius White]
Step. Step. Step.
The sound of his own hurried footsteps was the only thing keeping Cassius calm as he walked through the seventh-floor corridor, heading towards the Headmaster's office.
He tried his best to ignore the talking paintings and the turning heads of statues that followed his progress. You only truly realized how many portraits, ghosts, and other absurd trinkets decorated the walls of this castle at a time like this—when you were desperately trying to keep calm and rehearse a plan that had been devised and adjusted for a whole week.
"Hey, why isn't he going to his class at this hour?"
"Do you think he was kicked out?"
"He's a Gryffindor, so it's most likely true."
"Hey, what do you mean by that? Gryffindor is the best!"
"Heh, keep repeating that for another few centuries and it might become true."
"Hahahahah! So true. Hufflepuff is the best, after all."
"Hah, you wish. If you aren't a Slytherin, you're nothing."
"Ugh, haven't you gotten bored of the same argument after a millennium?"
"Hahahah, what's there to get bored of? It's not like we have anything better to do."
"Of course we do, you paint-for-brains! We can figure out why a student is out of class this morning."
"I thought we had figured that out? He was kicked out, wasn't he?"
"We don't know that for sure; we just assumed."
"So what? Our assumptions have been right all these years. By now, it should be called experience."
"Unbelievable. Anyway, move to the next frame quickly. We can ask him once we're ahead."
Yeah. Cassius was having a hard time concentrating because of this. They were discussing him as if he weren't even there. Though, if he was being honest with himself, their banter helped.
He wasn't going to start talking to them—he had made that mistake once and was late for Potions because of it—but hearing them talk did help him calm down a little.
He was still plenty nervous; anyone in his position would be. But he had resolved himself to do this yesterday. He was going to reveal to Dumbledore what worlds were being merged with this one.
If anyone from his previous life heard of this, they'd mock him endlessly. But things were going south fast, and if he didn't ask Dumbledore for help, there wouldn't be a world left by the time the merger was finally done.
'What brought this on, Cassius, one might ask?' he thought, the sarcasm a thin shield against his ever-rising anxiety.
Still, he answered his own rhetorical question. 'Well, Gellert Grindelwald is out of his prison and roaming Europe.'
He rolled his eyes inwardly, recalling the Daily Prophet's articles:
"Dark Lord Grindelwald Sighted in Bulgaria"
"Gellert Grindelwald Escaped His Prison Cell Almost a Week Ago; Governments Around the World Are Trying to Suppress the News"
"Informer Inside the German Ministry of Magic Says Their Minister Suspects Dumbledore and Foul Play"
"Informer in the Black Market Says the ICW Has Been Suppressing the News for Longer Than a Week"
And that was just yesterday's headlines. This morning's issue started by directly stating that the German Minister, the French Council, and MACUSA were trying to investigate and confirm whether it was Dumbledore who released Grindelwald or not.
It was clear they were trying to lessen the impact by deflecting the blame, even if it was on false information. But Cassius didn't like that.
These people didn't know how fucked they would be if they weren't united by the time the merger was done. One peak high-class devil could end Britain's wizarding population, let alone a Greek god…
'I really have no choice but to reveal things to Dumbledore,' he thought. 'At least that would motivate him to maybe use his power to bring the wizarding world together?'
He didn't know; he was just shooting in the dark. He might have called it planning, but it was really just him worrying about things endlessly. If it weren't for the Archive, he wouldn't have been able to study magic at all this week.
"Hey! Hey, student!" Cassius heard the portrait—the one with far too many people inside it—call out to him, but he just ignored it.
He was busy thinking about other things. Like how Harriet was using him as target practice for her spells—mostly prank ones, but still, that hurt.
He could still remember a time when he'd dreamed about getting her and all the other "waifus" into his harem, just like the ROB who reincarnated him had promised. That dream seemed to move further out of reach with each passing day.
'Still, at least now I know why she's suspicious of me,' he consoled himself. He didn't think he was stupid, but then again, it seemed his "genius" perk only worked on magic and nothing else.
'I should have practiced Occlumency when I was younger,' he lamented, remembering how shit his emotional control was.
He flinched at the memory. Yeah, that's how he knew why Harriet was suspicious of him. She had muttered the word "Horcrux" while sitting next to him, and he had flinched. He could have sworn he heard someone say, "It was at that moment, he knew, he fucked up," but he couldn't prove it.
