Akashic Records
patreon
Squib Tale (Chapter 10)
🕑 Added 2023-02-28 19:15:10 +0000 UTCChapter 10: Getting hit with canon
It was almost time for school to start up again. Months had passed since my birthday. I’d successfully moved on to the next year of schooling, and with high marks in all of my classes. It was finally time to start Year 12! Or, as it was known back when I was an American, 11thgrade! Junior year!
‘Just a few more years,’ I told myself. ‘It won’t be long before I graduate High School and can move on to University!’
As I got ready for my first day back at school, I peered into a mirror, feeling torn about what I was seeing. I only had vague memories of what I’d used to look like (Occlumency to rescue again!), but I, as Edward Rose, was quite different compared to my old-world self. For one thing, I was in shape. I was hardly ripped with muscles, but I definitely had an athletic build. How much of my physique was due to magic, genetics, or the rigorous diet and exercise routine I kept up with I had no idea, but I was healthy, and it showed.
My hair was still brown, and my eyes were still blue, but the baby fat in my face had finally left me, and combined with my sharp jawline, gave me a chiseled, manly look. At least, according to my mom, Sam, and his mom and dad. And a couple other people. Plus, even as a Squib I was resistant to blemishes and acne, and it was really only my hair that needed taming when I had to groom myself.
All in all, I was fit and I was handsome (for a teenager), which made me conflicted.
‘One the one hand, I look nothing like I used to,’ I thought. ‘On the other, damn do I look good!’
Letting the small moment of narcissism leave me, I looked away from the mirror and stepped into my bedroom, leaving the towel on the rack behind me as I exited the bathroom.
I quickly dried myself and put my clothes on. They were nicer than what I usually wore, but there was an important reason for that: today was my first day of being an 11th grader, or Year 12 as they called it here in the UK, and I was excited. Not because of school, because screw tests and homework, but because I would be able to start Phase One of my marketing plans.
See, over the summer I had done more experiments with potions, and finally discovered a recipe for the Wiggenweld Potion that could be turned into a cream. It used the Hunch family recipe as a base, and then all I had to do was add aloe vera oil (a thankfully neutral substance that caused only slight changes in the potion, namely reducing the effectiveness of the healing by about a quarter), then once it was room temperature, put the potion in a blender until it thickened. Voila! I had a pretty blue ointment that, while weaker than the pure potion itself, and thus healed injuries slower, was perfect for sale in the Muggle world for exactly that reason.
‘Brand this sucker as a ‘herbal’ or natural healing remedy, and the money will flow,’ I thought giddily, picking up a ceramic pot of medical goo. One of many. In fact, turning it into a cream stretched out the potion. One regular vial of Wiggenweld Potion made three pots of Wiggenweld Cream, thanks to the addition of the aloe vera gel!
One vial of Wiggenweld Potion costs between three and ten galleons to buy premade from an apothecary in Diagon Alley, but it cost a single galleon to acquire enough ingredients to brew the potion using a standard size 2 cauldron. A standard size 2 cauldron, for reference, was what Hogwarts students were supposed to use for their potion classes, and could make around ten to twenty vials worth of potion per batch.
To put it simply, one vial of Wiggenweld Potion cost about fifteen to fifty pounds sterling to buy, and a mere five pounds if made from scratch using the cheapest ingredients. I could brew one batch of the stuff for about five to ten pounds, and that was ten to thirty doses of potion-cream!
If I then sold ten units of my Wiggenweld Creams for ten pounds a pop, I was looking at a sale of a hundred pounds! I also had to take into account other costs, namely the ceramic containers I used to put my cream into which cost three pounds each, so the total cost of making a single pot of healing cream was three and a half pounds sterling.
‘Ten pounds sterling for the ingredients, then another thirty pounds sterling for the ten ceramic jars… that leaves me with sixty quid worth of profit!’ I thought giddily to myself. ‘And that’s just a lowball estimate! If I use plastic instead of ceramic, and buy only the cheapest materials available, that could go up to eighty quid!’
I would have to rely on the Wizarding World for a while to source my ingredients. A galleon was the equivalent of five pounds, but a galleon had greater purchasing power in the magical world than five pounds did in the muggle side. A galleon was probably closer to twenty or so quid in actually value.
‘At least some of the potion materials will be cheap. Plenty of magical folk don’t bother with using the Wiggenweld Potion, as most adult witches and wizards can cast Episkey, the Healing Charm, which mends cuts and bruises as easily as the potion can. It’s really only used in magical households for fixing burns, soothing headaches, or calming queasy, upset stomachs. And I’ve heard some use it for acne,’ I mused to myself as I scooped the ten pots I’d made to give to my friends as free samples into my backpack. ‘I should be able to get plenty of ingredients for cheap because of the low demand.’
