Chapter 68 - My SI Stash #68 - Umbrus Shade, The Incredibly Annoyed Ravenclaw by shadenight123 (Harry Potter)

-Enough with the NSFW fics (for now) out of courtesy. (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞Back to SFW!

*SI into Harry Potter as a Ravenclaw. This is a completed SI fanfic!

For Darkcrowww~I don't have a lot of HP SI fics but I'll look out for them and add to this stash.

Sypnosis: ???

Rated: T

Words: 240K

Posted on: forums.sufficientvelocity.com/threads/umbrus-shade-the-incredibly-annoyed-ravenclaw-harry-potter-si.48980/#post-11014311 (shadenight123)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 0+1

It all began with a dark room, a hooting owl, and a letter in front of me.

The room had no features I could parse. The owl was motley brown. The letter looked handwritten in a really difficult cursive. My room was gone. My surroundings were gone. The letter itself glowed with a light of its own, and the contents seemed to shift under my sight.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)​

Dear Mr. Umbrus,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

The letter had also something written on its back; it was the list of provisions. Something dreadfully heavy settled at the bottom of my stomach. This couldn't be what I thought it was, could it? Perhaps an alien race had kidnapped me. It would explain the dark room. Maybe I was in a coma. That too was an acceptable solution. My surroundings shifted, the darkness leaving the place to blurs and to forms.

They took on clearer shapes a bit at the time, revealing figures moving back and forth on rails. In front of me, a luggage on wheels with my stuff rested. An owl hooted from its perch, staring right at me with an inquisitive glance. I looked around, seeing no familiar figures. There was little I could do, but swallow my nervousness and walk towards the platform I still remembered would lead on the way to Hogwarts' train.

Platform Nine and Three Quarters was hidden within a pillar, and as I walked through it, my eyes closed by reflex, I came out in a realm of robes and strange hat-wearing people. I had no cellphone in my pockets. I had no Ipod. I had a wand, actually, a shiny dark thing that was probably twelve to thirteen inches in length. It was a bit hard to hide the thing, and I could feel it poke against my sides, strapped to the left side of my chest in a wand-holder reminiscing of a revolver's holster.

There were families tearfully waving goodbye to their sons and daughters, some with more emphasis than others. I simply pulled my luggage on the train without a word.

"I am a wizard," I muttered. Then, I realized that pulling the luggage up was more of a challenge than previously thought, and the sinking feeling in my guts materialized even further.

Shit.

I was an eleven year old kid. My height was gone, my strength too, and all I had was a lousy wand and stuff I had no idea how it had made its way into my possession. This looked every bit like a coma-induced feverish dream. Perhaps I shouldn't have eaten whatever I ate the night before. What was it again? It was a pizza. No, pizzas couldn't be so evil as to give me such vivid and vibrant nightmares.

Thus, I climbed on while quietly cursing my weak self. I settled in the first carriage I could find, since I needed more than one trip to empty the trolley on which my luggage rested. By the time I was done, I sighed and slumped against the creaking armchair.

I yawned, not out of tiredness, but out of nervousness. There had to be a mistake. I couldn't be a wizard. The wand I pulled out from my wand holster felt warm in my hand, my children finger looked so eerie compared to what I was used to. Still, as I swished the wand back and forth, I expected something to happen. Well, no, I expected nothing to happen. I was rewarded with some sparks instead. They fluttered about, wheezing out of the tip of my wand in a myriad of pretty colors. I offhandedly mused about the colors of the sparks, watching them range from crimson to green, then through blue, violet, mauve and as I thought about it, they changed into yellow too.

There was no muscle-pulling involved, no strange back-end feeling. It was bizarre. I couldn't feel some kind of magical mana resource, or some form of twirling warmth in my chest. There was literally nothing telling me I was depleting mana, or that magic had a cost of some sorts. I should have felt more excited. I could do magic. At the same time, that feeling of elation was dulled by the sheer weight of the situation at hand.

What the hell was I doing in the Harry Potter world? Why was I even here? What was the point? Hell, if I had been born in the world, I could at the very least come up with some chalked up shitty explanation like parallel worlds existing; you die, you get reborn in another world. Rinse and repeat enough times, you're bound to become a genetic defect where you keep the memories of your past life.

It was a shitty explanation for something that couldn't really be explained, but it would make more sense than me appearing in a dark room in my eleven year old form. This felt like I had been placed in such a situation. Magic did it seemed the most viable answer, but if magic 'did it' then I had to ask myself why it did such a thing.

