Advanced chapters on [email protected]/Saintbarbido.
(General P.O.V.)
It had been a quiet month in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.
Quiet, but not ordinary.
The massive blue crystal egg occupying one of the beds was far from the usual broken bones and hex-swollen noses Madam Pomfrey was used to.
Towering nearly five feet high and glowing faintly in the dark, the egg pulsed like a heartbeat. Within it, something—or rather, someone—slept.
And every day, Luna Lovegood came to sit by its side.
She'd bring a different book each time. Today, she read softly from a hand-bound notebook filled with strange, rhyming stories she had clearly written herself.
"…And the little pink firefly said, 'I'll light the way!' So it shined and it glowed and it burst into magic—just like that! Into a fairy. A very bright fairy with glitter in its hair and a bit of pie in its hands."
Luna paused, flipping the page with care.
"You saved them all, little firefly," she whispered. "But you didn't disappear. You changed."
She reached forward and placed her palm gently on the egg's smooth surface. A shimmer ran along the crystal. The egg had started to glow more in the past few days. And today…
A crack echoed across the room.
Luna sat bolt upright. The egg cracked again—spiderweb lines of light racing across its surface.
Then it shattered.
Shards flew outward and dissolved into gentle motes of blue flame as a gust of warm energy swept through the Hospital Wing.
And in the center of the ruined bed, naked and blinking, sat Loth.
"Big Bro!!!!"
Luna didn't hesitate.
She launched forward and hugged him tightly, ignoring the fact that he was very much not dressed.
"You're back," she breathed, voice trembling. "You're really, really back."
Loth blinked, disoriented. "...Luna?"
"Mhmm," she nodded against his chest, eyes shut tight.
Before he could register more—
The doors slammed open.
In walked Professor Snape, robes billowing with all the drama he could muster. And behind him, calm and slightly amused, was Albus Dumbledore.
Snape took one look at the scene—the shards, the hug, the nakedness—and scowled. "Merlin's ghost, have you no sense of decorum? Of modesty?"
Loth opened his mouth, then looked down.
"...Right. Clothes."
"I'll handle it," Dumbledore said casually, wand flicking once.
In a swirl of conjuring magic, a Hogwarts student uniform materialized around Loth—robes and all, neatly pressed and fitting like it had always belonged to him.
Luna reluctantly let go and stepped back, brushing her hair behind her ear as though nothing at all had just happened.
-0-
Later, in the quiet of Dumbledore's office, Loth sat in a high-backed chair, a steaming mug of coffee cradled in his hands. He sipped slowly, grateful for the warmth.
"How long?" he asked softly.
Dumbledore stood near the fire, hands folded behind his back. "A month."
Loth nodded slowly. "Wow. Feels like no time passed for me."
"Do you remember anything?" the Headmaster asked gently.
Loth frowned. The last thing he remembered clearly was the Fiendfyre Phoenix devouring his corpse—and then a blur of heat and silence. He shook his head. "Nothing useful."
Dumbledore didn't press further. "That's alright. Sometimes, healing takes time. Body first. Then memory."
He turned toward the door, pausing just before leaving. "Someone will escort you shortly to your new accommodations. You'll be staying outside the dormitories, of course. As… technically, you're not a student."
Loth looked down at the uniform. "Then what's this for?"
Dumbledore smiled, half-hidden behind his beard. "It suits you."
He opened the door, then looked back one last time. "Oh. Before you go anywhere else… have a look in the mirror."
Loth raised an eyebrow.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"You may find you're looking at someone new."
"Wait!" Loth called out before Dumbledore could leave. "Just wanted to say, thanks for looking after me Headmaster."
Dumbledore smiled, though Loth could tell it was sad. "You're welcome Mr. Lothal. Congratulations for getting your body back. Now if you'll excuse me, an urgent matter has come up."
And then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
Loth sat for a moment, thinking.
Then he turned in his seat… and looked into the tall mirror across the room.
His reflection stared back—familiar and different all at once.
He didn't look like a boy anymore.
He looked like someone who had died.
And come back as something more.
(Loth's P.O.V.)
I stood alone in Dumbledore's office, still holding the empty coffee mug. The soft crackle of the fire and the occasional ticking of the headmaster's many strange instruments filled the silence. But I wasn't listening.
I was staring.
At my reflection.
The mirror was tall and arched, edged in swirling gold and enchantments that buzzed faintly when I stepped too close. But what held my attention was… me.
I looked older. Sharper. My face was more defined, almost angular, my jawline carved like stone. My once-black hair still curled slightly at the edges—but now the ends had turned an almost metallic blue, like the fire of my phoenix had dyed the tips in memory.
And somehow, I was… taller?
"Did my pet upgrade me?" I muttered, brushing a hand through the blue-tinged strands. "Fiendfyre... gene therapy?"
It wasn't a bad look, really. Actually, it was a great look. Rooster-blue ends gave me a kind of reckless charm, something that Percy would probably scoff at while Annabeth rolled her eyes. I could already hear the banter.