Nevertheless, it was now clear why she was suspicious. His reaction to everything that had happened so far was dubious at best. From Voldemort's reveal and death to the introduction of the Archive magic—all his responses would look suspicious to anyone paying attention.
'But isn't that one of the reasons you're trying to go through with this stupid idea?' he reminded himself. And yeah, he'd be lying if he said it had nothing to do with it. He was trying to make himself look like an oracle, for god's sake; of course, it had to be because of a girl.
"Why do you think he's ignoring us?"
"I think he's afraid of meeting the Headmaster and is busy thinking up an excuse."
"How would you know?"
"Eh, I've been there and done the exact same thing. Don't you remember?"
Of course, the portraits were still tailing him. But that was his own fault—he hadn't even noticed how much he had slowed down his pace the closer he got to the Headmaster's office.
Now, looking at the ugly gargoyle guarding the door, Cassius took a deep breath—a failed attempt to calm his rapidly beating heart. He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and began listing different names of sweets. He didn't know the password, so this was the next best thing.
"Acid Pops." "Fizzing Whizzbees." "Cockroach Cluster." "Ice Mice." "Liquorice Wands."
"Okay, stop guessing, child," the gargoyle said in an annoyed tone as the door behind it slowly swung open. "Dumbledore has granted you entry. You should inquire about the passcode first next time."
"Uh, yeah. Thank you," Cassius said, the awkward expression on his face showing just how flustered he was.
"Hahahah, that's the best one yet!" he heard a portrait say.
"Heheheh, yeah. You are right."
"I see that the Gryffindor stupidity is still strong even after a millennium."
"Hush, you. You seem to be enjoying this more than us!"
"Stupid portraits," he muttered as he walked in, his sweaty palms clenched behind his back.
'This is it…'
"Ah, Cassius, my boy! How are you doing this fine morning?" Cassius heard Dumbledore say as the Headmaster looked up from the papers covering his desk.
"I am good, Headmaster. How are you?" The awkwardness in his voice was almost tangible, but he ignored it and sat down in the offered chair.
"I am swamped with paperwork, as you can see. Trying to assure people that Professor McGonagall is fine, and that I am more than capable of taking on her classes while she's out," the Headmaster said, a slight frown on his face.
"Ah, yeah. That's… uh, something."
"Hahaha, don't worry, I know you're not interested in this. It's just an old man venting when he can." Dumbledore laughed softly. "So, what can I do for you, my boy? It must have been important for you to skip History of Magic for this."
"…Yeah…" Cassius managed, the word crumbling as it left his mouth. His arms shook slightly as he tried harder and harder to push back all the evil-Dumbledore theories that kept popping into his head.
"Cassius, my boy, are you alright? Did something happen?" the Headmaster said as he stood from his seat and walked over to him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"Um, sir, I had a dream. I've been having them since I was young, and when I received the Archive, I started researching them out of curiosity," Cassius began rambling, his voice rising slightly with each word. "And although most of the information on dream magic is locked for now, the information that was not locked said that what I dreamed about might be… prophetic dreams." He was nearly yelling by the end of it.
"Calm down a little, my boy, and explain properly." Cassius felt Dumbledore's hand patting his shoulder, a golden glow emanating from it. He felt his rapid pulse calm and his turbulent emotions settle almost instantly. Was this a spell equivalent to a Calming Draught?
"So, how about we start by you telling me about these dreams…"
"Yes. It started when I was seven years old. I dreamt about monsters eating children. I told the matron at the orphanage, and she said it was a nightmare, but it kept happening once every month. I saw different things," Cassius started, telling the story he had woven and practiced many times before.
"I saw a kid named Percy Jackson fighting monsters and doing quests for the gods because he was the son of one. There was also this… perverted boy who had a dragon sealed in his body and turned into a devil because a pretty devil girl put a chess piece inside him…"
Cassius looked up and saw Dumbledore looking at him with a deep frown and panicked a little. He knew that from the Headmaster's perspective, this might sound like an overactive child's imagination.
