The ministry had finally responded to his request to "retake" his newt exam by the following weekend. Which was a miracle considering he'd never sat for his newt exam in the first place; neither in his home universe, nor this one.
But with the Ministry of Magic being constantly under attack by Death Eaters, and other parties opposing Voldemort and not affiliated with Dumbledore who presented a whole host of problems to consider later, was it any wonder educational records tended to be casualties of war? Not if you considered the fact that deliberate targeting of financial and personal records by all of these parties was a regular occurrence, as the need to hide paper trails leading to dark business dealings and erasing the history of people they "disappeared" outstripped the need for criminals to know the qualifications of his latest recruit.
The written response signed by a Mrs. Tufty specified the day and time of the appointment and Harry - ehem - Hadrian made haste to prepare for it. A few dozen galleons at Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions netted him a lovely set of black and green dress-robes to match his hair and eyes. It was a little too Slytherin for his tastes, but he'd long come to accept that Salazar's choice of house colors looked damned sexy on him.
His only remaining stop for the day was to the book store to pick up a study guide; hopefully one with a practice test in the back. He wasn't worried about failing the test, but it paid to take a quick refresher and put in a few hours of cramming the day before any exam. It was good enough to get him through Hogwarts, so it ought to be good enough for this, right?
Unfortunately fate decided to sour his morning with a kerfuffle in front of the book store he'd set his eyes on.
"Geroff me!" A young man, no older than seventeen, exclaimed as he was bodily thrown out of the bookstore.
One of the two larger men who had done the throwing spat on the ground separating them.
"You know our store policy, Mutt! Same as everywhere else. If yous be needing a product then you owl order it." The spitter warned.
Harry took a moment to assess the situation. By the state of the young man's tattered clothes, scarred body and the use of "mutt" as a slur the conclusion he came to was an ugly one. He'd have to ask Ollivander about the state of Werewolf relations when he got back to the shop. Or maybe after his test the next day.
Maybe check-in on Dolores while he was at it? Might be taking too many cues from his old universe, but his Umbridge had earned enough bad Karma for every counterpart of hers across all dimensions. At least enough for him to drop by this one's house like he had the original's after the war ended.
"But how am I to know what I want to order without taking a look, see? What's wrong with browsing?" The boy simpered deferentially.
He had the air of the bookish type too. Came across as the kind of person who loved the smell of ancient and slightly molded paper, wood polish of shelves and dust covered bindings. There were worse character flaws, to be sure, but that alone was enough to earn him the kind of treatment he was getting at the moment. But instead these bozos were bullying him over a slight case of magical rabies? He simply had to step in. It was the principle of the thing!
"Come here!" Harry snarled as he snatched the kid up off the cobblestone street and dragged him away from the shop.
When he was out of earshot, but still in view of the bouncers, which every store seemed to have these days, he lightly slammed him against a wooden pillar.
"You gotta be careful and choose your fights kid." Harry said gently, still holding him roughly by the scruff but relaxing his facial features to show he was a friend.
Kid caught on to what was happening quick, and gave him a seemingly frightened nod, betrayed only by the gleam in his eye.
"What book are you looking for and where should I be sending it to?" Harry demanded, showing off his teeth in a fake snarl.
"Study guide for a proctored newt exam." The young werewolf answered.
Hm. Small world.
"And the name's Romulus. I'm the only person in the country whose dad was stupid enough to give him such a name so you don't need my address. Any office owl can find me."
Fair enough.
"And how much does the book cost?" Harry asked.
"Two galleons." Romulus answered simply.
A moment later Harry felt a slight weight in his robe pocket and knew the young man had slipped the coins in with a slight of hand. Damn but was this kid trying to make Harry like him or what?
"The name is Hadrian Morrigan. Keep an eye out for a delivery owl." He conspired, before grabbing him by the scruff yet again. "And don't let me catch you in civilized company again!"
He shoved Romulus down the street and he scampered off. He nailed the kid with a stinging hex to the ass just for extra show. And because he was sure the kid had done something troublesome enough to deserve it recently. Had that Marauder air about him.
He turned around and shoved his way past the bouncers, ordered two copies of the same book, and made the trip back to Olivanders. On the down side it was a much thicker and heavier volume than he expected to have to sift through. On the up side it looked like Hedwig's fatass was getting a workout today.
On the pls side Romulus had added a few sickles on top of the cost of the book, probably as thanks for the service, so he had a nice cuppa to go with his studying.
Having his fingerprints taken upon entering the Ministry Of Magic was a first for Harry. The aura scanners and wand inspection, on the other hand, were par for the course. The pat down and metal detector scans were just dreary and too big of a reminder of the Orwellian, not to mention wholly unnecessary and ineffectual, TSA that the Muggle government across the pond had implemented after the "Saudis" decided to fly a plane into the twin towers.
