Chương 28: The River of Fate

Weeks began to pass, and I settled into a roughly defined routine heavy on study. Homework was the largest drain on my time, and I couldn't deny most of it was simply a waste of time. The worst of it was just busy work so the teachers could check if their students really read and understood the assigned sections. At least the classes themselves were usually interesting. Usually…

"And what is this, Parish?" Snape asked from behind me one day during Potions. Despite my reluctance to meet Snape's eyes, I was forced to look at him to see what he was indicating. I didn't think he'd caught on to my reason for that behavior yet. A lot of people didn't like looking at him, and he, in turn, rarely paid much attention to his students in the first place if you weren't a Slytherin; or named Potter. All the professors had definitely heard I didn't like being referred to by my last name though.

The teachers talked, and the others had made it a point of calling me 'Miss Lyra' or just 'Lyra' without me needing to bring it up again. Snape was being very intentional in ignoring that preference.

"It's my notebook sir."

"All assignments are to be turned in on parchment, Parish. That will be five points from Ravenclaw." I didn't respond as he walked off. He'd just take more points off for backtalk, and he already knew full well that I had never turned in an assignment on loose-leaf paper. The spiral notebook was for my personal notes. The best I could say about Snape was he wasn't as actively mean to others as he was towards Harry.

He was still a dick, especially to muggle-borns, and rumor had singled me out as 'one of them' from Snape's perspective. I kept my head down in his class—both figuratively and literally—but he still made it a point to call out anytime I wasn't absolutely perfect in his class. I'd need to start taking notes in class using parchment. Particularly annoying since Potions was the most important class to take notes in. Snape's recipes were simply better than the book's, and I wanted to record the superior version.

Not that he gave the class the full recipe of his versions. With that said, my extra studies in Potions had begun to pay off. I wasn't sure about the first-year Gryffindors or Slytherins, but in our lessons, I was leagues ahead of my classmates. There were many subtle traps that Snape would put in the recipes he wrote on the board. Ways to drastically increase or decrease the potency of a potion for people paying attention or doing extra study. Most of it was in the details.

Stirring closer to the inside or outside of the bowl mattered. The speed of stirring mattered. What you focused your thoughts on—your Intent on—while stirring mattered. Everything in potion making had similar variables. From the quality of the ingredients and the minute differences in how they were added to the brew, all the way to how many seconds you spent between the individual steps. A hundred small things that could go in any direction dependent on what you wanted out of the final result.

Detail and perception ruled supreme here. It was kind of fun. It would've been a lot more fun if Snape actually wanted us to succeed.

"What a wanker," muttered Mathis after Snape had moved across the room.

"Ward." Snape called suddenly.

"Tell me, what is the purpose of this potion?"

"Well, it's for healing, Professor," he called back. I winced internally. It was an accurate answer, but Snape wouldn't accept that. To be fair, he would've found a problem with any answer, even one word for word from the book.

"Are you sure you're in Ravenclaw, Ward? I thought your lot was supposed to be intelligent. It's in the name: Blood Replenishing Potion. The imbiber will simply produce more blood. It doesn't do anything for their injuries and doesn't close their wounds."

"But sir, it's still used in healing."

"Five more points from Ravenclaw for interrupting a Professor, Ward." At least without Slytherins in our class, there was no jeering. Everyone here hated the man more than each other, and Snape just used our classes as a way to ensure Slytherin was winning the house cup. Mathis bristled, and simultaneously sulked.

"Just ignore him. You said on the train you don't care about the house cup."

"Yeah, sure," he replied sourly. We wrapped up not long after, and Snape refused to comment on the potion I turned in. A clear sign he couldn't find a fault with my final product. When I returned to my cauldron, I scooped some of the remaining potion into one of several magic preservation jars provided by the twins. This was the first potion we'd worked on that I felt warranted one.

The Blood Replenishing Potion needed a small amount of powdered unicorn horn, making it the most expensive potion we'd worked with so far. It also had a life-saving practical use. I wasn't going to just let it go to waste. Why more students didn't hold onto what they made in class—and chose instead to just dispose of the completed potion—I had no idea. Well, that wasn't really true. I was the only one in class who passed Snape's inspection without points being taken off.

