Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry’s stomach grumbled. 

Usually his uncle, aunt and cousin would have finished a dinner he cooked by now, going by the setting sun that was dying the streets whose names he couldn’t read in orange and red. 

He’s been wandering the streets for quite a long while now since he’s been separated from the Dursleys. He figured that since he’s probably going to wind up back with them next time he woke up anyways like that time he tried to run away, he might as well enjoy being away from Vernon’s scornful gaze for that little while. 

It felt like his head had been continually swiveling around ever since he was brought to Japan after Uncle Vernon won a raffle at his company. Fuyuki was so, so different from Little Whinging. It was so much bigger, had so many black haired people and was cleaner. It even had a big river running through it - London must look something like that. The nights were pretty noisy though. Those gas explosions or something seemed pretty scary too.

He really liked that lady at the hotel the Dursleys stayed at. She even picked up that little booklet for him that his uncle dropped so that he wouldn’t have to! Nobody’s been that kind to him before. 

Harry looked on longingly at the playground he reached. There was almost no one there. They wouldn’t mind if he stuck around for a bit, would they? He almost never could hang around the one in Little Whinging because if he was spotted by Dudley and his crew they would start chasing him around and beat him up if they caught him. 

He approached a swing with two spots, with one of them taken by a purple haired girl about his age. Or was she? Harry was always smaller than the others and they would mistake him to be younger than he is. Would she let him sit on the other swing near her? Maybe she would be as kind as the hotel lady was. 

Hesitantly, he approached, and stopped half a dozen or so steps away. It took a few moments for her to register that he was looking at her. Curiosity gnawed at him like it would any other child seeing another one with hair and eyes of that color, but Harry didn’t want to risk being rude. Shily, he spoke before starting to gesticulate, suddenly remembering that people around here didn’t speak the same language as him. 

“Uhm...can I…?” he asked, pointing first at himself, and then at the empty swing next to the girl. 

The girl blinked slowly a few times before she caught on, giving a small nod. 

“Thank you!” Harry cheered, and plopped his bum on the swing. He didn’t get on the swing a lot, as the one back in England seemed to be always occupied. 

He swung his feet for momentum, the apex of his swing becoming incrementally higher each time he reached it. The swing was the best. He loved the way the wind tousled his hair, and how fast the world around him went by for that small moment. 

‘Flying must be something like this,’ he thought.

In his merry swinging, Harry suddenly remembered the girl next to him. As he looked to his side, he noticed that she was staring at him with those strange, empty purple eyes. ...Was he doing something wrong? Maybe...she was expecting him to do something? Because she let him on the swing? She stopped the small swinging she was doing since he started doing his thing...oh! She must be waiting for him to push her on her swing! 

He slowed down a bit, and jumped down mid-swing, making a small dust cloud before he went behind the girl despite her befuddlement. 

Harry carefully grabbed the girl’s swing seat, pulling back so there would be more momentum - “E-eh?...yamete-”- when he pushed. 

The girl swung forward with a small “Kyah!”, raising higher every time she was pushed. For a second, the messy haired youth thought he was doing something wrong before he heard a small giggle and smiled.

They kept this up for a few minutes, Harry’s efforts even earning him a few more giggles. It was fun.

All of a sudden, the girl stopped giggling and started thrashing. The boy slowed the swing as fast as he could, but she fell mid-swing anyways. He quickly went to check on her, he was about to reach for her to help her up when his hand was - “Sawanaide!” - smacked away. He instantly froze. 

She seemed to calm down after a moment, but she was still gasping for breath. She looked up at him (was that something moving below her collar?) with sorrowful eyes, muttered something like “Gomen” and ran away. 

Harry was confused. What happened? They were having so much fun! 

Did...did she somehow find out as they were swinging? That he was a freak? That must’ve been what happened. Everyone back in Surrey knew that he was a freak, no-good delinquent that nobody approaches. He was hoping that nobody knew him here. How did she find out? 

Crestfallen, Harry started walking away from the park. It was well within nighttime now, the sun was beyond the horizon and the street lamps were turned on. 

He noticed the road sloping downwards behind one of the buildings. It was one of those...underground parking lots? Harry only knew because he once had to go with his uncle to the company building, which had one of these. 

Yawning, the boy noted he was getting sleepy. Maybe he could sleep in there? That way, nobody had to look at a freak like him sleeping on the streets. 

~~o0o~~

Arturia had done it. She had taken down Lancelot. 

She was still in shock. How had her actions resulted in her faithful Knight of the Round falling so low as becoming a Berserker? 

She must make it right. She will, once she has the Grail. 

The king watched on forlornly among the flames of the ruined underground parking lot as her knight’s form dispersed into golden motes of light. Halfway through however, she noticed an oddity. A good chunk of the motes were not fading and were in fact...heading specifically somewhere? 

She followed the trail leading to one of the more intact supporting pillars. Behind it was…a child? Slumped over, with his clothes and face covered in soot and dirt. The motes of the dispersion seemed to congregate to a spot on the child’s forehead where they were absorbed by a...glowing lightning shaped scar? 

Arturia blinked at the unusual sight Merlin would just squee in excitement to decipher, scowling at the thought reminding her of the pain in the ass of a mage. It managed to knock her out of her stupor, though. She had to get this child out of here right away! 

The Saber hoisted the child over her shoulder, and leapt to the exit of the parking lot, going so far as to use a small Prana Burst to expedite the process. Who knows how many fumes the boy had inhaled. 

Once outside, Arturia frowned at her choices in the situation. She couldn’t afford to waste time. Kiritsugu at this moment must be facing off against the other remaining Master, therefore she had to move on as swiftly as possible to the theater. Yet, the little one in her arms required immediate medical assistance! To just leave him in the streets in his state would not do!

She looked around, scowling at nothing in particular, before she spotted a black haired figure nearby wearing a green sweater. What was Rider’s Master doing here? No matter. As much as she loathed the Servant, at the very least, Iskandar’s Master proved himself to have an acceptable moral compass, therefore would do. 

The blonde Servant leapt in front of a startled Waver with puffy eyes, and practically threw the little one at him. “The boy was caught up between my fight with Berserker. Take him to a hospital as quickly as you can.” 

And then she left as quickly as she came, unaware that she was on her way to an approaching disaster. 

~~o0o~~

A few hours and a massive fire later...

Waver cursed his luck as he laid against his chair in the hospital room the messy haired kid’s bed was in.

As he was heading back to his “grandparents” house after Rider died at the battle on the bridge, Saber (King bloody Arthur herself!) appeared out of nowhere, threw an injured kid at him and then went back to wherever the hell she came from. 

It was scary as hell. Not many survive an encounter like that with the strongest Servant in the Holy Grail War. 

Fortunately for the kid, the doctors saw to him and patched him up. He only got a few mild burns and his breathing seemed normal, but he saw the hospital personnel exchange a few heated words when they saw how thin the boy was, along with the scars he had on his body. 

What happened to you, kid? He rhetorically thought, unable to ignore the unusual nature of the situation. 

Patients were quickly rolled in as talks of a massive fire spread. The Grail War must have concluded, somehow. He was mildly surprised; this definitely wasn’t what he was expecting. Waver fidgeted with the singed hotel booklet the child had on him, watching a ginger kid (they had them in Japan too?) have his bed rolled into the room when he heard a groan. 

He stood, watching as the diminutive figure blearily blinked, as green eyes slowly focused on him. 

“Wh-” was all he could pronounce before hunching over, going into a coughing fit. 

“Easy,” Waver tried to comfort him, rubbing his back. “You breathed in a lot of smoke.”

“Wh-where am I?” the boy finally managed. 

“You’re at a hospital. Someone saved you from a burning underground parking lot.” He decided to leave out the bits involving Heroic Spirits. “What were you doing there anyways?” 

“I-I was lost.” His eyes suddenly widened. “And there was this blue knight lady and a really, really scary man in black armor. They were fighting and the black knight shot at the lady but couldn’t hit her and then threw a car atherandthen-” 

Just as he was about to hypnotize the child clearly going into hyperventilation and make him forget about the likely traumatizing incident, he felt something pulse from the boy, after which the lights blinked and any unattached small objects clattered. 

Quickly discarding the previous plan once he realized the implications, he put both hands on the boy’s shoulders instead. 

“Hey, it’s alright now, the man in black armor is gone. It’s over. You’re going to be okay,” he tried to reassure. “Now look at me, and take a deep breath, like I’m doing, and now breathe it out slowly and count to five...”

Eventually he managed to calm the boy down as he downed a much-needed cup of water. 

“What...what will happen to me now?” the green eyed boy (he should really ask his name) asked timidly. 

“Well- hold on. Could you tell me your name first?” Waver redirected before he could forget again. 

“I’m...Harry,” he introduced himself. 

“You can call me Waver. So, we’ll have to get back to your family, yes? They must be worried sick about you. I can’t imagine a family of wizards would be happy to lose their heir or such.” he said with a smirk. 

Much to Waver’s surprise, Harry just...stared. “Wizards?” he asked with furrowed brows. 

“You don’t have to act like that with me,” Waver chuckled. “I’m a, er, magical too. I know about magic.” No point in revealing he’s a magus specifically.

“But magic isn’t real. I’m not a wizard. My family aren’t wizards. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia both hate anything like books and cartoons with magic in them.” 

That...couldn’t be right? Must be one of those strange families that are overdoing concealing magic so much that even their child misunderstands. He wouldn’t put it past them. 

“Oh it’s real. Your family must be just trying really hard to hide all the magic and spells they do. Making sure magic stays secret is very, very important, you see?” he reasoned. 

“Huh,” was the intelligent reply of the boy. After a moment, he looked up again with scrunched eyebrows. “What about me? How do you know I’m a wizard?” 

Time to seem like he actually knows all about this instead of just remembering a general description he was taught in class.

“Lessee… when you feel something or want something very much, strange things happen around you. Things just fly into your hand and such.” 

“Like when I turned my teacher’s hair blue and he couldn’t make it go back no matter what he did?” Harry piped up. 

“Exactly!” Ha! Smooth. 

“Oh...so we’re secret wizards?” 

“Something like that,” Waver nodded. “So, can you tell me about where your family is staying? They should let you go soon from the hospital.”

“Uhm...” Harry pondered. He seemed to remember something, but became dismayed when he looked at his clothes. 

“Looking for this?” Waver raised the singed booklet. This and the passport were the only things Harry had on him. In retrospect, he could’ve just looked at the latter for the kid’s name.

The boy pointed at the item in question. “Yes! The hotel lady gave it to me. I think I saw a little map on it.” 

“Alright the-” the magus stood, and blanched as he realized he didn’t notice the other person coming into the room. 

They stared at each other for a long moment before registering who they’re looking at. 

Waver instantly broke out in a cold sweat. Shitshitshitshit-

The Master of Saber just huffed, still clad in a black suit and shirt, looking at him with dead eyes. “Calm down, kid. I’m not going to do anything to you. This farce of a war is over anyways.” 

“I-I see...” Waver sighed in relief. 

“I see you managed to save a kid of your own?” Kiritsugu asked, glancing at the boy with messy hair. 

“I-I was getting back...to the place I stay at when Saber appeared out of a burning parking lot and shoved him into my arms, telling me to get him to a hospital.” 

“Huh...” he hummed, somehow looking even more exhausted than he already did. 

They sat there besides their corresponding kids for a few minutes with Waver shifting uncomfortably in his chair, not sure what to make of the assassin. Then, Kiritsugu appeared to finish whatever he was contemplating and took out a notepad, scribbled something on it and palmed it to a startled Waver. 

“Here. Call me if you think I can help with anything with the kid, if you need later. Might as well use all this money I’m sitting on for something useful,” he sighed. “At least these two lived...”  

Waver was baffled. Kiritsugu fucking Emiya just gave him his personal cell number. 

“I-I a-appreciate it but I was going to get him back to his family anyways...” 

“Save it.” 

“Okay.” 

He wasn’t about to say ‘no’ to The Magus Killer.

What a day.

~~o0o~~

Harry was nervous.

He was sitting off to the side, in the room the Dursleys were staying in, dressed in a better fitting simple black tee and jeans, courtesy of Mr. Kiritsugu. As Aunt Petunia and Dudley were out looking at Japanese candy, it was only his walrus-shaped uncle who was in to meet Waver bringing him back, both of whom were now talking at the coffee table in the spacious hotel room, each having some sort of greedy glint in their eyes. Harry remembered Waver saying something about learning about wizards because he wasn’t one, while his Uncle only let them in after he looked Waver over and saw the quality and tailoring of the magus’ clothes.

It had never occurred to him that the Dursleys might be only trying really hard to appear as though they hated magic, because hiding it was really important. Maybe they really didn’t like all the magic stuff other people came up with, because theirs was real and so much better.

Harry tried to hold himself back, but he couldn’t help his imagination going absolutely haywire due to the fact that he, by extension his relatives, might be magical. 

Maybe it was just some kind of test, and Harry would’ve been told about magic and his aunt and uncle would treat him like they treat Dudley after he passed it.

Maybe he wasn’t a freak after all, if they were wizards like him. 

Maybe it’ll be alright. 

Suddenly, Harry felt the mood in the room go cold, which shook him out of his rumination. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” He heard Vernon say coldly.

“Erm, pardon my frankness, you are a wizard family, yes?” 

Dread gathered in Harry’s gut as Waver fell from the unexpected sucker punch. 

An irate, red-faced Vernon then turned to Harry, his meaty arm already reared back to dish out another punch, with no mercy to the child he’s about to hit. 

His voice was like thunder to Harry. “HOW DARE YOU, YOU USELESS FREAK ! Not only do you fail to sod off and stay that way, but you bring ANOTHER ONE OF YOU AND INSULT MY PERFECTLY NORMAL FAMILY?!” 

He shouldn’t have listened to Waver. He should’ve kicked and screamed, so he’d never come back again. 

But he couldn’t help it. He dared hope that with Waver’s reassurances, that they’d be able to talk out whatever misunderstandings they had and it would turn out they were worried about him and wanted him despite their treatment and everything would be okay.  

But nothing was okay. Waver was knocked down and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were all angry at him and they would punish him harshly like a freak like him deserves. 

What little hope he had for acceptance crumbled away, and for the first time, Harry truly despaired. Harry whimpered and shut his eyes, raising his too-thin arms to brace himself, finally sure that they really, didn’t want him and really, really hated him. 

With a resounding thump, the hit connected, the force of it knocking Harry against the wall. His small form slumped down. It hurt a lot. But it didn’t hurt as much as the firm knowledge of being unwanted by his family hurt . 

“I’LL SHOW YOU WHAT FREAKS LIKE YOU DESERVE!” Vernon roared. He stomped towards Harry, uncaringly stepping on the still dazed Waver’s stomach, making him groan and curl on his side, then began winding up for a kick as he was about to reach the whimpering child. 

Harry was hurting in more ways than one, utterly miserable and terrified. 

A bit of praise, a pat on the head, asking about how he is sometimes. All he wanted was someone who treated him like he sometimes saw other kids’ parents treat them. None of the Dursleys could be that for him. Now they were going to hurt him. Badly. 

As he watched Vernon’s foot start to come down upon him, he cried out in fear, and badly wished for someone to save him.  

You would have missed it if you blinked.

Still untamed at Harry's young age, volatile magic reached out into the ether. It found the still existing Grail, through which it reached a...place, if you could call it so.

Through the thread of magic, a desperate hope for salvation pulsed. It was something many in the Throne of Heroes were intimately familiar with. 

Yet, not just anyone would do. It needed someone who would understand. Who was like...him. An outcast. A freak . 

The connection reached a deity who killed countless for the sake of protecting her family from a jealous goddess that cursed them, only to become so deeply drenched in blood that a monster was birthed, destined to be killed off for another one’s glory.

She raised an eyebrow at the thread trying to connect to her. It was curious. She could discern the spellcaster’s age from the feel of the magic. Such a young summoner...the connection was shaky enough that she could refuse if she wanted. She’s seen it search, looking for the right person. It chose her. Granted, there were many worse than herself, but why would it choose a monster like her over all the other heroes? 

Curiosity piqued, she gently caught the thread between her fingers. 

Someone...save me...please… a child’s voice whined.

Emotions came through unfiltered: fear, sadness, resignation, pain both physical and emotional, and a childlike, yet desperate wish to be saved and cared for. 

She blinked. This...she didn’t expect this at all. At once, she was absolutely convinced that someone else would be much better suited for this, and that she absolutely cannot refuse this summoning. Her pride as a Heroic Spirit won’t let her. Her name meant “Protector”, dammit! She’d cut her throat open before refusing to be summoned by someone who needs her like this! 

She latched onto the connection and pulled.

Chapter Text

The small soul within its host’s scar shivered at the horrifyingly familiar situation. 

Ever since it gained coherency it has been just...confused. 

First there was this overwhelming feeling of guilt that could drive one mad. Somehow, it knew that it hadn’t felt something like this in a very long time, if ever. And then there were flashes of images; a tall castle of an age long past, various knights, Guinevere (how did it even know that name?), and a radiant, perfect king in blue and silver with unfeeling green eyes. It still winced whenever it thought about the king. 