"Then I saw how he fought a monster called a Stray Devil—those who had chess pieces inside them but didn't want to be slaves to the devils. The pieces turned them into monsters…"
The frown on Dumbledore's face deepened, and Cassius could feel his heart trying to escape his chest. He wasn't afraid of Dumbledore; he had already confirmed this Dumbledore was a good person. No, he was terrified of the Headmaster deciding to simply look inside his head to see the memories for himself. He knew he was too flustered to explain properly…
Dumbledore seemed to pick up on his growing fear and comforted him with another pat and a fresh wave of the golden, calming magic.
"My boy, could you try using your Archive to send me the memories of what you saw?" Albus asked him, and Cassius finally felt a wave of relief. This was a much better option.
"Yes, but how do I do that?"
"You just go into the message icon..." Dumbledore began to explain the process. It was relatively simple, analogous to sending a video file from his previous life, except the 'file' was a memory, and he had to mentally specify and package the specific scenes he wanted to share.
Cassius did his best to make the figures from the anime appear as blurred and indistinct as possible. He didn't need Dumbledore analyzing the art style; he just needed him to see the key elements—a few fight scenes and other pivotal moments from the Percy Jackson stories, emphasizing the monsters above all else.
It was sloppy work, he knew, but it was better than nothing.
"Hmm, I see," Dumbledore hummed, watching the memories play out on his now-open interface. "The memories are blurry, but I suppose that could be explained in many ways. Still, this is most troubling news."
"I know, Professor," Cassius chimed in, seizing the opening. "That's why I decided to come to you. When I first saw the monsters in the news, I thought it was a coincidence. But today, with the reports of another attack in Italy, and all anyone can talk about is Grindelwald and conspiracy theories about you... I thought you, at least, should know about the real dangers. Most wizards seem completely disillusioned with the situation, and that's just not acceptable…"
Cassius stopped, finally taking a few deep breaths, and looked up to see Dumbledore watching him with a small, unreadable smile.
"Sorry, Professor, I started to ramble again," he said, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.
"Hahahha, do not apologize. I am glad you came to me with this information," the Headmaster laughed, a warm, genial sound. "And don't worry yourself. I am merely waiting for Professor McGonagall to wake up so she can take the reins here at Hogwarts while I attend to matters elsewhere."
"Aaaah," Cassius made a noise of realization. "I see. That's… good."
"Yes, it is. Now, I have things to prepare, so off to your class you go," Dumbledore said, gesturing kindly but firmly toward the door.
Cassius nodded, stood up, muttered a quick goodbye, and left.
He didn't want to stay a moment longer. Because no matter how relaxed and grandfatherly Dumbledore had appeared in that final moment, Cassius knew better. The man's calm was a facade. No one could be truly relaxed after receiving such news, and Cassius was certain Dumbledore was already weaving this new thread into the vast, terrifying tapestry of his plans. He had simply been politely dismissed so the real work could begin.
'That went better than expected,' Cassius thought as he walked through the corridor again, this time more relaxed and less sweaty. 'Now that that's taken care of, I should synchronize everything within the Archive.'
Cassius didn't seem to notice how he suddenly had a change of heart when it came to sharing and uploading everything into the Archive, but maybe that was just a coincidence…
'Now I have Dumbledore's backing for knowing things I shouldn't. If Harriet doesn't believe me, I can just tell her to go ask the Headmaster herself.' He high-fived himself mentally and went on his way.
All in all, today was a good day.
X_
[Albus Dumbledore]
"I did not expect that…" I muttered, watching the door to my office swing shut.
"No one did," the portrait of Headmaster Armando Dippet replied.
I turned to see the old man in the gilded frame staring at me with unblinking eyes, which prompted me to raise an eyebrow in response.
"You can speak your mind, Armando," I said with a sigh. I knew him too well not to understand his body language—or, more accurately, the painting's impression of it.
"I don't have much to say, Albus. But if what that boy said holds even a grain of truth…" Armando didn't need to continue. He simply held my gaze for a moment longer before closing his eyes and settling back into his dormant state.
"What was the point of all that, then?" I mused, leaning back in my chair.
It seems the world is reminding me that I do not have the luxury of time.
My eyes drifted to the minimized icon of the Archive. I opened it and navigated to the feed monitoring Minerva's progress.
