PLAYERS:
Oh, I'm all alone now No love to shield me
Trapped in a world That's a distorted reality
Happiness you took from me
And left me alone With only memories
SHADOW:
How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard?
"Sunlight and Shadow", by S. Leigh, as staged in the 1981 Diagon Alley Production
Sometime
It had been days. It had been weeks. It had been years. The flow of time, without a fixed point of reference, had little meaning.
She had deduced a few things by this point. When she was alive, Harry had recommended that she read a book by an American professor entitled Gödel, Escher, Bach. It was long, it was obtuse, but it was a book, nonetheless. It took roughly four read-throughs before she was relatively confident that she had the majority of it memorized.
When she "read" the book now, it appeared precisely as her mind remembered it. There was no way of independently confirming whether the wording was exact, whether she misplaced a preposition here or there or swapped out one synonym for another. Her mind simply decided on a value, filled it in, and that was that. She mulled over a particular passage from page 3 of the preface:
The Gödelian strange loop that arises in formal systems in mathematics (i.e. collections of rules for churning out an endless series of mathematical truths solely by mechanical symbol-shunting without any regard to meanings or ideas hidden in the shapes being manipulated) is a loop that allows such a system to "perceive itself", to talk about itself, to become "self-aware", and in a sense it would not be going too far to say that by virtue of having such a loop, a formal system acquires a soul.
She was quite certain of her original theory, that her mind was nothing more than a formal system, a collection of rules and data for churning out an endless series of output solely by symbol-shunting. Both her past and present consciousness was tangible face-value evidence that this formal system had looped upon itself and was capable of self-perception, talking about itself, becoming self-aware, and ipso facto, having a soul. That formal system being physically manifest gave her "soul" a means of interacting with other similar patterns, but it was not strictly necessary, just as how a blackboard was not strictly necessary for the Fibonacci sequence to exist in concept.
So she had deduced that she was an isolated strange loop, persisting on in a purely conceptual capacity, fated (or doomed) to continue persisting on forever. When she had come to that conclusion, she had despaired for a few brief moments, because it really did seem like quite a bleak future, not just for her, but for others as well, others who might not be able to entertain themselves as effectively as she could.
But she quickly came to another conclusion based on one simple observation: she still remembered. She remembered quite clearly the chain of events leading from her death until the present moment. The end result of her exile could not be mere oblivion, due to the simple fact that she was present, remembering, conscious after a fashion. If that were a possible end to this scenario, why would she be remembering now?
She was also quite certain that the end result of this was not eternity, either. Although it needed no outside input to function, per se, her mind as-is was a finite structure with a finite data set upon which could be operated with a fixed set of rules. If she persisted long enough, something had to give. Regardless of how efficiently she could write memories, at some point, there was a hard stop. As of the present moment, she had clearly not overwritten the memories of her own death, nor had she done so with her initial exploration of this conceptual afterlife.
At that moment, she decided that she never would. She committed herself to the following course of action: if that time ever came, if she continued to fall and reached that sudden stop, she would not overwrite these memories. She would not overwrite any memories. She would remember.
She produced an empty book with an arbitrarily large number of pages, and on the cover scrawled the title: "The Diary of Hermione Granger", and began writing down her thoughts as she could remember them.
"It had been days. It had been weeks. It has been years. The flow of time, without a fixed point of reference, has little meaning.
I have deduced a few things by this point. When I was alive, Harry recommended that I read a book by an American professor...
...
...
...
...and I began writing down my thoughts as I can remember them.
By committing myself so, my internment here has only two possible ends: escape, or oblivion.
And since I already know that it cannot end in oblivion, there is only one realistic possibility to consider.
I am going to escape.
And I have a pretty good idea of who is going to help me."
May 13, 1992
"Diffindo!" Harry had aimed at a branch this time, and it plummeted to the ground with a sound of twigs and leaves.
There didn't seem to be any tears inside him, only pressure with no outlet.
