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raccoons-inked-quill · 3 years

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Stroll to Ingloslaght

Desc:

After months of being rejected for his morbid countence,the creature seeks revenge for his woes,now proceeding to Ingloslaght, to end the one who had this disaster all begun.

On his way,however,he stops for directions from a man seemingly in a bit of a predictament, having lost his glasses,a perfect and treasured opportunity to converse sans considering his frightening appearance

Author notes:

My God i wrote this like. Months ago and then got stuck hdhdhd. I may continue as a second chapter later? But I left the ending a tad open ended since I got stuck on it so long.

For weeks I treaded amongst the depths of the woods ,my grotesque figure hidden from the likes of man's gaze by the fortunate shade. And for what reason must I so meticulously lurk in these dreaded woodlands, woven through thorns and branches,to preserve my sight from humanity? The very burning passion that has kept me on my feet ,who's written words regarding myself have sent me on this prolonged travels. It was this man himself,by the name of Victor Frankenstein, whom had so cruelly sculpted me into my detestable shape. And it was that very man I treaded onwards in hopes he will be sought out. That for being forsaken to dispose existence upon me in this wretched condition by his own hands,he will pay with the likes of his own life.

After such travels, my fruition drew closer. I arrived to the borders of Ingloslaght. What an enlightening concoction had ignited within me then. I was grappled and willingly overtaken by rage and euphoria,but yet a vaguely present melancholy festered despite my wishes for it to abstain.

Then proceeded a new realization within me. I knew the man by name,but not by his appearance. Only scarce remnants of the man I remember. Youth still very much blessed his visage, yet at the same time,he in no manner was remotely vigorous. The man held a starking contrast in the fact that he nonetheless appeared entirely unkempt and teetering on the brinks of life and death much too early if his youthful features stood true.

It was by these aspects alone I must go by,as all else in my mind I only recall as a blur,and that leaves me a far too broad description.

My conclusion, was that I must temporarily reveal myself in order to acquire where the fool resided. I had an inkling of an idea given by the brief details provided in his journal. He attended university, and his teachings he received was made up of atleast two professors. Krempe and Waldman. This aside,I knew I soon will be forced to inquire to someone amongst mankind,likely by force given I know well enough my looks will not provide me to any civil conversation.

It was by this thought my vehement dedication was temporarily stunted by dread.

I was moved to only scratch the brinks of the town,and could not bring myself to any confrontation even when opportunity seemed fit. Everytime,I found myself grow close to presenting myself,only to draw gingerly away. The only hope that spared my sense of confidence was that I came closer to enacting out this deed when I thought out my motivations, of avenging myself by the fated and horrid death of Victor Frankenstein .

For once life granted me a faithful advantage,one that had so fortunately removed the need to inquire upon a member of humanity with the complexities that came with force. Whilst making my typical rounds around the outer trails of Ingloslaghts nature,I stumbled upon a pair of glasses that had evidently not been there long,as there was a lack of dirt and cracks upon it that would not be possible if it were there for more then a day.

I glanced forwards,and immediately met whom I assumed to be their owner. I froze in my posture as the young man had glanced upon me,surely certain that he would remark in terror upon my ghastly form. Then enthrallingly,he only smiled politely. He spoke in a language I couldn't seem to make sense of,so I had quite discomfortedly added that I could not make sense of him in my native tongue. To yet more of my surprise,he seemed to light up upon hearing it,recognizing it as if it were his own.

"Sir! Hello,it seems I may have to request of you some help,if you don't take it as too much a grievance. I seem to have misplaced something gravely vital,my glasses,and I was wondering if you had caught sight of it."

I couldn't seem to place my finger on the particular origin of his accent, but I had assumed it to be to some form of a French speaking country. I picked up the glasses from where they lay perched in the ground,my grasp on them light.

"Afraid not." I responded.

"Do you think it will be much trouble to you on your own ? It seems that you've been rendered utterly blind without them,it will be of no trouble to my time to lend aid."

The man's eyes took a final glance at the ground below,as what I had considered to be his last resort. Of course, the poor soul had resigned his search and looking displeased but nonetheless unsurprised,he sheepishly nodded.

"I assume I'll be forced to manage,I have a spare somewhere at home." He concluded with a faint disappointment

"I think I may have caught sight of a glimmer not too far off the trail here,some sort of glass."

This statement had gotten his attention,as he ever so slightly had tilted his head in intrigue

"Oh! Would you mind to show me where you'd spotted it?"

I cheerfully obliged, indulging him in the lie I had swiftly constructed. It would be simple and quick, I reasoned, to quickly converse with this man about the whereabouts of my wretched creator. I had thought to myself that he hadn't appeared much older in comparison, a part of me took an unnerving familiarity in him,thus I assumed this reasoning to be a fair explanation.

He wobbled forwards,his balance faltering on more than one instance. If not already clear by his absent remarks acknowledging my form,the way he had stumbled forwards in absolute obliviousness to his surroundings had distinguished it well enough. Easily I took pity upon the fellow,as he unlike Delacey hadn't frequented the ability to navigate without the sense of sight.

Evidently he was mildly displeased with the aid,more in resent towards having come off needy. He made certain it wasn't in direction towards myself,as the faint polite smile had returned to his face when he had looked upon me.

"I apologize,you must find yourself vexed to be so suddenly tied to these tasks. I hope I haven't burdened your walks,or whatever finds you out here in these trails."

