Chapter Text
Jaculus tried not to tune out Headmistress McGonagall's explanations of Hogwarts. He knew this place; he went to school here; he had lived and grew up here, for Salazar's sake.
But he knew he had to keep up the appearance of being a transfer student, so he nodded politely while she explained the Houses, the point system, OWL exams, Quidditch and all of the rest.
It was a day before the term started. Yesterday, Jaculus had owled over the relevant paperwork, courtesy of Luna, and McGonagall invited him to come to Hogwarts for an information session.
"And if you need any help," she was saying, sitting behind her desk and watching him carefully, "you can always ask a professor or another student."
"Thank you, Professor," Jaculus said. He was about to make excuses about wanting to explore the castle, but then he remembered something important, something he knew he couldn't take for granted in this universe. "I have a pet snake. Will it be all right…?"
Kaisa stuck her head out from beneath Jaculus' robes, hissing a greeting.
"I promise she won't be a danger to any of the students," Jaculus said. "She's tame. Non-venomous."
That was a lie. Of course, Kaisa knew better not to bite students at random. Jaculus knew that he could have easily cast a spell to make her non-venomous, but she liked having that ability, and it made Jaculus feel safer anyway.
McGonagall looked startled. "A snake, Mr. Peverell? Hogwarts usually only permits owls, toads, and cats."
"I don't want to leave her," he said. He was about to spin a tale about not wanting to burden Luna with having to take care of Kaisa, but he found himself speaking the truth instead.
"I told you my parents died. My father gave her to me and she's one of the few things I have left of him. Kaisa's helped me out loads of times; she's like a sister to me."
My father gave her to me.
There was never a time when Jaculus could remember not having Kaisa. Dad had told him what happened, once, when Jaculus asked. He seemed conflicted, like he always was when it came to the Dark Lord, but in the long run, it was obviously a happy memory.
"You were an infant, Jack. It was the end of the week and he had you Portkeyed back to me. Everyone was still on edge because of the prophecy and we still thought he'd find some way to go back on the arrangement.
"I was always worried about you.
"But he sent you back, just like the handful of times before that, and I remember the sheer relief of holding you again. Making sure you were intact, little tufts of messy hair and all"—and here, Dad ruffled Jack's curls, hair that was like his but wasn't exactly—"and that's when I saw her."
"Kaisa was wrapped around your fist, the rest of her body draping out on your stomach. And you were hissing at her, and she was hissing back. You were still very small. Even in Parseltongue you didn't have much language going on, but you could still express impressions, certain feelings. I couldn't understand you very well, and I don't think Voldemort could, either, but Kaisa got you perfectly.
"When Luna saw you and Kaisa, she said you looked like that Muggle mythological hero Hercules. Which is a very Luna thing to say, because obviousssly you would never ssstrangle Kaisa like Herculesss, Jack…" Dad said the last bit in Parseltongue, prompting Kaisa to hiss an indignant, "Of coursssse he wouldn't!"
Jaculus snapped himself out of the memory.
That never happened, or will happen.
He didn't think he could ever connect the young stranger at the graveyard with his dad.
Jaculus added to McGonagall, picking up their discussion, "And Kaisa's a magical snake, too. Anytime I cast a spell, I'm usually with her and there's a way we fight together."
McGonagall's expression was a mixture of pity and curiosity, the wrinkled lines of her face creased with emotion.
"Fine," she said after a heartbeat. "But be careful, Mr. Peverell. Any accidents…"
"I understand," Jaculus said. "Thank you, Professor. I appreciate it. And, by the way, I have a question—will I be Sorted with the first years?"
"Hmm," she said. "We can do it here. Perhaps it would be an easier transition for you if we did it now." She nodded toward the old, large hat, perched on a shelf above her desk.
"That would be okay," Jaculus said.
He found that he really didn't care what house he was put in, even though he'd been worried over it when he was eleven. Now, it seemed so petty compared to everything else on his mind, and compared to everything he'd lived through.