"I shall leave you to it," Professor Quirrell said quietly. The Defense Professor rose from his tree stump, the unicorn's blood still moonlit on the black cloak he wore and drew his hood back over his head. He began back to where he had left the unicorn in a state of near-death. It had not died in the drinking, Harry's interference had seen to that. Quirrell had torn a large chunk from its side, carefully choosing the location so as to present the best possibility of incapacitating the beast without killing it.
He reached the rotten log against which he had left the unicorn. Good news, bad news, good news. Good news: the unicorn was still alive. Bad news: the unicorn was no longer where he had left it. Good news: there was a telltale trail of blood smeared across the ground, leading twenty or thirty meters in the direction of the castle. Smiling, Quirrell followed the trail, and found the unicorn, laboriously dragging its broken body across the ground, trying in vain (but trying nonetheless) to escape.
"So nice to see you again, my little unicorn." Quirrell grinned wickedly. The unicorn stopped and turned up towards him, staring at him with dark black eyes run through with flecks of purple around the edges. Its mane was thoroughly disheveled, and for a moment it appeared that human blood was running down its scalp, but Quirrell realized that this was nothing more than its natural color: there was a shock of red hair through its tail and mane.
The unicorn watched him, expectantly, and tears began to well in its large, sorrowful eyes. Quirrell was quite sure that they were tears, as he was not one to project human emotion onto anything, much less a magically modified horse. It stood up, defiantly, on four shaking legs, and looked up into the air as Quirrell approached it. It closed its eyes, and without warning, the air around its horn began to shimmer, matter coalescing from the ether into a single dot.
Heart quickening. Wand out. Ready.
The dot expanded, like an ice crystal forming suddenly in water, and built itself into the form of a tiara of sorts. It was golden, studded with nine blue gemstones along its face. Atop the tiara was finely wrought gold wiring crafted into an ornate design, holding in place a large blood-red gemstone cut into the shape of a six-pointed star.
Quirrell had already built six varieties of shields, not only around himself, but around the unicorn in the event it tried to run, charge, or attack. He prepared the ground around the creature with an enchantment that would transform the dirt into a quagmire of living roots, ready to release his magic at a moment's notice to complete the spell.
The unicorn opened its mouth, and to Quirrell's surprise, it began to speak. "You are here... The one who will tear apart the very stars in heaven. You are here... you are the end of the world." When it finished, its eyes began to fill with brilliant white light, so bright that it illuminated the clearing and beyond, casting harsh black shadows as the light hit the trees.
And just as quickly as it started, the light winked out and the unicorn dropped to the ground, the tiara clattering away near Quirrell's feet.
Quirrell's own rule nineteen stated that one should never simply sit and watch as an enemy begins to charge their ultimate attack, and so he acted accordingly. He would need to have a little conversation with this creature. Of course, it meant that he could not kill it, which meant he would need to find another unicorn upon which to feast, but that could be easily arranged.
He walked around the fallen tiara, making sure not to brush against it, as Rule twenty-two stated that one should never touch, wear, attempt to use, or otherwise meaningfully interact with an unknown magical object until its function has been identified with a reasonable degree of certainty. He approached the unconscious body of the unicorn and quickly Transfigured it into a small, violet pebble, and dropped it into his pocket, mentally adding it to the list of Transfigurations he was required to maintain.
He then turned his attention towards the tiara, thoroughly examining it without touching. It emanated a palpable magic power, and so he was hesitant to draw too close without casting the proper oracular charms. However, the writing on the inside of the tiara drew enough of his interest to merit a closer inspection. Given the non-zero chance that the object would react to magically-produced light, he decided that mundane fire would be a better tool for this particular task. He took a small stick from the ground and drew from his pockets two objects: a box of waterproof matches and a small tub of pitch. He stuck some of the pitch on the end of the stick, lit it with the match, and held it close to the tiara to read the writing.
Oon whit biyonde mesure is menn's gretest þresur.
Well, wasn't that just something?
He had known that the Sword of Gryffindor could present itself to a worthy Gryffindor in a moment of dire need, having witnessed that very phenomenon himself not a few short weeks ago. He also knew that Slytherin's Monster would obey the command of any worthy Slytherin if the circumstance arose, and was living proof of that fact. So it wasn't unreasonable to assume that the Diadem of Ravenclaw could also present itself to a worthy Ravenclaw given the proper situation.