"I reside not far off from here,in not much more then a humble hut,but it is a temporary abode. There is no place i find myself long."

"Ah,a traveler,I presume?"

I analyzed this title placed onto me,and found it a fair summary. Since the Delacey's,there is truly no place shall I find myself confined,I must always be in travel,to preserve myself from the likes of man. A tinge of frustration had emerged within me,and once more i was reminded of what I was in need of doing.

"I suppose so. But there is.."

I had struggled to put to proper words,a fair description to my enemy without revealing suspicion in such open malice.

"Someone,in which I plan to visit."

He nodded once more,that grin still on his face,strangly its formal politeness presented as if it were something he had long rehearsed,as if he found the intricacies of small talk alike to following the script of a play.

Although I found my task to be in dire need of proceeding too,I felt the desire to converse further. As it is with no other since Delacey I had experience to even a brief casual exchange as this. I took graciously to not waste the rarity of the moment,where I would not be taken in my grotesque glory,but as if I were no more revoltingly significant then any other human individual.

"I must ask myself,it is rare that I am to witness any other walk amongst these parts. What is it that has lead you here?"

He trailed down to look upon his hands, which rested a leathered notebook in one and a twirling quill in another,spinning with a repetitive motion.

"It is these parts that my dearest friend Henry has frequently visited and discussed fondly of. He is a man who partakes immensely in the pleasures of its nature.

I cannot repay the abundance of compassion he has recently displaced upon me. I am not too well in demonstrating my care,as passionate as it comes. However, I reckoned it would please him if I had sketched out these places,as a souvenir."

"I may confess,that I often am lead to consider my life nothing more then wretched,but it is in nature in which none are spared of its serenity that I find peace. I am certain he will find much appreciation in it permanently preserved. Do you mind if I see it?"

He chuckled then,clearly happy i had taken interest ,and he had shifted from his rehearsed nature to something that appeared to be more geniune.

"Certainly! Though I haven't quite finished nor fixed its mistakes,and I can't seem to do so in my current condition"

I took the notebook from my remaining free hand,my other still enveloped around his glasses to prevent revealing their shape,which I reckoned he would distinguish in the blur.

Haphazardly, I had found myself on his stated works. Of course,there on the page remained an illustration that had captured the epitome of our surroundings embodied by a diverse array of ink strokes. I smiled on it fondly,taking much fascination in its dedication. In this admiration I found a sense of tragedy. What anomaly had I befallen then!

Mankind had possesed the likes to bring into reality the upmost wonderous of creations,how fascinating do I find this feeble man's illustrations,of which intricately demonstrate the scenery before us embodied with its own sense of beauty. More on this I reminisced,beyond that of this particular man. How oft had I become to being moved by the words of Milton and Goethe,which they had just alike he before me, in their own manner intimately captured the complexities of the world accompanied by their own beauty. It was by mankind's creations had built the backs of my own character, and made a good expanse to my knowledge. How cruel is it,then,that just as capable of bestowing this lovely artistry,that one outlier had fabricated the wretch that is myself, exempt from the beloved due to how morbidly I was devised.

"Im more than certain your friend will find themselves pleased,you have an immense talent. I hope you dont find this rude, may I request on you a favor?"

The man grinned still ,pleased by the praise,but had once again paused to construct a response to what had followed.

"You may,i suppose i do owe you one for the troubles. Though I am not sure if I am in position to do what you request."

"Its simply no more then a nagging question"

I had looked towards him to say this,and again I had been struck with a surreal distant familiarity to this man's features. Infesting my mind with an entourage of haunting explanation. The frail face of the man,in the same nature of distant memory evidently young yet prematurely frail and worn. "Have i irked you?"

The man interupted

"It is not thus,no manner have I been disturbed,rather simply I am lost in a rather unrelated contemplation"

"What must that be?"

I found it proper then to ask,as much I had appreciated the time spent in engaging conversation, I must not let the topic at hand i had brought myself forth in confronting this man to be forgotten so wrecklessly. It would be soon enough that one would tire of this conversation and he may request of a continued search in his spectacles that I held within my hand to his lacking knowledge.

"Do you know of a Victor Frankenstein?"

"Know of?"

Theres a bewilderment in his voice.

"I am Victor Frankenstein."

In this abhorrent revelation, the glasses, once held quietly in my grasps, cracked from the palms of my despicably putrid hands,piercing skin. A putrid nature only given to me by the young man before me. This wretched boy's countence,by no surprise to his timid nature,shifted to a cowardly form. A realization,though not yet of my identity.

"Were those my glasses?"

He remarked,distressed.

In this flurry of a moment,I came to a response. An excuse no less,the boy would continue to live in obliviousness.

"Id stepped on them,it seems,I'm dreadfully sorry to that."

"Oh,thats-thats-uh..rather unfortunate."

He had come to a loss of words, he was quiet,his hand now anxiously squeezing his arm in what was presumed an unconscious effort by cause of his ever growing anxiousness.

"I do have a spare at home though I really would hate to inconvenience you more with this task at hand then I already did. Though I think its a rather potent risk of me to try and return by my lonesome. My vision is absolutely poor,and without them I am rendered close to blind."

I was fairly indecisive, this man before me. That whom brought upon my miseries,now by his lonesome was in evident need of attendance, mine specifically as we stood alone,although in that lies the issue that the wretch stood none the wiser that I am vehemently scorned by his faults.

