Hogwarts Grounds – Near the Great Lake
Harry Potter had sneaked out of the castle again.
It wasn't rebellion, exactly. Not anymore. After two Triwizard Tasks, after dragons and underwater rescues and watching Cedric Diggory prove that Hufflepuffs had spines of steel, Harry had stopped caring about rules. Rules hadn't saved him from the dragon. Rules hadn't kept his name out of the Goblet.
So when he saw a body lying near the lake's edge, he didn't run for a professor.
He ran toward it.
The grass was wet with evening dew. The sky was fading from blue to bruised purple. And there—twenty feet from the water—a man in fine robes lay face down, unmoving.
Harry's stomach turned to ice.
He knelt. Rolled the body over.
Barty Crouch Sr.
Dead eyes. Gray skin. No pulse.
Harry scrambled backward, breathing hard. His scar prickled—not the searing pain of Voldemort nearby, but a dull throb. Warning. Something was wrong.
Then he saw her.
A woman lay fifty feet away, half-curled in the grass. Pink hair. Auror robes. He recognized her from the tournament—Tonks, the young Auror Moody had mentioned. She was pale. Her breathing was shallow.
Harry ran to her.
"Tonks? Tonks!"
She didn't respond. Her eyes were closed. Her face was twisted like someone in pain.
Harry grabbed her shoulder. "Wake up! There's a dead man—Crouch—what happened?"
Her eyes fluttered.
Sylvia—no, Tonks—woke to the face of a boy. Green eyes. Dark hair. A scar on his forehead shaped like lightning.
Harry Potter.
The broken stories had described him. The boy who lived. The one who fought the soul-splitting terrorist.
She tried to speak. Her throat was dry. Her head was splitting open—Tonks' memories and her own colliding like two waves crashing into each other.
"Harry," she whispered.
"How do you know my name?" He was scared. Good. Fear meant caution.
"Your scar," she managed. "Everyone knows—"
Footsteps.
Heavy. Limping. A wooden leg thumping against the grass.
"Potter." The voice was rough, grinding, familiar from Tonks' memories. "Step away from her."
Harry turned. "Professor Moody—"
"Now."
Moody limped toward them. Or the man wearing Moody's face. Tonks' fragmented memories screamed a warning—something about Moody, something wrong—but the details were lost in the fog.
Barty Crouch Jr.
The name surfaced from the depths. Tonks had known. Before she died, she had suspected something about Moody. But the memory was broken, scattered.
The man who looked like Moody knelt beside her. His magical eye spun wildly. His normal eye fixed on her face.
"Tonks." His voice was cold. "Report."
"I—" She tried to sit up. Her body screamed in protest. Vitality 10. Medical assistance required. "Crouch. He's—"
"Dead." Moody's eye stopped spinning. It stared at her. "I saw. The question is, why did you kill him?"
Harry's head snapped toward Moody. "She didn't—"
"Quiet, Potter." Moody's hand rested on his wand. "Tonks. Answer."
Sylvia's survival instincts kicked in. Deny. Stay calm. Don't show fear.
"I didn't kill him," she said. Her voice was stronger now. "I don't remember—I was hit. Green light. Crouch Jr.—"
She stopped.
The name hung in the air.
Moody's expression didn't change. But something flickered in his normal eye. Recognition. Caution.
"Crouch Jr. is dead," Moody said slowly. "Died in Azkaban years ago."
"I—" Sylvia clutched her head. The memories were colliding again. Tonks' last moments. Green light. A man's face—younger than this one, but the same eyes. Barty Crouch Jr. He had cast the killing curse. He had killed Tonks.
But Tonks was alive. Sort of.
"I don't—" She gasped. Pain lanced through her skull. The merge wasn't stable. Two lives, two sets of memories, two deaths—they were tearing at each other.
Then everything went black.
She fainted.
Hogwarts Infirmary – Two Hours Later
The ceiling was white. Stone. Vaulted.
Sylvia blinked slowly. Her head still ached, but the sharp, splitting pain had dulled to a heavy throb. She was in a bed. Soft sheets. Clean pillows. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept on something that wasn't dirt or straw.
The infirmary, Tonks' memories supplied. Madam Pomfrey.