The screen shifted, presenting a live view of Minerva standing within a bleak, self-constructed mindscape. Rows and rows of books, organized with meticulous precision, lined the walls from floor to ceiling. She sat on the floor, wand in hand, weaving elemental magic with breathtaking control. She conjured a flicker of flame, bending its temperature, shape, and color to her will before seamlessly transitioning to water, then air, and finally earth, repeating the process with each.
It was a beautiful display, but my focus lay elsewhere. According to the data, she had been living in this accelerated mental state for over a month of subjective time. It was no wonder her command over this new, elemental branch of magic was so adept.
I switched the view to the analytical panels, comparing her current magical metrics—power, density, purity—against her former self and my own baseline. She was now incomparably stronger than the Professor McGonagall of a week ago and had even surpassed the raw power level of my original self.
'This should be more than sufficient,' I thought, and initiated the sequence to deactivate the support protocols and withdraw the sliver of my Archmage Essence that had been sustaining her.
In her mindscape, I watched her jolt, her face scrunching as she felt the effects of my essence leaving her. She would experience it as her mind returning to its normal state, a sudden dulling of perception and a loss of that effortless, flowing connection to magic. It was a necessary deception.
I had already embedded three simpler, permanent blessings in its place: a Blessing of Keen Mind, for a more intuitive magic understanding; a Blessing of Vigorous Body, for enhanced physicality; and a Blessing of Magic Regeneration, to support her newfound power more.
"These will do for now," I mumbled aloud, just as I saw her consciousness get forcibly ejected from the mindscape. In the Hospital Wing, her physical body would jolt awake.
Now, for the final piece. I pressed a mental 'enter' key and watched as the pre-written announcement flashed across the global Archive interface.
"Congratulations to Minerva McGonagall on her successful Ascension. Congratulations to the wizarding world on the birth of a new branch of magic."
'Now, let the game begin,' I thought as I stood and strode from my office, my destination the Hospital Wing.
X_
[Minerva McGonagall]
Minerva's eyes fluttered open. She blinked rapidly, adjusting to the soft light, before pushing herself up to a sitting position.
A surge of vitality, unfamiliar and potent, coursed through her. She felt… alive. Energetic and strong in a way she hadn't since her youth.
Instinctively, she raised a hand to push aside the bed curtains, but her motion halted mid-reach. Her gaze dropped to her own outstretched arm, and she retracted it slowly, turning her hand over before her eyes.
She stared, mesmerized. She opened and closed her palm, flexing the fingers, then used her other hand to pinch the skin on the back of it. It was real. Her hand was smooth, the skin firm, soft, and utterly devoid of the wrinkles and age spots that had marked it for decades.
A sudden, desperate need seized her. She wanted her wand. She needed a mirror. But before she could do anything, the curtains were swept aside, and there stood Poppy, a wild, triumphant smile on her face and her wand pointed directly at her.
"Stay still, Minerva. I need to do one final check-up," Poppy said, already casting a series of diagnostic spells. Minerva couldn't help but notice how sharp her magical sense had become. It wasn't that it was dull before, but this was an entirely new level of perception; she could almost see the threads of Poppy's magic weaving through the air.
"All good. Better than good!" Poppy announced, her eyes scanning the shimmering results. "Your physical strength has increased dramatically, and your magical core… it's about ten to fifteen times larger which means you have a lot more magic than before, and your magic is at least five times more potent now. All in all, I'd say you're stronger than Dumbledore was before his ascension." She then looked at Minerva's transfixed expression and chuckled. "But I know that's not what's important right now. Here." With a flick of her wand, she conjured a small handheld mirror.
Minerva took the mirror, her hands steady despite the turmoil inside. She stared at the youthful face staring back. Her hair was a thick, flowing mane of black, though slightly messy from sleep. Her black eyes, once framed by wrinkles, now looked back at her, bright and full of life, set above a sharp nose and lips that were a healthy pink.
"Where's my wand?" she asked, her voice low, refusing to look away from her reflection.
"Here." Poppy handed it over.
Minerva took it, and with a few practiced, precise flicks, she tidied her hair and smoothed her hospital gown. Only then did she acknowledge the Archive interface blinking persistently in the corner of her vision. She saw the global announcement and rolled her eyes fondly before closing it. That had Dumbledore's theatrical flair written all over it. She'd talk to him later. For now, she had to get dressed more appropriately.
