Advanced chapters on [email protected]/Saintbarbido.
(General P.O.V)
Luna jerked awake with a piercing scream.
The sound echoed off the stone walls of the Great Hall, still half-ruined from the battle. Her eyes were wide, chest heaving, breath short and panicked.
But she wasn't alone.
Arms tightened gently around her, grounding her. Familiar. Safe.
"Hey, hey—it's okay," Loth said softly, looking down at her. His voice was steady, calm. "You're alright. She's gone."
Luna blinked up at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "Hecate?"
He nodded. "Left. After a very long conversation."
She relaxed slightly in his arms, her fingers clutching his shirt. "You saved me again."
"Always."
Before either of them could speak again, the great doors of the Dining Hall burst open with a sharp boom, and a dozen wands snapped into readiness.
Dumbledore entered first, flanked by Professors McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, and Hagrid. Kingsley and several Aurors followed, tense and battle-ready.
They froze when they saw what awaited them.
No burning skies. No skeletal riders. Just Loth, seated on the floor of the broken hall with Luna safe in his arms. The shattered ground, the still-glowing ley runes—signs of the battle they had missed.
Dumbledore's eyes widened. "The Horsemen?"
Loth stood, helping Luna to her feet gently before turning to face them.
"I dealt with them."
A moment of stunned silence.
Snape narrowed his eyes. "Impossible."
Loth didn't flinch. "Believe what you want."
McGonagall looked around, taking in the silence, the lack of threat. "The wards… they're intact again. The leystrings feel… balanced."
Dumbledore walked forward, eyes gleaming with something like awe—and gratitude. "Then Hogwarts owes you a debt, Loth. You've saved not only this school but perhaps everyone inside it."
Snape's voice cut in like a knife. "Or perhaps he's the reason we needed saving in the first place."
All eyes turned to him.
He continued, face hard. "We're to believe it's coincidence that Horsemen—Elder Spirits thought to be myth, no less—just appeared days after a supposed 'god' of raw magic walks through our halls?."
Loth didn't look away. "He's not wrong."
Snape's expression darkened in victory.
Loth continued. "The Horsemen were sealed inside the Elder Wand. My duel with Dumbledore shattered that seal. Their release was my doing. And because of that, I need access to the Restricted Section of the library."
McGonagall looked at Dumbledore, concerned. "Albus, are you sure—?"
"Granted," Dumbledore said immediately.
Snape stepped up, aghast. "Headmaster—"
"I'm not finished," Dumbledore said, raising a hand. "Severus, you'll accompany him."
Snape's mouth opened in protest—but no words came out.
"My instructions are final," Dumbledore added, eyes sharp beneath his spectacles.
Loth offered a half-smile toward Snape, not mocking—just amused. "Well, Professor. Looks like you're stuck with me."
Snape exhaled slowly, as if swallowing a dozen curses, then turned on his heel. "Then follow me. Let's get this over with."
As they exited together, Luna slipped her hand into Loth's briefly and whispered, "Be careful."
He nodded once.
But inside, the gears were already turning.
If the Horsemen had truly been imprisoned… then someone had put them there.
The real question was not who, but why.
The Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library was quieter than it had any right to be.
Every now and then, a muffled whisper echoed through the shelves, the sound of parchment rustling when no one had touched it. The low glow of Snape's lantern was absorbed by the passive light of Loth's Anodite form. The pink light cast tall shadows that stretched across stone and shelf alike, warping with every movement
Loth floated at the base of one of the tall bookshelves, carefully sliding a screaming tome back into place.
It gave one last screech before falling silent.
"That's the fifth one," he muttered. "Do all your books scream, or just the ones with personality disorders?"
Snape, standing stiffly near the archway with his arms folded and his lantern hovering beside him, answered without looking. "Most books in this section contain cursed knowledge. Why else do you think we keep them in a place called the Restricted Section?"
Loth gave a small smile. "Sarcasm noted."
Snape didn't respond.
Turning away, Loth's eyes swept across the towering stacks. "Fine. Then which one of these howling grimoires contains anything about the Deathly Hallows… or the Four Horsemen?"
Snape's face darkened slightly. "The Headmaster instructed me to accompany you. Not assist your research."
Loth raised an eyebrow. "You must be a delight at parties."
Snape's lips pressed together into a thin, unimpressed line.
"Never mind," Loth said. "I'll help myself."
He took a breath and raised one glowing hand. The air shimmered. From his palm, hundreds of thin, translucent tendrils sprouted—like branches from a living tree. Or maybe roots.
They slithered silently along the floors, curling up bookcases, through shelves, between cracked spines and faded tomes. Each tendril ended in a small, glowing sucker, latching softly onto each volume.
Snape's head turned sharply as he watched the tendrils spread through the entire length of the multi-floored section.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing?"
"Spell I came up with," Loth replied casually. "Just now, actually. Tree of Knowledge. It absorbs magical theory, spells, historical context—basically everything the books are willing to give—and funnels the data into a mental library inside my spiritual world."
Snape blinked. "You made that up. Just now."
"Yup."
"That's not how magic works."
"It is when I'm doing it."
Snape let out an annoyed sigh, but couldn't tear his eyes away from the tendrils as they grew and multiplied, weaving their way through ancient tomes.
Suddenly, one of the tendrils twitched and recoiled—then retracted with a slow, almost reverent pace. It brought with it a massive, dust-caked volume bound in ebony-colored human skin. The book floated toward Loth like it had a mind of its own.