Given the absence of other theories, he began to consider the implications of this one. If this were the Diadem of Ravenclaw presenting itself to a Ravenclaw, then this unicorn must be a Ravenclaw. Which obviously meant that this was not a unicorn, but an Animagus, which also explained how the creature could talk. Among available theories, the advantage is given to one that is both plausible and explains multiple mysteries at once.
He would soon find out what this creature knew of the prophecy, along with the circumstances enabling it to summon the Diadem of Ravenclaw, which had never in recorded history presented itself to a Ravenclaw (which was not altogether unsurprising, given the penchant for Ravenclaws for risk-aversion). He may have to delay his plans for a few days, but that was no matter. Information about the prophecy was of greater importance than any single aspect of his plan.
As long as Potter's friend remained dead, he would stay at Hogwarts until they physically removed him from the premises. The stone was going nowhere, and Quirrell was capable of mounting a distraction that would temporarily require the Headmaster's presence. Once the Headmaster was gone, Quirrell needed only to blackmail, threaten, or convince Potter to accompany him to the Mirror. Once the stone was retrieved, he simply needed to give the boy sufficient motivation and opportunity to make an attempt on Quirrell's life, his true life, in order to break the protections preventing Quirrell from killing the boy. Given that the boy was sentimental, reckless, and staggeringly naive, this would not be a particularly difficult task.
He briefly considered the fact that he felt the telltale signs of functional unicorn blood as he had consumed it earlier that night. If terminating an Animagus transformation counted as "dying" for the purpose of utilizing the life-extending properties of unicorn's blood, it could be a very useful fallback option in the event that his plans did not unfold in the manner of his choosing. He added that to his mental list of "things to try on a disposable minion", and spent a moment to examine the Diadem.
"Ra eset", he whispered, casting a standard oracular charm that had a spectacularly low chance of negative interaction. The structure of the spells infusing the Diadem began to unfold themselves, revealing the general thrusts of its function. He poked and prodded at the abstract blobs of color that were laid out in front of him. Interesting, very interesting. It seemed to match the descriptions of lore: it isolated a certain mental quality within the wearer, and built upon it, expanding exponentially outward, using the wearer's own magic to power the expansion. So it couldn't work on Muggles, and it couldn't work on animals...
...or could it?
Credible legend had suggested that Salazar Slytherin had used the Crown of Serpents in order to grant snakes a measure of sapience in order to bestow the Parselmouth Curse upon himself and his descendants. It was not out of the question that the Diadem of Ravenclaw could grant a similar degree of intelligence to magical creatures, sufficient intelligence, for example, to allow a unicorn to talk. If that were the case, then this creature could be a true unicorn rather than an Animagus. It would certainly explain why he had felt the true effects of the consumption of unicorn blood, but it did not explain how the Diadem would have presented itself to the beast.
No matter. He would solve that riddle soon enough. Either way, he was completely confident that whatever the effects of the Diadem, they were not negative. Dark magic left traces, and this object was pristine. Gingerly, he took the Diadem and placed it upon his head.
Nothing.
It was entirely possible that the object could not be unlocked except by a Ravenclaw, or perhaps required the solving of a riddle of some kind. If the former, this could prove useful if he needed to enhance the Potter boy, although that would be a dangerous gambit and not one he would use unless as a last resort. If it did happen to be the latter, the problem did not need to be solved now. Besides, Potter was alone in the Forbidden Forest, and he could no longer hear the sounds of trees being torn apart. If the Professor knew the boy well enough, he probably had found himself in some kind of trouble by now and needed a deus ex machina to extricate him from his dilemma.
He placed the Diadem into his robes and set off in the direction of where he had left the boy.