Before McGonagall could move, Jaculus gestured with his hand wordlessly, and the Sorting Hat gently sailed down to his head.
"Ah, it's a bit early—a transfer student, I see? Interesting," said the hat.
A pause.
"Oh, Merlin," the hat said.
"Yes, I know," Jaculus thought, weary. "Just get on with it. You're here to Sort me, not to judge me."
"Fine, all right, all right," the hat said. "You are one of the strangest heads I've been on top of, Jaculus. I'll Sort you—again, apparently.
"You consider yourself a budding journalist, and you could do well in Ravenclaw, pursuing the truth and writing stories you love. But when it comes to your personality, you don't quite mesh. You can be more rash than logical, especially considering that you jumped headfirst from one dimension to another.
"You have a profound loyalty toward your loved ones. Your snake. Your Teddy Lupin. Your parents, even if such a loyalty was complicated due to the nature of your prophecy. But again, personality-wise, you are not a Hufflepuff at heart—"
"Just say it," Jaculus said.
"Oh, fine!" the hat exclaimed. It called out, "SLYTHERIN!"
Jaculus waved the hat way. The hat landed back on its shelf.
There. He was back in his old house.
Of course his life had to be even more difficult.
The remnants of the destroyed Horcruxes were in the Forbidden Forest. And they were scattered.
Jaculus had mumbled something about wanting wander the grounds, and McGonagall had nodded, saying it would be a good idea if he knew where his classes were. She had given him directions to Professor Slughorn's office.
Jaculus had ignored those instructions and instead went looking for the Dark Lord's Horcruxes.
"Kaisa," he hissed, standing at the boundaries of the Forbidden Forest, "it is frusssstrating that my dad can be jussst as competent in this world as he was in my mine. I sssshouldn't have thought he would be too different."
"He managed to kill the Dark Lord here, remember?" Kaisa said. "Don't underesssstimate him."
"I'll have to keep that in mind."
He would. He might have to fight, or even kill this world's Harry Potter. He didn't want to, but if it was absolutely necessary, he would.
But wasn't he going to choose his dad in the other universe? And wasn't the whole point of coming here about preventing his death? Yet this Harry Potter was not his dad; he knew this since the meeting in the graveyard. Jaculus would prefer to take down the Plague Doctor without any interference—
Salazar, Jaculus thought, his head spinning. What am I thinking? I'm not going to kill him. I'm not.
Once upon a time, the Dark Lord would've been proud if he knew what Jaculus had been thinking.
"I'm still sssscared, Kaisa," he said in whisper. "I am still in darknessss."
"You were alwaysss meant to be," she said. "But that does not make you a bad perssson. Jaculus, you are in grief. You are not ssstable."
She said it gently. If anyone else had told him that, Jaculus would have raged or would have snapped at them. But this was Kaisa, and she told him nothing but truth.
"Ssstable?" he repeated, bewildered. "You mean, in my head? I'm not crazy, Kaisa."
"Not crazy," she said. "Jussst sad. Like many of the refugees in Hogwartsss, who lossst so much during the war."
Post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, or another one of those ailments.
How strange.
Jaculus had helped cure a plague in one universe, but he still came out of it sick.
But—but it isn't anything serious, he told himself. It wasn't like he had the plague. It was just a stage of grief, or a couple of stages, right?
He did not want to think about the choking cloud of sorrow that engulfed him while he stared out of the window of the Lovegood House.
Kaisa extended her forked tongue to the side of his cheek, a gesture of comfort. The sides of Jaculus' mouth twitched, and he felt better.
He closed his eyes and tried to detect the remains of the Dark Lord's soul pieces.
The closest one he felt was the strongest. It must have been the Dark Lord's first Horcrux.
The diary. Dad destroyed it when he was twelve years old.
Jaculus' senses reached out, searching.
For some reason, no creature in the forest bothered him—was it something to do with the Hallows? Or did they sense the strength of his magic and how dark it was?
There was only silence. Leaves crackled underfoot, and Jaculus walked in the shadows of the trees. He stepped out to a sunlit clearing where the grass was bright vivid green.