Then it just watched the world through the boy’s eyes once he was awake, trying to make out the heads and tails of the situation. Who was he/she? Why was it stuck within another person’s forehead? What happened to it that it ended up like this? It watched on with rapt attention as people such as Waver and Kiritsugu were introduced. It felt Harry’s anxiety and hesitant hope.

Now, as it watched Harry’s enraged uncle close in upon him and wind up for a strike, slivers of memories made themselves known. For a moment, the scene overlapped with an image of a room in a run-down orphanage, Vernon’s figure overlaid with a caretaker who was punishing it for something he(?) didn’t do.  

And it was happening again, and all it could do was watch as another child like it once was, was being abused.

It couldn’t bear to watch. As Harry was smacked against the wall and was about to suffer more hits his frail body could not afford to take, all it could do was wish for someone to save them . 

Suddenly, it felt a pull on its energy, and then there was a bright, bright flash. 

The first thing it and Harry saw was a cascade of lustrous lavender hair, which then rippled , and then there was the rattle of chains, a thud and a groan across the room.

The new arrival turned, finally revealing their appearance. She was the most ethereally beautiful person they’d ever seen, clad in black, with form-fitting clothes and bare shoulders. Together with the blindfold and the daggers in both hands linked by a chain, she really didn’t fit the image of a traditional saviour at all.

It didn’t stop the boy, nor the other soul he carried from staring up in awe. 

No matter her appearance, she was now their hero .

“...I ask of you, are you my Master?” she asked softly in a mature woman’s voice, which held a lyrical hiss.

~~o0o~~

Was...was that it? She saw no other immediate danger than the human walrus she knocked away. She expected something more...dire. 

The Gorgon saw a young man in green sprawled on the floor, but immediately dismissed him. The magical energy flow was coming from...behind her? 

She turned, and understanding dawned on her. Even though she was being provided ample magical energy, the small, unhealthily thin boy looking up to her with wide green eyes certainly would not be able to hold up against an adult who may as well be a dozen times his body weight. He very much looked like he could use someone to care for him. He was already injured too, by the way he cradled his left arm. 

“...I ask of you, are you my Master?” she asked the mandatory question, suddenly unsure as her summoner's arms held no command sigils. 

At this, the boy furrowed his brows and stared back with a befuddled expression.

“I...don’t know? Why would I be? Who are you? Why did you help me?”

He...didn’t know anything? Come to think of it, there is no summoning circle beneath her feet either. There must be some very unusual circumstances at play. The Grail has given her brief intel of the current age and common knowledge, with the necessary language as well. She knew what a Grail War was, but...there apparently was no Grail War neither about to begin, nor ongoing. Her summoning, although assisted by it, was unrelated to the Heaven’s Feel ritual itself. 

Hm. Interesting. 

“I am Rider. Your magic called out for help. I answered,” she finally responded.

“....oh.”

“M-might I propose getting out of here and doing introductions somewhere safer?”

Both looked to the source of the strained, nigh-squeaky voice to see the young man who was clutching his stomach earlier. “The house I stay at isn’t far, and I have bounded fields set up,” he added. 

The gorgon looked back at her Master(?). “Do you trust him?” 

The youth thought for a moment before he nodded. “He was really nice to me, and got me to the hospital after I got hurt. He only brought me back here because he thought he could speak to my uncle and make him be nice to me too.”

With this, the Servant looked back at the young man as she reached down to help the boy up. “Very well. We shall go with you.”

Thankfully the streets were empty at this time due to the recently wrought destruction to the city, so there was no one to hear Waver’s undignified yelp as the Servant jumped down from several stories high with Harry and the magus in tow. Much to the latter’s annoyance, the former seemed positively thrilled, however. 

Once they were down, a nondescript car with tinted windows pulled up next to them. A window rolled down to reveal a tired Kiritsugu smoking a cigarette. 

“Get in. You’re not going to have your talk in your house with those basic bounded fields and civilians under the same roof,” he said as he dragged another one on his cig.

Rider was instantly on guard, and stayed so despite Waver sighing and trying to well...wave it off. 

“It’s fine. I was going to end up asking for his help anyways, it doesn’t matter that he knows already,” he said, shaking his head. 

~~o0o~~

The assassin looked up from the sniper scope through which he was watching everything in the hotel room unfold, listening through a bug he placed on the Velvet kid.

“What the hell.” 

…. 

“So that’s how,” Waver commented with raised eyebrows, examining the bug, “I never even noticed it.” 

Kiritsugu shrugged. “Few ever do.” 

They were now sitting at the table in the widower’s impressive traditional Japanese home. Harry had been quickly patched up after the assassin made a call and a doctor who the british magus was fairly sure worked for the local yakuza made a visit. 

The magi looked on with mild amusement as the green-eyed boy was clinging to the Servant much to her embarrassment, even after many reassurances that no, she didn’t just disappear when she astralized, and yes, she was still there even when he couldn’t see her and variations of such.

“Harry, for the Nth time, relax, she literally can’t leave you. I mean she kind of can, but she always has to come back because you’re bonded together and she can’t survive without your magic,” Waver chided. He received a nod, but the kid stubbornly remained close to her side even though he wasn’t brave enough to literally cling to her. 

The magus sighed. “Okay, now that we’re all under Kiritsugu’s bounded fields on steroids and sitting at the table with our tea in front of us, we should talk about the situation.” 

The other magus in the room raised an eyebrow. “How uncharacteristic of you to take the lead like that.” 

Waver blinked at the unexpected snark, then raised an eyebrow of his own. 

“You get rather tired of being dragged around by your collar after spending two weeks with someone like Iskandar,” he responded drily. 

“Point. Speaking of which, what happened to him?” 

That gave the brit a pause. “He...lost to Archer. They fought at the bridge.”

“That’s one way of putting it I suppose. Against someone like that...” 

“He fought valiantly,” Waver stated with conviction, but quickly lost wind, resting his forehead in his palm. “Bloody Anti-World Noble Phantasm...”

Kiritsugu whistled. 

“Yeah. What about you?” he redirected the topic. 

The black-clad man looked away for a long moment before responding. “I suppose there’s no point in withholding it,“ he sighed, ”I fought with Kirei Kotomine in the basement of the theatre. Then the ceiling fell apart and the Grail in the theater above crashed down on us,” The end of the sentence had been choked out, as he broke into a coughing fit. He suddenly looked much older and tired than he should.

“It...offered to fulfill my wish. Made me see visions. But it was all a lie,” he took out a smoke and lighted it, “The Grail is...corrupted. It grants wishes in a way that it causes the maximum amount of destruction possible. The entire ritual is a glorified monkey’s paw,” he said ruefully, taking another drag and his eyes took on a pained look, “I used up my last two Command Seals to order Saber to use Excalibur and destroy the Grail.” 

He looked to Rider and chuckled bitterly. “On top of ending up cursed, it seems it hasn’t even worked as well as I wished...” 

Everyone else was shocked at the revelations, save for one who hadn’t known magic was real for a full 48 hours. He hesitantly piped up and raised his hand. “Uhm...What is the Grail you’re all talking about?” 

They stared at the boy, whom they suddenly realized likely has no clue what they’re talking about. 

“Might as well explain it to you, seeing who you summoned,” Kiritsugu sighed, taking another drag, “The Holy Grail is supposed to be a creation made to gather a massive amount of magical energy...“ He paused, thinking of how to explain to an 8 year old with no magical context. 

“It’s a magic cup that can grant any wish. Seven mages summon a Heroic Spirit each to fight for them, which are heroes and other figures out of legends, like King Arthur, and the winner gets to have their wish granted...” Kiritsugu trailed off, holding back a snort at how much he was oversimplifying.

As the assassin refocused on the odd pair suspiciously quiet on the other side of the table, of which the smaller one was looking up in awe to the taller one, who was visibly uncomfortable with the attention she was getting. 

“So you’re a hero like in those in stories like King Arthur and Cu Chullainn and Hercules?” he asked with sparkling eyes. 

Fortunately he didn’t notice that the Servant winced several times over the course of hearing that sentence.

“Not really like them, but kind of...” Rider tried to deflect.

“Like, one of the bad guys in the stories?” the kid shot again without pause.

“Well, they certainly didn’t make me sound like a nice person...”

Waver was wondering how he had gotten into this situation. He was watching a Heroic Spirit looking like she was screaming internally because of an overenthusiastic 8 year old child. Soon a Dead Apostle could pop up and he wouldn’t be fazed because he was so desensitized already.

“Why would you save someone like me?” the boy asked suddenly.

Suffice to say Rider was caught off guard by the question.

“I mean, I’m happy you did, but why me?” he intoned again, looking away in shame, “I’m sure someone else deserves it more than me. Aunt Petunia told me my parents were drunks and that’s why they died in a car crash. I’m just some kid nobody likes at all, just like them. I’m a burden so useless I’m not even allowed to get better grades than Dudley! I’m just a freak that makes freaky things happen and doesn’t deserve more than a cupboard to sleep in,” Harry ranted, his voice breaking at the end.

As the magi realized the implications of his words, the gorgon added another to the tally of times she got caught off guard, and placed a hand on his shoulder, making him turn towards her. She gave a grin with sharp teeth and said, “Then good thing I’m a monster, isn’t it?” 

The boy’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “I don’t see how you can be a monster.”

“Boy, the only thing stopping me from turning everyone in this room into stone is this blindfold,” she tapped on the side of her head, “I am the Gorgon beast slain by the hero Perseus, Medusa.”  

While the others sucked in a sharp breath, said boy merely looked puzzled. “But...I don’t see snakes on your head.”

Medusa snorted. “Of course there aren’t any. That only happened at the very end of my life when I truly became a beast and lost my sanity. This is how I normally look.”

“Oh. Anyways! I don’t think you’re really a monster-monster.”

“Why?” The self-proclaimed monster looked very confused by the boy’s easy acceptance.

He replied with conviction. “Because you saved me from uncle Vernon! That means that you can’t be a bad person and that you’re my hero.”  

Medusa was taken aback by the earnest proclamation. After a long moment she smiled softly at the big-hearted child. “I...thank you. No one’s said something so nice to me before,” she said before she ruffled the boy’s messy hair. “I am glad I managed to save you as well.”

“As touching as this is,” Kiritsugu deadpanned, smearing the spent cigarette into an ashtray, “we need to decide what to do next. And by ‘we’, I mean you ,” he looked at the other three. “Waver, this is the kid you saved, therefore your responsibility to make sure he stays saved.” 

Said magus sputtered. “What do you mean, my responsibility? By that logic, shouldn’t Saber, and by extension you be responsible for him?”

Kiritsugu snorted. “I already have a newly adopted kid to take care of, and I really can’t in good conscience take another child in. Fuyuki isn’t a safe place to be right now, either.”

“Well gee, guess I’ll have to find a way to hide a wizard kid and his Servant at my place in the Clock Tower without catching anyone’s attention and getting slapped with a Sealing Designation!” Waver exclaimed with faux enthusiasm, sarcasm practically dripping on his words. 

The assassin cut in with a lecturing tone before the young man’s rant could continue. “Look, the kid’s a wizard, isn’t he? Maybe you can find out if he has any wizard relatives that can take him in. I’ve been to the wizard district a couple times and if I remember correctly, you can do something like an ancestry test at the wizard bank. The wizard community is rather like a small town where everyone knows everyone, so maybe you’ll find someone who knew his parents and what actually happened to them, since it’s quite likely his aunt and uncle were less than truthful about it,” Kiritsugu huffed. 

This gave Waver pause. “That...that actually sounds like a really good idea.”

“If you get lucky he might even be the last surviving heir to a Noble House and he’s got a ton of money and estates just waiting to be claimed. Goodness knows the Noble Houses tend to die out more often than not, especially with that civil war they had 15 or so years ago.”

For a moment the brit looked awfully pleased with the idea before noticing something and asking, “Civil war?”

“Yeah. Called himself Voldimors or something. Got it in his head that he’s some neo-nazi wizard overlord and got a surprising amount of following. Caused quite the upheaval back then. The enforcers of the Mage Association were about to move in before the leader just suddenly up and disappeared one day, and the rest of the command chain just fell apart without him. I heard some ridiculous rumours that a baby killed him or the sort,” he scoffed.

Waver hummed in thought.

“Anyways,” Kiritsugu continued, “What are you going to do if it doesn’t work out?”

“Well, then I’ll have to indebt myself to you for Harry’s living expenses and rent a small flat. I really can’t be around enough to really take care of him, as I still have to actually graduate and settle a few matters in the Clock Tower, so Rider will have to basically be his mom.”

If anyone were to pay attention to the mentioned Servant at that moment, they would see Medusa’s expression gradually shifting into looking like a deer in headlights even through her blindfold.

Me, a mother?  

She could perform as a highly effective bodyguard, a powerful attack dog or as a very swift scout, do anything for the sake of her little Master’s safety, but being a parent? Aside from making sure they don’t get hurt, she didn’t know anything about truly taking care of another. How could she, as a monster? The little one deserved better than her.

Though he was keeping quiet, it only took a single glance at said little one and his sparkling eyes to see what he thought about that idea. The ex-deity groaned inwardly, suddenly hoping very much that Harry had some relatives that could take care of him, and take care of him well .

“Rider...can you cook?” Waver asked as though he couldn’t believe he was asking this question, snapping her out of her racing thoughts.

Albeit her poker face was good, the ex-deity in question radiated awkwardness as well.

“I have rudimentary knowledge of cooking appliances, but I have little experience with cooking itself.”

“I can teach her!” The boy piped up after being silent for the majority of the conversation.

Waver blinked. “You can cook? Aren’t you like, seven?”

“I can. I don’t know many recipes but I’ve been cooking for my uncle and aunt for about half a year now. A-and I’m eight.”

“But how? Did your aunt like, just one day start ordering you around the kitchen until you learned and then have you cook for them since?” He asked disbelievingly.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Hit me over the head with the big wooden spoon when I got things wrong or wasted ingredients too,” he added, brushing the spot on his head where he got hit the most.

Oh, right. Abused kid. Medusa was visibly making an effort to reign her anger in over the reminder. 

“You can probably get them arrested for child abuse, when you get back to England. A simple health exam should be enough proof,” Kiritsugu huffed.

At this, Harry went wide-eyed. “Arrested?! But they shouldn’t, because of me...”

Everyone else in the room sighed. “Harry, what your relatives put you through and made you do is absolutely not okay and not how a family should treat a kid,” Waver stated, fully aware how hypocritical it is to say this as a magus, given how many magi treat their offsprings like tools. 

“As the one who had to defend you from your uncle from at the very least injuring you badly,” Medusa said with cool heat, “I believe I have the right to say that they completely deserve arrest and prison, if not worse. It’s not your fault should the consequences of their actions catch up to them, but their own.”

The gorgon would have given examples of more graphic consequences done with a nail, were it not for her little Master’s age. She felt oddly hesitant over bloodying the surprising amount of innocence the child still had even after such mistreatment. 

“Need I mention that you were so scared of your uncle that you accidentally summoned a figure out of legends to save you from him?” Waver added with exasperation.

Seeing that he was outnumbered three to one in this, the boy relented and grudgingly nodded.

“Er, Mr. Emiya,” Waver said awkwardly after a pause, “I actually only have enough money for a single plane ticket, so...”

“Oh, just take a trip to Mahoutokoro and use the money to get a portkey,” The assassin said, rolling his eyes.

“What’s a portkey?”

“Oh I nearly wish I didn’t know myself,” he replied sardonically.

Chapter Text

As they had the barman of the Leaky Cauldron open the wall for them, it became apparent that Diagon Alley would be a completely new experience for both Harry and Medusa. 

While for Harry it was the odd look of the entire place like buildings from the last century or the one before that that do not quite look structurally sound, the garb of the people that went around with robes and pointed hats, and all the strange magical shops that sold magical merchandise; for Medusa it was the sheer density and amount of people themselves. Nevermind the fact that there never was quite a time during her life where she was among so many humans at once, she had little experience with ones that weren’t hostile to her! She briefly wondered if she killed enough people to fill these streets before pushing away the intrusive thought. 

As she looked to Harry beside her, she smiled wryly as it became apparent that she wasn’t the only one feeling overwhelmed. 

“Come, little one,” she called out to the wide-eyed boy in lieu of using ‘Master’ in public. A thought occurred to her as she watched what was likely a family go by. “Hold my hand. It would not do for either of us to get lost.”

Said boy blinked before acquiescing to the request, shily holding on. 

She nodded to herself as she took a deep breath despite not needing it before stepping ahead to brave the crowd. Thankfully, people gave her a berth as they saw her unusual looks and strange pink eyes with square irises, courtesy of Kiritsugu calling in a favor for a pair of Mystic Eye Killer glasses. She wished she could just astralize as the dark purple jacket and black jeans she wore seemed to exacerbate the problem rather than let blend in in this situation; at least Waver was sensible enough to suggest glamouring the mark on her forehead and something with a hood on for Harry, who was using it to hide behind it to its fullest extent. 

As she followed the directions of the bartender to Gringotts Bank, the feeling of the boy’s grip on her hands made her think back to her encounter with the Dead Apostle the night before they left Fuyuki despite his advice. 

~~o0o~~

Medusa was mulling over her strange situation, sitting at the edge of the terrasse of Kiritsugu’s home, looking at the silent moon for reassurances that would not come. To be more accurate, she was ruminating over the possibility of becoming a parent when she suddenly felt a presence beside her. She immediately reacted, jumping into a stance as she summoned her daggers. 

