Còir Buaidh

Intro

…

“What?” I muttered as I blinked, trying to work out where I was.

The last thing I remembered was taking shelter with my family, trying to ride out hurricane Edith as it smashed into the western coast of Scotland. The storm had been battering the country for several days, with large areas of the coast, including Glasgow, flooded so badly that even if the winds died down no help would come from the Government. And forget about help from outside the Isles, as the EU was barely functioning while the UN had fallen following the deployment of nuclear weapons in eastern Europe and the South China Sea more than a decade ago.

That included my family, though we, unlike many, had managed to stock up in preparation after the nuclear disasters so we were just as prepared for hurricane Edith and lived in a semi-affluent area of the city that was on elevated ground. While that meant we’d avoided the worst of the flooding, it had turned our street, or at least part of it, into an island in the storm.

Yet as my eyes took in the sterile white roof above me, and adjusted to the bright light in the room coming in from a row of windows behind my head, I realized that I wasn’t at home.

I lifted an arm, turning over in bed with the plan to slide from it and learn where I was only for two things to stop me. One, and the more obvious issue, was that the arm that I lifted wasn’t mine. It was shorter, thinner and clearly that of a child around Gwyneth’s (my youngest daughters’) age. And two, hanging from the wrist was a tag with something written on it.

“The fuck?” I muttered as I struggled to process what I was seeing. Time seemed to melt away as I mentally ordered my arm to turn and watched in horror as the child’s arm in front of me did just that. “What the actual fuck?”

Somewhere far to my right, I heard a noise. I turned to see a row of beds running from me to a door. While most were occupied by children, all of them looked primitive. Like something I’d see in a World War 2 movie. At the end of each was an honest-to-God clipboard, when I’d expect to see some sort of electronic display. None of what I was seeing made sense, yet, as a figure appeared on the other side of the glass door, an urge to be cautious until I knew what the hell was going on came forth.

As the handle turned, I brought my arm – or whatever was pretending to be my arm – back down and closed my eyes.

I could hear clipped footsteps of someone walking into the room which reminded me of high heels, and then a faint hint of lilac drifted around the room. “Hmm, now what caused that?” A female voice asked quietly, not wanting to disturb me and whoever was in the other bed. The woman moved around the room slowly. As her steps sounded as though they were heading away from me, I risked a peek through half-closed eyelids.

The woman looked like a nurse, but just like the room I found myself in, she appeared ancient. Not in age, as that was impossible to tell from behind, but her choice of clothing. I’d expected the all-blue gender-neutral worn by NHS nurses, something I was familiar with since my wife was a doctor. Instead of that, this woman wore a dress. It was light blue with a white collar and cuffs. Around her waist, and likely covering her front, was a white gown that was topped off by a small white cap. Again, like something out of a World War 2 movie or tv series.

I closed my eyes fully as she turned back my way. I tried to stay calm as her heels clipped on the floor, heading toward me. Fingers gently touched my head and ran into my hair. “Hmm, fever’s broken, now if you’d just wake up wee one, we can figure out who you are.”

I almost gave the game up by frowning, but I managed to avoid doing so. Once her hand was off me, I stayed still, not moving until I heard her heels head toward the door and then pull it open and close as she exited the room. Even after that, I stayed still, on the off chance someone was still in the room, yet while I stayed still, my mind was racing a mile a minute.

Nothing about this made sense.

The last thing I remembered was the power going out late at night. Gwyneth crying out in fear and while my darling Leslie tried to comfort her, I’d headed downstairs with a torch, needing to check the fuse box. I could remember opening the box when there’d been an almighty flash of light, and the next moment I’d woken up here. Wherever the fuck here was.

Nothing made sense, and as I moved around in the bed, there was a shift of weight on my chest. I lifted a hand to see what it was, only to stop as I saw the tag around my wrist once more. And this time, the writing on it was clear to see.

Name: (James)

DOB:? (appears 6 to 8)

Admitted: July 15th 1965

I…

But…

“WHAT?!” I snarled out, barely managing to keep my voice down at the scant amount of information on the tag.

What the fuck did it mean by July 1965! It’d been January 2054 when I’d gone to bed!

Nothing about this made any sense.