Drinking a failed potion that was supposed to interact with your blood didn't seem very smart.

"I don't understand how you can stand him," Mathis said once we were safely away.

"He does have the most unpleasant aura," Luna added.

"The key is to not care," I said sagely.

"He'll try to go after anything you care about. Just let your desires fade away and live as a being of pure logic with no emotions. A state of true peace with the universe and all within. To be angered by Snape, is to be conquered by Snape." Mathis rolled his eyes.

"Stop acting like you're so much older than the rest of us. You're just as bad. Or are you going to claim you're being reasonable about the whole Riley/Luna situation?"

"I don't care about age. I care about results. I'd rather be completely alone than sacrifice my morals."

"You know, I don't really mind what they call me," Luna claimed, but in a way that made it clear she didn't actually mean it. She was too easy to read once you got to know her." I do care. You're my friend, Luna."

"Riley is your friend as well."

"I'm not friends with someone who treats others poorly for no reason," I replied, getting angrier.

"If she actually had one—a reason—that might change things. Depending on what it was. But she doesn't. She's just tearing you down because she thinks it's funny or clever."

"I mean–" Mathis said reluctantly, side-eyeing Luna.

"it's probably because of the drugs."

"They aren't drugs," Luna said.

"They're supplements to open your mind to the extraordinary, to allow you to see past the mundane and accept the impossible."

"Sounds like drugs to me," Mathis muttered.

"Drugs weaken the mind; make you susceptible to negative influence."

"Yeah, and your dad wrote about a scene he witnessed last week where crabs were playing quidditch. That's not opening your mind. That's a hallucination."

"Look–" I cut in, before Luna could try to defend her dad's 'great vision' of how Norway was going to win the Quidditch World Cup… again.

"She isn't forcing them on anyone and she isn't harming herself or others. What's the big deal?"

"I was just pointing out that Riley has her reasons. Can you just drop it and forgive her? It's really annoying to play messenger for you two. Especially when you sleep in the same room as her." Originally Cordelia had been playing messenger, but she had a fight with Luna about who was the bigger liar. They both insisted that they weren't lying, and couldn't accept a compromise. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Personally, I didn't really mind Cordelia's antics. Sure, she was cringe incarnate, but unlike Luna, she didn't care if you didn't believe her nonsense. Only getting defensive if you tried to contradict anything she said; like Luna often did to insert her own unpopular ideas.

"I'm not dropping it. Not until Riley apologizes." Besides, she grew up with magic. She didn't have the 'potions are magical drugs' way of thinking common in the muggle-borns. He let out a frustrated groan. Then deliberately changed the subject, "You two going to the library again?"

"Yep."

"I can't today. It's a full moon tonight, and I want to try bathing in mallowsweet syrup. There's a woman in Wales who credits it with her ability to spot wrackspurts."

"Oh, okay," I responded. Not helping stop the spread of your nickname there, Luna. Yeah, her rep was unsalvageable. She was still a good person. At least Mathis wasn't calling her 'Loony' too. So maybe my attempts were achieving something. We split up, leaving me feeling increasingly annoyed at the whole situation. I settled down in my area of the library and started working. With Luna out, I thought it might be a good time to review my notes.

What we had been doing for weeks now, was searching for anything relating to my situation. To get around revealing my exact circumstances, I proposed the research project as searching for any information about the 'Ancient Magics' that have troubled wizards since time immemorial. Basically, 'Intro to the Department of Mysteries'. Time, Prophecy/Fate, Thought, Space, Love, Death, and at least five other 'doors' were revealed in the fifth book.

Most wizards outside of the Unspeakables view any information regarding this stuff as a pseudo-science at best, or rather 'pseudo-magic'. Luna loved the project. I doubted many others would even consider taking the task seriously, let alone dive into it with as much enthusiasm as she had. Her help had already saved me days—if not, weeks—of effort.

The only subject we were making true progress on was Fate, as most of the information about the other ones were locked within the restricted section or not commonly treated as a magical subject in the first place. It had been very awkward when I had told Luna that 'Love' was one of these ancient magics, and she had asked Madam Pince for help in the subject. It was already the first week of October, and Halloween was approaching fast. Ginny was looking paler by the day, on top of becoming more withdrawn.