“Now, now,” the old man smiled pleasantly, “No need to be so tense.”

He was aged, with white hair and beard that was styled tastefully, playful wine red eyes, dressed in an old-fashioned black suit and a short cape crimson on the inside. 

The gorgon blinked as she sensed no hostility whatsoever, watching the obviously-not-a-man casually try to balance his walking stick in the center of his palm.

“What do you want?” She asked, barely hiding the exasperated tone. She had a long day.

“Oh, you wound me,” he responded, holding his hand over his heart theatrically, “not even a ‘who are you?’”

After a long moment that confirmed he would get no response, he sighed disappointedly, finally dropping the cane into his hand. 

“I am Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, Wizard Marshal of the Clock Tower,” he introduced himself with a half-smile before his eyes suddenly darkened, “and I am here to smother your soul.” 

Medusa couldn’t help but tense once again as he coughed into his fist after a moment. 

“Pardon. That came out wrong. I meant to say I’m here to offer to muffle your energy signature, so to speak. Presently, you’re like a beacon of prana at the rate you use it to sustain your existence, which would send the Clock Tower into a tizzy once you land in London. Albeit rather entertaining to watch, it would be awfully inconvenient.” 

And most inconvenient for her. “What do you get out of this?” 

“Oh, I am merely offering it in a moment of good mood so your story can unfold a little more smoothly. It would be just tying up a few loose ends really,” he said offhandedly, “This is actually one of the worlds where I didn’t even have to do an asspull just so the timeline doesn’t collapse,” he commented as though pleasantly surprised. “So, do you want it?” He finally asked, refocusing. 

The Rider sighed inwardly. Ignoring the nonsense he was spouting, there wasn’t really a choice if she didn’t want the Mage Association to come down upon her little Master because of her like he said. 

She finally loosened up, no longer in a combat stance. “Very well.” 

Zelretch nodded, moving closer until he was only two steps away, aware of the Servant’s wariness. “I do beg your pardon, as this may be an uncomfortable experience. I recommend you close your eyes while I work,” he said seriously, though she was wearing a blindfold.

As she already followed the suggestion, she had to exercise self control to not squirm. Having your Spirit Origin poked at was a mighty uncomfortable experience indeed. 

“Oh, I do find talking about something as I work a good distraction from the feeling. It’s not much, but people find I’m a good listener. You can talk, as I’m fortunately not working on your teeth. Anything on your mind lately?”

After continually dealing with unusual situations and prospects of unusual situations, Medusa’s invisible threshold where she just doesn’t care anymore has been finally reached.

“There is a significant possibility of me taking on the role of a parent in the near future,” she said with a tired voice, “and I am concerned over my ability to perform it acceptably.” 

“Ah, I see. Well, while I cannot say I have experience with raising a child, I can say that I’ve seen new parents time and time again, experience exactly the same worry that you have. None of them start out completely sure of themselves that they will be a good parent,” he said as Medusa winced at an odd sensation, “Sorry about that, hit a bit of a snag. As I was saying, everyone worries over whether they will raise their child well. You shouldn’t worry too much about it and do your best. A~nd done,” he intoned as the prodding sensation disappeared. 

The gorgon sighed in relief and opened her eyes, second guessing her choice of going with this the entire time, trying to feel the difference within herself. 

“Your signature should look like the one of a powerful witch or something close to it if the Clock Tower’s devices detect you,” Zelretch elaborated as he wiped something imaginary off his fingers with a napkin, “Oh, you might find your physical stats a bit lower than you remembered as a consequence, however you have an A+ Rank Independent Action now. Before you express your dissatisfaction, isn’t there little difference on a practical level since you’re not planning to fight in a Grail War anyways? Objectively you should find your new addition more useful. Well, it’s not like you can really do something about it now that it’s done.”

He shrugged as he finally looked up and had to hold back a chuckle to see Medusa looking at him with an expression somewhere between exhausted and looking like she swallowed a lemon, a face people who have been exposed to his presence for more than 15 minutes frequently have.

“Ah, what a stubborn beneficiary I have,” he sighed, “Well, just take my advice regarding parenting and don’t think too hard about this. You and your daughter are going to be fine,” he said before disappearing in a flash of multicolored fractal lights.

Hold on. “Daughter?” 

Rider stood there for a long minute before she frowned and shook her head. She didn’t care anymore. Hades damn anyone who says she doesn’t technically need sleep, she was tired . When she was summoned, she was ready to fight in battles on the level of other Servants, maybe kill some people or something along the lines, not...not deal with  whatever that just was. 

~~o0o~~

Remembering more than she actually intended, she resolved to just take the vampire’s advice and not think too hard about it.

Goblins, were they? The deceptively diminutive figures in armor at the entrance to the bank eyed her warily as she stepped through the double doors of the bank. 

The great hall they entered was quite the unusual sight, with tall counters that allowed those who attended them to be on eye level or above with their customers. 

“I am Bloodaxe. State your busine- you’re not a witch,” The goblin at the counter scowled, scrutinizing the lavender haired woman. 

Oh? These creatures were sharp.

“What if I’m not?” Medusa said as she tilted her head slightly, raising her eyebrow.

Still maintaining the same scowl, he looked over to Harry instead. “State your business.”

“I would like to ask for an ancestry test for Harry here to see if he has any living relatives, and to find information regarding his family,” Medusa started, bringing the goblin’s attention back to her, ”He’s been living with his abusive mundane relatives, who I suspect weren’t truthful about the way his parents died,” she paused, glancing at Harry, “and depending on the results, I’d like to also inquire about the process of adoption on the magical side.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, reaffirming his grip on the Rider’s hand. He knew he should be hoping to have relatives, but could anyone really blame him for liking the idea of Medusa being his mother after what she has done for him?

“Would you have anything that can confirm his identity, Ms. …?” 

“Rider. I do have his mundane passport, if it helps,” she said, taking it out and handing it over to the goblin. 

“It’ll do.” As Bloodaxe flipped to the relevant pages, his scowl only seemed to deepen, turning into what can only be called a grimace. “Harry Potter,” Medusa heard the goblin mutter in distaste. “Hey you!” He called to another goblin nearby carrying documents, “Call Griphook into his office and tell him we might have the genuine article to his misfortune,” he turned to Rider again, “Follow me. I will be taking you to Griphook’s office, who will help you if you are speaking the truth.”

Medusa elected to not comment on the ominous phrase he used, following the worker into an office decorated with all manner of melee weapons that would intimidate the average human, of which she was neither. Though Harry found the various axes and swords rather interesting, he stuck a little closer to her side.

Shortly, an aged, grumpy looking goblin in a fashionable suit came in.

“And you would be?” He asked with a hint of mockery in his voice. He didn’t wait for them to answer. “No matter. I am Griphook,” he drawled, “I have been the Potter account manager for the last 5 generations. Seeing that you have the gall to straight up ask for an ancestry test, I shall give you the benefit of the doubt and not throw you out of my office right away with a fine for impersonation like I did for all the frauds attempting to claim the Potter fortune,” he said, putting a silver knife and parchment on his desk, “Ten drops of blood, on the parchment.”

The boy eyed the knife he picked up hesitantly, looking up at the only adult he trusted in the room in a silent question. The gorgon herself was rather puzzled, aware that there must be context both of them were missing here, but thought it would be best if they went ahead and confirmed Harry’s identity. With her nod and the reassurance of her hand on his shoulder, he held his hand above the parchment and cut into his hand with a wince. 

As the drops rolled unto the parchment, they seemed to come to life, forming into boxes and lines with legible writing within them on their own, spreading out like a spiderweb, growing into a veritable family tree with ‘Harrison James Potter’ at the bottom of its roots and ‘Ignotius Peverell’ at the crown.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Griphook muttered audibly. 

“Will you listen to us now, Mr.Griphook?” Medusa asked with masked smugness, receiving an annoyed grunt in response from the goblin still scrutinizing the parchment. 

“You may call me Rider. As I told your colleague who didn’t deign to inform you, we are looking for information about Harry’s magical relatives to see if anyone can take him in and the truth of what happened to his parents. I myself had to remove Harry from his abusive mundane uncle’s family, as otherwise he would have been given pummelling that may have left him at death’s door, not to mention his obvious malnourishment and having been treated as a manservant,” she elaborated, taking in the goblin’s visible surprise and horror, “They even appeared to abhor anything related to magic or the supernatural, so Harry hadn’t even known about the existence of magic or magical communities several days ago.” 

“Wait, you said uncle and aunt. Mundane . Do you mean Lily Evans’ sister, Petunia?” Griphook asked in a tone which implied he hoped he was wrong.

Medusa looked to Harry in askance. “Yeah,” He answered much to the accountant’s dismay, “I’ve been living with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.”

“This was already a travesty even before you mentioned the abuse. Lily stated that under no circumstances should you ever end up with them. We and the entire magical community have been assured by Dumbledore himself that he has been kept in an undisclosed secure location,” The goblin growled.

“Dumbledore?” Medusa asked, drawing the word out. 

“Headmaster of Hogwarts, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Leader of the Light, a real political powerhouse,” Griphook drawled out the titles as he walked over to the liquor cabinet, taking a bottle and glass, pouring himself one and downing it just as fast. “I do hope you pardon me, Heir Potter and Ms. Rider, but I can already tell this is shaping up to be a real headache.” 

The Gorgon didn’t comment, she would be asking for a glass as well if alcohol would affect her at all. 

“This is damning,” Griphook began as he walked back to his desk, “We always knew the old goat was more manipulative and foolish than people give him credit for, but to leave the proclaimed Boy-Who-Lived in an abusive muggle household, especially as his magical guardian...” 

“Boy-Who-Lived? Magical guardian?” Medusa asked. “Forgive my ignorance, I am neither British nor a witch, as you may have sensed by now.”

The goblin merely grunted in acknowledgement, seeing nothing noteworthy in the fact as magical creatures themselves. “The boy is a celebrity. His survival of the infamous Killing Curse spell through which the Dark Lord He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was vanquished marks the end of a wizarding civil war which was on the cusp of spilling over the European continent nearly a decade ago.” 

“What?” the boy in question said incredulously, “I’m famous? I was a baby, how could I have beaten a Dark Lord?” 

“That is what the wizards think,” Griphook shrugged, “Not the most rational bunch. In truth, we merely know that he was gone after that night he attacked your family, and it is much more likely that you survived thanks to some protections your parents placed upon you before their death.”

“Is that what happened to my parents?” Harry asked in a vulnerable voice, which prompted Medusa to hesitantly rub his shoulder, unused to comforting others. “They weren’t no-good wastes of skin that got drunk and died in a car crash?”

The account manager shook his head. “No. Your parents, James Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans died protecting you.”

Harry was unsure of what to do with this information. While it felt good to prove his aunt wrong and he was grateful for his parents’ sacrifice, he had never met them and already lived for 8 years with no knowledge about them. Even if he felt guilty about it, they still were strangers to him. At least he has Medusa now.

“Could you explain what a magical guardian is?” Medusa redirected the conversation as the boy mulled over the revelations.

“A magical guardian is the one who has custody of a minor on the magical side of legalities, and is supposed to ensure the wellbeing and education of said child. By default, all muggleborn and orphaned magical children fall under the magical guardianship of the Headmaster of Hogwarts of its time, which is currently Albus Dumbledore.”

The more she learnt about the man, the less she liked him. “What about the rest of his family? Is there anyone you think is willing to take on Harry’s guardianship?” 

“Unfortunately neither his godfather nor his godmother who have been named to take the boy in in case something happened to the family are an option, as the former is incarcerated and the latter has lost her mental faculties, currently being taken care of at St. Mungo’s Hospital.” The account manager sighed. ”Most of those who were on good terms with the Potters were wiped out during the civil war, and having the current most closely related family made aware of Harry is...inadvisable, as the Malfoys and Blacks were on the opposite side of the last war, allied with the Dark Lord.”

Medusa slowly breathed out as she took in the information, frowning in thought. Perhaps Waver could...but no, she can’t see him shouldering this responsibility well with his duties at the Clock Tower, and it wouldn’t end well, given the young man told her magi were tantamount to boogeymen in the wizard community. It seemed it would be her after all. 

“In that case, I would like to become Harry’s magical guardian. He simply cannot stay in Dumbledore’s custody after all this,” she finally said, to Harry’s hidden excitement, “What is the process for adoption?”

The goblin hummed, eyeing Medusa as if seeing her for the first time. “Normally, we do a background check and you would fill out some forms, but I have a suspicion that Dumbledore would not let that easily go and contest it, should he find out. Never liked the meddling old coot,” he drawled. “I find a blood adoption is necessary. With that method, even pulling strings would give us legal backing to leave him cut off as blood relations are held in the highest regard in the wizarding world and he wouldn’t even be able to demand your identity, should you wish it to remain private.” 

Medusa tensed at the term. “Could you elaborate on what the blood adoption does?”

“As it implies, it creates a blood relation. In mundane terms, it adds your own genetics besides the ones of his parents, therefore making you a third parent. As a consequence, he will also take on some of your features. It is usually not so noticeable, but I must say you have quite an unusual appearance,” Griphook commented, reaching for another piece of parchment from a drawer. “Usually it’s used when a family is unable to procure an heir, which is also why we strictly regulate the potion used. But before that, I must ask for you to confirm your identity as well. While my impression of you is far better than the large majority of wizards and even past heads of family, I cannot let just anyone adopt Heir Potter,” he intoned as he held out a knife to the Rider. 

Medusa stood frozen, disoriented by the explanation of the blood adoption and apprehension of what would happen if it was performed with her. She’d rather not place the burden of being related to her by blood if she could help it…

She held up a palm to the goblin’s still offered knife. “I have my own, yours would not be able to damage me,” she stated, summoning one of her daggers sans chain, and cut across her palm. 

Drops fell, forming three boxes connected with no lines signifying ancestors.

Griphook snatched the parchment right after it was done, balking at it. “Who... what are you?”

“It is as it says,” The Servant stated in an even tone, a small part of her expecting (or wanting?) to be scorned.

The accountant was silent for a long moment before cackling, as though bemused.

“Well who am I to stand in the way of Medusa herself?”

Said person just stared, puzzled by the reaction.

“I wouldn’t be suggesting blood adoption if I did not think it would go well, even for you,” Griphook drawled, seeming to read her thoughts. “One of my colleagues has a half-goblin cousin teaching at Hogwarts. Veela too, are common to have children who inherited part of their nature, but unlike them, you do not even have to worry about appearing human” he said, looking at a spot beside her, “Heir Potter also seems to be rather fond of the idea,” he commented as the Gorgon looked over as well to see him blushing up a storm, much to Harry’s embarrassment. 

“We can have the ritual done in one of our rooms for it, if you wish,” Griphook said offhandedly, seeing Medusa was sufficiently mollified. 

The Servant looked to Harry. “Are you sure…?” She sighed, not even having finished the question before the boy nodded excitedly. 

Shortly, all three were in a sterile ritual room, with Medusa and Harry standing in connected runed circles, each dressed in only a cotton ritual robe. The Gorgon had removed her glasses and stood with her eyes closed, although it seemed like the lack of vision had not affected her at all. 

“All in all, the blood adoption is rather simple,” Griphook began, “Ms. Rider,” He addressed from the side, electing to call her by her chosen alias, “I will hold a bowl with the blood adoption potion in it before you, into which you will have to place seven drops of blood. Then, I will hand the bowl to you and you will feed a small amount of it to Harry, signifying that you are making an offer to accept him into your blood, after which he must take the bowl and drink it himself, which signifies that he accepts. The magic will take hold shortly, so you have a few seconds to put the bowl down and sit before you collapse. Do I have to repeat?” He asked the unfortunately necessary question, given that there have been multiple times where he actually had to scold wizards for getting such a simple thing wrong. 

Once he saw both heads shake, he moved into position with the incomplete potion. “Begin,” he intoned, watching as Medusa drew blood from her hand with her fangs, letting the orange-tinged liquid drip. 

‘Seeing’ through her magical senses, she drew prana to heal her hand once the seventh drop fell, and took the bowl into her hands. The moment she did, she felt the ambient mana begin to vibrate as the runed circles awoke, oscillating with energy. 

She lowered the bowl before Harry’s lips, having him drink out of the bowl.

An offer to share in blood was made.  

After a couple gulps, the boy lifted his hands shaking in nervousness amidst the intensifying pulse of magic, holding the bowl as the gorgon’s hands left, continuing to drink without taking a breath and emptying it out. 

An offer to share in blood was accepted.  

Harry nearly dropped the bowl as the pulse of magic reached a crescendo with him as the converging point. It felt like a hot, overwhelming pressure that encompassed his very being, that kept climbing until he felt like he was molten metal with shifting, slithering liquid on the inside. After what felt like an eternity, his vision went white despite his closed eyes, and the heat quickly receded, only leaving an euphoric warmth. 

Hazy vision returned to him that came and went, close to passing out. When...did he lay on the floor? It felt pleasantly cold, yet he still felt pleasantly warm... so warm inside , knowing that he was wanted by someone, after all. He wasn’t going to be alone anymore.

Unknown to both their new sibling and mother, a small soul felt just the same. 

~~o0o~~ 

Griphook and Medusa stared at Harry’s sleeping figure in one of the recovery rooms usually reserved to those who had nasty curses removed. 