I flailed around, trying desperately to figure out what sort of sick, demented shit this was when the tag caught my attention again. Or more accurately, the other side of it. On that, there was a small blue circle, and inside that were the words. TOUCH ME FOR ANSWERS.

I stared at the circle, not wondering if I should touch it, but instead what sort of deranged fucker was behind whatever was going on.

I lowered my arm, stared up at the ceiling and started going over everything that I could remember from waking to the power going out. I kept replaying the series of events over and over, desperately trying to find something, anything, that might explain what the fuck was going, where the fuck I was and what the hell happened to my family!

Yet, hours later, with the light from outside fading and being replaced by lights in the room that the nurse turned on about an hour ago, my thoughts turned back to the tag on my wrist. And the blue circle upon it.

Seeing no other option, or at least having exhausted any beyond trying to talk to the nurse that’d come into the room twice since that first time – though the latter was only to turn on the lights – I hesitantly reached out. As my finger brushed against the blue circle, I fell back onto the bed, unable to do anything as I felt a hundred white-hot spears slam into my brain.

… …

… …

When I next opened my eyes, I found myself standing in a strange, dull, grey fog. I had no clue where I was, but this place felt hauntingly eerie and vaguely ancient at the same time.

‘How?’ The word didn’t slip from my lips but instead rattled around inside my skull. ‘What?!’

I spun around, trying to figure out just where I was, and what the fuck was going on. ‘Is… is this the afterlife?’ I asked myself as I stood, or possibly floated as there was no discernible floor beneath me, alone in this odd void. It shouldn’t be, after all, I’d come from a body that wasn’t my own, yet for some reason that was the impression this was a place where life existed after death.

Not quite.

I nearly suffered a heart attack as the words appeared in front of my eyes while echoing through my soul. ‘THE FUCK?!’

There is no need to shout here, Donald Lauchlan.

‘Where the fuck is here?’ My heart was racing, yet when I brought my hand to my chest, I couldn’t feel it beat.

This is, in terms that you might understand, a waystation.

Between one world and the next.

Normally, when an essence is extinguished in one dimension, it passes through a waystation without knowing it.

You, however, are returning here to help understand and begin your next Great Adventure.

Where you can prepare for the next Great Adventure while remembering all that came before.

Or forget all and start it anew without any burdens.

I frowned as I read the strange words floating like small blue clouds in front of me. Something about that felt vaguely familiar. I felt I should know where I’d read those words before, yet nothing came to mind.

‘What are you?’ I asked, feeling oddly calm even as I understood I was dead, and would likely never see my wife and children again. ‘Where are we?’

As we said, this is a waystation.

As to what we are, for ease of mind, you may refer to us as Watchers.

We see all that is, was and will be across every universe that ever was, is, or shall be.

I blinked as I processed the words I’d just read. Again, there was this feeling that I should know what these Watchers were. Or where I was. And yet, my memory failed me.

‘Why am I here?’ If this was the stopover before whatever the afterlife was, then I wanted out of here. Somewhere beyond, my wife and daughter may exist. Somehow, I might be able to find them again.

Those you were connected to have already passed through.

Though this may have been after your timestream ended.

All that you knew of them, all that they experienced, has gone to the next great adventure.

To become one with all that is.

Yet sparks of their essence, their souls, have already slid over into new dimensions to experience new adventures.

‘Can I join them?’ Even as I asked that I knew it could never be. From what the text was saying, my darling Leslie and young Gwyneth were gone. Though the idea that they lived on still, in some form, brought me a strange sense of closure.

You already know the answer to that.

Their time as you knew them has passed, while a new adventure has begun for parts of them.

Though that isn’t why you were brought back here.

I frowned, wondering what I’d done to earn this ‘honour’.

While we Watchers do exactly that, sometimes those above us grow… interested in a spark of consciousness.

Though this happens once for every quadrillion to the power of quadrillion sparks.

So I’d draw the interest of whatever controlled the afterlife, or at least entrance to it. ‘Lucky me.’

Indeed.

You are most lucky.

For you have been chosen to not only remember your previous adventure but to select elements for your next Great Adventure.

Though those above us felt placing you there first, to give you some sense of when and where you would begin held more appeal before allowing you to make the choices to shape the world.