She had already stopped going to our lessons with Hagrid. The worst part of my research was that it was hard to know if what I found was accurate. That said… some things from what we found just… Resonated, with canon events. Patterns that might not be there at all. Choices that seemed random, or coincidental in retrospect, but make sense when taken with the whole. Harry telling Ron he needed to destroy the locket, when Ron was the one who grabbed the sword from the pond.

Neville killing Nagini with the sword of Gryffindor. The 'Master of Death' is the one who accepts death and leaves the Hallows alone. Voldemort, slain by his own wand, essentially three times. Harry making the same sacrifice as his mother. Dobby dying in the Malfoy manor. Percy dueling the Minister of Magic. Thematic plotlines. The Hero's Journey. I felt like a conspiracy theorist. But there were just too many incidents to be natural, and magic existed in this world.

I wasn't going to be dismissive of anything I failed at understanding like Hermione had decided to do with Divination. Moreover, the vague and ancient magics existed. Lily dying for Harry, and Harry's subsequent protection under his aunt was more powerful than any crafted magic that Dumbledore—the strongest wizard alive—could cast. Dumbledore praised Harry for saving Peter Pettigrew's life even when it led to Voldemort coming back, specifically calling out the magical connection of the act.

It led back to things like my decision not to break any promises, or the weird way current events overlapped with canon scenes. Magic was metaphor. It drew connections along the same lines. Spells were cast on intent more than reality. Then there was my actual situation. Maybe I was just in a book. It just felt all too real. I knew these people. I've met them, talked to them. They responded to me. Treating them as just characters—ink on a page—it felt wrong.

If I was going to take this seriously, that meant there was agency, and there was clearly something working against it. Absently, I scratched an itch on my chest, and recoiled at the sudden sharp pain I felt instead of relief. I switched to distracting my hands by playing with my pen. Then there was my next consideration. I hadn't just entered a parallel world, I had somehow gone back in time decades.

Accounts of Time magic—also known as Chronomancy—existed in the library's books, but everything about casting the magic itself had been restricted. Even then, it was still useful information. Time travel was possible, but going back in time usually resulted in people realizing whatever they did had already happened. A Single Continuum—or a Fixed-Timeline—in other words. Usually.

If someone actively tried to create a paradox, they could do so; but every known case resulted in horrible consequences for everyone affected, particularly the culprit. The most famous case was Merlin. Often called the most powerful wizard to have ever lived, he was believed to have been messing with Chronomancy right before his final disappearance and assumed death.

I didn't think I was dealing with time travel—or the consequences that would come from messing with it—but the concern was still there given the accuracy of my knowledge concerning the books. In sorta the same vein, Prophecies existed and it was entirely possible for them to not come true. To break a prophecy, you usually have to be aware of it existing, then act in a way outside of your normal patterns. I'd almost call what I had as something between the two.

It should definitely be possible to alter canon, but if I push too hard… The best book I found covering the ideas I was struggling with was called The River of Fate. It described time as a series of water currents. Some flows were easy to change and impacted little on a geological scale, like a creek or a stream. Others were oceanic titans that shaped the world.

The 'River of Fate' itself, as described by the book, would smash any obstacle placed haphazardly in its way and thwart all but the most concerted efforts to block its path. But it could be diverted by carefully digging out an alternative channel for the water to flow. Prophecies were not set in stone. It only took effort beyond the norm to achieve a desired change. I preferred to think of it in book terms.

They resonated with me a bit more because of the source of my 'Prophecies', and helped quantify what would be needed to 'carve out a new channel for the river' that I was trying to divert. The River of Fate, or as I was thinking of it, Narrative Weight. I needed to adequately 'foreshadow' an event. That said, I wasn't sure how to do that.

Anything I wanted to change was something I intended to plan for, and foreshadowing had an inherent distance to the phrase, so maybe foreshadowing from the inside of a story just looked like time and effort? Time, effort, and hard work. I could manage that. But which events did I need to 'foreshadow' the most?