I should find this a perfect opportunity in evoking destruction, of letting out my more cruel nature that he too held to creating by his neglectful devices. Yet all the same,I was hesitant in acting forth my vengence. Perhaps,if I move him further off from the sights of the town,I may find better opportunity and courage in his killing.

"I can attend to that. Though if you may see this option fit,I would have drastic preference that I am to partake in the sceneic walk. I am alike you an admirer of nature,and one whom does not fair well amougst the vast crowds of townsfolk. "

He gave no verbal reply to this,instead,he gestured out to extend his arm,to which I obliged in holding rather awkwardly. Off we had proceeded,towards the depths of the woods to which no man would follow. Perhaps,my hesitancy would leave me then.

#this is NOT shippy btw. please do not take it as so #frankenstein #mary shelly's frankenstein #writing #victor frankenstein #fanfic

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soulfilledhome · 4 years

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Although Julian comes off as less intelligent then his sister, that is in fact a false Visage. The young professor is well verse in magic as well as the goings on of the gods from “years of Studying”, truth is he is able to copy the knowledge of other magicians to place in his own head. Due to being able to do this he tends to fall under the Absent-Minded Professor trope. He tends to be forgetful and a bit spacey.

#Over Achieving Deviant; Julian Headcanons

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noxilicious-ish · 7 years

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RECALIBRATION (CH. 5)

Haven’t updated this in longer than I could admit and come out of it with my pride intact.

Btw, if anyone’s interested: I’ll put up an ask or something for doodle/ headcanon requests or questions related to my Harry Holmes project. Check it out later!

Previous chapter: http://noxilicious-ish.tumblr.com/post/154338266696/recalibration-ch-4

Rating: Teen

Pairings: Past Sherlock/Lily, canon pairings

Word count: 2,879

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my pitiful, depraved mind. Please don’t sue me.

CHAPTER FIVE – IN WHICH PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL SAVES THE DAY

Scrutinising turquoise eyes locked unblinkingly onto ever-changing blue-green-gray? ones. All the while, larger and far more inexperienced emerald eyes than either of the other pairs were watching each in part alternatingly, worriedly, much like following a tennis match. Harry was witness to a Mexican standoff the conclusion of which he was uncertain of – and indeed, one he dreaded.

“It’s Professor, actually,” Minerva broke the ice, sipping her tea calmly.

“Professor McGonagall, then,” Sherlock acknowledged with a nod. “Professor of… Transfiguration, I believe? The art of changing the form and appearance of an animate or inanimate object.”

It was all Minerva could do to keep her rather beautifully-shaped teacup safely within her fingers’ clutch. Her eyes widened minutely, although she managed to recompose herself. Her lips remained in a tight, unnerved line.

“You are correct, Mr Holmes, however much that may seem like an impossibility. May I ask how you came upon such knowledge, seeing as you are most obviously not Magic, nor are you a Squib?” she inquired slowly. Mr Potter could have told the strange man about his… special boarding school, but the Ministry was supervising what was imparted by witches and wizards upon Muggles very carefully. And the man’s custody of the child was unofficial and dubious at best.

Sherlock smiled distantly. “During our… acquaintance, Lily bestowed me with her absolute trust, and revealed much of her education and overall childhood, as well as the fundamentals of Wizarding society. She was exceedingly impressive in her skill of avoiding certain trigger terms that might alert the Ministry.”

Harry perked up at the mention of his famous mother, while Minerva paled. Lily had broken the Statute of Secrecy… for a Muggle? She had been a very intelligent girl for all the years the old teacher had known her, so she was undoubtedly aware of all the consequences of such a felony. To have nonetheless committed it for someone’s sake…

The detective scanned her for a few seconds, his smile falling to reveal serious determination. He placed his cup in its saucer, then on the table near his armchair. “Professor McGonagall,” he started, interlacing his pale, bony digits. “You have obviously come here out of concern for you pupil’s safety and wellbeing. You may rest assured that he is in good hands, or at least much better than he used to be.”

The last he muttered angrily and Minerva found herself agreeing. However…

“That is not all you wish to inform me of,” she stated rather than asked.

“No,” Sherlock acquiesced. “Being a Muggle, there is little influence I can manage in the Wizarding society at the moment. I am in need of your help in a particular matter, seeing as you are the most equipped to handle it.”

She raised both eyebrows at this. What a strange fellow. “Indeed? And what is this matter you speak of?”

“I am afraid Albus Dumbledore has committed a grave mistake. You are the only one who can convince him of this, being one of his most trusted allies.”

“And why would I believe you, if that is the case? You seem aware of the fact that Albus’ word holds considerable weight with me.”

At this, he looked her dead in the eye. “Because I am Harry’s biological father.”

Then he stood statue-still, his posture expressing no-nonsense as he awaited her reply. Truly, Sherlock was more than a little nervous about this whole affair. Harry’s happiness and health was at stake whether this stern aging lady chose to aid him or not, and he was definitely not playing around with those. He loved games, but not when they involved his prodigal son.

What a laugh John would have to hear him even think that there could ever be a time he would not simply adore a little game of wills.