I frowned, not liking being used for the amusement of others. I’d had enough of that in my life, well former life I assumed, when those in power – be they the supposedly democratically elected or financially powerful – had spoken down to the general public about what was best for the country or the world. All while they did nothing to stop the carnage being unleashed on the planet by them and those who’d come before. Those that only cared about the next ‘quick fix’ to any issue instead of correcting the underlying issues.

While there were many of those, the most basic one was that we, as a species, had fucked over the planet with nukes and exploitation to such a degree that she was changing. And through it all – be that the erupting of various volcanoes worldwide, the active use of nukes, or fault lines like the San Andreas fault shifting and unleashing devastation upon those nearby, or a mega-storm like Hurricane Edith that had been the fifth category 5 storm to slam into the UK this year alone – the human race had suffered.

Well, except for those with the power to do something, though instead of moving to help others, or negate the damage that their actions had caused, those with power – be it political or financial – had all but abandoned the rest of us for the safety of elite bunkers designed to weather a planet slowly becoming uninhabitable for humanity.

Honestly, when I’d looked at things from a macro level, and taken the personal out of it, it was clear that we were getting exactly as we deserved. Yet, as I realised that I’d been inserted into some other version of Earth, one decades earlier in the timeline, I wondered if there was perhaps a way for me to change that path. It wouldn’t be easy, but maybe, just maybe, it could be attempted.

Those thoughts were pushed from my mind as there was a faint shift of colour behind the text. The light darkened for a moment before, floating in the air in front of, appeared a book. Or more accurately, one of those old-fashioned style tomes. Very cautiously, I reached for the tome, finding the feel of real, honest-to-God leather against my fingertips a shock. Printed books had skyrocketed in price in the years before I’d died, and the only place leather-bound books existed was in larger libraries. Or the private collections of the cunts responsible for the state of the planet when I’d died.

‘Why don’t I feel angry about what’s happened? Why can’t I grieve for my family?’

In this waystation, emotions are dulled.

You still feel connections to all that’s come before, but those above us prefer if the sparks they choose aren’t encumbered by what came before when deciding on the new adventure they will experience.

Yeah, that was all sorts of unhelpful. Fucking pricks denying me the right to grieve for my family! Yet even as I raged at the strange floating text my fingers traced over the tome in my hands. Gently I pulled at it, watching in amazement as the book came with my grip as if I was lifting it from a shelf and not from where it’d been floating in the air mere moments before.

‘Is this a joke?!’ I thought with a snarl as I read the first page and saw images of not just Earth, but people summoning the elements from their fingertips. ‘Do your bosses want to place me in a fucking story?’

All stories have a basis in fact.

What you, in the world that came before, considered entertainment, were glimpses into the infinite array of universes that we watch over. While those above us watch over us all.

Your next Great Adventure has already been selected; however, those above wish to make things interesting, thus you can alter the world you wish to experience.

This might result in subtle alterations to the world that you’ve already seen, but the statistical probability of that is slim.

‘But… This… Fuck me.’ My focus returned to the book, wondering just what the hell I’d somehow been dropped into. Turning the page slowly, I watched as more images of people fighting appeared, though this time they seemed to be creating weapons from the air and attacking each other. ‘Magic’s real?’

Where you came from, it was not.

In other universes, like the one chosen for you by the ones above, it is.

And in some, it is all there is.

‘Well fuck me,’ I muttered as I kept flicking through the book. Only to stop as a familiar castle appeared on one page. ‘Wait, what?!? That’s fucking Hogwarts?’

As was stated, what you see as entertainment are actually glimpses into other dimensions.

Huh, this just got interesting. I continued to flick through the pages, until, when I was about a third of the way into the book, I reached a listing. One that, as I skimmed over it, I felt my heart leap into my mouth. ‘What does this mean by a ‘more magical’ world?’

There exist various dimensions that while close in design, have enough variance to be unique.

On occasion, that might be the altering of the gender of one being at birth.

In others, the rules of the very universe might be altered.

With this guide, you can style the dimension your next Great Adventure will take place in, altering everything from your own body to the very nature of that universe, to suit your desires.

However, be aware that altering the rules of a dimension affects all within it, not just you.

‘This is insane.’

