Disclaimer - I don't own anything. As the corporations say these days, you will own nothing & be happy. I don't, and have never claimed to, own Marvel or Disney or any of its characters. With that out of the way, let's goooo!
Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom, Hogwarts
–Damian Hawthorne–
"G-good morning, c-class… today we—ah—we will be discussing… d-defensive measures against certain… d-dark influences…"
He rolled his eyes at Quirell, the man doing a very convincing performance of being the bumbling fool that he really was at one point in time. Certainly not now, though, not with that really obscene mass of Dark Magic hanging around his head.
Even if he was a waste for a wizard, Tommy boy was not someone who would tolerate that level of incompetence and weakness, especially not from his vessel. He wondered just how Quirell got that shade, but he supposed he would be getting his answers soon enough.
He had recognised that mass of Darkness in the first few days of school itself. That was just confirmation anyway, since he knew what was about to happen, but it was nice to know that atleast some stuff was not completely derailed from the canon timeline. The only reason he hadn't moved against the stupid wizard was because of two key reasons.
Dumbledore and Hogwarts.
Dumbledore, especially as the Headmaster connected to this vastly superior version of Hogwarts, was bound to know about Quirell and the thing on the back of his head. The only question was : Why?
Why did Dumbledore even entertain the thought of letting the man take a teaching position, let alone actually go through with it? Why didn't Hogwarts just eviscerate him, magic and soul included, the moment he set foot into Hogwarts' wards?
He refused to believe that Tommy boy's magic, even in this vastly diminished form, was even close to fooling the likes of not just Dumbledore but also Hogwarts. The all encompassing ward system of the castle was so tightly wound around the concepts of protection and security of the students that he struggled to imagine why Hogwarts would allow this.
Unless the Headmaster himself allowed it to happen, ordered it more like, to allow the walking magical hazard in a school full of magical kids. Man, Dumbledore could be really dumb at times. He really became indecisive when he got older, and held onto multiple important positions of power. The worst combination, to be honest.
Dumbledore must have sensed something to allow him entry, but the question remained. How much did he know? For sure, he did not know about Tommy boy's shade in that man's turban, but he must have had some suspicions?
Shaking his head slightly, he tuned out of the class, a regular occurrence for the DADA and History of Magic lectures. The others, he listened to with one ear, while he daydreamed most of the time. It was not an optimal solution, but he consoled himself by telling himself that it was only for a year. Once that happened, he would be free!
Removing the image of him jumping in joy with his limbs all spread, with a brilliant smile on his face, with a FREEDOM! banner right behind him, he looked at Quirell and narrowed his eyes, restraining himself from doing anything rash when he remembered just what Tommy boy did to sustain his parasitic life. The mere thought of him killing and drinking Unicorn blood was enough to make him seethe in anger, but fortunately, for both him and Tommy boy, he had better control than Newt, so he was able to keep himself distracted by other stuff.
Now, despite his ridicule of the man who would be so edgy as to name himself as "flight of death", he knew that the man's fear was not without reason. The existence of the Ancient Ruins changed the vortex of power around the wizarding world. Relics that could alter the flow of any battle, provided the power difference was not enormous and the other party was caught off guard.
Which is why he hadn't tried anything over with his magic. Not even using the remote portable scanning tool he carried around with him. A thin strip of cloth that, when covered around a door, would turn that door into a magical artifact capable of doing a deep-ish scan, while being as stealthy as possible.
No, despite his absolute confidence that this shade of Tommy boy was incapable of becoming a threat, he treated him as if he were a threat on the same level as Dumbledore. The only reason he hadn't acted until now was because he knew the script, and if he was not wrong, the end of Quirell was near.
He wondered how Harry will fare now. As far as he could tell, Harry, being the Golden Boy/MC/protagonist of this world/Fate's favourite whipping boy, was much stronger than canon. Dumbledore's regular personal magical lessons have stopped, but even so, that little bit of foundational help could not be dismissed. That gave him a leg up, on top of his already good talent, which meant that Tommy boy might be in for a surprise tomorrow night.
As far as he could tell, Harry and the Golden Trio were still a thing, if only a little imbalance because of Harry outshining the other members, but he hoped that it would not impede their efforts tomorrow night, not that he planned on doing anything, after all.
It would be really suspicious to interfere in something that was probably heavily monitored by Dumbledore. He also did not know if the Hogwarts wards had like a memory function that could record the path and the magic being used by students, so that Dumbledore could see that later on.