Much of his new appearance was somewhat within the range of expectations, such as naturally pale skin, and the dark pink hair made sense after Griphook noted that his mother was a redhead, but one thing had them stumped. 

Harry had become a girl. 

“Are Gorgons perchance like Veela? A women only er, species for the lack of a better word?” the goblin thought out loud. 

“ Your hypothesis has some merit, Mr. Griphook, although I am actually the only Gorgon. Or was. My sisters were goddesses despite the fact that we were collectively called the Gorgon Sisters,” Medusa replied clinically, still trying to compartmentalize the situation.

In truth, she had a rough guess for its reason. Harry must’ve inherited some of her Divinity, however little. She and her sisters had been borne out of the wishes of humanity for “perfect goddesses”, which made her nature as a Divine inherently linked to being a beautiful woman, therefore making the child a girl as well.

Beyond that, there was another thing the Gorgon was trying to cope with. Medusa felt a familiar surge of protectiveness wash over her as it struck her how alike he(?) looked like the unaging Stheno, Euryale, and herself before she was cursed, though even younger.

The waiting pair looked up as the transformed girl stirred, blearily sitting up, with long hair fluttering behind as she tried to shake off the drowsiness. As her gaze focused on them she opened her mouth to presumably ask what happened, but Medusa heard nothing. The Gorgon’s wide eyes were completely focused on the girl's green eyes that had square irises, and the fangs whose tips were oh so slightly visible when she spoke.

She was shocked by how Harry genuinely looked like he’s her daughter, not just related to the Gorgon sisters.

“Mu-Medusa, is something wrong? Why do I sound different?” He asked quietly with a light lisp, likely because of his teeth. His new voice was soft and silvery, laced with concern.

Oh by the river Styx he even sounded like herself as a child. 

“I’m not sure. It would be better if we just showed you. Griphook, do you have a mirror somewhere?” Medusa asked, unsure. The goblin just grunted and reached up until his elbow into a leather bag on his belt that seemed too small for the feat, and took out a square hand-sized mirror. “What?” he growled at the other’s surprise, “you never know when you need to check for an enemy beyond a corner,” he defended.

Harry blinked between the bag and the size of the mirror before just shaking her head and taking it, gasping at the reflection. 

“Mum, I look a lot like you now!” The girl exclaimed brightly, “Wow, I’m so pretty...” he trailed off, bringing a lock of hair before her. “Why is my hair reddish-purple though? It was black before,” He wondered before he looked up again and seemed to lose the wind in his sails. “Is...is it okay if I call you Mum?” He asked shily with a downcast gaze.

Unknown to Harry, Medusa too was struggling with unfamiliar feelings within her. Whereas before she would have happily let another person take care of the child out of a sense of inadequacy, now her newly awoken maternal instincts easily trumped that feeling. She didn’t know if it was a side effect of the ritual itself, a consequence of seeing how much Harry took after her in appearance, or a natural conclusion, but she couldn’t see anyone other than herself taking care of the girl. This….this was her child , dammit, and she would do all in her power to provide the best for Harry herself. 

“Yes, you can call me Mum,” Medusa finally answered. 

“Yes!” The girl enthused, going in for a tackling hug from the bed. “Thank you, thankyouthankyou!”

“Harry?” The Gorgon asked, getting the girl’s attention, “Does it not bother you that you’re a girl now?” 

“Oh, that. Uhm…” He trailed off, letting go of his new mother to look himself over, ”I mean...I don’t think so? I kind of like it because it makes me look more like you. Like, it’s easier to see that I’m...I’m your daughter.” The girl explained shily. “Does this mean you’ll give me a new name now? Harry is a boy’s name.”

Medusa stood silently in thought for a moment. “Do you want me to give you a new name?” 

The little Gorgon also appeared to mull the question over, before giving a slow, deliberate nod. 

“I see...” She trailed off, falling into thought again. 

“If it helps, Lily’s family had a habit of using flower names,” Griphook noted. 

Hmmm...flowers... Medusa thought, looking into the girl’s expectant eyes. Ah.

“Iris,” she intoned, “What do you think?”

The second tackle hug she received was all she needed to know the answer. 

~~o0o~~

Extra: 

Waver: Man I don’t get it, why do magi think the wizards’ tools beneath them if they can achieve instantaneous travel between continents? It’s so useful! 

One portkey and an emptied stomach later 

Waver: I completely understand why they think it’s beneath them

Chapter Text

AN : Props to all you guys who didn’t throw “But it’s unnecessary! I’m dropping this!” type comments my way.

~~o0o~~

Iris was looking at herself in the mirror, taking in all the changes: her long, deep rose-colored wavy hair - which she actually asked about; apparently, her birth mother’s looks surfaced when she turned into a girl, whose hair was crimson, so with the addition of Medusa’s ( Mum’s! ) bloodline the color pulled towards lavender, resulting in her current shade of hair - green eyes with square irises, pale smooth skin. She was so...pretty now! Even the old ugly scar on her forehead seemed to have improved, now it looked like the rest of them instead of being all gnarly like she got it days ago.

Although the ritual made most of the scars on her body from living with the Dursleys go away and she felt her right wrist work better than before, she was still rather unhealthily thin. It went without saying that she liked being Iris more than being Harry, though if asked, she would say that she didn’t have any particular feelings about being a girl, but at the same time it’s not like she had any attachments to her appearance as a boy either. 

She closed her eyes and pinched her cheeks. When she opened them and the reflection didn’t change, she sighed in relief. It’s been a week already since the adoption, and she still felt the need to check every now and then that she wasn’t just having an unusually long dream.

Iris and her mother moved into one of the Potter houses they got the keys to now that she had a proper magical guardian, much to Waver’s financial joy. In London, on the address of Hemwick Str. 16, stood Lion House, the smallest out of the estates she inherited. It was the obvious choice as the others were both outside London and too big to be inhabited by just two-and occasionally three people, with Waver visiting. 

It was a large, old-fashioned two story house that had seen and survived the Blitz in the Second World War, built on a minor ley line. It wore its scars proudly, just as difficult to fell as the Nemean Lion on the living room tapestry battling against Heracles, which was a pleasant surprise to the elder Gorgon; the demigod was one of the few of the Greek mythology figures she could respect. 

In Iris’ opinion, it was a much cooler house than what the Dursleys had. And she even got to pick her own room in it! 

Iris sat listlessly on the big sofa facing away from the tapestry, opposite of her mother who didn’t seem to fare all that well herself, having zoned out with a book on raising children. The little Gorgon awkwardly muttered a thanks as tea and sandwiches appeared on the coffee table, taking a sandwich. It had been rather difficult to adjust to the fact that she didn’t have to spend her day either in the cupboard or doing chores. 

When she tried to cook she was shoo’d away under Sooty’s annoyed glare, who was responsible for the building’s upkeep in their absence. Due to the house elf’s insistence that she was too thin, Iris felt like she spent at least half of the day chewing on something. Meeting him was an awkward encounter as Medusa barely held herself back from impaling the elf with a nail-like dagger, reacting on instinct to the diminutive creature’s sudden appearance and accompanying pop. 

After having the elf calm down (he found Medusa absolutely terrifying, then cried tears of joy after confirming Iris’ identity) and questioning who and why was the elf here as neither of the new inhabitants ever met one before, Sooty went into a lecture about his kind in that peculiar stilted manner of speaking. 

Left with nothing else to do while waiting for the new documents so she can transfer into one of the nearby schools and Waver ( Uncle! ) dealing with his fallout at the Clock Tower, Iris occupied herself with catching up with school material since her mum and uncle made it clear that they want her to get grades as good as she can and not hold herself back, but even that was quickly becoming boring. She wanted to move around, do something with her body, but what? 

Medusa dazedly looked at the snacks on the table. She hadn’t the faintest idea how she’s supposed to raise a child, or what to do with herself in her current situation. Iris was so...the opposite of needy; unused to being able to rely on an adult. She barely chose more than half a dozen pieces of clothes total , and had to be gently coerced into picking more. Except for shopping, this left her not interacting with her daughter as much as she thought she should. The house elf handled the domestic tasks she thought she would have had to learn. On the top of that, no danger to be on the lookout from being sought out, nor was Iris really the type to walk around the neighbourhood without reason so she would have to accompany and stay on guard. 

This is the most peace she has had, ever. There was so much she didn’t know about the world she and her daughter were in, but perusing books for days on end was getting tedious. She’s resolved to be the best mother she could be for her daughter, but what was she to do with herself with this much free time? Pick up a hobby, maybe? 

It went unnoticed by both how Waver came back and greeted them, and watched them exhale a deep sigh at the same time, with the same restless expression. It was a sight both comical and sad that albeit for different reasons, neither knew how to live normally outside extenuating circumstances.

“You two really are mother and daughter, huh?” He commented, finally making the Gorgons notice him. 

“I’m gonna set some more Bounded Fields up, wanna help me out?” He quickly suggested before they had a chance to ask for clarification for his previous statement, watching as even Medusa’s usually expressionless face brightened up at finally having something to do. 

~~o0o~~

“...so yeah, even though at first it’s seems like it’s supposed to be a shield or protection of some sorts, in truth a Bounded Field is actually a predetermined area with a certain effect or more applied to it, it doesn’t even have to be applied on a flat surface, it can be anything.” 

“Uncle,” Iris started shyly as Waver suppressed a wince, “Are you a teacher or something?” 

“Uh, not yet, but I will be soon, why?” 

“You’re really good at explaining things and stuff! It’s complicated but you made it so easy to understand,” she enthused. 

The magus hummed as he wiped the sweat off his brow, pleasantly surprised. “I’m glad you think so.” 

Iris seemed to have more to say, but appeared to hesitate, murmuring something barely audible. 

“Iris?” He questioned. 

“Could...could you teach me magic?” She asked with furrowed eyebrows, “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but with Sooty doing all the chores there’s nothing for me to do in the house,” Iris hastily added her reasoning.

“That’s...” Waver trailed off, lifting a hand to his chin in thought. In just a moment he and Medusa noticed Iris changed her posture as if bracing for something. His eyes widened in realization as he remembered what her previous’ family’s reaction to bringing up magic was. 

“Iris, I’m not going to hurt or punish you for asking a question, nor will I do so if you actually do something wrong, which you didn’t,” The magus placated as the elder Gorgon moved in to comfort the girl. 

“Just let me think about it a little, okay? Magecraft techniques are something as far as I know only used by magi, so I have no idea how it would work out if I tried to teach them to a witch. Your Magic Core acts differently than the Magic Circuits I have,” Waver explained uneasily, having lowered himself to Iris’ eye level. 

Mollified, Iris gave a slow nod. 

~~o0o~~

That night, the girl dreamed. Dreamed of three lavender haired sisters. Euryale. Stheno. Medusa. They looked so, so very much alike. They were perfection incarnate, as the wishes they were born out of wanted them to be.  

But one of them started changing. 

She became taller, her voice deepened, her curves developed unlike her eternally young, and ironically elder sisters. But, also unlike them, she was stronger, had powers they didn’t. She could protect both herself and her siblings, although the way the sisters treated their youngest left a bad taste in Iris’ mouth, reminding her too much of Dudley. 

Then, a jealous goddess cursed Medusa. Suddenly, all the people who wanted to worship her at first hated her, abhorred her. She was exiled from her birthplace and cast off onto an island that didn’t even have so much as a shape to it. 

Lonely, she wept, the only thing that she dared hope for was that nobody who held her in contempt would come to the island. Her sisters, pitying their youngest, followed after her, so if nothing else she would have company. At some point, they were even visited by Poseidon himself, who gifted the Pegasus. 

But then came them. People, who sought to kill off the monster they heard of. People, who sought to save the uncursed from the monster. Medusa petrified them with her gaze without sympathy. Who were they to claim justice? Who were they to claim righteousness? They loved her one moment, scorned her the next. She would protect her sisters from these vile men. 

Thus began the descent. The slippery slope. First, it was just kicking over the petrified statues. Then it was letting them break apart. Then it was deliberately shattering them out of spite. 

And then she stopped bothering with petrifying them at all. She excused that it was just more efficient. It was better for her sisters if she simply killed them instead of wasting space by putting them into a stone-stasis. It was all so she could do her job better. It was all you could say...for the greater good. Somewhere along the lines, with her bloodlust exacerbated by her curse, she started enjoying it.

Killing. There was so much killing. If Iris were a more knowledgeable girl she might think she was watching Beowulf, not Medusa. Before long, not even her sisters recognized her. Whatever she was seeing, it was not her mother, but a beast. Then it was just killing and killing and killingkilling-

~~o0o~~

Anything not fixed to a wall or the floor was clattering loudly, nearly about to take off. 

That was the sight Medusa and a bleary Waver were presented with when they opened Iris’ door, whose mother quickly moved in to wake her daughter up and reassure her that she was not wherever her nightmares made her think she was. 

The moment Iris opened her eyes she latched on to her mother like a lifeline, and the clattering stopped very soon with some of the floating items now rolling on the oak floors.

“...ight...you had to kill so many people….and then you became that thing ..” Iris choked out between sobs and other unintelligible sounds. 

Medusa blanched as she held the girl still shuddering in her embrace. The dream cycle...she completely forgot about the part of their bond which would have her dream about her experiences in life. She’d just seen her at her worst, the part that she would have wished her daughter would never have to see. 

“You know, you’re pretty good at this mother thing despite how unconfident you seem to be,” Waver commented offhandedly, trying to defuse the tension. 

“I’m not-” Medusa was about to respond, but got hushed by the younger Gorgon’s glare, who stopped glaring after she was sure she wouldn't deny that comment. 

She looked between Medusa and Waver questioningly when both kept their silence, staring, as though surprised. “What?” She finally questioned. 

Only her mother responded after quickly looking over her honorary uncle, as though checking for something and then sighing in apparent relief. “Iris, can you please close your eyes for a little?” 

Complying with the odd request, the last dregs of the nightmare she had faded from her mind, replaced by curiosity. She heard the magus in the room gasp for breath as though he was holding it. 

“By the Root,” He heard him exclaim, “You’ve got your mother’s eyes alright. Not exactly the best way to find out but least now we know your sight doesn’t petrify. That was even worse than the Mystic Eyes of Binding.” 

“Mystic Eyes?” The girl questioned, now afraid to open her eyes. 

“Uhh...well, magic eyes? Yes, magic eyes that have one special ability. Yours are like your mum’s in a sense that they completely stop people from moving when you look at them, but thankfully you can’t turn them into stone,” Waver explained succinctly, exasperated by having to deal with the revelation in the middle of the night. 

“A-am I going to need glasses or a blindfold all the time too?” Iris asked in a somewhat frightened tone. 

“No, you should be able to turn them off and on,” Waver reassured, remembering that the girl’s only example of Mystic Eyes was an always active one. “I think you can open your eyes now.”

“I understand the Eyes, but what was that before she woke up?” Medusa questioned as she hesitantly combed her fingers through Iris’ hair, remembering the initial reason they woke up. 

“That...I think that was what wizards call accidental magic,” Waver speculated, embarrassed that he was distracted by Iris’ Mystic Eyes. “I heard that it gets more wild the more intense emotions are experienced, but even so it shouldn’t have been that strong. My only guess is that her Magic Core got a boost from being blood adopted by you. I mean, you are an ex-deity from the Age of Gods so I’m not surprised.” 

The elder Gorgon remained thoughtful for a moment, mulling over the information. 

“Do you think it will happen again?” She finally asked. 

“By my knowledge, accidental casting will keep happening occasionally and usually abates after they start going to a wizarding school at eleven years old...” Waver trailed off, seeing where the mother was going with this. Normally unexplained phenomena caused by wizard children happening in the mundane world could be brushed off as oddities, but at the intensity of Iris’ recent display it would be…much more difficult to ignore at the very least, given they’ve agreed she would continue her mundane schooling. And frankly, he didn’t feel like getting woken up in the middle of the night from the house shaking again.

They could of course go to Knockturn Alley to purchase an ambiguously legal wand and start early with her magical education getting by with beginner wizardry textbooks, hypothesizing that instances of accidental displays would become less frequent and severe once she had an outlet for magical energy.

Yet, what little Waver saw of the beginner spellcasting textbooks made him apprehensive. He could understand if the wizards thought it was common sense in their community or it wasn’t really mentioned that much because their techniques were more intuitive, but there was nothing even remotely similar to what magi do at the beginning of their apprenticeship, such as meditation, learning to sense and manipulate the magical energy within them, not even basic thaumaturgical concepts. Do they really go straight into casting without any prior education? Or is it an expected part of their homeschooling? If it’s the latter, how are those who pop up among the mundane dealt with? 

Whatever the case, Iris needs to get some semblance of control over her accidental casting before safely letting her walk around in the mundane world. As for homeschooling...he’d rather let the girl experience normalcy first, if possible, given the sort of life she’d led so far. 

In the end, the most sensible path to take was to give Iris a magus-style grounding in magical education. Even though issues could pop up along the way due to the inherent differences between Magic Cores and Circuits, it was part of the process. If he was to have a hand in raising a kid, he would do his part as an educator.  

“Well Iris, I have good news for you,” Waver finally said, much to the girl’s relief, “I’m going to teach you magic .” 