No, this is the truth of what drives all dimensions.

All universes.

Those that came before.

Those that exist now.

And those that will come after.

I stared at the floating text for God, or whatever, knew how long, trying to wrap my mind around what I was learning. Everything I’d ever seen, ever read as fiction was, in all likelihood, real somewhere across time and space. And not only was I now aware of that, but I was being given the chance to enter one such world. ‘Bloody hell.’

My focus returned to the tome, looking through all the options available. Everything from making all humans have six fingers, to determining when, or if, I’d become bald. Everything was at my fingertips to shape a world with more or less magic, other races or less, or even creatures that didn’t exist in what I knew of Harry Potter.

All in all, the list was frankly, overwhelming.

‘How do I go about this?’ I asked after some time – an exact figure was impossible as I had no way to track time – of flicking through the options. Beside each was a number, and at the top of each place was a number, the same one. 1000.

You have however long you wish to have.

Time, as you understand it, doesn’t exist here.

Your essence, your spark, is between dimensions.

‘Huh.’ With that now known I went back to the book. I selected a random option, one that made left-handers more common than right-handers and watched the number at the top of the page drop. Flicking the page, I saw those numbers had fallen as well.

That meant there was a cost to everything, meaning I had to be much more cautious about how I wanted to design this new world.

…

What felt like hours, but could possibly have been weeks or months, later I reached the last page of the tome. There, a single word was printed.

CONFIRM

‘Once I press this, then my choices are locked, right?’

Yes. Once the changes are confirmed, a dimension will be found for you.

Your spark, as it is now, will be merged with one there whose time would normally have ended.

From then on, you are alone.

You will retain your memories of this waystation, and your previous adventure.

However, unless you learn how to protect your memories, they will fade with time.

...

Understand though, that once the choice is made, there is no going back.

The next Great Adventure will begin instantly.

I chuckled as I finally placed why this waystation felt familiar. It was the place between life and the afterlife where Harry had spoken to an already deceased Albus Dumbledore. Which, given the world that I’d soon be journeying to, made all the sense in the universe.

With that realisation in mind, I looked back down at the – for lack of a better word – alterations I made. Not just to myself, but to the entire world, if not the universe.

The broadest changes I’d gone for were A More Magical World and More Magic for All. Between the two they’d increase the number of magicals in the world, both before and after the Statute of Secrecy came into effect, and add other magical races and beings into the world. While that seemed an extreme change to make, I felt that even with magic, the number of wizards in the UK during the canon events was simply too small to make a major change to the course taken by non-magicals. And that was if, somehow, unlike anyone else I knew of, I managed to get every single one of them to agree with my plans.

Now, those plans were barely formed, but I was thinking that, given time and patience, changing the order of the world might not be a bad thing to attempt. Not like Voldemort – he was just out for power – but more akin to what Grindlewald felt. He was, after all, right in worrying about the carnage the muggles would unleash upon the world if given time. I’d seen it happen in my former life after all.

Still, taking these options had, oddly enough, granted me more points to spend, which allowed me to customize myself heavily.

I focused first on special traits, choosing Emotionless Recall, Meta Lock, Brilliant Mind, Increased Stamina and Sleep is for the Weak. While that wasn’t much, the first ensured I remembered everything I was taught before, and granted a natural boost to learning Occlumency if I so wanted. Now, while Occlumency should, in theory, have similar benefits to protecting my memories, I wasn’t sure if that would apply to memories from before the power was learnt. And there was no way I was risking losing memories of Leslie and Gwyneth.

Meta Lock would ensure no one could enter my mind and look through my memories from before my rebirth while also making it impossible for me to directly reference events from what I considered canon or the future. Though there was enough in the wording of that trait – which was forced on me – to suggest I might be able to suggest things to others.

Brilliant Mind boosted my ability to learn new things to the point I’d be considered by most to be a prodigy in whatever field I chose to study, while the last two enabled me to go longer than even a magical being could – which would have more than a few uses as time went by – and with less need to rest, which would hopefully increase the time I had to improve and learn.

When it came to magical abilities, I took a lot more options, spending something like 700 points on the build.

