R.O.B. 37

Myrddin Manor

Josh stared at the screen, then took a long sip of his still-steaming coffee.

No jokes. No narration. Just numbers and silence.

It had been ten minutes since the quest triggered here, fays that he was away fighting in the world of Cyberpunk2077, this time with his own body. And yet it was as if he'd never left.

The only proof that anything had changed was blinking on the interface in front of him. That, and the quiet potential humming beneath his skin. If he wanted, the data port at the base of his skull would slide open without resistance, and the monowire would unwind from his forearm with surgical precision. No scar. No seam. No sign of violence.

Just part of him now.

Tech and magic.

Combined at last.

Not a dream. Not theory. Not a blueprint drafted in the study with Percival over coffee and sharpened pencils.

This was real.

Technology eighty-six years ahead of the current timeline, synced to magic, bonded to his body, already interfaced through will and thought.

It was elegant.

It was dangerous.

It was more than he ever expected to achieve in this life.

It was overwhelming and for now, not something he wanted to focus on.

He exhaled through his nose and dismissed the interface. He could worry about the what ifs later.

It was time to focus.

....

Josh leaned forward and set the coffee mug back down on the low table.

The manor was quiet. Familiar.

No alarms. No warzone. No skyscrapers bleeding neon. Just stone and silence and the low thrum of old wards at rest.

But still, the weight returned.

The Black family trial hadn't begun. Not yet. But it would, soon. The evidence was in place. The momentum building. All it needed was the right pressure applied at the right time.

The Potter will was scheduled for tomorrow. That alone could change the shape of the board if it went public unfiltered. The names. The vaults. The secrets left behind. And if Dumbledore made a move, he'd need to be ready.

Hogwarts remained a tangle. Political undercurrents, House magic, and deeper manipulations no one else seemed to notice. The same patterns. The same divisions. And all of it too clean to be natural.

The chat had seen the stream. Saw the world he just left. Saw what he'd done, what he'd become. And then

Silence.

No answers.

No closure.

That ended now.

Josh reached for the internal interface. A thought. A blink. A gesture of will. The broadcast array spun up.

> Stream Offline

6 viewers online

Pending broadcast prompt…

Confirm.

The metaphysical camera perspective pulled back. Third-person now. Framing him clearly in the ward-lit corner of the reading nook. He looked calm. Focused.

No mask.

No narration.

Just Josh.

OffScript is live.

He looked up into the stream. Met them eye to eye.

Time to speak

"Guess I should give yall folks some answers. "

....

Ministry of Magic

Department of Magical Law Enforcement – Office of Director Bones

May 5th, 1991 – 10:21 p.m.

Amelia Susan Bones sat alone in her warded office, the dim golden light from her wand casting long shadows across stacks of parchment. Her monocle caught the light as she skimmed the final clearance order. Unknown to all but Percival, Andromeda, Ted, and Acturus, the trial was scheduled for first thing in the morning, sealed and silent, under heavy fidelity clauses. The will reading would follow. No press. No leaks. No chance for interference.

She reached for the sealed folder marked Black, S. O. and broke the crimson wax with her wand. The contents were not long. They did not need to be. The evidence had been there for years, misfiled memories, buried records, a wand that had never cast the spell he was accused of. A younger Amelia might have called it incompetence. Now, she called it something else entirely.

They had one shot to make this right before the world noticed. Before names like Potter and Black started echoing through the halls again.

She closed the folder carefully and activated the secondary ward on her floo connection, keyed only to a handful of trusted names.

No mistakes. Not this time.

~

Sirius Orion Black was already secured within the Ministry. He had been transferred quietly, under the pretense of an internal artifact investigation, routed through secure staff-access passages far from the main lifts. No official documentation linked the move to her. No names. No signatures. Just controlled access and precision timing.

He was being held in one of the lowest-level containment cells, originally built for hazardous magical object storage during the mid-nineteenth century. The cell had been dormant for decades, but its construction was solid. Goblin-reinforced stone, heavily grounded, and insulated from upper-level surveillance enchantments. She had repurposed it in less than a day.

Two trusted Cursebreakers had completed the warding adjustments under formal oaths of silence. No details of their work could be shared with anyone outside a pre-cleared list. Standard sound suppression spells had been layered over the worksite to prevent passive surveillance or magical resonance tracking.