~~o0o~~

Whatever her expectations were about being taught magic, or magecraft as Uncle Waver called it, this was not it.  

Beyond getting thamuma-something-cal (she could swear she could hear Waver intone tha-oo-ma-tur-gi-cal in the back of her mind) theory hammered into her head whenever her uncle/teacher was around, all she did was pretend to be locked in the cupboard with nothing but her thoughts without actually being locked in a cupboard. Waver called it “meditation”. 

She was supposed to clear her head and focus on “looking into herself” to help sense her Magic Core. To her teacher’s envy, she didn’t have to undergo the ritual magi did, as her Core was always active to a degree. Circuits were nowhere near that convenient, as activating them was a painstaking process. 

Iris once again sat sullenly looking around in the living room after lunch, demotivated by her lack of progress. Strange, she thought, Mum is normally around by now. Although it was not unusual for her to skip breakfast, it had become a habit for the elder Gorgon to join Iris in the living room with a book in hand, keeping her company as the younger Gorgon studied. 

And then she waited. 

But she ended up going to sleep without seeing her mother that day.

And the next.

~~o0o~~

She was Iris’ best option... right?  

…

The best, yes. Because she was the only one. 

Somehow, that line of thought didn’t make her feel better. But really, was she expecting it to?

She cursed inwardly. 

The legendary monster, the Gorgon Medusa, the one who killed hundreds and petrified even more, reduced to such a state of emotional turmoil. The hell kinda Heroic Spirit was she? 

Such were the Gorgon’s thoughts as she raced through the suburbs of London on her first ever impulse buy (due to which she would have to take another trip to Gringotts to convert her galleons into pounds, having spent most of what she picked up on the first trip). She purchased a Yamaha VMAX within the minute she saw it on display, hoping that cruising the city on one would do a better job of ridding her mind of intrusive thoughts. The moment she grabbed its handle, she felt grateful for her A+ Rank Riding Skill; the speeds this motorbike could reach brought a mischievous smile on her face. 

Medusa had to admit, despite being the decision she had put the least amount of thought into since she was summoned, she couldn’t see herself regretting it any time soon. It was no Pegasus, but...the rumble of the engine had a certain charm to it.

Normally, she would confidently act on what she decided was the best course of action without hesitation, nor afterthought, but being a mother was an entirely new, unknown territory. She usually relied on her cold reasoning, but what was she to do if her cold reasoning told her she should listen to her emotions and gut feeling? 

Medusa hasn’t exactly had a good experience listening to those in life. 

What was she supposed to do?

She knew on some level that she was acting irrational, but being unable to come up with a clear answer was driving her up the walls. She needed a distraction. This was the fourth outing this week.

Leaving dodging the sparse obstacles on the streets up to her instincts, she focused on gathering her thoughts. 

What drove her to this was…guilt. Medusa felt responsible for bloodying the miraculous amount of remaining innocence her daughter had. The dream cycle was something completely out of her control, it was a connection she couldn’t block, but even so... 

The Gorgon felt as though she was making matters worse just by existing. It made being in the same room as Iris increasingly uncomfortable, made her want to...get away in irrational hopes that she would make things less worse by not being there, even though the dream cycle worked irrespective of distance.

She scowled in frustration as she took a sharp U-turn, accelerating back within moments and retracing her previous route back to the Lion House. Iris should be asleep by now...

Medusa placed her helmet on the bike’s handle with a sigh. Another night of nothing but frustration. The sight that greeted her as she entered the living room gave her more pangs of guilt. 

Her daughter was asleep on the couch closest to the corridor to the main entrance, with a blanket over her likely put by the house elf. She noticed after the third night she stayed out that Iris would start going to sleep gradually later, likely in hopes of catching her when she came back, but…Medusa just couldn’t face her. She scoffed when she remembered her comment on the day she was summoned. So much for being an untouchable monster.

With another sigh, she picked up her daughter’s thin frame and tucked her in her room, brows furrowing as she took off Iris’ hands weakly grabbing onto her. 

When the Gorgon passed by the study room, she suddenly remembered there was a liquor cabinet in it. It surely couldn’t hurt… 

~~o0o~~

Waver rubbed his tired eyes when he finally heard the growl of an engine closing in and petering out in front of the house. This so wasn’t what he signed up for...

….

“...And to help gauge the abilities of the summoned Heroic Spirit, the Master, with some amount of focus and intent can see something like a status sheet of parameters that superficially describe their capabilities. For example, an E rank in Strength would mean roughly 10 times stronger than what a normal human is capable of...”

The magus shut his reference book with a dull clap and looked at his pensive apprentice with a raised eyebrow. At first, Waver thought it would be natural that attention spans and concentration would see a gradual decrease as Iris lost her initial enthusiasm to the sheer amount of theory they have to cover even before she manages to actually cast anything at all, but this was concerning. Each time he came over Iris looked more worn than the last time, and this time she was completely out of it. He doubted she actually registered anything for the last 10 minutes. His assumption was proven correct when she only blinked and looked up to him on the 3rd call of her name. 

“Iris, is something wrong? You’ve been spacing out a lot.”

“It’s nothing...” she tried. 

Waver rolled his eyes. “Iris, the only place I saw others in the same state as you is university, and it takes an awful amount of sleeplessness and stress to get to that point. I’ve not given you any long assignments and I’m fairly confident you do actually understand the majority of what I’ve been teaching you. So… what’s bothering you, kid?” 

Iris looked to the side with pursed lips before she spoke. “It’s...Mum.”

“Your mother?”

“She’s been going out so much these past two weeks that I barely see her anymore,” she said, crestfallen. “I think it started a couple days after you woke me up that night with the room coming apart,” She added. “I’ve been thinking and thinking and thinking and the only reason I can come up with is that she’s upset that I saw a part of her life she didn’t want me to and I’ve been waiting for her to come back so I can say I’m sorry but I fall asleep every time...” she sniffed as her voice seemed to about to break. 

Waver sighed inwardly. He was observant enough to already have an outline of what’s going on.

…. 

The magus stood with a groan, kicking his legs that were asleep from sitting for so long and walked out of the guest bedroom after gulping down the remains of a cold coffee. 

As he walked towards the Gorgon’s bedroom he came across an open door at the study. What he saw inside had him gaping like a fish. 

Medusa was chugging at a wizarding brand bottle of alcohol in front of the open liquor cabinet. Furthermore, if the red in her cheeks was any indication it actually affected her. 

“Rider?” He called out hesitantly. 

Said woman quickly turned, startled, but then just frowned when she saw Waver and took another swing, much to the magus’ consternation. 

“Rider, your daughter really misses you and she thinks it's somehow her fault that you’ve been distancing yourself from her,” Waver said bluntly, which immediately caught the Gorgon’s attention, making her spit out what she hadn’t managed to swallow yet, resulting in an unexpected tongue of flame. 

“So that’s why it’s called firewhiskey,” she commented, absentminded from the alcohol, “Wait, you said Iris thinks it’s her fault that I haven’t been much in the house?” 

“Yes. It’s been bothering her so much that she can’t pay attention at all in our sessions,” Waver said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Look, I know that something’s been eating away at you since Iris began her dream cycle but whatever you’re blaming yourself for, Iris doesn’t and she needs you all the same.”

“Why would she? There’s nothing for me to fight, and the house elf takes care of any chores I thought I would have to learn to do. As I see it, besides being useless, all I do is make things worse by just being here. You saw how the dream cycle affected her,” She replied sardonically, drunkenly swirling about the bottle of firewhiskey in her hand.

“Rider- Medusa. Don’t you see you’re the best thing that has happened in Iris’ life so far?” Waver asked, exasperated, “Just being there is more than any adult has ever done for her!”

Those words were like a bucket of ice cold water that was dumped over her head. She looked away in shame, having failed to consider anything other than how Iris might look at her like she is something to be afraid of. The only thing she had been unknowingly doing right became something she neglected. 

“Just talk to her in the morning,” Waver said with a sigh, relieved that his words got through her. 

As she contemplated approaching her daughter the next day, the Gorgon’s eyes fell on the bottle in her hand, now still. 

“Want a glass?” She asked wryly. 

The young man looked at the bottle in question for a long moment with a pursed mouth before walking over the liquor cabinet and getting himself a glass. He deserved as much for having to handle emotionally constipated Heroic Spirits. 

~~o0o~~

“What was in that?” Medusa said to no one in particular as she walked out of the study room. She vaguely remembered pouring the magus one single glass, whose head then fell on the table, passed out. As she herself had downed a significant portion of the bottle, she wasn’t surprised she didn’t remember anything after that. The surprising and annoying part was that she woke up with a headache. 

“I have B rank magic resistance for Styx’s sake,” Was heard in an exasperated tone most unusual for the unflappable Rider, “I’m never drinking that ever again.” 

Soon, a bleary Medusa stepped into a living room, looking a little sick, and slumped into a sofa, rubbing her temples. “Sooty,” she called. 

“Yes Mistressy Medusy?” The stained skinned elf dressed in a tea towel appeared with a pop.

“I want you to put away any alcohol lying around and lock the liquor cabinets in the house. No one is to take or drink any of it without my supervision. I have no idea how they achieved it and I don’t want to know, but one glass of that firewhiskey would give a grown human alcohol poisoning.”

“Sooty will do that, but Mistressy is drinking wrong she is. Burnt firewhiskey meant to be used to make highball cocktail with sparky water and ice,” the elf noted. 

That seemed to catch the elder Gorgon’s attention, who raised an eyebrow in interest. “I see. You may go, and thank you.” And with that the elf disappeared with a pop. 

Who then reappeared again, placing a glass of nondescript murky green liquid on the coffee table, “We’s not have Hangover Cure potion , but this wills help. Traditional Potter recipe,” He stated the last part with pride, popping away without prompt. 

As Medusa picked up the glass and examined the suspicious concoction, she reddened as she finally noticed her daughter, realizing that she likely saw the entire thing. She quickly downed the questionable liquid, barely suppressing a grimace while held back snickers made themselves known, turning into laughter. 

At first it was just embarrassment about breaking her character and being seen hungover, but then she smiled as she realized this was the first time she heard Iris laughing wholeheartedly like that since moving in. She was glad the girl finally felt safe enough to express herself, even though it was at her own expense. 

“So how is learning magecraft?” She asked when the tittering seemed to die down, procrastinating the actual topic they would have to talk about. Medusa didn’t show, but she was finally glad to have a topic good enough to talk about. 

Iris smiled at the warm feeling the question caused. Having a parent actually interested in how she’s doing was...  great. “It’s really interesting. Uncle is like, stern, but it’s not the bad kind of stern. It makes me want to do better, but I have trouble with the part where he tells me to meditate and have me try to feel my Magic Core,” she answered, deliberately making sure she didn’t ramble. 

“Don’t you have to open your Circuits first?” the Servant pointed out.

“Nope,” her daughter shook her head, sending strands of hair fluttering, “Waver says Cores are always a little open, and just open more or less instead of having an on and off button.”

Medusa hummed, Iris’ question making her feel out her own spiritual core in hopes of being able to provide an explanation.

“Do you remember what it felt like when you accidentally used your Mystic Eyes?” She asked, as she usually feels prana surging around her eyes when she uses them. 

At the shake of the girl’s head, she fell into thought again. “The blood adoption ritual,” she thought out loud, “Do you remember how the surging magic felt?”

“Oh, I remember that!” Iris perked up, “That was...intense. Is that what I should be looking for?”

“Obviously not the same and not that intense, but it should be something similar. If it’s anything like my Spiritual Core, you should look for it in your chest or stomach.”

The younger Gorgon hummed, closing her eyes to attempt sensing her Core with the new information, focusing on what she felt during what she now considered her real birthday. 

…

…

Thump-thump Oh? No, that was just her heartbeat. 

…

No, heartbeat agai- wait. Heartbeats go thump-thump , not whatever rhythm this pulses to. 

Oh.

It was as though she had a little sun within her, together with solar winds.

It was like...what she felt during the ritual, except much less intense and...having a different flavour? It was the only description that seemed to fit. 

Iris opened her eyes and grinned at her mother excitedly. “I can feel it! I just needed to know what to look for!” 

“I’m glad I could help.” 

A beat. 

“I’m...sorry you had to see me like that. In the dream cycle. It must’ve been terrifying for you to watch,” the Rider said with a downcast gaze, “I spent so much time outside because I was afraid of seeing you being scared of me.” 

The girl was quick to respond. “Oh I wasn’t scared, that’s not why I cried that time. I mean I was, but...”

“It was because I was relieved that you’re here with me and...you were alright. I was so happy that the Medusa who became my mother and was saved by was still here. It...doesn’t really matter anymore that you did all that. After I thought about it for a while, I understood that that is simply how far you’re going to go for those who are important to you. Also, I don’t like your sisters at all. You did so much for them but they treated you like Dudley treated me.” 

As her daughter rambled, Medusa was once again taken by surprise by Iris’ compassionate heart.

“I’m okay with seeing all that...just...please don’t leave me like that...” Iris said finally after a long pause. 

Spurred on by the tone reminiscent of what she heard when she was summoned from the Throne of Heroes, the elder Gorgon pulled the younger one into an embrace that she immediately latched onto. 

“Okay...I won’t.”

Chapter Text

AN: Listening to the Fate/Zero OST’s “Point Zero” at the first memory scene, then “The Sword of Promised Victory” at the second memory scene recommended. 

~~o0o~~

“Good. Now using what you learned of the make-up of the cup with Structural Grasp, create a projection of it,” Waver instructed, his calm masking his inner thoughts. 

It has been some months since Iris began her apprenticeship with him and it’s been going...quite well, for which he should be glad. In fact, it’s been quite underwhelming, and the fact that there’s been little to no issues that he wouldn’t expect from a magus in training at her level has been setting Waver a little on edge, having him watch more closely than usual for any snags or differences. Although he wouldn’t admit to it, a part of him was dismayed that he had no material so far for the paper that teaching a witch magecraft, which was a scarcely researched topic, should’ve resulted.

“ Ignition. Edsċiepp. ”

As she intoned, in the eye of Iris’ mind a motorcycle engine kickstarted, being the mental trigger for kicking her Magic Core into high gear (she thought the metaphor fit when she learned her Core always worked passively to help the body function) and pulling prana from it into her hands to shape it into an object. She carefully visualized its composition, structure, texture and finish as the item gradually coalesced into existence. By the time the cup clattered on the table and her uncle picked it up to examine it, the girl was panting, a sheen of sweat on her forehead from exertion. 

“A 4/10 compared to the original. Marked improvement after scanning the object, but much more effort, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” the now professor commented, “Of course, it would be much more efficient to Reinforce the cup we already have for quality magnitudes better, but as I said before, your end goal is learning to control and shape the prana, in this case well enough that you don’t get much more than slight shortness of breath. Now, keep going for twice or so, depending on how much you have left in you,” he explained, squashing a small voice in his head irritated at his own lack of capacity to do better than the mentioned standard, reminding himself that his capabilities lie elsewhere. 

The magus looked back to the girl now with closed eyes in concentration. He vaguely expected for the Grail War to be a special experience, and he has come back a changed man if the way people at the Clock Tower looked at him now and seemed to pay more attention to his observations were any indication, but to come back as an uncle? Though… it wasn’t so bad after all. Honestly, he got awfully lucky with Iris legitimately being the last surviving heir of a wizarding house, since he himself had only fallen further into debt since buying out his late professor’s class. Not that he’d use Iris’ inheritance to pay off any of it. He did steal the original relic he was going to use to summon a Servant after all, so he’s arguably responsible for his downfall in the Grail War. Despite how much he hated the man, Professor Kayneth was a competent educator, and the rest of the students didn’t deserve that taken away. 

He would never use these incantations in Old English from his family’s books out of sheer principle. The Velvets were a young magus family of but four generations old, and it would be a disgrace to pretend to be from an older family than he actually was. But for Iris, it was merely a matter of personal preference of which language to use for spellcasting, not weighted down by personal pride. 

Truly, even if she’s never going to be his heir, nor a magus, he didn’t mind imparting them to someone with potential who would put it to better use, and certainly not if that someone happened to be his adoptive niece. Medusa too, seemed somewhat relieved that the girl didn’t choose greek. Waver did notice that her daughter began emulating her mother in subtle ways.

He was about to call out to Iris as she closed her eyes for a fourth projection attempt when she should be obviously taking a break, when the cup she was supposed to project seemingly just... appeared in her hands. It was like he was watching footage of projection being fast-forwarded. The girl herself appeared to be surprised by the development, too.

“May I?” Waver asked motioning to the cup, making his student look up to him and handing over the object.

“...A solid 7 out of 10. Interesting.”

Maybe he’s going to be able to write that paper after all.

~~o0o~~

With an attitude from her uncle that she could nearly call enthusiastic, they thoroughly tested the first deviation of her magus training, of which the results were that she could consistently make reproductions of simple items that she scanned with Structural Grasp with a 7-8/10 quality compared to the original. On top of that, the time it took to cast the spell was on par with a 2 bar (2 seconds) spell, which was at least twice as fast the average speed for projecting things of this complexity.  

The mechanics of it, or the unexpectedly little amount of it however, perplexed Waver. The only steps were the mental trigger, incantation, visualizing the item and its make-up to the furthest extent using information of the scan and if the wizard theory books were right, intent of the result, although the last one seemed like a no-brainer with self-hypnotization. When you cast a spell, there was no ‘how much I want this to happen’, only ‘I am going to do this ’. 