I’d chosen to be a pureblood wizard of Scottish origin – no need to mess with what I was too much – though I’d left the house selection on random. I had, however, ensured the family was known for a branch of magic that I’d never heard about before, but upon reading its description I’d been keen to learn: Flesh Carving. While its name sounded ominous, it was simply the ability to use runes, of any magical form, even ones I created, to empower your body.

To help with this, I’d taken an affinity for runic magic for more general abilities. I’d also taken affinities for Transfiguration, Conjuration, wandless and non-verbal casting and spell creating along with elemental affinities for fire and lightning. Transfiguration and Conjuration were two forms of magic that, apart from being closely related, were from a branch of magic that’d always intrigued me. Wandless and non-verbal casting were no-brainers. There would undoubtedly be times when I’d not be able to speak or have a wand. Being able to cast in those situations could very well be the difference between life and death.

My spell-creation affinity should, based on the description, make it easier to create my own spells. I’d likely not stick to Latin as it was far too common, but since I’d be able to remember languages from my former life, and had enjoyed learning High Valyrian and Sindarin – among others – then I had some interesting tongues to generate spells in.

As for the elemental affinities, well Fiendfyre was a particularly impressive spell, and while I disliked the movies, the magical fire Grindlewald had used was something that’d stuck in my mind ever since first seeing it. Lightning was more a personal choice, as the idea of being able to hurt, cripple and kill people as Emperor Palpatine had done had always sounded appealing. Even if it wasn’t a thought I’d ever voice out loud.

However, all of those were just the warm-up for the main magical traits I’d picked for myself. Parseltongue and being an Animagus were simple choices, though, for the latter, I’d picked a magical animal. Or at least a Class XXXX one as I’d lacked the points to pick a specific animal. As much as I wanted to turn into a dragon, the choices I’d used the points instead were, in my mind, far more appealing for what I hoped to accomplish.

I’d pick the traits Death for Victory, Runes of the World, Bloody Touch, Embrace of the Shadows and Eradicator’s Grasp. That made seven traits, which was the maximum number of traits allowed. While all of them dealt with advanced magic, these five were ideal for the conflict I felt was sure to come for how I wanted to shape the world. While each of them would need training to use properly – which was true of every special trait – once that was done, they’d be invaluable for what I felt I’d have to do.

Death for Victory was, perhaps, the trait I hoped to develop last, but the ability to drain the magic and life force of another to heal myself was just too powerful to pass up. While I’d considered taking a trait for necromancy, in the end, I’d chosen Embrace of the Shadows. The description of what that magic could conceivably do – from creating monsters purely made of shadow or even travelling through them – was too tempting to pass up.

Eradicator’s Grasp, once I understood it, would grant me great control of destruction magic. That was magic that didn’t just destroy or vanish something, but removed every trace of them from existence. People would remember whatever I’d destroyed had existed, but nothing they did would bring it back. That would be insanely powerful, and might well allow me to destroy Voldemort’s Horcruxes without the need for Basilisk venom.

Bloody Touch and Runes of the World were taken, not just because a more remarkable ability to use, understanding of, and ability to manipulate blood and runic magic sounded awesome, but because they had wonderful synergy with the family magic I’d selected.

With all those traits taken, I’d had a handful of points left to spend. There wasn’t enough for any other trait, at least not any that called to me, so I’d used that last handful to alter myself physically. One small change made it possible for me to be truly ambidextrous, while others settled my maximum potential height – at least without using Flesh Carving – hair colour - for some odd reason, eye colour was locked and hidden - and made my body slightly more durable than the magical-norm.

Now, as I looked over the build I’d created, I could see how it would look like I’d gone mad to anyone who'd known me before. However, to them, I’d say two things.

One, you try not wanting this kind of power after having just learnt that your family died because you’d not been powerful enough to protect them, nor make those responsible for the destruction that killed them pay. And two, I was going to grow up and attend Hogwarts right on the cusp of Voldemort’s first rise to power. Something I wanted to stop, along with stopping Dumbledore from continuing to lead Magical Britain down a road to continual civil war. With those two leading the major factions in the UK, I needed power quickly if I didn’t want to become forced to serve one of them or be killed off as a threat.

With all that settled, I reached for CONFIRM confidently, only to recoil in pain as my head erupted in pain. Once more, it felt as if someone was driving white-hot spears through my brain, though this time it felt like a thousand of the fuckers.