A woman in starched robes appeared at her bedside. Middle-aged. Kind eyes. Busy hands.
"You're awake," Madam Pomfrey said. "Good. Very good. You gave us quite a scare, young lady."
Sylvia tried to speak. Her throat was dry.
"Water," Pomfrey said, pressing a cup to her lips. "Slowly."
The water was cold and clean. Sylvia drank until her stomach ached.
"Where—"
"Hogwarts," Pomfrey said. "You were found near the lake. Unconscious. Next to Barty Crouch Senior's body." Her voice softened. "He's dead, dear. I'm sorry."
Sylvia nodded. She had seen the body.
"You were hit by an Unforgivable," Pomfrey continued. Her tone was clinical now, but her eyes were sharp. "The Killing Curse. By all rights, you should be dead. Do you understand how lucky you are?"
Lucky, Sylvia thought. The system said luck matters. Maybe Tonks had high luck. Or maybe the merge saved her.
"I don't remember," Sylvia said. It wasn't entirely a lie.
Pomfrey pressed a potion into her hands. "Drink this. All of it. It's a vitality draught—your body is dangerously weak. I don't know how you were functioning at all."
Sylvia drank. The potion was thick and bitter, but warmth spread through her veins immediately.
[VITALITY: 10/100 → 15/100]
Small improvement. Not enough.
She looked at Pomfrey. "The Ministry—"
"Already here." Pomfrey's lips tightened. "Dumbledore is waiting to speak with you. So is Alastor Moody. And Cornelius Fudge is on his way."
Sylvia's stomach clenched.
Three interrogations. One body. No memory of what happened.
She needed a strategy. Fast.
The Interrogation – One Hour Later
Dumbledore sat across from her bed. His blue eyes were calm, but Sylvia had survived thirteen years by reading men. Those eyes missed nothing.
Moody stood by the window, his magical eye spinning. Fudge had not arrived yet.
"Tonks," Dumbledore said gently. "Can you tell us what happened?"
Sylvia had prepared.
"I was patrolling the grounds," she said. Her voice was steady. "I remember the lake. The trees. Then—green light. A voice. After that… nothing. I woke up when Harry found me."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Madam Pomfrey says you were hit by the Killing Curse."
"Yes."
"Yet you are alive."
"I don't know how."
Moody's normal eye narrowed. "Your wand," he said. "We checked it. No spells cast in the past five hours. Crouch died within that window."
Sylvia's heart pounded, but her face remained neutral.
"I didn't kill him."
"Then who did?"
"I don't know."
Dumbledore raised a hand. "Alastor, please." He turned back to Sylvia. "Tonks, I must ask you something difficult. May I look into your mind? A simple legilimency—nothing invasive. I only wish to see your memories of tonight."
Sylvia's blood ran cold.
Legilimency. Mind reading.
But she had Occlumency now. Rank 3. Enough to block masters of the same race.
"Fine," she said.
Dumbledore leaned forward. Their eyes met.
Legilimens.
Sylvia felt the probe immediately—a gentle pressure against her mental walls. Dumbledore was skilled. His touch was light, almost polite. He wasn't trying to break her. He was simply… looking.
Her Occlumency shields held.
She let him see what she wanted him to see. The lake. The trees. Green light. Fear. Confusion. Nothing about the apocalypse. Nothing about the system. Nothing about transmigration.
Dumbledore withdrew.
His expression was unreadable.
"You are telling the truth," he said slowly. "You don't remember who killed Crouch. And you were not the one who cast the spell."
"I told you," Sylvia said.
Dumbledore studied her for a long moment. "There is something else. Your mind is… guarded. More guarded than it should be for a young Auror."
"Maybe almost dying changed me," Sylvia said.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. Or maybe they didn't. It was hard to tell.
"Perhaps," he said. He stood. "Rest, Tonks. The Ministry will have more questions. But for now—you are safe."
He turned to leave.
Moody followed, but at the door, he stopped. His magical eye fixed on Sylvia.
"Lucky," he said. "Very lucky."
Then he was gone.
Alone – Midnight
Sylvia waited until the infirmary was dark and quiet. Pomfrey had retired to her office. The other beds were empty.
She lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling.
I have nothing.