June 4, 1992
Once he had seen to the safety of Girl-Who-Used-To-Be-A-Unicorn-But-Now-Was-Unconscious-In-The-Hospital-Wing, for lack of a better name, was safe, the growing list of questions in his head had reached critical mass, and each new question forced old ones out of his mind. There were questions of mere curiosity, like where they came from and why they were here, and how they even got here. He had theories that he was seeking confirmation for, like thinking the Girl-Who-Used-To-Be... No, Purple Hair. Purple Hair it was. Like thinking Purple Hair was an Animagus, or perhaps a Metamorphmagus.
But mostly he was curious about Discord, and his claims of nigh-omnipotence. It wasn't often that a giant "Easy Button" plopped directly into one's lap, even in the magical world (considering that Magic was basically one big "Easy Button" unto itself). So far, Discord hadn't actually done anything that was outside the realm of possibility established by the existing magical rules with which Harry was familiar. He appeared out of nowhere, but that could be easily explained by Apparition. His initial form was that of a dragon-goat-snake-lizard-horse-whatever hybrid, and then he effortlessly transformed into a massive woman that he could only assume was half-giant or something. But that too could be relatively easily explained if he was a Metamorphmagus. He turned Harry's wand temporarily into a fish, had forcibly transported the pink-haired witch into his arms, and had transformed all of their clothes into new, matching uniforms.
Wordless, wandless transfiguration, non-self-Apparition and summoning? It was all possible, but each observation required a separate, discrete, unlikely explanation. He had heard that house elves possessed such magic, but he had always assumed that their temperament was a bit less... dramatic and ostentatious. Even if the explanation was relatively mundane, it was still worth exploring what was possible. He would be kicking himself if he found out years from now that this creature could have just snapped his claws and resurrected the dead if only Harry had asked, but the window of opportunity had closed and now Hermione was gone forever.
He had asked around the castle for more information about where these five guests were residing for the time being. The response from the students was universally useless, with the boys giving him knowing winks and nudges, assuring him that they too were very interested in the answer to that question, before conversing among themselves as to which of the witches they wanted to "meet" first. And the girls rolled their eyes and gave chilly responses, inquiring pointedly why he seemed to care so much about those witches with the ridiculous hair, like having rainbow streaks or pink hair made them oh-so-cool or something because what was wrong with the girls here at Hogwarts?!
Useless. All of them.
The teachers were similarly worthless, giving him a reassuring smile and assuring him that he'd find out soon enough, but that he really, really didn't want to miss dinner tonight. It had occurred to Harry at that moment that he had been skipping dinner... and, well, lunch and sometimes breakfast several times a week recently. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty hungry.
The secrets of the universe would have to wait until dinnertime, apparently.
As he found a spot in the Great Hall, he saw that the tables were uncharacteristically devoid of food. He noticed a few surprised glances from other students directed his way.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. I'm hungry today," he remarked, to no one in particular.
He sat down and looked around the Great Hall as students filed in and sat down. The Defense Professor was absent, as expected, and Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. Harry braced himself for whatever suitably dramatic entrance had been prepared. As if on cue, all the torches in the Great Hall extinguished and were replaced with flames of a brilliant blue roughly the same shade as the witches' new uniforms. The students collectively gasped and began chattering among themselves excitedly.
"Greetings, students, teachers, and newcomers alike," boomed the voice of the Headmaster, who had apparently entered and walked up to his podium in the din of excitement. "I have received word last night that we have a sextuplet of visitors from our sister school, Beauxbatons!"
Polite applause mixed with stifled giggles from some of the older Gryffindor boys. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at them in a silent "Really?", and resumed.
"May I present to you, Headmistress of Beauxbatons, and the fine witches of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic!"
The door to the Great Hall opened, and Discord-Slash-Half-Giant-Headmistress walked imperiously down the aisle towards the podium, with the four witches in tow. Rainbow Witch and Pinky regarded the spectacle with excitement, whereas Clarice seemed quite skeptical. Scaredy-Cat, as expected, clung as close as possible to the false Headmistress and kept her eyes fixedly forward.
When they reached the front, Dumbledore extended his hand to Discord, who politely declined. She whispered to him in a sidebar, "I am sorry, Dumbly-dorr, but one of our students has contracted an 'orrible case of zee Draconequus Pox, so she shall not be joining us. I fear as 'zo I may have also come down with an 'int of zee illness myself, and I would 'ate to pass 'ziss terrible ailment on to you, 'eadmaster."