… …

… …

Dòmhnall/I woke with a start. He/I didn’t understand what was going on, only that he/I could hear people shouting and the sounds of a thousand things exploding somewhere outside his/my bed.

The door to his/my room in the expanding tent his/my family were staying in burst open and in rushed his/my oldest sibling; Tamhas. He, like Sine, was back from Hogwarts for the summer and had joined our family, and four others including his mother’s, for a festival on the Summer Solstice.

“Dòmhnall!” Tamhas called out, his hair a mess and his wand drawn in his hand. “Get up!”

“Wh-what’s going on?” Dòmhnall/I asked as he/I pushed his/my covers off.

“Someone’s attacking the clans!” Tamhas shot back, his eyes snapping around as somewhere beyond the door something made of glass shattered loudly.

Dòmhnall/I rushed out of bed, his/my thoughts still muddled from a lack of sleep. “Wha?”

Tamhas grasped Dòmhnall’s/my wrist and dragged the younger boy from the room. “We have to get outside! Something is blocking our portkeys!” Dòmhnall/I tried to reach back for his/my bed, wanting to grab the animated lion his/my mother had gotten for him/me on his/my last birthday. However, Tamhas was too strong, being twice Dòmhnall’s/my age.

The older boy pulled his brother/me through the tent, pushing him/me down when one section of it, the passage that led to the bedroom of their/my parents, exploded in angry blue flames. As they/we reached the entrance, a body came flying back in; bending unnaturally as it impacted the upturned main table.

“DAD!” Dòmhnall/I called out as he/I watched the broken body of his/my family slump to the door. Only Tamhas’s grip stopped him/me from rushing to his/my father’s side.

“Ah, the brats!” A voice snarled from the tent entrance. Dòmhnall/I turned to look only for Tamhas to push him/me away. A ripple of green flew between us, hurtling down the corridor we’d come from.

“Dòmhnall! Get out!” Tamhas called as he pointed his wand at the stranger, a red bolt sailing toward the man.

“Is that the best you’ve got boy?” the man called as he swatted away Tamhas’ bolt with a flick of his wand. “Crucio!” A red whip of energy shot forth from the man’s wand. Tamhas blocked it by summoning a chair to intercept the whip.

Sparks of a dozen colours erupted from the man’s wand, slamming into Tamha’s shield, and making the boy shuffle back. Dòmhnall/I panicked; he/I didn’t want his/my brother to die. Then, at his/my feet, he/I saw his/my father’s wand.

He/I picked it up, his/my hand shaking as he/I tried not to look at the broken body of his/my father. Pointing the rattling wand at the man, he/I called out one of the few spells he/I knew. “Stupefy!”

A bolt of red shot forth from the wand, making Dòmhnall/me blink in shock at managing to get the wand to work. However, the man dodged the bolt, letting it sail harmlessly outside, joining the crescendo of colour occurring behind him.

“Little shit! Crucio!”

Before Dòmhnall/I knew what was happening, he/I felt pain, unlike anything he’d/I’d ever known. He/I fell to the ground, the wand forgotten as every part of him/me exploded in pain.

He/I wasn’t sure how long he/I shook, but eventually, he/I felt someone shaking our arm. Looking up, he/I saw Tamhas standing over us. There was a cut on his head, staining his dark locks red, but otherwise, he looked fine.

“Dom! Come on!” He pulled Dòmhnall/me to his/my feet. Dòmhnall/I stumbled, and would’ve fallen if not for his/my brothers’ support. He dragged Dòmhnall/me to the tent entrance. Dòmhnall/I saw the body of the man who’d hurt him/me on the ground, a spike of soaked red stone bursting from his chest.

Dòmhnall/I coughed hard, not liking the smell or sight, but Tamhas pulled him/me past the body. “Come on, we need to ge…”

Whatever he wanted to say was cut off as a sickly-blue light hit his chest, sending him flying back into the tent and driving Dòmhnall/me to the ground. “Tamhas!”

“NO!” The pained scream of his/my mother, made Dòmhnall/me turn, his/my head spinning from everything. His/my mother was stalking forward, her eyes glowing an unnatural red as the air around her seemed to pulse with life.