Harry shifted almost imperceptibly, trying his best not to break the thick silence that had fallen over the three of them. This was an adults’ exchange, and he was both glad and overwhelmed that he was allowed to spectate. He was also – though he’d never, ever say it within the Professor’s hearing range – a little amused to see said woman for the first time in his life shocked into speechlessness. She was more humane than most authoritarian teachers, but still strict enough to intimidate.

Meanwhile, Minerva was gaping. If the previous unexpected comment had startled her, this was more than enough to stun even her. And yet, she could not entirely deny the fact that what her conscious was desperate to object to, her subconscious was increasingly resigned about.

“How…” she managed to stutter out eventually. “When…”

The other adult mercifully waited for her to regain her bearings. “Are you certain of this?” she finally asked firmly.

She was met with a sardonic smile. “I have valid reasons to believe it is more than possible.”

Minerva conceded with an odd grimace. Harry blushed scarlet and fought valiantly not to fidget. No sane teenager, regardless of the tangled history of their parents and not-parents and any curiosity relating to it, could ever be comfortable with a discussion of their own conception.

“But James…” the Professor muttered, frowning in turmoil. “Why would Lily ever do such a thing? How could she?”

The detective was quiet for a few long moments, staring into the distance. “It was before she married him. I do not know…” he abruptly trailed off, greatly troubled by some long-past memory.

The old Scotswoman studied his absent expression, then she sighed and looked at Harry. “I suppose the resemblance is uncanny,” she joked softly.

Sobering, she continued, “If what you say is true, Mr Holmes, and it does seem so, then you have yet to tell me what the Headmaster’s fault is in this.”

The moment Sherlock’s eyes flicked back to hers, a horrible feeling had already settled in Minerva’s heart. “Though Lily did return to James, in the event of both their deaths, do you not wonder whether she would have rather wrote down the name of the actual father of her child, instead of that of her dreaded sister’s as said child’s caretaker?”

The Transfiguration Professor shook. “Albus… claimed that all of Harry’s potential guardians were either deceased or imprisoned. There was simply no one but… them.”

Sherlock’s fingers clenched tightly over the armrests and he leaned over slightly. “And if that were true, would there not still be his birth certificate to prove the existence of another potential guardian?” he argued tightly, spitting out the last words with unmistakable biterness. “I am not exactly parent material, but anyone would have sufficed, ANYONE but that biped swine and his equally primitive wife.”

He sat back slowly, reigning in his fury after that slight slip-up. As he watched the teacher raise a shaking hand to her mouth, he knew she was remembering Harry’s living conditions for the past twelve years. Given her ability to shapeshift, she was most likely the one tasked with keeping an eye on the child now and then, and must have borne witness to what was taking place in that abominable household.

“Lily’s Last Will and Testament is missing from the Ministry’s public records,” he concluded.

Minerva frowned, trying her best to think logically despite the amalgam of emotions. “Once a deceased witch’s or wizard’s Will has been read, it is magically written into the records. This applies to any and all testaments, and is not undoable.”

Sherlock looked at her pointedly. “Who was the known executor of Lily’s Will?”

Her eyes shot back to his and her features tightened.

…

Ever since finding out about magic, Harry’s life has been in a constant tornado of events, positive as well as less than positive. While he would never regret that moment on his eleventh birthday when Hagrid stomped on that isolated little hut’s door, there have been times when he had needed a breather, the confusion of endless adventures having overwhelmed him to nearly his breaking point.

During his two years at Hogwarts, he had found that refuge in his two best friends’ unwavering loyalty even in the face of certain danger. Still, even a precocious trouble-magnet like himself found himself occasionally seeking the steady wisdom of an adult.

He had never imagined that visiting Headmaster Albus Dumbledore’s office would ever create anything but a feeling of safety and respectful wariness.

Witnessing the elderly wizard’s calm, expectant visage the moment they entered the office was what dropped the burden of crushing disappointment and betrayal onto his shoulders.

Mr Holmes’ perceptive eyes flickered over to him, before he felt the slightest brush of an uncertain hand over his shoulder. If Harry had not been so troubled, he would’ve gave the man a weak, but nonetheless grateful smile for his efforts.

“Minerva,” Dumbledore nodded to his long-time friend and fellow colleague, who merely thinned her lips back. The Headmaster looked at Harry next. “Mr Potter.”

Harry did not answer. He rather chose slight disrespect over opening his mouth and blurting whatever crossed his mind in a fit of rage and desperation.

“Mr Sherlock Holmes. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.” Said detective’s expression remained blank, though his manner spoke the world about his impression of the wizard. “Mr Dumbledore,” he returned. “I wish I could say the same, but the circumstances dictate otherwise.”

Dumbledore made a movement with his wand, conjuring three comfy-looking armchairs and gestured towards them in invitation. Once everyone was seated, the old wizard turned to gaze out the window.

“You know why we’re here today,” the Muggle stated, unsurprised.

“You are here because twelve years ago I made a choice for the greater good, regardless of my own wishes,” was the answer he received.

“Greater good…?” Minerva parroted incredulously, her tone rising with each syllable. “For whom, precisely? In all the years I have known you, Albus, I swear…”

The wizard turned to face her, his expression resigned, knowing he deserved her ire, but adamantly in support of his motivation despite it. “No boy should have to live their entire life in the center of attention, not when such a tragedy is the foundation of his fame. Living far away from the magical world for so long was the best option.”