It irritated her professor to no end, resulting in plenty of utterances of “That’s cheating!” and variations of such. 

In the backyard, Iris examined the throwing knife she reproduced with what her uncle labeled as what wizards called ‘Conjuration’. It was something she discreetly scanned in one of those shops in the mall where they sold knives, swords and other gift items. The knife itself was a solid piece of steel with a minimalistic amount of cloth covering the handle and with a hole on the bottom. 

Giving it a few experimental flips, she aimed at the plank with the target circle affixed to the wall Sooty made for her, tried to emulate the way she saw her mother move before she threw her daggers in the dream cycle and - 

Missed, totally not also hitting the wall to the left with a thunk! , on which the knife bounced off. She also totally didn’t nearly lose her footing after the throw. 

Iris was about to move in to retrieve the knife when she froze in her step and shook her head, conjuring a dozen or so knives just like the one she threw. 

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk-thunk. Tink! Thunk. Th-th-thunk (yeah, throwing three at a time wasn’t a good idea after all). 

Thwack!

“Yes!” the girl cheered, finally getting a knife to stick into the wooden target with the right end. 

Much to her dismay, her reverie was interrupted by a snicker coming from seemingly empty air behind her. Totally not blushing up a storm, she glared half-heartedly in the sound’s direction, where her mother materialized, smiling a small smile with mirth.

“Nice throw.” 

“Muuuuuum,” Iris pouted. 

“You have to throw it differently than I do because my daggers are different from your knives,” Medusa stated, still smiling. 

The girl looked away, realizing that she’d been caught trying to copy her mother, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. After a moment, she huffed and conjured another knife, holding it out to the elder Gorgon handle first. 

“Then you tell me how to throw it.”

“Certainly.” Medusa smirked, picking the piece of metal out of her daughter’s hands. 

“First, you hold it like so,” she upheld the knife like Iris would hold a kitchen knife with the index finger on the back of the blade, “Bend your knees with one foot ahead of the other and-”

There was a blur, and suddenly there was a loud thwack! on the target with a knife embedded into it. Iris blinked. 

“In a speed I can perceive please,” she deadpanned. 

“You have to throw it fast enough that the knife doesn’t rotate too much by the time it reaches your target,” Medusa said without missing a beat. 

She got an annoyed pout in response. 

Her mother only chuckled and patted her daughter’s head as means of apologizing for the teasing whose cheeks heated up again. 

Look at them, bonding over throwing knives , Waver shook his head at the scene before him, having walked out to the backyard as to ascertain what all those thwacking noises were. Guess that’s what you get for having a Heroic Spirit for a parent. 

“You might as well teach her how to fight with those,” Waver called out, leaning against the side of the building right at the corner. 

“Fight?” Iris replied, her interest piqued.

“Yes. Maybe it’s a little early, but learning some sort of combat skills are par on course for a magus. You’ll be starting to learn body reinforcement sooner or later anyways, which I’d rather you do with my supervision, than recklessly experimenting on your own trying to emulate your mother’s superhuman fighting style,” he said, rolling his eyes as he got confirmation of what he guessed were the girl’s thoughts when she looked away, blushing in embarrassment. 

“How do you fight, uncle?” came from the curious girl, inadvertently turning the tables on her magecraft professor. 

“I er...was not fortunate enough to ever have had someone to teach me any combat skills,” he tried, short of admitting he was nearly useless in a situation demanding such, “I try to compensate for my lack of physical prowess with my wits.”  

“Well then,” Iris said with an impish grin like a shark scenting blood, “Good thing now you have the opportunity to learn from someone legendarily good at fighting, don’t you? Don’t you worry uncle, me and Mom will be happy to help you wake up in time for our morning runs, right Mom?”

“Of course,” her mother agreed with a mirthful smile, much to Waver’s chagrin.

The magus blinked in befuddlement before resting his head against the wall he was leaning against, facepalming. He nearly missed the timid kid Iris was months ago before she opened up and began to turn his subtle teasing against him, but only nearly.

~~o0o~~

Waver cursed inwardly. He was gasping for breath, panting, and his lungs were burning.

He was never going to let Iris get one over him ever again. 

The Gorgon pair had long since finished their laps but the scamp stayed behind to cheer him on in his torment. 

As he finally reached the front yard of the Lion House he was about to collapse when a strong, slender arm caught him and pushed a cup of water in front of his face, which he greedily gulped down. After he was done he was abruptly let go and sprawled on the front lawn. 

When he finally seemed to catch his breath, someone spoke to him. 

“Can you stand?” It was the elder Gorgon’s voice. 

In response he only held out an arm, which was taken and he was helped up. 

“I need you to check the Bounded Fields. I noticed something new.”

Now that grabbed his attention. “Something new?” 

“Yes. Blood-based.” 

“Okay okay, let me check one of the anchors,” he said, waving the Gorgon to follow. 

When he reached one of the corners of the property he quickly threw up a detection spell. 

“Huh...you’re right. This wasn’t here before,” the magus muttered, “The detection Fields haven’t been triggered, so it’s either the work of someone really good or it somehow appeared by itself. It actually doesn’t even feel like a Bounded Field. It’s more like those wards the wizards use. Why do you think it’s blood-based?” 

“It somewhat resembles my Blood Fort Andromeda. Because my Bounded Field breaks down living beings into prana for me to use, I can tell that the ward is powered with the sacrifice of a life,” Medusa explained, “Which is...concerning.” 

“Still, that’s not even the weirdest thing about it if I’m right. As sinister as it appears, it seems to be some sort of protection,” Waver said, puzzled.

With that, the Gorgon seemed to close her eyes in concentration and reach out to where the edge of the Bounded Field would be. When she opened her eyes, her eyebrows seemed to wish to disappear into her hairline. 

“That was...unexpected. When I focused my magic senses, I felt a sense of love, protectiveness...and gratefulness wash over me. Moreover, it seems like they’re anchored to Iris and I, bolstered by our presence. It doesn’t even seem fueled off us, despite it.” 

“It’s...not dangerous, then?” Waver questioned, befuddled by the observations.

“That, at the very least I can say it isn’t.”

The magus nodded, not noticing the mother walking off towards some odd noises in the backyard likely coming from her daughter as he fell in thought. 

He hasn’t actually had the time to truly mull over it, busy with setting up his class, being swamped with research, dealing with self-important magi and teaching Iris magecraft, but whenever he thought about Iris’ circumstances he had the niggling feeling that things didn’t add up. Even with finding out that both of the people that Iris should’ve ended up with were...unavailable for the lack of a better word, but wasn’t even being with this supposed Dumbledore better than the relatives the Goblin said were explicitly banned from taking care of Iris? What actually happened on the night the supposed Voldemort disappeared? He didn’t really bother looking at other texts beyond magic theory yet. Now he had the same niggling feeling that this strange, but inoffensive ward was somehow connected to this. 

Waver sighed, resolving to look into it later.

~~o0o~~

Iris was coming back from the school library after turning in some books she needed for literature class, briefly greeting a few classmates on her way out with an awkward smile. 

Try as she might to forget what being Harry was like, not continually being bullied and looked at like she belonged in the bottom of the barrel by both classmates and adults took some getting used to. Heck, she was praised by the teacher too for doing well! 

Even with her skittish behaviour, people seemed to actually like her, if in a somewhat distant manner. And she even got complimented, even if her hair was only glamoured a fiery ginger to hide its vivid rose-like coloration. 

Unfortunately making friends was still a...challenge. She had no idea how to be proactive about it, but if someone else was enthusiastic about it, it quickly got overwhelming and she made a fast retreat to the library. At least there she could spend time reading in companionable silence with a bushy-haired girl she still didn’t know the name of. 

She felt the Bounded Fields wash over her as she stepped over their boundaries, and shouted “I’m home!” as she entered the lacquered oaken door. 

After taking off her sneakers, she looked up with a raised eyebrow when no reply came. It was oddly quiet. Usually both Waver and her mother were around this time of the week. From the other end of the hallway, she could see something pink dangling above the doorway to the living room. Iris went on to investigate. 

However, when she entered pops suddenly went off and obscured her sight with confetti. 

“Surprise!” came the stereo voices of the people she was looking for. 

Her brows shot up once her vision was cleared. Multicolored balloons were strewn in the room, with some on the ceiling as well, and there was a banner hung up in the middle that read ‘Happy Birthday!’. Whose birthday party was it?

“Happy Birthday Iris!”

Those three words made her thoughts ground to a halt. She looked wide-eyed at her smiling uncle and wryly smiling mother. 

“Sooty, the cake please,” called out Waver, and the house elf popped in with a chocolate cake in his hands and ten lit candles on it, placing it on the coffee table.

“Your mother had Sooty’s help, but she baked it,” boasted Waver. 

“...For me?” she asked in a small voice, looking up to her mother.

“For you,” nodded her mother. 

Memories she had tried so hard to forget started flooding in. The time she asked Uncle Vernon if she would get anything for her birthday and learned to never ask that question again. The time she had been sequestered into her cupboard so Dudley can “enjoy his birthday properly”. Her cousin’s second bedroom, completely filled with his toys. Having been made to cook food for his birthday and only being able to taste it from scraps that fell on the floor because he ate like a pig. 

“All mine?” she asked again, her voice breaking. 

“If you want,” answered her uncle.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. 

For you.

For the first time in her short life, she finally had her own birthday cake. Iris clung to her mother, weeping. 

“Iris, dear, is something wrong?” she asked, with Waver looking on equally alarmed. 

“‘s wonderful,” the girl managed to vocalize, “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Medusa said, patting her daughter’s head in a way became a habit for situations involving tears. 

The Gorgon looked up when she felt a pointed look at her, and saw the magus giving her an “I told you so” expression to which she smiled wryly. Now she completely understood why Waver freaked out when she offhandedly asked if they should hold one of those birthday parties for Iris. It wasn’t like it was ever considered something important on the Shapeless Isle. 

Eventually, the girl calmed down. Waver, seeing her reaction to just having a birthday cake, steeled himself and sang “Happy Birthday to You!” with the Rider, much to their collective discomfort before blowing out the candles and cutting up the cake. Iris loved it anyways.

After each had a few slices, her teacher spoke up. “So, you’ve had your mother’s gift, want to see mine?”

“There’s more?” she gaped. 

Waver smirked. “There’s more.” 

To the girl’s delight, she was presented with a telly all geared up with a Game Station and several game cassettes. 

“Want to try it out?” her uncle asked, picking up a controller.

He took the squee as a yes.

~~o0o~~

“Medusa, was there a pensieve in the Potter vaults then?” Waver called out as he stretched his legs after spending a few hours getting his ass handed to him in Zekken. The newbie had no right to be that good in just one day!

“There was. I retrieved it and placed it in the study room as you asked,” the Gorgon answers, putting away a magazine on motorbikes. 

“Thank you. Come, Iris, I have something amazing to show you.”

“What’s a pensieve?” the girl asked as she followed her teacher. 

“Apparently, it’s a device you can use to review and show others memories. I’m going to show you a memory or two of the Grail War.”

Iris ooh’d. 

“Think of it also as a reward for doing well in your magecraft studies. I have taught you about Servants and Heroic Spirits, but there’s only so much you can learn in class. It’s time you truly understood what kind of existence your mother is,” the magus explained, falling back into his “Professor” tone.

As they entered the study room, Iris saw that a stone basin was placed on the desk. It was covered in runes, and had what she remembered was the Potter crest on the side. 

Truly, it’s unsettling that the magi could overlook such a thing due to their arrogance, the magus thought. The ability to review and share your memories would be invaluable in experiments, especially for magi without the talent to learn the skill to do it on their own. Then again, maybe some of them do have one, but do not disclose it .

“Now, if my theory is right...” he said, drawing an Azoth Dagger (which Iris recalled was used as a magical focus), “Then I should be able to use it though I do not have a wand.”

He placed the tip of the dagger against his temple and focused on the memory he wanted to ‘extract’, using Structural Grasp on the pensieve with the other hand at the same time, noticing that some of the runes became active. A silvery thread extended from his temple when he lifted the tip of the dagger and tipped it into the stone basin, which the silver thread followed, filling it. Iris watched it happen with wide eyes. 

“It must be the rune work on it that enables doing this. I found little to no information on the spell that you would use to extract a memory; no wandwork, no theory. It was as though you were simply expected to know. So I hypothesized that it must be the device itself,” he explained, “Also if I’m right, you don’t actually need to put your face in, just skin contact is enough, for example placing your finger in it. Now if you’ll indulge testing it out with me...” 

The other two huddled closer.

“Now, place your finger in three, two...” 

….

And they were whisked away, appearing on top of a freight container, surrounded by others in what appeared to be a dock, at nighttime. 

“Huh, it worked,” he said, looking around in surprise before recomposing himself. “In case you’re wondering where I am in this memory, I am in my Rider’s chariot, looking in from the sky.” He snorted, as though remembering something, “The big idiot wanted to wait for the most dramatic moment to make an entrance.” 

Iris looked on as he listened to her teacher with half an ear. In the street formed by the surrounding containers were two people, out of place. They appeared relaxed at first glance, but both gave off the air of being like a coiled spring, ready to jump into action. 

One was a tan man with a beatific face, dressed in green and leanly muscular with leather armor and two spears in his hands in wraps covered in runes. The shorter one in his left hand was a pale gold, while the longer one in his right helf over his shoulder was a deep, blood red. He had an easy smile.

Waver gestured with a hand. “Respectively, the Lancer Class Servant, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne the Love Spot, the hero of Ireland from the Fenian Cycle...”

The other was a young blonde woman in a royal blue battle dress and polished silvery armor, holding herself as though she had a sword in her hands, where only swirling air could be seen. Her countenance was stern, with steely green eyes locked onto her opponent. 

“And the Saber Class Servant, though it might surprise you, Arturia Pendragon, or King Arthur, the King of Knights of the Round Table. She has an ability which conceals her sword by which she would be instantly recognizable, Excalibur,” he said, though his tone became more dry presenting the latter.

The young Gorgon was instantly captivated, even though Waver explained that they would not be able to hear their words since he didn’t hear them from the distance he watched. 

Tension filled the air when they seemed to be done with what seemed like pre-battle banter. The swordswoman burst into movement and closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Iris gasped as even blocked blows caused the pavement to crack. 

A mere swipe of the Irish hero’s spear gouged out the ground as the woman revealed to be King flipped with impossible agility. Beyond the sheer force of the blows that caused shockwaves, making her hair billow in the wind, even her untrained eye could see that both were masters of their respective weapons, their technique flawless. 

Suddenly, a haughty man’s voice resounded through the area, ordering the Lancer to finish the fight already. He dropped his short spear, making a show of revealing the body of the scarlet spear and charging in. She gaped with wide eyes as each time she saw the spear come into contact with the swordswoman's weapon, it dispelled the whirling wind and revealed an indescribably beautiful sword emanating dazzling golden light.

“What you’re seeing here is the properties of the red spear, Gaé Dearg, which breaks through all magic and enchantments, in this case, the wind covering Excalibur,” the magus commented.

There was a lull as the Spirits halted, eyeing their opponent’s movement carefully, before taking it in both hands and moving with a speed even Iris’ fixed and enhanced eyesight could just barely perceive. Iris sharply inhaled seeing Saber’s side leave a trail of blood, Arturia herself appearing to be shocked by the undamaged armor. 

“As Saber’s armor is created out of prana, the spear negates it and just goes through it as though it was air.” 

In just a brief exchange of what she thought was more banter, the King of Knights appeared to dispel her armor, seeming to evaporate in motes of light, leaving her in the royal blue dress. 

“...If I cannot defend against your blade, then I only need to cut you down first. Prepare yourself, Lancer!”  

“Ah. It appears this is when the flying chariot I and my Servant were on began closing in enough for their speech to be within earshot,” the magus commented. 

“So you’re going all out. You’re betting everything on one strike. You’re converting the disadvantages of having the armor to the advantages gained from abandoning it,” Diarmuid said with admiration in his tone, “What courage. What a bold decision. I like it. But it is a foolish mistake in this case, Saber.”

“We shall see,” Arturia stated boldly, shifting to prepare for a lunge. 

With that she launched off, air seemed to shift around her, the wind surrounding her sword expelled to boost her charge even further, rocketing towards Lancer with an aftertrail of golden light which lit her nearby surroundings. 

Yet, something seemed to go awry. Lancer actually dug his foot into the rubble and kicked up his discarded pale gold spear, after which Saber flipped sideways, barely flinging past without being impaled on Diarmuid’s spear.

Iris watched it all with bated breath.

“That spear would’ve made contact with Saber faster than she expected. She barely dodged it and it still nicked her underarm,” her mother commented after a long silence. 

“That is so. The pale gold spear is Gaé Buidhe, a cursed spear from which wounds do not heal so long it exists. It likely handicapped Saber for nearly the rest of the war before Lancer was taken out.”

“This is bad. Very bad,” a deep voice said. 

“Wh-what is?” asked another voice that reminded Iris of her uncle, though it had a childish whine to it.

“Moving on,” Waver said abruptly, when the scene changed to one being on a riverbank with a bridge across it, connecting two halves of a city.

“Hey! Who were those two?”