'Side Plots' were the little currents. The creeks and streams. Things made of simple cause and effect. These were the things I could hopefully change with relative ease. No greater magic forcing things in place. For instance, I didn't see Mad-Eye Moody as 'needing to die' for the main plot to work. His death wasn't hugely impactful in the story. I'd even forgotten about him in favor of Hedwig until I was going over everything I could remember with a fine-toothed-comb. Then there was The Main Plot, The River.

The events that happen because of Magic, Prophecy, or Fate. Patterns with the weight of tradition and symbology. The way magic operates on symbolic metaphors. Something big always happens on Halloween. Dumbledore being pulled from the castle when the Third Act starts. Harry's shared similarities to Voldemort, and their inevitable duel at the end was obvious to any reader from page one. Voldemort's defeat right as dawn's first light hit the scene.

Saving Sirius and Dobby when they sacrificed themselves for Harry, causing him 'Narrative Growth', was going to be Hard. Probably. I would be swimming against the natural flow of a very strong current forcing Harry to be a 'Chosen One' archetype. If I was right. That 'IF' was the true monster. It was also one of the main reasons why I preferred the book terms.

An invisible, intangible river with currents affecting events in strange and mysterious ways was much harder to wrap my head around—and plan for—than the plot structure of a book. What if I was wrong? These books I had been reading with Luna were speculation at best and poorly written slop at worst. No one seemed to really understand Prophecy or Fate; that's why it was a Mystery. What if what I had was closer in line with Chronomancy?

My knowledge was far too accurate compared to the prophecies we were finding, and none of it explained my 'other self'. Would interfering too much cause a far bigger disaster with me right at the center of it? Do I do what I had first planned? Go loud, and tell Dumbledore everything? He unquestionably knew more about this kind of magic than me. Would I get a Fate backlash for just trying? I spun a pen as I thought it over. I needed to experiment. To see how far I could push things.

How much effort it would take to lead to change. Poke and tease the plot—see how it reacts during these early years when no one dies. The first actual deaths in canon didn't happen until the fourth book. It would also mean leaving the basilisk attacks alone until those experiments bore fruit. I spun my pen. I'd decide later. I still had time. My prophecy research had also uncovered another unsettling discovery.

I'd found that not all of the prophecies were like Trelawney's; where she blacked out, spoke a cryptic message, then forgot everything she just said. Every Seer experienced their prophecies differently. Was my knowledge of the Harry Potter universe just a prophecy with a vivid hallucination component? Was I actually Lyra all along? I rebelled at the thought. 24 years of experience couldn't just be imagination. I lived a life. I had innumerable experiences and random memories full of entirely pointless details.

I knew dozens hundreds of complex people. I read countless books on fantastical worlds. What did my memories of a half-assed fourth-grade project on the American Civil War contribute to Lyra's life? What about all the other memories equally as specific and random? Harry Potter was such a minor, forgettable part of my life until I got that letter. How could I just be Lyra? If it really was all just a hallucination, why? Why did I live that life? Why was I a muggle? Why was it set in the future?

Why had all the college-level scientific knowledge and math I knew been proven accurate? Why was I a boy? But what else could it be? What is prophecy? Did I need to research Dimensionalism? Was Dimensionalism even a known field of magic? I hadn't found a book on it yet. Part of that trivial knowledge I knew from my past life was that the concept of the Multiverse didn't exist until about 1900, and wasn't really a known thing to common people until more than a decade after WWII.

With the speed at which wizarding society moved, they might not even know about those theories yet. I spun my pen. On the other side—if this life was the false one and I was currently hallucinating in a coma or something—why was I a girl now? Why was I an orphan? Was this some sort of journey of self-discovery? Why were things so detailed? Wasn't reading one of those impossible things to do for lucid dreamers? I should be confused and unreliable at a minimum if I were in a coma.

I should be jumping around erratically from fragmented memories, not living in a consistent narrative. This life just felt too real to be false, so if either of my experiences were a lie, it would have to be my old life, right? The Hat said 'you aren't the first student with more memories and knowledge than a child should have,' not that I was a body snatcher. That I was actually any older. Or that those memories were mine. Was I overthinking casual words spoken by someone focused on a different task? Who was I?

What was I? I was broken out of my thoughts as a very familiar mocking voice called out to me.

"What happened to all your friends, Puppy?" I set my pen down for now. It seems the one person in Slytherin still invested in bugging me had returned.