God what shitshow. The ridiculous measures that the entire world went through to try and cover up the magical involvement in that incident. Ranging from seers shorting plane company stocks the day before, to the terrorists having actual enchanted objects like indestructible passports. There was the obedience ward that forced the pilot and military-trained passengers to surrender to some hicks with box cutters. Not to mention the two planes enchanted to be invisible to avoid detection for seven hours but failed to decloak before hitting building seven and the pentagon respectively. And that was just the fuck-ups on the wizarding side, that intelligence agencies from Mossad to the alphabet agencies in America all had forewarning but failed to act was an even bigger fiasco, to say nothing of the racist dancing Israeli's and Muslims who were celebrating the attack AS IT HEPPENED!
There were also quite a few wizards involved in the incident throwing around quite a few imperius and confundus curses.
Yeah, when 2001 rolled back around he'd be sure to prevent that entire fiasco. Partly to prevent the pointless loss of life, mostly so he'd never have to be felt up at an airport ever again. He had liked plane travel up until then. Only way he could travel internationally wihtout craving death.
Now if only he could go further back in time and prevent the magical terrorist attack on Chernobyl. Some wizard supremacists saw Muggles developing a method of safe, reliable and unlimited energy and managed to turn a nuclear reactor into a weapon of mass destruction. It was an incident that was truly impossible to repeat with any other nuclear reactors. this was partly because of Communist mismanagement of the facility and willful negligence combined with magical interference. Then again, that Muggles were stupid enough to be tricked into throwing away the perfect energy source over an incident that killed maybe a few dozen people and stick with coal, which directly kills millions every year, really gave credence to the wizard-supremacist point of view.
But if Muggles ever found out about the existence of wizarding society, an inevitability in the long term, then they would be rather angry to discover that the answer to most mysteries or conspiracies amount to "A wizard did it."
Chernobyl and September 11th? Wizard terrorists. JFK? It really was a magic bullet. The Philadelphia experiment? Wizard/Muggle scientist collaboration gone bad. The list goes on. But it does raise the question of why so many wizard terrorists kept committing acts likely to expose the wizarding world and instigate the genocide of everyone they loved.
Wizard supremacists weren't great at long-term planning.
The Aurors manning the checkpoint near the floor entrance, and the telephone booth Harry opted to use instead, issued him a set of thoroughly unhelpful directions for reaching the exam room. Go to the elevator he understood. Taking the elevator down to floor 3c1 he did not. Fortunately a balding, tiny old gentleman in the lift helped him with that. Two levels down, two levels right, one level forward... However this lift system managed to move in all three vectors was beyond him, but interesting.
"Thank you sir." Harry said to the elderly gentleman as they exited the lift.
"It's what I do." He said with a chuckle. "If the three-dimensional lift system tripped you up, might you also need help checking into the correct booth?"
It was only then that Harry properly took in the examination room, and blanched. The place was a cubicle farm that would make the most soulless corporation shudder at the artificial and soul-crushing nature of making human beings work in such environments. If you could take the room of hidden things and fill every inch of it, including rising vertically along the walls and covering the ceiling, with wooden office cubicles, this is what would result.
"I think I would appreciate that very much sir." Harry confided in the helpful ministry worker, before offering his hand to shake. "I'm Hadrian Morrigan by the way. My appointment is with an examiner named Alastor Marchbanks."
"I'm examiner Alastor Marchbanks. I happen to have an appointment with an examinee named Hadrian Morrigan." Marchbanks greeted cheekily as he took Harry's hand and shook.
Again, small world.
Examiner Marchbanks led him down the aisles of cubicles and Harry couldn't stop himself from looking up to see if people were walking, sitting and working on the ceiling above. Indeed, they were, and he was overcome with a sense of vertigo at the strange type of space optimizing magic employed here.
Fortunately Marchbanks' cubicle was safely on the ground so they didn't wind up having to walk up the walls, literally or figuratively. His was as tidy as could be expected, and the neat, evenly-spaced stacks of examination tests layed out looked to be pre-prepared for Harry in particular.
"Today you will be doing a written exam in the disciplines you specified." Marchbanks' preempted, before pointing at every stack of exams in turn and listing off the subject. "Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration, Muggle Studies, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, Astronomy and, of course, Divination. Is that correct?"
"Yes sir." Harry confirmed politely.
Harry had studied Ancient Runes while he was helping with the creation of a new sport back in 2003, and he felt reasonably confident in that and arithmancy, which it turned out was mostly mathematics through calculus mixed with numerology and runes for spell and potion engineering. Muggle Studies would be a doddle.
"That seems to be nearly every subject offered at Hogwarts, save for one. What about history of magic?"
"What about history of magic?" Harry retorted derisively.