“And you couldn’t have trusted me to shield my own damn son from your bloody magical population? You honestly thought it was better to leave him with a bunch of savages that locked him up in a bloody cupboard? For ten years, you just watched and let them do their number while he cleaned, cooked, scrubbed, while he was being yelled at and pushed around, while he was belittled and treated as less-than-human, through all of that, you did nothing! You rant and rave about how undercivilised and dull Muggles are,” and he spat out the word mockingly, “and then you just throw one of your own into the lion’s den. And you’re still better.”

Harry stared with wide eyes at the detective all throughout his tirade, not expecting the sudden avalanche of words at all, and certainly not at this intensity, even though it was called for. The rant resumed a lot of Harry’s own frustrations over the years and he was a bit glad there was someone brave – or stupid – enough to point them out so bluntly to a form of authority that could have taken measures and didn’t.

Mr Holmes stared angrily at the old wizard, anxious to hear what the man had to say in his defense in the face of this.

“Can you truly claim that you would have been a good caretaker for Harry at the time, twelve years ago?”

You could’ve heard a pin drop in the suffocating silence that followed Dumbledore’s solemn question. If the detective had been angry before, now he was positively boiling, his bright eyes now icy cold with fury and loathing, but also a conflicted, unreadable emotion.

“That justifies nothing. I deserved to know!” he growled through clenched teeth, obviously as an attempt not to roar and scream and rage at the man.

With that, Mr Holmes leaned back in his seat from his near perch on the edge of the chair, though he remained tense, spine ramrod straight, limbs coiled like springs. Harry stared at his hands, unnerved by the showdown but occasionally sneaking glances at everyone in turn, to try and anticipate whatever their next movement would be. For now, though they had come to a standstill.

Professor McGonagall was surreptitiously watching the detective, most likely looking out in case he suddenly jumped out of his seat and throttled the old wizard, though by her crisp, angry and disillusioned visage, she was more than a little tempted to do it herself.

The one to break the pattern was the Headmaster, as usual, when he rose from his seat slowly, for the first time in Harry’s life actually showing the consequences of his old age. He disappeared from their view for a few seconds, then returned with a few yellowed papers in his hand.

“When James and Lily Potter were declared officially deceased and their wills were read, I ensured that most of Lily’s will would be followed to the letter, except for a few select points.”

What was most likely the will, he spread out over his desk. It was obvious that should any of those present be unsatisfied with his credibility, he was willing to read out the entire will for their sake. But after the whole circus, none of them were up for a formal ceremony at this point.

“ ‘To William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I leave a letter to be handed by my Executor.’ ”

Dumbledore handed an envelope to the detective, who accepted it after a brief moment’s hesitation. The man held it gingerly, almost reverently, but seemed firm to suppress the instinct to open it at once, instead opting to see the rest of their meeting carried out.

“ ‘To my son, Harold William Holmes-Evans, I leave the residue of my estate, including a letter to be handed by my Executor upon his eleventh birthday.’ ”

The other envelope was given to Harry. “As James had already left most of his estate to you as well, I had Lily’s savings deposited into the same vault as his,” the old wizard explained carefully, before returning to the last point to be mentioned:

“ ‘I appoint William Sherlock Scott Holmes, the biological father of Harold William Holmes-Evans, to be the guardian of my son until he reaches 18 years of age.’ ”

He concluded by rolling the manuscript closed, and sliding another piece of paper over the desk towards his guests.

On it, written in old, faded but mostly well-preserved ink, the letters spelled out clearly: BIRTH CERTIFICATE.

Harry stared dazedly as he read what was apparently his real name. Harold William Holmes-Evans. And wasn’t that a mouthful.

Well, at least Mr Holmes won’t be complaining about Harry’s name anymore.

Oh yeah, Mr Holmes’ name was there too.

“Your first name’s William?” Harry blurted.

The man pinned him with a deeply unimpressed look. That was the most relevant line of inquiry on his mind to him? “Unless you’d like me to call you Will Junior…” the words even left a sour taste in his mouth, they were so idiotic.

“I’m good,” the boy interrupted hurriedly. If Harold was too serious, he had absolutely nothing in common with the name William.

He supposed he’d learn to live with it, considering his mother had chosen his name.

Also, his real name was as sentimental as his fake one, apparently.

Most of all, now I know for sure that he’s my father and legal guardian, Harry thought, feeling more than a little relieved and excited by the prospect.

See you never, Dursleys!

Harry’s train of thought was interrupted by sudden movement from the corner of his eye, as Mr Holmes stood to pick up the birth certificate. Professor McGonagall was standing as well, by now.

The detective and the old wizard were now having some sort of silent exchange.

“Was it worth it?”

Both of them turned to look at Harry in slight surprise. “The choice you made… was it worth it?” he clarified tentatively.

Dumbledore’s usually twinkling eyes had lost most of their brightness and they actually looked sad as he answered, “I don’t know.”

Harry bit his lip. Albus Dumbledore was a good man. He’d always felt that in his gut, even though the old wizard tended to be more than a little vague. Looking at it objectively, one might suppose that the Headmaster was in a position to take the hard decisions no one else could, for the sake of the wizarding world or whatever.

The boy supposed one day he’d be able to forgive that, not just acknowledge it.

For now, though, he desperately wanted to go home and maybe cry about it for a bit – not that he’d ever admit it aloud. He had his pride, after all. He grabbed Mr Holmes lightly by the sleeve, trying to convey this silently.