"Trying a little hard, aren't we, Loth?"
"Don't encourage him," Annabeth would say.
I smiled at the thought.
The grin faded when I tried to think back—truly think—on the last month.
But there was nothing. Just silence. A hazy blur. No dreams. No voices. No fire. No light.
I frowned and reached inward—tried to sink into my spiritual world, to my sanctuary, the source of my Anodite magic and the place my two Familiars dwelled.
But the moment I reached for it, I hit a wall.
It was still there… but distant. Muffled. Like a cocoon I couldn't tear open yet.
'Evolving', a part of me whispered. I didn't know how I knew. I just… knew.
The spiritual world was changing. Rebuilding itself around whatever I'd become. Until then, it was closed.
Which meant no Anodite form.
No god-tier powers.
I sighed.
The weight of gravity clung to my bones. My breath felt slow. My skin was soft and cold and real.
And weirdly… I didn't mind.
As an Anodite, I had felt everything—but with a strange detachment. Like my emotions were being filtered through code. Thoughts were too clean. Too sterile.
Now… my heart beat.
My skin shivered under the room's cool air.
My hands trembled—just slightly—as I raised them and summoned a hundred tiny pink disks of magic, each one precise, glowing, and humming gently.
My magic control hadn't weakened. If anything—it had refined.
I watched the disks float through the air, perfectly arranged. No chaos. No burnout. Just me and magic, in sync.
Then the door creaked open.
A broad, familiar silhouette filled the frame. Hagrid ducked his head in, blinking his beetle-black eyes.
His gaze fell on the pink disks. He raised a shaggy brow.
I waved a hand, dismissing the magic with a casual flick.
"Mages and their magic tricks, am I right?"
Hagrid grunted. "If you say so."
He stepped in, big boots thudding against the wood.
"Headmaster sent me t' fetch ya," he rumbled, staring at me a bit too intensely and guarded. "Said you'd be stayin' outside the dorms. Wants you set up proper, y'know. Somethin' fittin' for a... well, milord."
I blinked. "Milord?"
He shrugged, almost embarrassed. "Word's spread, Sir Loth. Bit hard not to, what with the egg, the Horsemen, the firebird, the—you know. All of it."
"Oh," I said, scratching the back of my neck. "Right."
Hagrid stepped aside, gesturing to the hall. "C'mon milord. We'll get you settled. Might even have a few thestrals wanderin' around. Little miss Luna thinks you'd like that."
I smiled at the thought and followed him into the corridor.
One step at a time.
Back in a body. Back in the world.
And for now, that was enough.
-0-
I walked rather than glide, through the stone halls of Hogwarts with my aura sense wide open. Hagrid's unexpected arrival had caught me off guard, and I wasn't going to be caught lacking again.
The school felt different now. Before, the leystrings had hummed with familiarity beneath my feet, like an extra heartbeat tied to mine. Now… it was quieter. Distant. I was no longer fused into the magical veins of Hogwarts, and the silence left me alert, careful, observant.
Students passed us in the halls, their chatter lowering into whispers as I passed. Some stared openly. Others leaned toward their friends, whispering things behind cupped hands.
"Who's the new fifth year with Hagrid?"
"D'you see his hair?"
"He doesn't look like a fifth year..."
I pretended not to notice, but my aura flared outward, tracing their shapes, emotions, and magic signatures. I was mapping the school with every step—like echolocation made of Anodite mana.
Then, from nowhere, something cold passed straight through a nearby student, who shivered violently as a high-pitched giggle rang out.
"BOO!" shrieked a translucent, Victorian-era ghost in a ruffled coat and powdered wig, floating gleefully through a group of second-years.
He turned to rush through me next—only to smack face-first into something solid. Namely, me.
The ghost yelped and reeled back midair, flailing like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on him.
"Impossible!" he said, blinking wildly. "A ghost wall? No, not a wall… you!"
I blinked and helped him upright—or rather, steady in the air. "You might want to watch where you're going next time."
His eyes were still bulging. "But… but I pass through everyone else…"
I turned to follow Hagrid, who was somehow already ten steps ahead, lumbering down a spiraling staircase.
My aura sense still pulsed in every direction, but there was a moment where I felt a thin sheen of energy flare around me, like a passive barrier that had blocked the ghost's phasing.
I narrowed my eyes. Just what did Blue, my nickname for the Phoenix, give me?
I'd need to test my limits soon.
I caught up to Hagrid, who wasn't offering much conversation. I tried to break the silence.
"Nice day," I said, gesturing toward a passing window.
"Mm," he grunted.
I tried again. "The ghosts always this dramatic?"
Another grunt.
Not one for small talk, I guess.
Fine. I turned inward, focusing more on the steady rhythm of my aura sense. I charted stairwells, moving portraits, fluctuating wards along doorframes, and even the occasional magical creature in the walls. Without the leyline connection, this was the best way to relearn the castle's layout.
Eventually, we stepped out into the crisp open air of the Quidditch field. High above, brooms zipped back and forth in practice formation. Cheers echoed faintly.