The three biggest contributors to the magical world’s economy were potions and their ingredients, enchanted objects, and government work. And easily a third to a half of all witches and wizards in Magical Britain worked in the former and latter. It was easy to see why. No need to pay for transportation costs when you can apparate or use Port Keys. Hundreds of pounds of weight worth of cargo could fit into expanded spaces and carried with you in the form of handbags and suitcases. You could sell a single enchanted object for dozens of galleons with relatively few overhead costs, and there was a lot of profits to rake in for the really quality stuff. The magical world was rife with opportunities, but the witches and wizards were blind to them. But not me. If I couldn’t wield magic then I’d just become rich.
‘First, though, I have to finish school,’ I thought with a grimace. I was not looking forward to that at all.
*(&&&&&)*
A month later, and things had been going well. The initial sales of my ‘home remedy’ medicinal cream had gone well. I’d sold over twenty-five pots of the Wiggenweld potion-infused cream so far, and earned over five hundred quid in the process! Initially, people had been hesitant to trust a teenager’s product, not to mention it was slightly expensive at ten pounds, but I used Sam’s family to help spread the word, and soon a couple of Sam’s mom’s friends had taken me up on the offer. They certainly seemed to like it, as they’d raved about its effectiveness to their friends. Things were looking up either way!
That was why I was somewhat blindsided when Fate came up and slapped me silly. It was the first of October, and I’d been called in to speak with the guidance counselor about my choice of community service project.
Students at Woolingsby were expected to ‘contribute to the community’ as part of their graduation requirements. Several dozen hours’ worth of community service were demanded of the A Level students, aka Years 12 and 13. The good news was that there was no rush. It could be done in a single semester if you crammed hard enough. And there were plenty of options, some even provided by the school itself. The easiest for me had been to sign up as a student mentor, or basically an unpaid tutor to one or more children from the lower years who were struggling academically.
So, I had been surprised when I was told they’d already found a student they needed me to tutor.
“Who is he?” I asked, curious. “And why does he need help so early in the school year? Did he fail to do his summer homework?”
“He did fail to turn in satisfactory work for his summer assignments, but in truth the student in question has been a bit of a problem for a while, academically as well as socially,” the counselor, Mr. Garden, said, sighing a bit. “He was in danger of being expelled last year, and we want to head off any problems in the coming year.”
“Eesh, sounds rough,” I grumbled. “I guess I can try and help, though.”
“Wonderful! I’m sure Mr. Potter will be grateful for your assistance.”
“I-I’m sorry?” I uttered while blinking slowly, wondering if I had correctly heard what the guidance counselor had just said. “Who?”
“Mr. Harry Potter,” the counselor said, raising an eyebrow at me.
“Uh, is he a black-haired ten-year-old with glasses?” I asked hesitantly, and the teacher nodded.
“Yes, that’s him! Currently in Year 6. Do you already know him?”
“I know his cousin is an asshole who tries to beat him up during recess,” I blurted out unthinkingly, which got me a confused look.
“Beg pardon?” Mr. Garden inquired.
“Err, uh, I’ve heard some rumors that he gets bullied a lot,” I said hastily. “Also, wasn’t Harry Potter the one who climbed up onto the roof and had to be gotten down by the fire department that one time?”
“Ah, right, that unfortunate incident last year,” the counselor sighed. “That’s one of the reasons he’s on thin ice.”
“…Can I say ‘no’ to tutoring him?” I asked carefully, with a smidge of hope in my voice.
“You could,” Mr. Garden said, expression twisting as if he’d eaten something sour. “But we think you and he could go well together.”
“By ‘we,’ I assume it’s the other faculty. And I’m going to guess you think I can help him because I know how to stand up for myself against bullies as well as being one of the top students here?” I asked dryly. I got an awkward cough as a response, and I bit back the urge to groan and lambast the man for foisting his own problems onto me.
I hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I… alright, I’ll do this,” I agreed, even though a large part of me was screaming that this was a bad idea.
“Excellent!” Mr. Garden said with a grin. “You two can sort out your own schedules, I hope?”
“Of course,” I replied, hiding a note of bitterness. “May I be excused?”
I was waved off, and I quickly left the small office. I darted into the nearest bathroom and immediately began having a panic attack, chest heaving violently as I tried to reconcile the fact I had just taken a huge step into canon.
“Shit, shit, SHIT!” I snarled, before a semblance of control was exerted over my emotions. I wrestled my mind back into order with my Occlumency training.
‘I’m going to have to resume my training,’ I thought to myself, annoyed. I’d fallen out of practice with it, only really using it to organize my memories these days so I could ace quizzes and tests and keep my potion recipes as well as rune and arithmancy studies in line.
Now, though, I was going to double down and focus more on the mind shielding aspect of the mental discipline. I had no idea if Dumbledore would find out about me being near Harry, and while I doubted it, I was not going to take any risks at all. No old man or greasy snake were going to probe my mind, damn it!
Once I was calm enough to return to class, I pretty much ignored everything else that day. My mind was whirling with thoughts and ideas, the largest of which was ‘How much should I interfere with Harry Potter’s life?’