Loth's expression turned cautious as his Anodite senses prickled. The presence leaking off the book was dark, deeper than anything else in the library—cold, hungry, watching.
Snape's voice came softly from behind, low and almost reverent.
"A Necronomicon…"
Loth turned. "That name supposed to mean something?"
Snape nodded slowly. "A book of the darkest forbidden knowledge. Created by wizards so twisted they were erased from magical records. No known copy was ever allowed in this school." His eyes narrowed. "Not even the Headmaster would keep one willingly."
Loth studied the text on the cover. It shimmered with unfamiliar runes, written in a language he didn't recognize.
He glanced back at Snape. "Can you read this?"
Snape's hand drifted toward the cover, entranced.
Just as his fingers neared it—smack!
A tendril slapped his wrist away.
Snape snapped out of it with a hiss. "What in—?!"
Loth didn't smile. "There's a curse on the cover. Invisible. Probably undetectable even to wand-based scanning magic. Touching it would've… well, let's just say it'd be a short chapter for you."
Snape stared at the book like it had grown teeth. Then, surprisingly, he gave Loth a stiff nod. "Thank you. That… was uncharacteristically considerate."
"You're welcome," Loth said, still eyeing the book. "You can repay the favor by translating the title. I can't read whatever language this is."
Snape stepped forward cautiously, peering at the runes without touching. His lips moved silently for a few moments.
Then he spoke.
"…Ragnarok. The God Unborn."
The moment the name passed Snape's lips, something shifted.
The Mist in the room quivered—subtly, like a breath drawn inward. Loth felt it before anyone else could. A ripple through the magical fabric. A shiver down the spine of the world.
Snape didn't notice. But he did.
(Loth's P.O.V.)
The hospital wing was quiet. The kind of quiet that made your thoughts loud.
Ragnarok. The God Unborn.
I had left Snape with the Necronomicon to decipher the contents within. The eager gleam in his eyes told me he was more interested in the forbidden knowledge rather than a desire to help.
Still, I couldn't complain. The Anodite protego shield I cast on him would protect him from the Necronomicon's curse, lest Dumbledore started blaming me for getting one of his professors horribly killed.
I hovered near the edge of the long room, my soul shedding a faint shimmer across the tiles. Just a few steps from me—though it felt a world away—lay me. My body.
Still. Pale. Preserved beneath a translucent bloom of gold petals that opened around it like a divine offering. They glowed gently, each edge pulsing in rhythm, like the heartbeat I didn't have anymore.
"The Golden Ambrosia Rose," a voice said behind me—crisp and calm.
I turned and saw Professor Sprout with her sleeves rolled up and a clipboard in hand. She looked like she was grading essays, not talking to a floating Anodite ghost of a half-dead mortal posing as a Demi-god. I appreciated the normalcy.
"The petals produce a nectar that slows decay," she continued. "It's not healing in the way you'd hope. But it keeps your body… intact."
I didn't say anything at first. I just looked back at it—me. The jawline I never had before this world toughened me up. The arms. The chest. I remembered when that body had trouble carrying its own weight.
"I was pudgy, a few months ago." I murmured. "Couldn't even jog up a hill at camp."
"You're certainly not that anymore," she said, eyes flicking to my radiant form. Particularly the groin area.
I didn't feel proud. Just tired.
"No. I'm not," I said. "Now I'm this."
An energy being. A spell that walks and talks. A god, apparently.
I watched my body again, searching for some instance of movement. Something human.
"It's been almost half a year," I continued. "Doesn't feel like it. Feels longer. Feels like someone else's life."
Professor Sprout glanced up from her clipboard. "The nectar's strong, but it's wizard-aligned. It doesn't recognize your muggle body. You're… not compatible."
"So I should bury it," I said flatly.
She hesitated. "Eventually. The rose pulls from Hogwarts' ambient magic. That drain can't go on forever."
I nodded absently, my gaze still locked on the face I once wore.
I wasn't mourning. Not exactly.
But I did miss it. Not just the body. The gravity. The sensation of breath. The tug of muscles. Even the exhaustion. I missed feeling human.
Could I make a new one? Rebuild a body using my Anodite magic? I was practically a walking forge of energy now. It had to be possible. I just had to figure out the spellwork.
I was deep into thinking about spell matrices and cellular infusion when—
FWOOSH.
A massive flare of blue light exploded into the room.
"Wait—what—"
My Fiendfyre Phoenix streaked down from my spiritual world, wings wide and burning with chaotic flames. It screeched once—loud and clear—and dove for the bed.
"No no no no—"
Too late.
With a rush of fire and wind, it devoured the flower holding my body.
The Golden Ambrosia Rose. Gone.
In a blink, it disappeared—swallowed whole, vanished into a phoenix's belly like it had never existed.
Golden petals fluttered down onto the empty bed.
I stared. Blinking.
"…Did I just get eaten by my own pet?"
Professor Sprout was still processing. "Did… that thing just—?"
"Yes. Yes it did."
Silence stretched between us.
I sighed, rubbed the back of my glowing neck. "If it reincarnates me as a mushroom, I'm revoking its meal privileges."
She blinked. "…What kind of mushroom would you want to be? I can make you a list of the best types."
I didn't have a response for that.
My gaze was already turning inward—past Hogwarts, past the physical realm— into my spiritual world.
Where my unusual pet Phoenix had taken my corpse.
Maybe the fiery bird knew something I didn't.