The updated protections included anti-portkey fields, proximity-triggered stasis charms, and a passive intent monitor woven directly into the structure. Amelia had added a containment seal keyed to her wand and blood. Access was limited to her alone, and only during a narrow, pre-defined window before the trial.

There was no Floo access on that level. No fireplace had ever been installed, and magical communication was strictly filtered. Any enchanted object or spell with external linkage was intercepted and redirected. Owl post and object-based messaging would fail before crossing the threshold.

Only three Aurors had clearance: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody, and Emmeline Vance. Each had sworn a specialized oath to Amelia directly, enforced by magic itself. They could not speak of, pass on, or share any information about the prisoner by magical or mundane means with anyone who was not already aware. The effect functioned as a miniature, temporary variation of the Fidelis Charm. It had been developed by the Unspeakables after extensive testing, and was reserved for situations requiring absolute secrecy and immediate containment.

A single monitoring charm had been installed at Amelia's request. It reported directly to a secured scrying plate behind her desk, protected by her personal ward scheme. It could not be copied, projected, or reviewed through any third-party channel. Memory extraction and replication spells were nullified before reaching the surface.

Not even the Minister could override it.

That had been the point.

Too many questions had gone unanswered for too long. Too many silences had served the wrong people. This time, no one would step in. There would be no interruption.

Her eyes settled on the lockbox beside her desk. It was blood-warded and secured against scanning. Inside was the verified copy of the Potter will. Authentic. Untouched. Ready for the morning.

Tomorrow would begin something new.

But tonight remained hers to command.

~

Hogsmeade – The Hog's Head Inn

May 3rd, 1991 – Early Evening

The Hog's Head smelled of ash, damp wool, and the kind of old drink that clung to the floorboards no matter how often they were scrubbed. The hearth burned low, casting a flickering orange glow that didn't quite reach the corners of the room.

Albus Dumbledore sat alone in a private booth near the back, layers of privacy magic humming faintly around him. The table had been cleaned. The air was quiet. Even Aberforth had refrained from commentary.

Across from him, Professor Quirinus Quirrell settled awkwardly into the opposite bench.

His hands shook faintly as he adjusted his sleeves. His complexion was drawn, eyes dark-rimmed, and a thin scent of garlic clung stubbornly to his robes. The stammer was new — awkward, uneven, like something rehearsed rather than organic.

"I-I must admit, Headmaster," Quirrell said, eyes flicking toward the bar, "I was… surprised to be considered."

Dumbledore gave a gentle smile. "You already serve the school, Professor. When a role opens, it is often easier to look within than without."

That was true enough. And truth, he had found, was most effective when delivered sparingly.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts position had become... complicated. A role twisted by repetition, distorted by intent. Each year brought a new candidate, and each year the position slipped further out of reach. This time, something less straightforward might be required.

"Your recent travels," Dumbledore said softly, "have changed you."

"I-I believe they have," Quirrell replied. "There is much to learn in the darker corners of the world. Things the books do not teach."

His eyes met Dumbledore's, just for a second. Steady. Cold.

Dumbledore nodded slowly, keeping his expression unreadable.

There were whispers again. Murmurs in certain circles. Shadows stretching too far across Britain, reaching into places they should not. There was something moving beneath the surface. A presence. And where presence gathered, so did hunger.

He had spoken to Nicholas last month. Not about hiding the stone, but about using it.

As bait.

Layered protections, puzzles, wards — all tailored to hold the attention of something seeking immortality. Hogwarts was as secure a place as any, and more importantly, it was watched. If someone reached for the object, he would know.

Quirrell shifted again. A flicker of tension crossed his brow. His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the table, no pattern Dumbledore recognized.

Somewhere outside the warded booth, a chair scraped against the floor.

Dumbledore glanced toward the far corner of the inn. A lone figure sat near the fire, half-concealed in shadow. Silver-blond hair caught the low light for an instant before the illusion settled again. No one else seemed to notice.

He looked back to Quirrell.

"The post," he said, "is demanding. You understand the risks?"

"I do."

The man's voice was calm now. No stutter. No hesitation.