It was somewhere around here.
Then, Jaculus saw a boy standing in the clearing.
The boy was around Jaculus' age, although he was tall. He was wearing a white buttoned-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his trousers a khaki brown.
At his throat was a green-and-silver tie.
He had his long dark hair pulled up in a ponytail. His skin was light brown, and he was partway on fire.
A phoenix hovered above him, letting flames dance on the boy's arms. The boy wasn't flinching. It was as if he was playing, practicing, soaking in sunlight and fire.
Kaisa said, "It'sss him."
Jaculus knew this boy.
In Jaculus' world, the Dark Lord was allied with a rising dark lord in France. The French dark lord was young and ambitious, and Jaculus had seen him at political gatherings.
The French dark lord was considered the Dark Lord's protégé, second to Jaculus.
He is not as powerful as you, the Dark Lord told Jaculus. But he has his own talents. And he is useful when it comes to playing politics.
Jaculus didn't know that the French dark lord went to Hogwarts. But he must have, if he was here now.
Suddenly, the boy saw Jaculus.
The phoenix trilled something to the boy, and his eyes widened. The fire dancing on his shoulders vanished.
Holy hell, Jaculus thought. That's Dumbledore's phoenix. What is he doing here, with him of all people?
"Fawkes said you're the Master of Death," the boy said, staring at Jaculus. He had a soft voice, with a barely noticeable accent. "And although he did not sound very happy about it, he said you're the Dark Lord's heir."
"I am," Jaculus found himself saying.
He didn't know why he didn't lie, but he knew this boy from his old world. They hadn't been friends or even acquaintances, but he could still remember how the dark lord of France smiled at him and treated him with careful respect.
The boy fell to his knees. "I am Aymar Popal, my lord."
And this was familiar, too. The graceful way the dark lord of France had knelt in front of Jaculus, his arm tucked against his stomach and his head bowed. His long black cloak used to billow around him with the movement, and he'd looked up with eyes the color of charcoal.
"I know who you are," Jaculus said. "You are…le phénix noir. Do you call yourself Ankaa yet?"
Lord Ankaa, the dark phoenix of France. There were rumors that Ankaa had ifrit blood in his veins.
Ankaa—Aymar Popal?—peered at Jaculus. "You know the name I chose for myself."
"I do."
A world away, and the reverence in Ankaa's eyes when he looked at Jaculus remained the same.
Jaculus gave Ankaa a flicker of a smile, because despite himself, he missed this part of his old life. Ankaa's presence was familiar; his magic felt familiar, dark against dark.
"My name is Jaculus," he said. "But you can't call me that at school here. I'm calling myself Jack Peverell.
"Stand up, Ankaa. There's something I'm looking for in this clearing. A diary."
He told Ankaa that he had to speak with Fawkes before they searched. Jaculus quickly threw up a silencing ward.
"Why are you with him?" Jaculus asked Fawkes. "You know who he is and what he could be."
Fawkes regarded him in silence.
"Oh. You want to change him, don't you? Because in this world, Dumbledore died earlier, and you found Ankaa before another phoenix could lay claim to him."
"That's stupid," Jaculus said. "Ankaa would never turn away from dark arts. But you know, I won't stop you. You can stay with him if you want."
Fawkes let out a squawking sound. A question.
"It might be good for him," he said. He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. "He was—very loyal and self-destructive to a fault in my world. Unbalanced. The phoenix that bonded to him had destabilized him to the point of near-madness. He was there, but he still wasn't there…I don't know how to explain it."
The only reason the Dark Lord had let Ankaa live was because his madness made him easier to control.
"As for the Horcruxes," Jaculus began.
At that, Fawkes' beady eyes narrowed and his claws flashed with fire.
Forcefully, Jaculus said, "I need to bring him back. There is a greater threat out there, and I owe the Dark Lord a debt. You do know who I am, don't you? Not just the Dark Lord's heir, but-?"
Fawkes nodded.
"So trust me."