"Fair enough I suppose. Now before we go on I do need to ask one very important question." Marchbanks continued "Are you Muggle-born?"
It was only his experience dealing with this bullshit in his home dimension that allowed Harry to answer without showing any shock or offense at the question. Best to stick with the truth.
"No sir. But my mother was. And I was raised by her extended family." Harry said.
"Ah, Muggle-raised? Excellent! That means we can get through the Muggle Studies test much more quickly." Marchbanks cheerily exclaimed, surprising Harry to reveal the question was asked not out of discriminatory purposes, but for making his job easier. "All you have to do is perform two distinctly advanced Muggle tasks that no wizard-raised person could ever accomplish."
And with that ominous declaration Marchbanks began weaving his wand like a symphony conductor and produced one of the most impressive displays of transfiguration Harry had ever beheld. Piece by piece he conjured different types of metal alloy and shaped them into mechanical contraptions that on their own were wholly alien to Harry, but taken together formed the recognizable shape of a Ford Model T; One small enough to fit on top of the desk and seat a toddler.
"I realize it's not in fashion to be driving such a vehicle today, but I find the electric razors on wheels seen on roads recently to be abominations and insulting to the beauty and style automobiles once exhibited." Said Marchbanks. "Still, a car is a car, and a wheel is a wheel. And a spark plug is a spark plug. All you must do is change the tire, and by that I mean switch one tire with another since there is no spare, and change the spark plugs OR change the oil OR change the fuses. Without magic, save for conjuring materials you will need, obviously."
Harry was sufficiently impressed. He would have to make inquiries at Hogwarts to find out if the head of Gryffindor house wasn't a spinster carrying her maiden name of McGonnigal, but a married woman carrying the name Mrs Marchbanks.
"Okay, but what if I can do all of those things?" Harry asked.
"Can you do all of those things?" Marchbanks asked with interest.
Verily, he could. In fact, Harry went so far as to conjure up his own fuses which he then had to shrink to fit, and a duplicate of the spark plug the machine had. He knew full well that conjured and transfigured materials don't take on the chemical or electrical properties of the material intended, as such the Model T would never be able to run or start for that matter, but it was still beautiful work in his opinion. He conjured an aluminum pans to drain the oil, and then just poured it back in as the point was to show he could do it.
"Bravo! Bravo! I think you've earned an outstanding on your Muggle Studies. And if you can write on the theory behind conjuring and transfiguring materials as well as your wandwork would suggest I expect another O on your transfiguration newt as well." Said Marchbanks.
He was right.
Seven hours later Harry finished his last written test with a bad case of carpal tunnel, and an impressive set of grades.
He expected to get at least an Exceeds Expectation or higher on everything except arithmancy and astronomy, so that would make seven passing grades. Some would argue that an acceptable was a passing grade, but not at the newt level. No employer will hire for anything below Exceeds Expectations, and even then that's only if the E is in a subject only tangentially related to the job as opposed to the primary focus. Like Herbology for a potions brewer. Otherwise you better have an O in the primary focus. Like potions for a potions brewer.
And so, finally, he was onto divination. Harry was fully expecting a failing grade as, like with the Muggle Studies test, this one was actually practical instead of written. He knew this because Marchbanks provided a fully-enchanted crystal ball as soon as he finished shuffling away the stack of math questions.
Marchbanks chuckled at Harry's over-exaggerated groan.
"Yes, yes. You were expecting another written, but honestly there's no point in having a written exam for divination. You are either able to divine the future, or you aren't." He explained. "Besides. I do so enjoy the looks on people faces when they flunk out of what they thought was an easy E to pad out their newt scores."
He was onto him! Damnit! And to think he and Ron were so sure none of the teachers would figure out that was their motivation in picking Divination and Care over Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Oh well, he'd just have to cheat. Good thing he had a tool capable of making him appear to be a skilled diviner.
"Now. I'm going to place the crystal ball and all you need to do is speak of whatever it is you see, feel or otherwise sense about the present, past, or future. Begin when ready." Marchbanks instructed.
Harry was born ready!
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and relaxed into his seat. The first step to divination is to always relax, clear your mind and dull the senses. Something he learned through his own independent studies.
He reached out his sixth, magical sense and allowed the world around him to fill his soul. The curvature of the armrests of his chair. The cold hardness of the filing cabinet. The dustiness of the carpet and curtains blocking off the entrance to the cubicle. Each and every place and thing had a story to be told and they shared them willingly to those with ears to hear, but his interest was in the man opposite him.
His eyes snapped open and he stared, unseeing, into the crystal ball. He ignored the cloudy coalescing masses within and focused his attention on the story Marchbanks' aura told.
Recent events tend to stick for a while, linger like scratches on a record. Harry could pick up on those scratches and, if he focused, translate them back into the five senses he was more accustomed to.