Dumbledore smiled politely, "I think you'll find it will take a bit more than an aggressive case of Dragon Pox to keep me from taking part in the festivities, but I agree that it would be best to avoid an epidemic," and lowered himself into a dramatic bow, to which she responded with an awkward curtsy. He turned and addressed the crowd.
"As is our custom, students who wish to stay in Hogwarts as more than guests must be Sorted according to Hogwarts' values, so that they will be allowed entrance into the various common rooms. And so, without further ado, would you do the honors, Professor McGonagall?"
She gave him a curt nod, and from behind the Professor's Table, she withdrew an old patchwork hat, which despite being an inanimate object, looked thoroughly displeased to be here. She walked out from behind the table and stood next to Dumbledore, who casually flicked his wand and produced a cushioned stool from thin air. Harry couldn't help but notice it looked decidedly more comfortable than the stool that he and his classmates had sat upon.
With a swift motion, McGonagall pulled a small length of parchment from her robes and cleared her throat.
"When I call your name, you will come forth, I shall place the Sorting Hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses. Tisiphone Erinys!"
No one moved. The four witches looked around awkwardly until Rainbow Witch caught sight of Madame Maxime giving her a withering death glare. "Oh! Yeah, that's me!" She bound quickly over to the stool, and sat down, unsure of what to do. McGonagall placed the hat upon her head, and the crowd in the hall went silent.
"Hmmmm..." The fold in the hat split open as it began to speak. "Hmm...difficult, very difficult. Plenty of courage I see, not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh yes, and a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you? You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness! There's no doubt about that! No? Well...better be...GRYFFINDOR!"
Rainbow Witch shrugged as the Gryffindor table erupted into applause. Judging by some of the high fives going around, several of the Gryffindor boys were quite pleased. She sat down next to the Weasley twins, who both commented in unison: "Nice hair."
"Uh, yeah, you too! So, um, which one of you is the real one?"
Without missing a beat, they both replied in unison, "He is."
"You know, my friend had a similar problem. We put all of her into a room and Twi- I mean, one of my other friends did this test to see which one was real. I kinda got bored after the first ten minutes, but the whole thing worked. I think."
"If you believe Professor McGonagall, two of us is two too many," Fred remarked.
"And if you catch her on a bad day, she even says two of us is three too many." George deadpanned.
Rainbow Witch laughed a bit, "You guys are all right."
They were interrupted by Professor McGonagall loudly clearing her throat again, "Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley, you will have plenty of time to charm and subsequently disappoint this young witch over the next week, so I see no reason to further interrupt this ceremony. Megaera Erinys!"
Clarice hopped up and trotted up to the stool, and waited as the hat was placed upon her blonde hair. She looked up, expectantly as it spoke. "Hmmm... Another Apple, eh? I know just what to do with you! HUFFLEPUFF!"
She smiled, leapt down from the stool, and walked towards the cheering table of students in the black and yellow robes. As she passed by, the portly Professor Sprout leaned over to her and spoke, "We're the House of the honest, hard-working, and loyal, you know!" Clarice beamed at that.
"Sounds right up my alley!"
Harry found Professor Sprout's tone somewhat odd; it was almost perfunctory despite her beaming expression. He didn't have much time to think about it further, however, as Professor McGonagall wasted no time in announcing the next student's name, "Jane... Plein." She spoke the last name with the slightest hint of rising inflection, which by Professor McGonagall's standards was tantamount to dramatically rolling her eyes and declaring, "Seriously?"
Scaredy-Cat timidly approached the stool, looking around at the throngs of students eagerly eying her. McGonagall held the hat in her hands and began to place it down, but the moment the barest loose thread of the hat brushed against Scaredy-Cat's pale pink hair, it shouted at the top of its lungs: "SLYTHERIN!"
Scaredy-Cat clapped her hands together once, and in a small voice, no louder than a whisper, said, "Yay."