The train car's door swung open as some unknown students filtered in, and I quietly sheathed my wand once more, ashamedly looking at the window without a second thought. The students began to animatedly chat about their lessons, transfiguration with McGonagall, their hate for potions with professor Snape, the amount of work with Charms...and I couldn't help but ask.

"I'm sorry," I said, catching the trio of older students' attention, "I heard about Defense Against the Dark Art having a different professor every year...who's the one this year?"

"Ah," one of the older students said, his tie marking him as a Hufflepuff. "It's Professor Quirrell. He used to do Muggle Studies," he grinned. "He's a nice professor."

Good, then I was in the year of the lord one thousand nine hundred ninety-one. The year in which Harry Potter frequented Hogwarts. The year in which the Philosopher Stone was at Hogwarts. The year in which Voldemort was at Hogwarts.

It was going to be a nice year, as long as I kept my head low and did absolutely frigging nothing.

It eased me a bit to know that I hadn't been thrown in a random year, in a random setting, in a random parallel world.

"You're a first year, so you have it easy," the older Hufflepuff said. "There's a lot of hard work once you hit the electives," he added. "Enjoy your school life while you still can."

I will, filler-type character. I swear I will. "I'll do my best," I answered in turn. "What are the professors like?" I asked next.

It wouldn't do to grow quiet and keep my gaze centered at the sights beyond the train car's window. If I socialized, at the very least I'd be able to learn more about things, and maybe even catch stuff that I had once read, and that I didn't remember any longer. It had been years, perhaps even decades, since I had last read the books.

Still, the hours passed in relative peace. I even pulled out one of the school books to get a head start, but closed it after no more than half an hour, a dull headache from reading while in movement the main cause. With a dreary sigh, I closed my eyes and rested.

I was woken up by the rattling of the door, a blond figure popping in briefly, glancing around, and then looking at me for the briefest of instants. "I am looking for Harry Potter."

"I lack a scar on my forehead," I replied, pointing at my pristine and clear forehead. The blond sneered, and then left.

"Oh yeah, Harry Potter's supposed to be on the train!" another of the older years said with a gush to his voice. "The Boy-Who-Lived! He'll definitely be a Gryffindor." The fact the teen's tie had the colors of Gryffindor meant that his judgment was clearly biased, but it was also the truth, though he wouldn't know it.

I grew quiet, until at a certain point the older students began to shift into their robes, and I did the same with mine. "You can leave the luggage on the train," one of the older students told me, "They'll send the house elves to fetch them."

I nodded and thanked him.

Then, I stepped outside to face the chilly September month of Scotland and the cold, freezing waters of the Hogwarts' lake upon a boat.

The castle's lights in the far off distance glittered, giving it a very magical appearance.

The cold wind biting into my skin dug deep into my chest, however.

The malaise clung to me like a shroud, the stomach bottomed at my feet.

Congratulations, Shade Umbrus...

...you have become a wizard, destroyer of physics.

Chapter 1

There were a lot of stairs at Hogwarts. Climbing them from the bottom of the castle, where the pier was, was no easy task for an eleven year old. I cursed myself. I also cursed the lack of lifts, or automated stairways. Still, headmistress McGonagall made us wait by the stairs, while the whispers on what we'd have to do ran rampant across the many first years.

I knew it was going to be a hat.

It was going to be a talking hat, who'd select the place he believed we'd do best in, but would also comply to what we wished for.

Slytherin was out. Gryffindor too. I could find myself at home both in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, if I said so myself. Hufflepuff would have lots of delicious food, and friendly people, but if I wanted to survive through the battle at Hogwarts, I needed skills. Skills that only secret libraries could give me. Skills that only a Ravenclaw could learn. Skills used not to enter the thick of battle, but stay the hell away from it.

Yes, my plan was to survive. Though it could all become moot the moment I found Albus Dumbledore's office password and spoke to the headmaster about everything I knew. He'd do something about it. It wasn't like this was a world where Evil-Manipulative-Dark-Dumbledore lived. This looked pretty much the canon-world. At least, there was a Harry Potter, a red-haired Ron Weasley, a Neville Longbottom, a Hermione Granger, and many other. They weren't immediately noticeable, because they didn't look like the actors, but like their book-selves.

"They say we have to fight a troll," someone whispered in front of me.