No magic she could reliably cast. No allies she could trust. A body that was falling apart. A dead Ministry official she had been found next to. And a fake Moody walking around wearing Polyjuice, planning who-knew-what.
She needed an advantage.
She opened the system panel.
USER DATA PANEL
ATTRIBUTE VALUE STATUS
STRENGTH 10/100 Weak
MAGIC 40/100 Untrained – Memory Fragmentation
VITALITY 30/100 Recovering
INTELLIGENCE 50/100 Average
CHARM 40/100 Noticeable
RACE Human (Metamorphmagus / Witch)
TALENTS
Metamorphmagus (Active)
Occlumency Rank 3/10
LUST POINTS: 600
Intermediate Lottery. 600 points. Three boxes. 80% rare, 20% average.
She had no guarantees. But she had nothing else.
"System," she whispered. "Intermediate Lottery. Now."
[INTERMEDIATE LOTTERY INITIATED]
[600 POINTS DEDUCTED]
[LUST POINTS REMAINING: 0]
Three boxes appeared in her vision. Golden. Pulsing. One by one, they opened.
BOX 1 – RARE ITEM
Item: COMPENDIUM OF PARALLEL WORLDS – HARRY POTTER VARIANT
Description: A complete record of one alternate Harry Potter universe, different from the host's current reality. Contains information on major events, protagonists, villains, and world mechanics. Does not guarantee accuracy to current timeline.
Note: This compendium covers a universe where Harry Potter was never born.
Sylvia's blood went cold.
She opened the compendium in her mind. Information flooded in—names, dates, events. A world without the Boy Who Lived. A world where Voldemort had won. Where the Order of the Phoenix fell. Where darkness spread across Britain like a plague.
This is not my world, she told herself. This is a variant. A different timeline.
But the similarities were terrifying.
She closed the compendium and looked at Box 2.
BOX 2 – RARE ITEM
Item: COMPENDIUM OF PARALLEL WORLDS – MARVEL VARIANT
Description: A complete record of one alternate Marvel universe, different from the host's current reality. Contains information on major events, protagonists, villains, and world mechanics. Does not guarantee accuracy to current timeline.
Note: This compendium covers a universe known as The CancerVerse —where heroes fail, hope dies, and entropy consumes all.
Sylvia opened it.
Images flashed through her mind. Heroes dying. Villains winning. Civilizations crumbling. A universe where nothing went right. Where every battle was lost. Where the good guys didn't just lose—they were erased.
She closed it quickly.
Her hands were shaking.
Two parallel worlds. Both nightmares. Both showing me what could happen here.
She looked at Box 3.
BOX 3 – RARE ITEM
Item: +5 STAT POINTS
Description: Permanently increase any one attribute by 5 points.
Distribution: Unassigned.
Sylvia didn't hesitate.
Assign to CHARM.
[CHARM: 40/100 → 45/100]
Noticeable to striking.
It wasn't a huge boost. But it was something. Every point mattered. Every advantage counted.
She closed the lottery window and sat in the darkness.
The Harry Potter variant—a world where Harry was never born. That means the terrorist won. That means everyone who fought him died.
The Marvel variant—a universe where heroes fail. Where hope is a lie.
And this world—my world—has both. Wizards and superheroes. Magic and aliens. Two sets of villains. Two sets of possible apocalypses.
She thought about the apocalypse she had already survived. The bombs. The famine. The cannibalism. The men who ate her alive.
It's happening again.
Not the same way. But the same shape. Darkness coming. People dying. Survivors scrambling.
She had been given a second chance. A new body. A system. A world with green grass and blue sky.
And she was going to lose it all if she didn't fight.
I need to act like I lost my memories. It's not even a lie—I've lost most of Tonks' magical knowledge. I can't cast spells decently. I need to practice. I need to read. I need to learn everything I can about this world before the darkness arrives.
And I need to survive.
She lay back against the pillow.
I will not die again.
I will not be eaten again.
I will not be used again.
Not by men. Not by dark lords. Not by this world.
She closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, she would start pretending. Tomorrow, she would tell Madam Pomfrey that her memory was worse than she thought. Tomorrow, she will look into books for information. For training. For time.
Tonight, she would rest.
But her hand clenched the blanket.
Death is tightening around me again. I can feel it.
Not yet. Not this time.