The man clearly got the message, because he nodded meaningfully towards the Transfiguration professor, who turned to lead them back out of the office. They left without another word to the Headmaster.

To be continued…

So that’s it for now. I’m not even gonna promise anything anymore, hopefully I’ll be writing and updating sometime soon, but considering I have my Cambridge examination sometime soon...

Again, if you want to see more Harry and Daddy Holmes fluff or have any requests related to them, check out my blog and click the request button there.

See you next time!

#parentlock #harry holmes #sherlock #harry potter #recalibration #crossover #fanfiction

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childofmyth-art · 6 years

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A LeafGreen Myth - Chapter 1: Her Power

The Rules: Rules go into effect after you get your first 5 Poke balls 1. You may only catch the first Pokémon in each area. -> You may catch Legendaries but you may NOT use them. → If you do not catch the first Pokémon on the Route, then you may NOT try again. → However, if the chance presents itself, you may catch any Shinies you encounter. 2. If a Pokémon faints, it is dead. 3. Due to the plot only three Pokémon can ever be revived and each, only once. 4. Make notes of each death. 5. You must name every Pokémon you catch. 6. If a Pokémon faints while fighting a Doctor or a Nurse, it does not count. 7. No duplicates. 8. Have fun.

"Mythica, wake up!" The sound of a voice echoed down the corridor to my room. I slowly opened my eyes and sat up, dread settling in the pit of my stomach. My breaths were slow, expression calm in spite of the pain twisting my insides.. Today is the day. It's okay now. It's okay...

I stood and changed out of my night dress into my chosen clothes, a simple long sleeved tangerine shirt coupled with a black vest and blue jeans.

"Mythica, are you awake?"

I slipped on my pants and pulled my hair back delicately.

It's okay now.

I glanced over to my mirror, checking and fixing up my blonde ponytail with my bangs overlapping the right side of my face. I looked up, catching my gaze within the reflection. A pair of dark eyes with strangely white centers staring back at me, blinking slowly as I collected myself.

I'll be okay.

"Mythica! Oak won't wait forever!"

I left my room, grabbing my backpack and closing the door softly. The rest of the children here were still asleep. I made my way to the kitchen and found a small, hunched over woman. I bowed to her.

"I apologize for being tardy." The wrinkles on her face increased as she smiled.

"It's quite alright, Mythica, but you should get moving. The Professor is waiting." She spoke softly with a tender smile, hand caressing my face. I nodded and hugged my caretaker.

"Thank you Miss Thelma." I tried to head for the door but Miss Thelma stopped me.

"Now wait a moment dear. I want to give you something," I returned to the elder woman and bent to her level. She slipped a black bandana over my head. "I wore this on my own journey. Now get going before it's too late." I nodded, a thin smile spreading my lips.

"Thank you."

I rushed over to Professor Oak's lab, glancing back one last time at my home, the orphanage, before I went on with my way. I came across the lab, its door left open, so I entered the and made my way to the back.

"Gramps, just let me get my stuff and go!"

"Now Blue, you know I said that Mythica could choose first."

My blood ran cold. Blue's voice sent my mind reeling to old times and painful memories. He and I used to be the best of friends, and I even had a little crush on him. But...

I've tried to suppress my memories for a reason.

I walked into the room quietly, like always.

Professor Oak spotted me, and a smile found its way to his face. "Ah, Mythica! There you are."

I bowed my head in respect. "I apologize for my tardiness, Professor." The Professor went over to me and patted me on the back.

"It's alright my dear,” he said. “Come now, it’s time to choose your Pokemon."

I approached the table that held three Poke-balls and instinctively turned to catch a quick glance of Blue. He scowled at me and I turned away, meek and regretful of having even looked. I Instead concentrated on the Poke balls. My stomach twisted for the second time today when I recognized the impatient tapping of Blue’s foot resounding throughout the lab.

A different movement managed to catch my eye. It was very subtle, but the Poke ball with the leaf on it must have wobbled. My hand immediately went to that device without a second thought. It seemed that the Professor took note of my conviction, as well, nodding approvingly of my choice.

"You chose Bulbasaur, good decision. Now you may choose, Blue."

Blue stormed to the table, muttering, "Finally!" and picked up the sphere with the flame on it. He grabbed a bag from the Professor, planning to leave, but stopped at the entryway. He turned back and pointed at me.

"I'm getting a Town Map from my sister,” he said, that sneer of a look directed at me. “Don't go near her, you can't have one," then he promptly left.

Professor Oak sighed, displaying a rather dismayed visage as he watched the other leave. "I'm sorry he acts like that… I'm not sure why he does that at all." That dreadful feeling that upset my insides returned, my eyes trailing absently to the side, afraid to meet the old man’s gaze.

I do... But I'd never say anything.

"Mythica, would you be willing to do me a favor?" the professor suddenly asked, catching my attention. "A package has arrived in the next city for me. It contains the items I was going to give you, and something else for myself. Would you mind delivering it to me?"

I nodded in agreement, happy to have a change in my thought train, and departed immediately. I wanted out of this town.

I headed for Route 1.

Just outside of the tall grass I spotted Daisy, Blue's sister. She approached me proudly.

"Mythica!” she called over, walking towards me. “Here, take this." The girl wasted no time and shoved a Map into my hands.

I tried handing it back, saying, "I can't. Blue said-." But she wouldn't have it.