She slid off the bed, landed lightly on her feet, and with a sharp flick of her wand, transfigured the hospital gown into a set of her signature, elegant purple witch's robes. She took a few experimental steps, acclimating to the new balance and strength of her body.
The hospital door swung open and Albus strode in, his unhurried footsteps echoing in the suddenly quiet room.
"Minerva," he said, his voice warm, his eyes twinkling and his smile wide and happy. "You look radiant."
She rolled her eyes but stepped into the brief, firm hug, letting go a moment later.
"So," he said, his eyes sparkling with genuine, almost childlike anticipation. He looked like a boy waiting for a new broomstick, or perhaps a fresh batch of lemon drops. "Show me your new magic."
Minerva huffed in amusement. She flicked her wand, and a small flame, no larger than her thumb, sparked to life at its tip. With a slow, circular motion, she shaped it into a perfect, hovering sphere. A subtle nudge of her will, and the fire's hue shifted from vibrant red to a cool, serene blue.
Albus watched, utterly captivated, his gaze fixed and unblinking. Then, he drew his own wand. He mimicked her motion almost exactly, and a moment later, a fist-sized orb of golden fire shimmered into existence before him. It held for a breathtaking second before fizzling out of existence.
"Okay, that's harder than it looks," she heard him mutter to himself, and she couldn't believe her ears.
It had taken her a subjective month of intense, enlightenment-fueled work to achieve that control, and he had nearly replicated it after watching her once.
"Life is unfair," she mumbled, but the soft, impressed smile on her face betrayed her true feelings.
"Alright, Minerva, stop showing off and update your Archive synchronization," Poppy chimed in from behind her, her tone brisk but excited. "I want to read the theory and practice this myself. It looks fascinating."
"Just give me a moment," Minerva said, turning her attention to the interface.
Just then, as Dumbledore was already conjuring another, more stable flame, the noise from the corridor outside the infirmary began to swell into a loud commotion.
She looked toward the door and saw a crowd of students jostling at the frame, peering inside.
"Hey, where's Professor McGonagall?"
"I don't know, but who's that next to Madam Pomfrey?"
"Woah. She's beautiful. Do you think that's her?"
"It has to be! She's got that same stern look but… wow."
"Keep your voices down!"
"Hey, watch where you're pushing!"
McGonagall chuckled softly, the sound feeling strange and new in her youthful throat. The whispers transported her back decades, to her first years of teaching when she'd received a disconcerting number of compliments and even a few audacious marriage proposals before she had fully perfected her intimidating Professor persona.
"Ten points from each house for every student still standing by that door in ten seconds," Minerva announced, her voice firm and carrying the familiar, no-nonsense tone that generations of students had learned to heed.
"Okay, guys, I think that's Professor McGonagall."
"What a brilliant deduction. You should be in Ravenclaw."
"Hey, don't mock me! You were the one who asked if that was her!"
"Yeah, but that was before she threatened our points."
"Oh, right, the points…"
"…The points!"
Minerva struggled to suppress a smile as the huddle of students dissolved into a panicked scramble, their footsteps echoing down the corridor as they fled towards the Great Hall, leaving the infirmary entrance blessedly clear.
"Woah." Minerva turned to see Poppy now expertly manipulating the shimmering water droplets between her wand and fingers.
She smiled inwardly, offering a silent word of thanks to Merlin for Dumbledore's unique genius and his obsessive love for magic, which had led him to create the revolutionary magic that's the archive. It really did help cut down the time needed to read magic books…
"Congratulations, Minerva. Your name will be etched into history for this," Albus said, his attention divided as he juggled orbs of fire and water in a lazy, intersecting orbit above his palm.
Minerva offered a small, genuine smile but didn't reply. She had no desire to sound arrogant; the truth was, her place in the history books was the furthest thing from her mind. "Hmm, that's all well and good," she said, smoothing her robes. "But for now, I would like to return to my quarters. I desperately need a shower and a proper change of clothes."
"Oh, of course! Go ahead, we shall reconvene later," Albus replied, his response slightly distracted as a sphere of earth now joined the elemental dance.
Minerva shook her head in fond exasperation and took her leave. She didn't need to glance back at Poppy to know the matron was equally engrossed; she could feel the faint, focused hum of magic behind her.
——
A/N: you can read in advance in p@treon/hunter20