“Unimportant.”

Waver sighed as his apprentice pouted at his stonewalling. Beyond saving himself embarrassment by revealing his younger self, he didn’t want Iris to relieve her trauma as Berserker would’ve entered the scene soon. 

“You’ve seen what a fight between Servants is like, but it’s still not enough to get across what a Heroic Spirit is. It always comes down to their Noble Phantasms in the end, but mere descriptions will never do it justice. The crystallization of a legend has to be...experienced,” he trailed off, gesturing at a figure in a distance, which turned out to be Saber standing on the river water after Iris’ eyes refocused, after which she immediately gaped at the giant eldritch monstrosity of tentacles further in the distance. She also noticed a figure in golden armor floating in front of the bridge.

“I see you’ve noticed it. That thing, is the Caster Class Servant, Gilles de Rais, also known as Bluebeard, the killer in the folktale. Now, pay attention.”

She noticed Saber raising her glowing sword in her hands above her head, closing her eyes as though in prayer.

Both in the distance and her nearby surroundings, motes of light began to rise, casting a golden glow, like she was completely surrounded by innumerable amount of ethereal fireflies. The light began to coalesce into the swordswoman’s blade that began to swell, its radiance making it seem like it was a fluctuating beam of holy light. 

“The light...” “The light...” , Iris said at the same time as she noticed a younger Waver and an albino woman nearby.

"Her sword shines, a dream that warriors scattered in battle, past, present and future hold mournfully and exalt as their final moments approach. 

She carries their will as their pride, bidding them to remain steadfast in their loyalty. 

Now, the undefeated king sings aloud the name of the miracle in her hands."

It was like a glimpse of heaven. The light gathered in the fluctuating blade of lighted rose until the Divine Construct was overflowing, basking the woman wielding it in a halo of radiance. She stepped forward, the oscillating energy making her dress billow and create waves around her in an unreal scene when it felt like the event reached its tipping point and she finally swung , bellowing:

“EX...CALIBUR!!”  

It’s said that legends, although likely to have a seed of truth, have garnered their fame and became widely known by being embellished and made more grand every time it was retold to someone else, until no one could differentiate fact from reality. 

Iris was now firmly of the opinion that it ended up that way simply because no matter how many superlatives they tried to use, all attempts would result in an understatement. The witnesses were simply unable to properly put a true manifestation of glory into words. 

Then again, neither could she.

It was the most breathtaking sight not even imagination could come up with. It was like a tsunami of pure light was fired off from Arturia’s hands. It dazzled Iris’ eyes like nothing else. 

The massive wave of light hit the unspeakable monstrosity, which after some frail resistance instantly broke apart, the blinding energy razing it through. 

Sheer force of the impact caused the river to temporarily flood the shores and rocked the ships at the docks in the distance. 

The trio stood in silence, processing what they just saw, even though it was the second time for one of them. It simply had such an effect. 

Iris wouldn’t be able to look at her mother the same way again.

…

“Wow...” 

Iris blinked. That wasn’t her, though it nearly sounded like it. She looked around with raised eyebrows, her mother also seeming to notice something off. 

She stared when her eyes fell upon the lavender haired girl with ruby red eyes. 

“Eep!” She squeaked, looking like she was caught with her hand in the cookie jar, after she took on a forced smile and waved timidly, “Uhm…hi Mom, Sis?”

Chapter Text

AN: S'up y'all! It's been a while. The future chapters will take longer because I've reached a point where I have to plan much, much further ahead than I have so far. Also figuring out worldbuilding. And magic theory. And character sheets. God, it was an embarassing to realize just how little I have had pinned down about my characters before this, which is why I sometimes had no idea how to move on since I didn't know how the character would react.

Anyways, enjoy!

~~o0o~~

'Ivy, I still can't believe you stayed quiet all those months,' Iris muttered mentally.

'I was afraid you would get rid of me or something, okay?' the other voice pleaded.

~~Flashback~~

"Wow..."

Iris blinked. That wasn't her, though it nearly sounded like it. She looked around with raised eyebrows, her mother also seeming to notice something off.

She stared when her eyes fell upon the girl with ruby red eyes and lavender hair the same shade as Medusa.

"Eep!" She squeaked, looking like she was caught with her hand in the cookie jar, after she took on a forced smile and waved timidly, "Uhm…hullo, Mum, Sis?"

"How...are you here?" Waver finally worked up the nerve to ask. Not who, not why, how. Everything from the girl's reaction pointed to the fact that she was surprised by the situation as well - and frankly, like a lost child.

"I er..." the girl blinked incomprehensibly, as though caught off guard by the question, "I hitched a ride on Iris, I think? I am in some manner in her body, after all."

"In her body...?" the magus repeated, more baffled by the minute, "Again, how? You're too humanlike to be some sort of parasite."

"I'm not entirely sure, but I think I'm just a soul, bound to her."

"Just a soul she says…" muttered Waver under his breath.

"Whose?" Medusa asked, finally speaking up. She looked rather faint.

"I...don't actually know. I've been trying to figure it out myself. My earliest memory is from when Iris woke up in the hospital in Japan."

"I see..." Waver sighed, feeling more exasperated by the minute, "What can we call you, then?"

"I'm uh…" the girl looked up, seeming to contemplate her answer, "Ivy."

"Okay, Ivy. Earlier, I think you called these two," he gestured towards the two Gorgons, "'Mom and Sis'. Why?"

"Because that's what they are?"

"How do you know?"

Ivy looked at the magus as if he was asking an obvious question. "Uhm, I just do? Instinct?"

"Since when?"

"Since the blood adoption ritual."

With that bombshell, the questioning seemed to reach a lull. Reactions appeared to vary. The magus was holding his forehead in his hand, massaging his temples. Medusa herself looked stupefied, very much seeming like she wanted to faint. It was like when she saw Iris wake up after the blood adoption all over again.

Iris however, looked on to the lavender haired girl with wide eyes for a moment before bounding off in her direction and pulling her into a hug, nearly yelling "Hey little sis!"

Medusa and Waver shared a look of consternation.

~~Flashforward~~

After coming out of that meeting in the memory where Ivy hastily explained what little she knew about herself (Medusa looked like she wanted to faint at the concept of having two kids, even if one was just a soul) they went straight to Gringotts to get curse breakers to examine Iris for safety's sake. Their only findings were that Iris' scar on her forehead looked like it had traces of "dark magic" and that it was an old curse scar.

Waver himself too, hastily examined Iris with the limited knowledge related to spiritualism he had. It left him quite dumbfounded still - at first it was because of the conscious, healthy soul that he detected alongside Iris', then balking at the fact that the girl was housing an additional soul in her body with no strain whatsoever, or fighting for control. He eventually hypothesized that it was because Ivy was also affected by the blood adoption Iris went through, which had granted something akin to a symbiotic relationship. To say it was an unprecedented case was an understatement.

Waver dearly wished he could get her examined by his colleagues in the Spiritual Evocation department but elected it to be wiser to keep knowledge of her existence from the Clock Tower indefinitely. She'd be whisked off to be 'studied' on a dissection table in a heartbeat.

'I already told you I wouldn't let them! How could I let go so easily of the best birthday gift I had?'

There was a sigh that could not be heard outwardly. 'You would be the type of person to think that, wouldn't you? It's your sixth lap, by the way.'

'What's that supposed to mean? I'm not the one who looked like I wanted to cry after being hugged. Oh right, thanks.'

Ivy elected to switch topics in lieu of admitting just how happy she felt about that hug (which was her first time feeling being touched herself). 'You still never explained how you feel about this gender stuff. I can feel what you feel but I can't tell what you're thinking if you don't make it a coherent thought.'

'Oh come on, not you too! Mom's been in a tizzy ever since she read that article on gender identity,' Iris whined.

'I mean, it's a little strange how you're not bothered by becoming a girl at all after spending nearly a decade as a boy,' Ivy reasoned.

'I was never a boy,' Iris thought heatedly, which earned a mental raise of an eyebrow from her soul sister.

'Okay fine,' she gave in pensively, slowing down to a walk from her jog, taking a swing from her water bottle. 'Maybe I...Harry...could have become a boy. Could. But Harry was never treated like a boy, much less like he was a kid. It was like he was some genderless nondescript thing to them. If I had to put a name on what he used to think of himself as, it's either "freak" or "trash", and "boy" might as well mean the same thing here,' she paused to let out a sigh, 'He didn't like what he was. So when he stopped looking like he did, and I was told I became a girl and looked like Mum was well...my Mum, I was happy to become that instead.'

Her headmate hummed. 'I see.'

'And honestly? After spending time with boys at school, even ones that weren't prats like Dudley, I decided being a girl is the way to go. Why be a boy to be strong when you can be a girl to be both pretty and strong?' she added as she walked up to Lion House's front yard.

'The rest of our girl classmates that can't lift as much as you would like a word with you.'

'Anyways! Boys. Suck.' Iris proclaimed.

'Boys suck?' was echoed.

The rosehead nodded to herself. 'Boys suck.'

'Iri, Ivy, breakfast's ready!' Their mother's telepathic voice came through the shared bond.

'Coming!' both thought back at once.

~~o0o~~

Dropping once again into a low stance with a blunted dagger in either hand (more for her own safety rather than her mother's of course) like a coiled spring, she took a deep breath and the growl of an engine resounded in her mind with a small twinge of pain in her core.

Ignition.

"Āh unhíere afol," she whispered the incantation, willing prana to spread from her Core into her limbs, filling in the imperfections and gaps between her muscles, her ligaments, and her bones, making them stronger, tougher, more enduring. Well, at least as strong as her little overall mass could enable her to be.

She lunged.

Her attack was predictably blocked.

A year passed since Iris began her training with her mother. Surprisingly (though perhaps not so much) Iris took rather well to the agility-demanding hit-and-run style her mother employed, with the propensity to slip under the other's guard, coming in hard and fast, and then disengaging just as quickly. Though of course, there were significant differences simply due to the fact that Iris simply didn't have her mother's physical capabilities, and therefore had to adapt Medusa's techniques into something Iris' much smaller, mortal self could use or fill in the gaps with mundane martial arts, such as taekwondo.

That however, was not to say that the younger Gorgon wasn't strong, especially compared to others in her age group. With Sooty's encouragement (chasticing) and regular training, Iris gradually filled out from being merely skin and bones to a healthy and very fit build. She even had a growth spurt that made her the tallest girl in her grade, on par with most of the boys. Much to the boy's chagrin, she also frequently came home bragging that she beat them all at arm-wrestling even without Reinforcement, which Waver suspected was another boon of her mother's blood.

Albeit it made her time at school much more bearable, and was looked on with some admiration after employing a healthy dose of violence to her bullies, she was still rather socially awkward (studying magecraft taking up most of her free time notwithstanding).

'Feint,' a voice in her head noted, in which response Iris instead of moving to dodge what looked like an incoming kick, quickly raised her daggers to block strike to her torso with a clang.

Although she still preferred to be quiet, in trying to find something she can contribute with by being more observant than her sister (and totally not helping her in tests and exams at school), Ivy had found out that she had a surprisingly good eye for fighting, frequently assisting Iris in spars by pointing out moves she can exploit and helping her figure out how to adapt her mother's fighting style.

After disengaging once again, Iris gave into temptation into what was likely a bad idea. Her Reinforcement wasn't good enough yet to really pull off some of those lunging moves of her mother, but what if she used a spell for it? Her education in magecraft finally reached a point where her uncle had her learn some actual spells from books for her Wind alignment, and gave her the task to modify one if she can. Hey, she did get that basic cut spell right pretty fast. How hard could it be applying a concentrated gust of wind to herself? Her element was all about stuff like directed movement and energy, after all.

"Lǣċ," she chanted as she leapt, letting the spell carry her and close in the distance much faster than she would normally be able to, earning herself a slight widening of the eyes from her mother that made the girl smile.

Unfortunately, as she was about to reach her target, she realized a problem: she had no idea how to position herself for an attack like this. Should she go for a lunging attack or a kick? How do you move slightly midair without flailing? To Iris' dismay who braced herself expecting to collide with her mum, she took exactly one step to the left placing herself out of the way, which left the rosehead whizzing past her and winding up roughed up sprawled on the grass.

"Ugh..." she moaned, looking up in annoyance at her mother standing above her with an amused smile.

"And what did we learn in this session?" she asked with hands on her hips.

"Don't try out a spell you've never cast before in the middle of a fight?" the girl answered half heartedly, groaning. It certainly didn't help that the other voice in her head was also scolding her.

"Right. We can stop here today."

'Idiot.'

Iris merely grunted in response.

~~o0o~~

Her regular Saturday morning combat training over with and one shower later, Iris snacked on a sandwich courtesy of Sooty in the living room sifting through correspondence.

"Oh hey! Another letter from Shirou," she exclaimed, also feeling her sister's interest flare.

Dear Iris,

I hope you've been well and haven't been making dumb mistakes like I am!

Since she moved into Lion House she's become pen pals with the red haired boy adopted by Uncle Kiritsugu, feeling some sort of kinship as both of them were survivors of incidents caused by the end of the 4th Holy Grail War. They were in the same hospital room too, even if they didn't know it at the time! At first it was only simple letters with simple sentences and stilted handwriting clearly helped along by his father, but the boy appeared to be a quick study, readily admitting in them that he studied hard just so he could be a 'good pen pal'. Even as improvement could be seen in every letter that came once every other week or when Uncle Kiritsugu dropped by, Shirou kept using Japanese honorifics when referring to people, which she found pretty cute.

Iris giggled as she read that his old man whacked him over the head when he found out just how wrong his method of activating his Magic Circuits was, and shuddered when Shirou described what that method actually was. Like inserting a hot metal rod into your spine every time you use your Magic Circuits...sometimes she wondered if it was just her, or there was something just a little bit off with her clumsy cousin as a consequence of his trauma. Although she felt guilty for it and understood Shirou's case was magnitudes worse than hers, the girl also kind of envied him for his memory loss. She could certainly do without most of her memories before becoming Medusa's daughter.

Her brows rose in surprise as she read the last lines of the letter.

'Oho?'

"...says Uncle Kiritsugu will be visiting soon and this time he's coming too!" she read out loud, excited. This would be her first meeting with the boy. She always looked forward to the elder Emiya's visit, sporadic as they were. He always brought a souvenir of sorts from his country hopping and even gave her some tips with her knife fighting, once, so she regarded the man as the cool mysterious uncle, even though Waver always seemed put off by him.

Making a mental note to tell her mother and uncle about the visit, she moved on to the next envelope that was tied to a smaller package. She shared a hum with her sister at the unfamiliar name.

"Taiga Fujimura?" she read out, opening the letter.

Apparently, the Emiyas endeared themselves to the teenaged girl living in the neighbouring house and she was praising her profusely for being friends with Shirou, though mostly for giving her a "legit" excuse to spend more time with them by helping Shirou with learning English for these letters.

She snorted at the obvious attempts at teasing her with implications of being in a long-distance relationship that she enthusiastically approved of as appropriate for their age for some reason.

'What a boisterous girl, if a bit crass,' Ivy commented.

'She's still older than us, you know,' Iris shot back, receiving a harrumph in response.

The girl tore open the small package that Taiga wrote was a small gift to introduce her to the Japanese language in return for her help in teaching Shirou English.

She blinked as she read the title, feeling her headmate mentally facepalm.

'You can't be serious.'

Like a Yakuza: 111 Swears in Japanese and Their Meanings, the title read.

Iris hummed. "Interesting."

She was about to skim through the book despite her sister's indignation when she heard the front door open, making her realize that being seen with such a book in hand might result in having it confiscated, and she hastily placed the book back in its packaging, picking up a letter to look like she wasn't reading anything incriminating.

"Hi Uncle," she greeted when he entered the living room, his hair tied up in a ponytail to help cope with summer.

"Hullo, Iris," he replied, downing the glass of chilled water that appeared on the coffee table courtesy of Sooty, "Oh, right," he said to himself as though remembering something and reached into his back pocket, holding out an envelope to Iris.

"Before I forget again. Happy Birthday and congratulations, Iris. I was going to give this to you yesterday evening after cake and presents, but your mother somehow managed to get me to drink that firewhiskey again," he explained wryly.

The girl took the letter into her hands with a look of confusion on her face that turned into puzzlement when she opened it and saw that it was written on parchment.

Dear Iris Rider,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Attached below is an enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1st of September.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

"I see you noticed the name," Waver said, assuming the reason for the girl's furrowed brows, "Your mother and I thought it would be prudent if you are enrolled under an alias to avoid all the trouble the Potter name would bring you with the whole Boy-Who-Lived fiasco and the fact that they think you're a boy," he explained, "We put down your birthday as February 28th, so I asked them to let me give the letter to give to you, since your supposed birthday already passed when you were enrolled back in March, but I thought I'd wait until your real birthday to give it to you to maintain tradition."

His enthusiasm was immediately quelled however when he noticed Iris frowning.

"But...I don't want to."

Waver blinked.

"You don't?" he asked dumbly.

"No."

"Why?"

"I'd rather just keep apprenticing with you then go study at the Clock Tower when I'm done with school," she explained.

Waver sighed as suspicions that he was trying to ignore were proven true. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure anymore about his decision of showing her those memories of the Grail War. Beyond just instilling an interest in legends and how their legend empowers a Heroic Spirit, he was sure it was the cause of her interest in the Moonlit World. In retrospect, being recalcitrant with information about the Clock Tower may have just made her even more interested in it.