He ignored the recent and superfluous facts about his egg, ham and hash breakfast. He ignored the overflowing joy and warm fuzziness that he still got every time his wife kissed his cheek goodbye in the morning, even after sixty years of marriage. He ignored the deep rest he got sleeping beside that woman with the warm weight of their way-too-old and way-too-fat basset hound laying across his feet.
He did not, however, ignore the threatening, whispered voices from days earlier.
"You should be honored. It is not every day I make such an offer in person."
It sounded healthier and more human than Harry remembered, but he recognized it all the same.
"You have been approached by the Dark Lord." Harry said simply.
Marchbanks nodded without hesitation, but Harry was too enthralled in the past to pay any attention to the present.
"I doubt you have much of importance to be getting on with. War's a bit fizzled out at the moment, so I can't imagine you doing much besides plotting and recruiting."
His response earned Voldemort's thrilled, high-pitched laughter.
"Indeed. And I come bearing gifts. Gifts of fire, and death."
Harry felt the lingering touch of something powerful. Something hot and sharp. Not a spell, but an object of ancient make and forgotten power.
He also felt Marchbanks lust for the object, and the feel of the rosary on his fingers and he clasped it in surprise at the sight of whatever it was Voldemort sought to bribe him with.
"He has made you a very generous offer. One that would turn many of your faith and line of research into accepting." Harry went on.
Marchbanks nodded again but this time Harry was overwhelmed by a new sense. Like the dizziness that heralds a fainting fit, or precipitates sleep. But it stayed with him, held him in that state and the coalescing smoke in the crystal ball parted to show him the future.
It was a bloody scene. Scorched gashes in walls, severed limbs and a significant amount of blood. Blurry, but obvious in meaning.
"You will not accept." Harry managed to gasp as he pulled himself away from the vision.
He discovered that he was clammy, sweating and out of breath.
"No. I will not." Marchbanks nodded solemnly, though his eyes betrayed a razor-sharp focus and cunning that most people would miss.
"His retaliation will be terrible." Harry warned.
Marchbanks motioned back towards the crystal ball and leaned forward conspiratorially.
"Do you see... Death?" He asked in a whisper.
Harry shuddered at the word. He could feel that it wasn't meant with a capital D, but allowed himself to sink back into the trance that had never let go of him, and returned to the scene of violence and mayhem.
He saw flashes of places. Siren lights. Hands, so many hands. And then, white hospital sheets and curtains of the highest cleanliness through which morning sunlight streamed and a subtle breeze blew.
Harry felt the smile of relief grow on his face before he even returned to the land of the present.
"The event will stay with you forever, but you will live." He told Marchbanks.
He saw a similar relief to that he felt spread onto Marchbanks' features and posture as he slouched back into his seat.
It was only then that Harry realized he may have been goading Harry into lying, giving a fake warning of death as many so-called seers are prone to do. But something in his voice or smile must have tipped Marchbanks off that his prediction was genuine, if still not to be taken as gospel.
"You've put an old man's mind at ease, Mr Morrigan. I thank you for that." Marchbanks told him. "And I'll be sending the final results of your test scores in a week's time."
It took Harry a moment to remember he was Morrigan and stood up to shake the examiner's hand goodbye.
"I have to share the results and my testimony with the others on the board. A precaution to ensure no favoritism towards examinees or manipulation towards examiners. But assuming I'm not under some advanced Imperius spell and this all isn't a hallucination, I can say with some certainty that you tested rather well."
Harry practiced his new signature again on the last of the paperwork and was sent on his way.
As he climbed into the elevator he became lost in his own thoughts.
What had just happened?
He'd been able to predict the future before, certainly. If you see a plate falling to the ground, it's easy to predict it will break. With his ability to re-experience recent events he could collect enough chaotic information to make an informed opinion of what will likely happen. He could predict in the purely literal sense, but he'd never had a vision before!
This was an entirely new and alien ability to him.
While he always used to joke about his ESP with Hermione, she knew it was a more reasonable and, dare he say, scientific ability. This new development was wholly mystic and beyond actual understanding, so he settled for the next best thing to understanding.
Acceptance.
So preoccupied with his thoughts was he that it wasn't until he flood back to the leaky cauldron that he discovered a note slipped into his pocket. A note signed by the old, eminently likeable Catholic. Romulus could learn something from him.
You are exceptional in a way I cannot place, but in a way that will entice Him. He will come for you. He will find you irresistible. He will want you by his side, or dead. I hope you show the same strength of character you seem to think me capable of, because he is more terrible than you can imagine.
Harry crumpled the note and reduced it to carbon in his hand with a nameless burst of magic, one that didn't even make heat.
Oh, he could imagine it. He could imagine it very well