Before Dòmhnall/I knew what was happening, a dozen dark red spears rushed from his/my mother; slamming into and through a group of four others. Each exploded from inside, like an overcooked cake, showering the grass with blood.

Dòmhnall/I gagged at the sights and smells around him/me. Bodies lay all over the place, some in pieces, others burnt like an overcooked roast. Spikes of grey, black and green stuck out from the ground and trees in weird angles while the clouds above were unnaturally dark.

“Dom!” His/my mother’s voice brought Dòmhnall’s/my attention to her. Her hair, normally full and almost alive with life, was a mess, and there was a dark red stain on her right arm. “We have to get out of here!”

“F-father…” Dòmhnall/I mumbled out, his/my thoughts mixed up like his/my favourite ice cream dish.

“We have to go.” His/my mother scooped him/up with her right arm, wincing as she did. In her other hand, her wand spat forth an array of colours that Dòmhnall/I found oddly enjoyable to watch.

Several times, his/my mother slowed, pushed us down, or otherwise moved, but soon we reached a forest. Once there his/my mother did something with her wand and it glowed a soft grey light. She turned to Dòmhnall/me, and offered a smile, though Dòmhnall/I didn’t think it was a happy one. “Rionnag dhubh.”

Her face and the world around Dòmhnall/me started to shift as he/I felt an odd pull coming from his/my chest. His/my mother and the world started to merge into a pile of colour, only for an odd purple flash to occur before everything faded away.

… …

… …

I blinked and groaned, my hands coming to rest on my head. “Fucking hell.” It felt as if someone had driven a freight train through my skull.

Once the pain had subsided, I removed my hands from my head, though as they moved back down, my fingers brushed against something on my chest. As I lifted it, I saw it was a necklace; one of exquisite quality. A metal snake coiled around an emerald with the eyes of the snake being tiny rubies. As I examined it closer, I saw faint markings along the scales of the snake, which unless I missed my guess, were runes of some form.

A memory came forth from my mind of my father gifting this to me on my seventh, and last, birthday. He said it used to belong to my grandmother, being a wedding gift from the head of her family, Sirius Black – not the one from the books – which my father – well Dom’s father – gave to me. I rubbed my forehead with the non-tagged hand, trying to process that I now had what Dòmhnall, though that was me now, remembered of the last seven years.

I’d had five siblings, four older and one younger, and while I didn’t know the fates of Sine, Torcull, Maire or Alisdair, I knew the eldest, Tamhas, was dead, along with my parents. With my external knowledge, I understood that what I’d felt at the end of Dom’s last memory was likely a portkey. Given the necklace was the only thing that I had from that memory, I took a chance. “Rionnag dhubh.”

There was a faint spark from the necklace, but nothing else. No odd pulling at my stomach nor the feel of something magical. “Damnit!”

With the faint hope that the necklace was the portkey gone, I stared up at the ceiling, going through the memories that were now part of me. Amusingly, I was a MacLeod and while I didn’t know much about the family history – not a surprise given that I’m seven! – I did know the family was old and pure and while they had, based on the home I remembered, a good amount of money, I couldn’t recall any comments putting down muggle-borns. Still, I couldn’t be sure of that.

I knew where my family was based, Dunscaith Castle, but beyond that, I knew little else, that my mother had been from Clan MacDougall, and other small little details, but not much else. The disadvantage of being merged – that was the word I was going for – into a seven-year-old body.

Still, it was better than being fully reborn and experiencing that.

Plus, I now understood why I was here, and beyond unlocking my magical traits, had a rough plan for my future. Of course, since this was 1965, that meant while I was at Hogwarts, I’d have to deal with the rise of Voldemort. Though given I’d chosen a larger and more magical magic world, there was a chance, however remote, that Voldemort would never rise to power. Though I suspected the chance of that was slim, at best.

However, that was a problem for the future. More immediate, was the fact I was in a muggle hospital somewhere in Scotland; at least based on the nurse’s accent. I honestly didn’t know how the UK handled orphaned children, but I had to find a way home. Or at the very least, learn to control my magic, but as I doubted wandless magic was easy – even with a trait to help – that didn’t feel like a viable option. Otherwise, the next four years were going to be a shitshow.

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