"Blue can't tell me what to do. Just take it. It'll help you," she insisted, and dashed off. I sighed, tucked the paper into my backpack, and finally entered Route 1.

Looking around, I deduced that I was alone. Nothing but grass accompanied me along my new journey, and my home was behind me. Taking the opportunity, I hid myself quickly behind a tree. Pressing the small white button on the Poke ball that rested in my palm, I released my new partner in a great display of light. The Bulbasaur gently shook off the glow and looked up at me with interest. He had a half star sign on his forehead, a hexagon on its nose, and dark tipped ears. It amused me to study Pokémon whose pattern was unique to each individual specimen.

"Can you understand me?" I asked slowly and quietly. The Pokémon seemed to pause before nodding. I let out a breath before continuing. "I'm going to do something, but you have to stay calm and trust me. I'll explain after I'm done. I'm doing it so we can communicate easier."

The Bulbasaur looked slightly frightened, but nodded in confirmation nonetheless.

I placed my palm against its head and exhaled, releasing all the tension in my body. My pupils began to expand and engulf my whole eyes, glowing pure white.

I took my hand back and the glowing dimmed. Bulbasaur was engulfed in green swirling lights. It let out a cry of surprise as it's silhouette grew taller and taller until the green swirls released the figure.

Left in the Pokémon’s place was a tall boy, half a foot taller than me, with big green hair, bangs tipped a darker green and the half star still present in the patterns of his hair. His skin was lightly tanned with a hexagon birthmark on his nose. He was wearing a loose green wrap, remaining barefoot. His toenails and fingernails were sharp claws, his canine teeth fangs. And finally, as my eyes gazed upwards, I saw that his Pokémon ears poked out of his hair, still tipped a dark green.

His eyes retained the red with white patterns of his Pokémon form.

Those red orbs spiked with fear as he looked at me, mouth left ajar. I was afraid he would scream. I swiftly placed my hand over his mouth and put my own finger to my lips.

"Shhh..." I shushed softly. "It's all right, I can change you back at will. With this power I can turn you human and we can communicate."

The Pokémon boy pushed my hand away to excitedly struggle out his first words. His voice rough, having been unused, yet powerful in tone. "H-how long have you been able to do this?"

I shrugged after a pause for thought. I took that moment to place the boys accent. He spoke with a very posh lilt to his tone. Maybe from Kalos or near Kalos. I realized he was still waiting for an answer and spoke my thoughts.

"I'm not sure,” I answered. “I've been able to do it for as long as I can remember."

The boy nodded, maybe taking that answer a little too easily, and looked at me. "You are my Master?"

Something in me cringed at that thought and I answered carefully. "Yes... but you don't have to call me that. My name is Mythica." It unsettled me to be considered the 'Master' of anything.

It suddenly occurred to me that I still did not know what to call him.

"I apologize for not asking earlier, but what is your name?"

"Johnathon," he replied.

I took his hand tentatively and smiled. "Welcome to the team, Johnathon."

His eyebrows knitted together for a second before he gave me an awkward smile in return, a sharp tooth poking from his lip adorably. My chest fluttered for a moment, but I ignored it.

"Now, I can't have you human around other humans,” I explained, “they wouldn't react well to seeing a Pokemon as one of them. If you need to speak with me when you are in Pokemon form, though, just nudge my hand and I'll change you, okay?"

John nodded and smiled, a more comfortably placed one this time around.

I placed my hand on his forehead once more and the boy disappeared into green light, replaced again by his Pokemon form.

John began walking and I followed.

We made it to Viridian City with no real issue, where I picked up the package and safely returned it to Professor Oak. It was surprising that we didn’t encounter any other Pokemon at the time.

He took the parcel happily and handed me five Poke balls.

I made my way to Route 1, my expression more determined as I scanned the surrounding patches of tall grass. "Okay John, let's get ourselves a comrade."

Almost as if on cue, a Pidgey swooped down and started pecking my head. I cried out in surprise, then pain, throwing my arms over my head in defense. I felt a whoosh of air fly over me and curiously opened my eyes. It seemed that Johnathon had launched himself into the air and tackled the Pidgey.

The brown bird crashed into the ground and I quickly pulled out my Poke ball, easily catching it.

I opened the Poke ball and through the red glow materialized the Pidgey.

I dropped down on one knee and placed my hand on Johnathon first, changing him to show the Pidgey what I was about to do to it.

I touched its feathered head and red swirls swept around her. She grew to about my height and shook the glow off. She didn't react with fear, but with curiosity. The bird girl held up her hands and inspected her thin fingers. I smiled at her relaxed curiosity.

She wore all shades of brown clothes. A ruffled tank-top with an undershirt that gave her sleeves which were adorned with varying brown and white feathers. A feathered tail stuck out from the back of her pants. She was barefoot as well, with claw-like feet that only had four talons each; three in front and one sticking out of her heel. Her hair was a silky, brown pixie-cut that flowed with two black streaks mixed into her chestnut locks, and her skin was dark brown.

Her eyes were bright green in contrast to her colors.

She smiled shyly at me. "So, you're my Trainer, then." It was less of a question than an actual statement. Her voice was soft and edged by an oddly nasal accent.

I nodded and Jonathon stepped up to her, appearing to shield me. "Why did you attack Master? You're supposed to attack other Pokemon."