Then something large whistled through the air.
THOOM.
A Bludger—one of the massive, iron-clad howlers used in Quidditch—had broken formation and was heading straight for me.
I raised a hand instinctively. "Protego Maxima!"
A dome of pale light erupted in front of me, catching the howler mid-flight with a concussive pulse. The ball thudded to the grass and rolled to a stop.
I stared at my hand.
I hadn't used a wand.
And I'd cast an advanced spell. A wizard's spell.
I could use wizard magic. Without a wand. With perfect clarity.
Behind me, I heard Hagrid's breath hitch.
"Yer just like him," he muttered. "Tom Riddle."
The moment the name left his lips, I turned sharply.
"Explain," I said, voice cold.
Hagrid flinched and raised his hands. "Didn't mean it like that! Just... he could do magic without a wand too, even back when he was a boy."
Before I could press, another voice cut in—snide, superior.
"Oi! Toss that back, will you?"
I turned.
A boy in green Quidditch robes stood a few meters away, blonde hair slicked back like it had been sculpted into place. Two burly students flanked him like bad stage props.
"You deaf?" he asked. "Give it here before I take it."
I raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess… Malfoy?"
He smirked. "Draco Malfoy. And that's my Bludger."
I held it up. "Then try saying please."
His cronies snorted.
I smiled. "Didn't think so."
A flick of my fingers, and the Bludger shimmered pink, infused with just enough Anodite magic to add weight.
Then I threw.
The ball slammed into Malfoy's chest, knocking him on his back with a loud Oof!
The crowd gathering around us laughed.
His two lackeys charged—predictably.
The first one tripped over his own feet as I wrapped illusion threads around his vision. The second's punch curved at the last second—straight into his own face. He collapsed, dazed.
Thanks Clarrise for teaching me how to handle your kind.
I turned to Hagrid. "Sorry. Old habits."
Hagrid glanced around at the stunned students. "Let's… let's just get you to the hut."
We walked on, leaving whispers behind us. I wasn't worried about punishment. Not yet.
But as we walked, I thought of Luna.
I just hoped none of this mess would reflect badly on her.
Still... sometimes, bullies needed a very direct lesson.
Hagrid didn't speak another word as we left the Quidditch pitch. Just trudged forward with those long, heavy strides, the earth shifting beneath his boots like it was making way for a mountain.
I followed, quiet and thoughtful, mind still turning over what he said.
"You're just like him… Tom Riddle."
It echoed in my head with the kind of weight only a name like Voldemort could carry.
Any Harry Potter fan knew the history, Tom Riddle: brilliant, gifted, twisted. The boy who became the Dark Lord.
Was that what people saw when they looked at me now? Power first. Humanity second?
The thought sat uncomfortably in my chest.
We reached the edge of the school grounds where Hagrid's hut stood under the shadow of the Forbidden Forest. Cozy-looking, familiar. A stack of firewood beside the door. Smoke rising gently from the chimney. But as soon as I got close, something… tingled.
My aura sense flared.
The hut was wrong.
Too much magic. Layers of enchantments, threads of warding runes embedded in the very soil. And not leyline magic—this was recent. Constructed. Artificial.
Why would a hut like this be brimming with spells? Hagrid wasn't a practicing wizard. He'd been expelled. And this wasn't near a leyline node.
Something wasn't right.
Hagrid opened the door and motioned. "Go on in," he said, his voice too quiet.
I didn't move. My eyes dropped to his hands.
They were shaking.
Trembling, almost violently, as if barely holding something in.
"Hagrid," I asked slowly, "why are your hands shaking?"
His eyes darted away—once to the forest, once to the hut, then back to me. "Nerves, that's all," he mumbled.
But I already knew. His aura was fractured. Fear. Regret. Resignation.
I took a step back—
And then it hit me.
Multiple spells, striking from all sides. Bypassing my aura sense.
"Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!"
Red jets of light exploded from the air, pelting me in perfect coordination. My body reeled backward, but before I could counter, the earth itself betrayed me—roots surged up, ancient and gnarled, seizing my legs, arms, chest. Binding magic wrapped around my core like a net.
I was pinned.
Immobile. Not unconscious, but stunned in place.
Through the blur of pain and raw magical restraint, I heard the voice I hadn't expected to hear in this moment.
"Forgive us, Loth."
Dumbledore.
The old man stepped out from the edge of the forest, the Elder Wand steady in his hand, his face weathered with sorrow. Beside him, emerging from the brush and shadows, were more figures—robes, wands, eyes sharp with worry and resolve.
The Order of the Phoenix.
Moody. Kingsley. Even Professor Flitwick.
They stood in a circle around me, some with expressions of regret, others with hardened suspicion. Hagrid still stood at the door of his hut, refusing to meet my gaze.
Dumbledore took a slow breath. "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this."
I couldn't speak, not with the paralyzing spell still in place. But my eyes—my aura—burned with only one question:
Why?