"It's a hat," I snorted back. "A talking hat."

"Yeah," another student muttered by my side. "I hope the troll doesn't stink too much."

I glanced at the student, and then sighed. Here I was, being my shy, meek wallflower-self once more. Still, we didn't have to wait for much longer, as McGonagall called us into the main dining room and made us stand in a line in front of a stool, on which the talking hat rested.

It was the sorting hat, and I had forgotten how it broke out in song. It began in earnest, telling the main points of the houses and how we shouldn't fear. Still, as my surname was apparently Umbrus, I would go after Harry Potter. This meant I wasn't even in the purvey of the book's written pages, since from what I vaguely recalled, after Potter the only other mention was when the last one was called.

So the hall grew all quiet and nervous as Harry Potter in his childish eleven year old form marched and sat on the stool, plopping the sorting hat on its head. The boy whispered something, and the hat took a bit of a time. In the end, Gryffindor was where he ended, and the timeline was secured.

Was I perhaps an agent of the timeline?

Was I a guy sent from the future for the benefit of wizardkind? Secret Agent Shade, saving time and space one mission at a time?

"Umbrus, Shade," as it was my turn, I answered and valiantly walked forward, gingerly grabbing hold of the hat and putting it on.

Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw.

You have the potential to become the greatest of Slytherins. You have the ability, the skill, the wisdom of someone that can make great waves in the world. Are you sure you wish to go amidst dusty books?

Those are magic books we're talking of, sir! Is there anything more interesting than those in this world?

In Slytherin, you could acquire the power in order to read even the most secret of tomes.

But if I'm not a Ravenclaw, I wouldn't understand half of what they'd have written in them, sir. Please put me in Ravenclaw? I'll buy you some leather-softener? Or maybe you'd rather want some...

Shush before I change my mind and send you into Slytherin, you sly snake in a raven's nest! Fine! Since you insist so much, and because I fear what you'd do if I left you among those poor little snakes, you're going to have to be...

"RAVENCLAW!"

The hat roared it, and as I removed it and ran towards the table in question, there were good and friendly cheers. I belatedly noticed that my tie and robes had changed their colors to match those of my house. It was a bit of silent magic that someone, perhaps McGonagall, did on the fly as each student was nominated into their houses. Or perhaps it was the house elves. It could be either, but it didn't matter.

I was positively famished, and I hoped that the delicacies shown in the movies would at least be reflected in this reality.

As the last name was called, and Dumbledore said his words, food appeared in front of us all. The rules of engagement were clear on the matter. Every student must eat for themselves; every fork is a weapon, every knife a shield. Kill the enemy that impounds on your food, ravage the plates of your foes if you have none. This is the land of cutthroat food business, where no a.d.u.l.t comes by to give you your portion, so you must make your own.

It was a world I knew intrinsically well. The reason I was the fastest eater this side of the continent was because in children, nothing is sacred, not even personal plate-space. If they lack in food, they will take it from your plate. So you can either stab them, or ensure you eat it faster than they can take it away.

After you've eaten your fill, you can engage in pleasant conversations.

Since I had achieved overwhelming victory over my nearby neighbors, I felt happy enough to actually start to listen to what they were saying to one another.

Some of the first years looked traumatized by my innate ability in acquiring and devouring food, but it was not my fault. Also, apparently the plates refilled if empty. This meant I didn't actually need to go gung-ho on getting everything. I could have taken my time. As it was, I reckoned they learned not to bother me while eating.

Tiny flying birds made of paper sailed in the air, landing in front of us first years after a short while. They unfolded like magical origami, and delivered our timetable.

Interestingly enough, we would have a Charms lesson, followed by a Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and a double Potions lesson to end the day with a big bang. Perhaps even literally, depending on circ.u.mstances. Since Harry and Draco shared classrooms, it was clear that we'd have the Hufflepuffs.

I couldn't remember half a name from the Hufflepuff class. Maybe a Zacharias, perhaps, or a Susan and a Hannah. An Anthony Goldstein and a Turpin-something in Ravenclaw and...I drew blanks. Well, my lacking knowledge not-withstanding, it was clear that their names would be discovered eventually.

True to form, I shared a room with a certain Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, and Terry Boot.

I grinned at them. "Let's all get along."

They smiled back, and I knew all would be right in the world.

Learning magic the next day though...

...would prove to be anything but an easy walk in the park.