No, while all the students will be sitting for the Evening Feast, he will be roaming the halls, all alone, like he was supposed to be, since he had quickly gained a reputation for being a loner in the house, something that somehow reached William Hawthorne's ears and was appropriately reflected in the letter he received some time ago, full of scolding words from Eleanor, on top of the dinner invitation.
It would just be a terrible coincidence that he was trapped in the same hallway as Hermione would be in, with the troll set free. Fearful for his life, along with Hermione's, he would step in just in case Harry was unable to fell the troll, otherwise he would be more than happy to play the role of the cowardly Ravenclaw who could not even lift his wand when it mattered the most.
Though, he wondered how Tommy boy will manage that, considering the wards will most certainly violently reject the Troll. Hmm, something to look forward to for tomorrow.
Though, his anticipation for tomorrow could never compare to the desperate wait that a certain someone had to go through, just to have the chance to even look at his godson, let alone actually meet him.
___xx___
–Sirius Black–
He kicked the wall in front of him with a cry of broken rage, his mood swings not abating a bit. The desperate wait to finally, FINALLY! meet Harry was not helping in the slightest.
When he had first awoken here, in this prison, because that's what it was. It could be the most gilded walls, and very comfortable, and full of magic that worked to make sure he was as comfortable as he could be, but it could not mask the fact that he was still a prisoner here.
Just a far better treated prisoner, but a prisoner all the same. Though, he appreciated the amenities, he would love nothing more than to break through and rush to Harry, but he restrained himself, not only because he couldn't do it even if he wanted to, but also because he remembered, vividly, just what happened last time when he didn't listen to reason and just rushed haphazardly, guided by rage.
Though he didn't have much in the way of rational thoughts these days, he could at least recognise that and restrain himself somewhat with the hope of at least seeing Harry soon enough.
His warder, who was not doing his job properly, based on the previous wardens he had the misfortune of knowing, had already informed him about the day, date, and place where he would be meeting Harry, and while it burned him to know that it was his own inadequacies that would delay it, the mere hope of seeing Harry helped ground him.
The Warden, as he liked to call the voice that spoke to him, had broken him out of Azkaban because of his innocence, which was a big fat piece of bull, as far as he was concerned, but he found himself uncaring of whether the warden needed the entire Black Fortune in exchange, because anything was better than rotting in that hellhole. He wondered if his desperate gambit would have worked in the future? Or would he have broken down, his mind torn to shreds in the company of those—
His entire body shivered, the room's temperature increasing abruptly as the fantastic wards adjusted to his requirements instantly. He really had to check if the maker of these wards was just that much of a genius or was this a new global thing, while he was trapped in that—
He shivered once more, his hand shooting out to punch the wall, hoping for the pain to break him out of the panic episodes, only for his hand to sink into what could only be called a cushion, but was in reality a field of energy that adjusted based on his actions.
His warden, it would seem, had pulled out all the stops to make sure he remained alive, unhurt, and incapable of hurting himself, in any way possible. He didn't have a wand, but there were plenty of other ways to hurt himself, all of which were rendered impossible by the wards here.
Seriously, who was the one who did the protective enhancements here? He was sure Dumbledore would love to meet the guy.
Dumbledore…
The mere thought of that man and his inaction over the years(YEARS!)years(YEARS!) and his inaction over the sent him spiraling down a circle of hate, resentment, and anger, right up until he headbutted the wall, which felt like a soft pillow, snapping him out of his thoughts. He had been doing that a lot, helps that just the action was enough, instead of the injury, which was hilarious in his opinion. What he wouldn't have loved for something like this to exist back when the Marauders were active. It sure would have helped get past a lot of plans past Remus.
Remus....
...Another headbutt certainly helped him get past the anger at the man/wolf? Snorting at his lame joke, he looked up at the ceiling and dropped on the ground, which was, up until a moment ago, hard as concrete but now was soft, before hardening back into what was expected from the ground.
It was going to be a long week before he could meet the Warden again. Nice fellow. Not ever talkative, but fulfills most of his requests. Case in point, the daily newspaper deliveries, from all around the world. It was good that he had three languages drilled into his head from childhood. Well, he failed in learning the other three, but for now, newspapers in these three languages served as entertainment enough.
Once again, his Warden was not doing a good job at being a Warden.
If you would like to read ahead 12 chapters ahead, you can head to my P*treon.