The entire Great Hall looked immensely skeptical, but perhaps none more so than Professor Snape and the whole of Slytherin House, who were tepidly applauding out of politeness rather than excitement. Draco caught Harry's eye from across the room, and Harry spread his arms in resignation and shrugged. Content, she walked over to an empty seat on the Slytherin table and sat down.
"And lastly... Alecto Erinys!" called Professor McGonagall, breaking the somewhat awkward silence. Pinky had her fists to her mouth, shaking with excited anticipation. When her name was called, she leapt out of her chair and squealed. She skipped up to the stool, plopped herself down, and immediately began asking the Hat questions.
"What do you think, Mr. Hat? I knew a Griffon once, but she was kind of a meanie. She didn't like pranks, not ONE BIT. I bet I would be good in Pufferstuff, I bet they like parties." She craned her head over to the Hufflepuff table and asked them directly, "Do you like parties? I LOVE parties!" The Hufflepuffs nodded and grinned, several of them laughing.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "Ms. Erinys, I can assure you that the Hat will answer all of your questions. In silence."
Pinky gave her an exaggerated frown, and when the hat was placed on her head, she began thinking all of the questions that came to mind.
What's it like being a hat?
Do you eat?
Where does it go when you eat?
Do you like to eat?
Do you like to eat CAKE?
I love cake.
Oh wait, that wasn't a question.
Neither was that.
OH NO THINK OF A QUESTION WHATS A HEFFALUMP?
What house was that creepy boy in the forest sorted into?
What does he know about Twilight?
Do you think he likes to eat cake?
I wonder who likes to eat unicorns.
I made a unicorn cake once.
OH NO THAT WASN'T A QUEST-
Her inner voice was cut off by the Hat speaking in a slightly dazed voice. "Oh dear. This has never happened before."
Pinky's eyes went wide. "OOOooo. What?"
"Your voice..." the Sorting Hat managed weakly.
"What about it?"
"...has chased away all the sanity in me." As it continued, its voice rose in inflection, almost melodic.
Pinky touched the brim of the Hat as she looked upward at it. "That doesn't sound good."
The melody in the Hat's words became more pronounced. "These wounds won't seem to heal. This pain is just too real. There's just too much that Time cannot erase!" There was a brief pause, and then without warning, the old Hat's brim opened wide and it began crooning at the top of its non-existent lungs.
"WHEN YOU CRIED, I'D WIPE AWAY ALL OF YOUR TEARS!"
Pinky's eyes lit up. "OOOO! Are we singing now?" She clapped her hands together and began signing alongside the hat, albeit in a completely different rhythm and tune.
"Come on everybody, smile smile smile, fill my heart up with sunshine, sunshine!"
"WHEN YOU'D SCREAM, I'D FIGHT AWAY ALL OF YOUR FEARS!"
"All I really need's a smile, smile, smile!"
"I HELD YOUR HAND THROUGH ALL OF THESE YEARS!"
"For these happy friends of mine!"
"BUT YOU STILL HAVE ALL OF... Wait. No. Nope. NOPE. No more of this nonsense. RAVENCLAW!" The Hat shouted in terror.
The post-sorting Quietus charm had triggered, yet Pinky continued to sing silently, completely oblivious to this fact, her expression animated and joyful. The entire Hall was silent, looking at each other in bewildered disbelief. McGonagall was glaring, eyes narrowed, directly at Harry, who desperately and emphatically mouthed the words, "It wasn't me!" and was met with little more than a skeptical huff.
Dumbledore was smiling pleasantly, waving his wand like a conductor in time with the silent song that Pinky continued to belt out. Apparently, she was reaching the grand finale, because she stood up and threw her arms into the air and held a silent note for a solid five seconds before stopping, clapping her hands together and giggling manically. Dumbledore politely clapped for her, which the rest of the Great Hall mimicked, unsure of what else to do.
McGonagall briskly removed the hat from her head, and Pinky squealed, "Great job, Mr. Hat! We should do that again!"
Harry could have sworn he saw the hat desperately shake itself back and forth, as if to scream, "NO".