Dumbledore felt it. He recognized the shape of the danger.

But sometimes danger was necessary. A trap could only be sprung if something stepped forward to trigger it.

"Very well," he said.

Quirrell dipped his head, then rose silently from the booth. He did not offer his hand. He did not look back.

The figure by the hearth stood a moment later, movements slow and effortless. He left no footprints. No magical residue.

Dumbledore remained seated, gaze lingering on the untouched tea in front of him.

He had made the decision. Thoughtfully. Strategically.

He told himself it had been his own.

~

Myrddin Manor

May 5th, 1991 – 11:34 p.m.

Private Stream Chat – Active Users: 5

The glow of the stream faded, leaving only the soft shimmer of the private chat. Josh didn't move from his seat in the reading nook. His coffee had long gone cold, but the words still hovered fresh in the air.

> [cartoon_nightmare has joined the chat]

[most_interesting_demigod has joined the chat]

[LawLord has joined the chat]

[BillionairePlayboy has joined the chat]

[momfriend.exe has joined the chat]

He gave them a beat, then sent the first message.

OffScript:

> So, that's the long and short of it

Multiverse, omniverse, and what it could be

I died for real that one time, not that I remember it, and the next thing I know, nothing

Floating, existing maybe

Could've been an instant, could've been an eon

Eventually I became a player

Got my cheat

Dropped into this world to grow naturally until things activated, memories, access, chat, stream

When I got the chance to add members, figured LawLord and BillionairePlayboy were solid choices

LawLord:

> You don't even remember how you died?

OffScript:

> Nope

Just that I wasn't supposed to

Something knocked me off the Creator's plan

Now I'm OffScript

most_interesting_demigod:

> And out of everything, you picked magic

Seriously

I spent years getting diced by monsters and smited by gods just to get a fraction of your growth rate

Meanwhile you're over there waving a wand and muttering in Latin like it's cheat codes

OffScript:

> Less cardio, more explosions

You made your bed with lightning bolts and bare fists

I chose books and glowing sticks

Still hurts, by the way

cartoon_nightmare:

> You picked a dramatic world

Solid lighting, good music, decent wardrobe

Definitely going for the cinematic angle

momfriend.exe:

> If cheats are part of being a player

Then maybe I qualify too

My growth hasn't made sense for a long time

But it still feels earned

OffScript:

> Then you are one

A player isn't defined by the boost

It's what you do with it

BillionairePlayboy:

> Let me get this straight

We're all real, in different universes

But we can talk, share knowledge, watch each other

So are we people, or characters?

OffScript:

> You're real

Every world is real

Doesn't matter what the origin is

If you think, feel, act, suffer, and grow

That's real enough

LawLord:

> Are there really worlds where my parents lived

Where I wasn't orphaned?

OffScript:

> Yeah

I've seen echoes

Some where they beat Voldemort outright

Some where they never had to fight him

They exist

momfriend.exe:

> Then we're never alone

There's always a version of us out there that got what we couldn't

That helps

BillionairePlayboy:

> Real talk

Bugs Bunny and Scooby-Doo

Are they in the rotation?

cartoon_nightmare:

> Kinda

Some are actors

Some are the real deal

It depends on the studio, the world, and how weird the contract got

Just don't challenge them to a pie-eating contest

You'll lose

most_interesting_demigod:

> If one of them turns out to be a disguised world-ending entity again, I am not cleaning it up this time

That's on you

OffScript:

> Then I'll bring snacks and plausible deniability

The chat settled, soft pulses trailing off as each member went quiet in their own time. Questions remained, of course, but they would wait.

Tonight had been about honesty. About laying the first bricks of trust across infinite space.

Tomorrow could worry about the rest.

most_interesting_demigod:

> Wait a minute

Voldemort...

Is LawLord freaking Harry Potter?!

Just when I start getting used to one damn wand-waiver there's another one

Could this day get any worse?

> [most_interesting_demigod has been temporarily muted by momfriend.exe]

momfriend.exe:

> You do know that I use magic too, right?

>cartoon_nightmare:

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

~~~~~~~~

A side note from the author. I went back and modified the start. Chapters 2 -5 are no longer a low heavy info dump and the heavy lore has been condensed and moved to the auxiliary chapter.