The Pidgey girl shied away from John and shrugged slightly. "I was testing her." She quickly dashed around Johnathon, avoiding him, and stood in front of me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "My name is Nicole. Sorry if I messed up your hair."

I stood there awkwardly and tried to copy her action by placing my hand on her shoulder. "I'm Mythica. Welcome to the team, Nicole."

"Does this team have a name?" Nicole inquired, strolling away.

I had never thought of a team name before. Was it really necessary? Apparently it was to her. Regardless, she was waiting for an answer, though I had none that could satisfy her.

"No..." Nicole looked at me in surprise.

"You really are a rookie. How about... Team Legend?" Nicole suggested.

I looked to John, who just looked at me expectantly. "It is your choice, Master." There was that word again. This time though, I didn't have quite the toxic reaction. It was something about the way John said it that put me at ease.

"Mythica?" I snapped back to attention to look across the two expectant faces before me. I had gotten off track apparently.

I thought about the name of my new team for a moment, then nodded.

"Team Legend it is."

Mythica | Female | Human | Careful | Age: 18

#my writing #a leafgreen myth #nuzlocke #pokemon nuzlocke #gijinka #storylocke #my words

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kronecker-delta · 7 years

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Burning Pain Skeleton Part 5

The last part I wrote for Methods. A rewrite of a scene far later in the story where Quirrel (Monroe)’s hero worship becomes something else entirely...

The old witch's gaze was questioning, though answers were not found in the prophetic flames before her. They promised only swift incineration. "I mourned you myself. What happened?" Professor Burning Pain Skeleton's shade soaked cloak of smoke and ash bellowed outward, filling the room as the lamps died. The only light was cast by his eternally smoldering frame, the impossibly hot ember-coal bones highlighted against a supernatural twilight. It was as if the room before Amelia had been swallowed whole by the night. "CEASE YOUR BASELESS ASSUMPTIONS," Professor Burning Pain Skeleton screamed out. "ARE YOU NOT CAPABLE OF REALIZING THAT IT IS MY WILL THAT NONE KNOW OF ME?! IF YOU WOULD BE MY DISCIPLE YOU FLAME THRALLED FOOL THEN BE AT LEAST AS BRIGHT AS A DIM EMBER!!! WAS I NOT THE ONE THAT AIDED YOU IN REMOVING THE WAX FLESH OBSTACLES TO YOUR CURRENT RULE!?!" Professor Burning Pain Skeleton's smiling visage burned itself into the minds of those present. None but the aged crone that had served him faithfully was not blinded by the sight. "BUT OF COURSE, IT HAS BEEN LONG SINCE YOU RECEIVED A BOON FOR YOUR CULTISH WORSHIP... WHAT WEAK AND MEASLY NEED HAVE YOU?!" The old witch leaned back in her Auror's monitoring-chair, looking rather startled, maybe even hurt. "No -" she said after a long and carefully considered moment. Her fingers tapped the leather folder; nervously, one might have thought, if Amelia Bones could ever be nervous. At that moment what she felt was anticipation at the Dread Fire long awaited return. "But your Cult - there are not many remaining that know of Lost Hyboria-" "IT MATTERS LITTLE!! SOON THE OCEANS WILL RISE AND THE ICE CHASMED PRISONS WILL MELT!! MY LOST CITIES WILL BE FREED!! AND THOSE LIKE YOU MAY TAKE YOUR PLACE AS TENDERS TO THE INFERNO AS WE WASH AWAY THE TAINT THAT BEFOULS THIS WORLD IN PURIFYING FIRE!!!!" The old witch sighed, dreamily. "What does Dumbledore think of this?" The thing that was not a man in the detention cell shook his head. "DUMBLE-DUMBER?! HE DID NOT EVEN INQUIRE " The old witch's eyebrows rose. "How did he identify you to the Hogwarts wards, then?" A slight smile that caused the stones about them to bleed tar and pitch. "THE OLD AS MERLIN FOOL DREW A CIRCLE OF WORTHLESS PROTECTION AND PROCLAIMED ME A TEACHER!! WHICH REMINDS ME... I AM NEEDED THERE!! NEEDED, DO YOU UNDERSTAND LAWTENDER?!!!" "You seem to - rest, sometimes, in a peculiar manner. Unmoving as the fire grows and wanes about you. This has also been reported. And you seem to be resting like this more and more frequently, as time goes on." The old witch's fingers tapped the leather folder again. "I cannot recall reading of such a symptom, but when one hears of such a thing, one imagines... Dark Wizards fought, and terrible curses received..." The Defense Professor remained expressionless. A motionless burning corpse locked in a cage. "Do you require a healer's help?" said Amelia Bones. Her own mask had slipped, clearly showing the pain in her eyes that came from looking to long into the Hell before her. "Is there anything at all that can be done for you?" "SO LONG AS THE WITCH CHILD SCHOOL STANDS UNBROKEN I AM A TEACHER THERE," Professor Burning Pain Skeleton growled out with flat finality. "THINK WHAT YOU WILL OF THAT!! NOW I MUST RETURN THERE, ALREADY I FEEL THAT THOSE TIRESOME WORM BEINGS YOU CREATE THROUGH YOUR ANIMAL RUTTING ARE TOO LONG ABSENT MY INSTRUCTION!!!"

#my dumb fanfic stuff #hp mor #writing #burning pain skeleton

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