‘I could try and get him away from those assholes he calls relatives,’ I mused. ‘One call to social services, and bam! I get those child abusers thrown in jail!’
But I instantly discounted it. ‘No, won’t work. If Figg doesn’t tattle, then I bet Dumbles will figure it out regardless. Plus, can I risk Harry’s safety? His relatives are shit, but those damned blood wards keep him safe. They sustain the love barrier around him, which is the only reason he’ll be safe from Quirrell and Tommy boy in first year. And while I am highly skeptical about the exact functions of the wards, I don’t know enough about the subject to check, or do anything else.’
‘Perhaps I can at least be a shield for him?’ I wondered. ‘Couldn’t hurt to protect Harry from Dudley if nothing else.’
Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. My mind was too full of Harry stuff to concentrate of school, and so when the last class of the day rolled around, I went up to the teacher instead of sitting down.
“Mrs. Dott?” I began. “I have a meeting with Mr. Garden about the student I’m supposed to tutor.”
“Do you have a note?” she asked, and I shook my head.
“I, uh, kinda forgot it back at his office,” I replied sheepishly.
“Who are you tutoring?”
“Harry Potter, Mrs. Dott.”
She blinked at me, then grimaced. Apparently, Harry was known to the rest of the teachers, even those in the higher years.
“Alright, then, go along,” she sighed. “Homework is pages twenty-one to twenty-three in the booklet.”
“Got it, thanks Mrs. Dott!” I said, turning around and leaving the classroom.
I walked down the empty hallway towards the lower year classrooms. As I did, a thought crossed my mind.
I’d heard some fan theories back on my old world about Harry Potter being a Horcrux of sorts. That the reason his relatives were so horrible to him was because of Voldemort’s soul. I personally didn’t believe that myself. It assumed that the love shield which kept him safe was selectively permeable. Why would something designed to repel and restrain Voldemort’s very being allow part of said man’s soul to leak outwards and poison its surroundings? It made no sense.
Plus, Harry spent over the half the year away from them starting in his First Year at Hogwarts. Surely if he had been a Horcrux the other students would have been driven mad by his mere presence? And it wasn’t like magical folk were more or less resistant than Muggles to the baleful influence of the soul anchors, so that argument couldn’t be made.
There were a lot of leaps in logic for the fan theory overall, since almost all the other Horcrux were fairly quick to begin influencing people. Surely Harry’s cursed scar would have afflicted his dormmates at Hogwarts if nothing else?
‘Although, it’s possible that they can lie dormant and ‘awaken’ as needed,’ I thought to myself as I walked through the halls towards where Harry’s classroom was. ‘After all, Lucius Malfoy was able to carry Riddle’s diary around in public at the start of Second Year and nobody rioted in Diagon Alley or noticed any dark magic going on. Are there perhaps conditions for each Horcrux to trigger the possession process?’
Whatever the answer was, I decided to keep my mental barriers up just in case Harry really did radiate pure evil which caused the people around him to act like idiots and assholes.
I knocked on the door to the Harry’s classroom, and went inside. My gaze swept the room, and I easily spotted the titular hero of the world-famous book series.
He was definitely small and scrawny, and his black hair really was as messy as the books claimed. His glasses – broken and repaired several times with tape – sat awkwardly on his face. It was his eyes that were the most telling, however.
When he caught me looking at him, he flinched back. Literally, honest to God, flinched! His eyes showed fear. Actual fear! He was afraid of me, and he’d never even seen me before today! And I knew why instantly. It was because I was a stranger. And ever since he’d been left on his aunt’s doorstep, he’d never once been shown love or affection by anyone. The only time people paid attention to him was to yell, scream, berate and physically hurt him, and I felt a swell of anger rise in my chest.
‘I guess his aunt and uncle are just complete and utter tossers,’ I thought to myself as I stared back at Harry and struggled to keep a lid on my emotions. ‘Some people don’t need a Horcrux to be evil, after all.’
“Can I help you?” Harry’s teacher, a pinch-faced woman, asked, and I cleared my throat as I tore my gaze away from the boy.
“Hi, I’m here to pick up Harry Potter? I’m his student tutor,” I explained.
“It’s the middle of class,” the teacher protested.
“And Harry here needs all the help he can get,” I said, annoyance flickering through me. “I can always go and get Mr. Garden if it helps, though?”
The teacher’s already scrunched up nose got even scrunchier, but eventually she relented, and shot Harry a look that told him to scram.
He jumped out of his seat as if it were on fire, and I raised a hand to stall him.
“Bring your school stuff,” I instructed, and he did so, stuffing his ratty backpack – more of a sack with straps in all honesty – with the few school supplies he had before scurrying over to me. We then left, and I led Harry towards the library.
We sat down at a table in the back, nicely hidden from view by the shelves, and stared at each other in silence for about a minute.
‘Well, shit, I have no idea how to teach anybody,’ I realized.
In the end, I decided to take the plunge. “So! Nice weather we’re having?”