"I don't see why I should learn witchcraft when magecraft is obviously better," Iris huffed.

Oh. He immediately began to berate himself for not foreseeing this.

"I skimmed through one of the textbooks we picked up in Diagon. Why would I ever need to be able to turn a live owl into a pair of opera glasses? That's got to be one of the most useless spells possible!"

Truthfully, there wasn't really a way for him to foresee this. He completely agreed with Iris, which made making his case even more difficult.

"And even if they have practical spells, they take it too far! 'To be a magus is to walk with death'; what sort of self-respecting magus does their household chores with spells?" she exclaimed, exasperated.

Iris has developed the same bias all magi have against witches, witchcraft and the unprecedented amount of nonsense that appears to be part of their culture.

"And it's a boarding school too! It wouldn't be able to see you and Mum for most of the year!", she protested, crossing her arms.

Waver silently thanked the Root for at least hearing a reason which seemed appropriate for a child of her age. Honestly, they could pull out Iris from attending Hogwarts even though they already paid no small amount of galleons because the Potter coffers were that full. But that wasn't the issue here.

"Iris, I thought we agreed that witches go to Hogwarts when they become 11 years old?"

"Uh, yeah?" she replied, not seeing where her uncle was going with this.

"Do you have a Magic Core or Magic Circuits?"

"I have a Magic Core."

"Are you a witch or a magus then?"

"A ma-...oh."

Damn. She didn't even really think of herself as a witch.

"Yes. Iris, I know that teaching you magecraft has worked out so far, but you are inherently more attuned to witchcraft than magecraft," Waver tried to reason, "With that, don't you think it would make more sense if you went and learned it anyways? You would have a tool that most magi don't."

The girl gave a noncommittal grunt.

"If so, you would have both magecraft and witchcraft on your side, something that even I can't teach you. Iris, you're in a special position, you know? You might even be able to figure out discrepancies in witchcraft that other magi couldn't."

Iris seemed to lose some of the stiffness in her shoulders.

"Besides, it's not like I can't keep giving you assignments even though you're not here, and I'll keep teaching you over the breaks you get. Going to Hogwarts doesn't mean you're going to stop learning magecraft."

If her pout was any indication, she couldn't refute him but didn't like it. She bit her lip.

"But...what if I wanted to make a body for Ivy? Isn't that something super advanced that I would need to go to the Clock Tower to study for?"

'Ah.' Waver's expression softened.

"That is a good point," he conceded, "However, while you have to wait and study for a few more years to study at the Clock Tower, and then another few to get access to the right material, you can start Hogwarts this year; and I know for sure they have much, much more lenient restrictions on their library."

Iris' expression became thoughtful, apparent that she hadn't considered that.

"Also, who's to say that the wizards don't have methods that the magi can't really employ because Gaia isn't so lenient with them?"'And you can make friends at Hogwarts, not be at risk for dissection and have to maintain a borderline sociopathic mask for your safety, and hopefully grow up to be an emotionally healthy girl,' he continued in his mind.

The magus felt his shoulders loosen at Iris' expression loosening up, likely discussing the idea with her headmate. "Come on, why don't you try it out for one year and then you can decide if you want to keep going, alright?"

'He's right, you know?' came from the soul stuck in her forehead, although Ivy too empathized with her sister.

"Okay," she huffed.

The magus sighed inwardly, silently hoping that Iris would be able to connect to some peers in the wizarding world to help anchor her there. Far be it for him to use points like "discovering your heritage". It was obvious she cared none for it, which was another thing he blamed himself for, though he knew it was rather unavoidable with how all the learning material he taught her subtly looked down on it. The Clock Tower was a place he hoped Iris would never have the misfortune of ending up in, which is also why he hid the near complete lack of morality that was standard in the institution.

~~o0o~~

At Waver's suggestion, they decided to put off shopping in Diagon Alley until the Emiyas arrived, so they could also show around Shirou the place while they got the things needed. A couple days later the Emiyas arrived bearing late birthday gifts; a japanese recipe cookbook from Shirou which Iris had to promise to Sooty that she would let him read, and a pair of jet-black military style combat knives from the assassin (which Waver wished he could say it was an inappropriate gift for an eleven-year-old, but it sadly wasn't in Iris' case).

Now Iris was finally able to put a face to the name she's been writing to for the past two years, she could certainly say she liked Shirou still after meeting him in person. It was like having a cute little brother. He even called her "Iris-nee"!

After they finally managed to drag Shirou away from Sooty as they were embroiled in a discussion in stilted English regarding cooking, the group shortly arrived at the front end of Diagon Alley beyond the entrance in the Leaky Cauldron, though not without getting stared at by the bar's frequenters (Waver was absent due to work).

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," she announced, grimacing at how it came out more morosely than she intended.

'Iris, you really don't have to do all this for me...' Ivy's voice resounded in her head.

'That's not what you said when Waver was convincing me to attend Hogwarts. Besides, it's not just for you,' Iris argued, 'Waver is right. It's going to be a few years until I'm old enough for the Clock Tower. I shouldn't waste the opportunity to learn something useful, even if some of their fundamental assumptions about how thaumaturgy works are wrong. If I do find something to make you a body with, then all the better.'

As Iris stood by a wide-eyed Shirou taking in the strange sights, she couldn't help but compare how she felt about the place changed from her first time here. On one side, a bunch of boys oogling a broom on display like it was a new BMX bike at the Quidditch supplies shop with an animated sign, an apothecary selling potions ingredients on another as though it were a vegetable shop on another...

She wrinkled her nose at all the frivolous uses of magical energy. Root, it's like the Age of Gods never ended for these people.

Where before she saw a world of wonders and fantasy come to life, she only saw a complete and utter lack of respect to thaumaturgy, treating it like it was merely another mundane part of everyday life, which was a complete antithesis to the mindset of magi that she was taught. To be a magus is to walk with death. Enacting thaumaturgy comes with risks. The reluctant witch wondered how a second Great Fire of London hadn't occurred yet.

They decided getting a trunk would be the most sensible after Kiritsugu split off and headed for the seedier looking parts of the town.

In the nearby shop, Iris raised an eyebrow at the assortment of trunks unrepentantly enchanted with Spatial Witchcraft that had various numbers of compartments within themselves, opening up a different space depending on which latch you used to open. For an exorbitant price you could get the fanciest one, which had an entire apartment built-in, although a small one. Okay, she couldn't deny the usefulness of not having to lug around several suitcases, even though the witchcraft being used to make something treated like common merchandise still rubbed her wrong. Although...she could see Uncle Kerry using the apartment one.

She got a 5 compartment one. Probably more than necessary, but better than not having enough space.

Shortly, a Potions Set and a telescope lay within it, the latter of which the girl thought should belong either in an antique shop or a museum. She wondered if the electric telescopes performed better in comparison even with the minor enchantments on it.

The next nearest shop they had to hit up was Madam Malkin's, for the school uniform. Right as they entered the shop, Iris was immediately ushered on a stool as an animated - "School robes, right dear?" - measuring tape slithered around her. She was then given a school robe to put on and it was swiftly tailored to her size with a wave of the wand.

'Truly, wizards live a life of convenience', she heard Ivy mutter, to which she gave a mental nod. It would have taken so much longer were it hand-tailored, yet Iris wondered how the witch would cope without a wand.

She stepped off the stool, moving around a bit to check the fit.

"Does it fit, dear?" Malkins asked, though you could tell it was meant to be a rhetorical question.

Iris looked at the billowy fabric with furrowed brows. "It fits, but...I'm the type who moves around a lot, and I'm uncomfortable with so much loose material. Could you make it fit in a way that it doesn't restrict my movement?"

The elder witch hummed. "That's an unusual request. I suppose… I could do an Auror style fit. I did make a few dozen sets of their uniforms for the Ministry," she responded as she began casting again.

The robe seemed to move around her, now fitting closer to her body. Material was taken in around her arms and shoulders, and the ends of it seemed shorter as well. The rosette checked her movement again, and nodded with satisfaction with the new fit.

"Hm, that's odd," Malkins noted with a raised eyebrow, reaching out to feel the material around her shoulders, "Oh! Oh my. It's been a long while since I saw shoulders like that on a girl. You are one strong young lady."

"That I am," Iris responded smugly as Ivy mentally rolled her eyes.

The next stop was Flourish and Blotts. Neither Iris nor Ivy understood the categorization system. As the missing textbooks from the list were picked up, Iris skimmed some books on spellcrafting, but put every book away with a grimace as she realized witchcraft style spell creation involved heavy amounts of mathematics in a subject called Arithmancy. She briefly wondered if it could be related to the Kaballah system.

Iris held back a sneer as she walked by a display stand filled with the "The Adventures of Harry Potter" book series, with a disturbingly accurate rendition of Harry on the cover, inwardly seething at the idea of him depicted as a wandering hero from a distinguished family. It couldn't have been further from the truth. Harry was gone, locked away in a cupboard after being worked to the bone with no food and no one to tell him of the magical world and his ability to enact mystery. It was only when she felt her mother's hand on her shoulder when she realized she was clenching her teeth in frustration.

Finally, they arrived at Ollivander's to check off the last item on the list. Iris found herself actually somewhat looking forward to this one.

Her mother stopped right as she was about to walk up to the entrance.

"Identity detecting spells," Medusa muttered only loud enough for her to hear. Iris didn't need to take long to realize how those were detrimental to maintaining her alias. "Stick close to me so my Magic Resistance can scramble it." Acquiescing, Iris stuck close as they walked in at once past the door with a jingle, Shirou following closely behind.

Iris was instantly disoriented by the density of Prana in the room. She would certainly never be able to replace her sight with magical senses like her mother, but she certainly felt this one. If Shirou's sneezing was any indication, so did he. While for the redhead it was probably like entering a spice shop, for her it was like entering a sauna, except with the humidity replaced with magical energy.

Once she got her bearings, even she felt a little awe. Wands. Wands everywhere. Boxes of wands of various shapes and sizes hung on both sides of the walls, and the ceiling. Shelves and shelves and racks upon racks of them.

Suddenly, she felt a presence to her left and instantly dodged to the opposite side. As she looked, the witch found a white haired, moon-eyed old man with an uncomfortably penetrating gaze.

"Oh my. Those are some fast reflexes, Miss..."

"Rider," the younger Gorgon answered, tense.

"Ah, I do apologize. I found my curiosity piqued when I heard the door chime, but had no feedback from the identification charm. " Ollivander's eyes twinkled with mirth as he walked behind the counter. "Here for your first wand, I presume? For Hogwarts? Which is your wand arm?" The old man prattled on without actually waiting for answers.

"Uh, I'm right handed."

Right as her sentence ended, another animated measuring tape slithered up on her arm, stopping at various spots (including her head for some reason) to register measurements. Within moments of finishing, boxes clattered on the counter with a wave of a wand.

"I have a feeling we'll find your wand swiftly, Ms. Rider. You've already given me a big hint, after all. Red oak, dragon heartstring core, nine inches, springy" he listed, handing it out, "Give it a wave!"

And so, it went on for 15 minutes, rotating between woods and cores with various amounts of sparks, yet none gave the reaction deemed satisfactory by the craftsman.

"How odd. You seem to lean towards a certain pool of wands, but also react to wands of differing or opposite personalities," the wizard commented as Iris wisely stood quiet about the other soul in her head, "Might as well try this one before opening up my predecessor's stores. One of the rarer combinations. Holly, dragon heart string, eleven inches."

Wordlessly and a bit impatiently, she took the stick and waved it before it gave one, single, pitiful spark and flopped in her hand.

"Oh well," Ollivander shrugged before waving his wand and waiting a few seconds, and soon clatters resounded from the back of the shop. Dusty boxes landed themselves on the counter.

"I'm afraid the government subsidy won't cover these wands, as they are made of materials that are no longer found easily in present times, so each will be fifteen galleons at the least," he explained. Iris and her mother merely nodded, not left wanting in the monetary area with the Potter fortune.

"Red oak, basilisk heartstring, eleven inches," the old man listed.

Her eyebrows rose in incredulity for a moment at the mention of the Phantasmal Beast that could only exist on the Reverse Side of the World, but took it. This one...this one seemed different. As soon as Iris' fingertips touched the handle of the wand, green and lavender sparks erupted from the tip and a gust of wind followed the wave. She stared at the carved wood. The Mystic Code felt alive in her hand.

"Oh, that one's lively! Certainly a perfect fit. It'll be sixteen galleons," the old man noted before looking up to Shirou and Medusa.

"I see the boy is a bit too young for a wand. Mrs. Rider, I presume? Would you be interested in one of Ollivander make? Perhaps a spare?" he offered.

The lavender haired woman inclined her head in thought, humming. "Why not? I have never had a well-fitted wand before." She might as well have one for the sake of giving the appearance of normalcy.

"Oho! We shall see if we can find your match in my shop. No, don't tell me what your old wands were made of! I should think yours would be similar to your daughter's... and if I'm right…," he trailed off, flicking his wand again before another box clattered on the counter from the back of the shop.

"Cypress, basilisk horn, twelve and half inches," he listed the (assumed) components, handing out the darker colored wand.

To her great surprise, the wand warmed in Medusa's fingertips and showered the room in pale pink sparks, and a wave of pressure that put everyone in the room on edge for a second. Old man Ollivanders smiled smugly.

They paid thirty-seven galleons total.

Garrick looked on as his most interesting customers since a long time left the shop. He wasn't surprised the tall woman had difficulty finding a well-fitting wand. If they knew wandlore, most people would scoff at the idea that such a combination would exist. For a core of such a monstrous creature as a basilisk to be paired with a wood of heroism and tragedy is indeed unusual. What would that make the daughter, then? The old man hummed to himself as he cleaned up the counter. Then again, snakes do also symbolize rebirth, guardianship and healing too…

~~o0o~~

"Hey, Shirou, is something wrong? You've been oddly quiet the entire trip," the rosette asked as she sucked on a blood pop, the group on their way back to the entrance at the Leaky Cauldron.

The redhead's face turned contemplative before he shook his head. "Something to tell you when we get back."

Back home, Iris fingered the wand in her pocket. Ollivanders was...an experience. In retrospect, it mostly made sense that her mother would be able to use a wand. Born as a goddess, she also had the innate ability to use sorcery, which would then later on become a Magic Core of the monster variety later on. Although it's not part of her legend, she does fulfill the requirements of using witchcraft.

Her brows creased as she mulled over the shopping trip, rolling a blood pop in her mouth. The wizarding candy was great, but overall her latest experience with the Wizarding World made her hesitant. Beyond just frivolous uses of magical energy and culture shock, they seemed so used to witchcraft used in mundane tasks that she doubted their society would continue to function if you took away their foci. Sure, magi tended to be rather out of touch with the newest mundane innovations and technology, but the wizards had that problem several magnitudes worse. She wasn't sure if she would be able to cope with an entire school of kids with those problems. Maybe they could hire tutors instead.

It was with these thoughts she walked into the living room, but they all ground to a halt at the sight of the Emiyas bowing deeply to her teacher and mother.

"Please, help me save my daughter."

~~o0o~~

Incantations TL:

Edsciepp: "Recreate"

Āh unhíere afol: "Grant (me) monstrous strength"

Laec: "Leap"

Chapter Text

London Clock Tower [place]

One of the three major branches of the Mage's Association. Originally it only comprised the headquarters of it, but it has since expanded into 12 Faculties with their own college towns that are sprawled around London. While on paper the the established goal is providing the best environment for thaumaturgical research and education, the organization is rife with backstabbing and open discrimination based on family pedigree. Any unwitting soul could and will be unwittingly dragged into the power plays of the factions.1

"Imagine like, the Department of Mysteries, but it's an organisation with multiple university campuses with its own nobility and politics and everyone is a hardcore Ravenclaw-Slytherin.." - Anonymous

~~o0o~~

Iris parried a clumsy slash of Shirou's.

"Remember to line up the edge alignment," she noted offhandedly.

The boy was heaving at this point, obviously nearing his limit. His white shirt with blue sleeves was soaked in sweat. He groaned in frustration and charged, putting all his weight behind a forward stab, shouting a battlecry.

"Haah!"

The witch stepped to the side and let the boy charge by her, who lost his balance and fell forward.

She looked on, feeling a sense of déja vu. Was this what it's like for her mother to train her?

'He really is like your little brother. I can totally see the resemblance.' Ivy teased, deadpan.

'Shut up.'

"I think we're done for today," she stated wryly.

It's been a couple days now since Waver and Medusa left with Kiritsugu on a rescue operation. Herself and Shirou have been left at home.

Being home alone (barring Sooty) wasn't anything new to her. Waver spent most of the week working at the Clock Tower, and her mother occasionally went out on a mission or two for the same institution, with her uncle acting as the middleman between the Enforcers and Medusa. They were vague about the details but she was pretty sure her mother's talents in combat were employed.

She sympathized with the Emiyas, but understood it was beyond her ability to help when the words "Castle Einzbern" were said. The adults were going to assault a castle. Unlike herself, the redhead boy was still sulking from being denied from tagging along to help.

"Iris-nee!" Shirou said (although it actually sounded like "Airisu-nee" because of the accent), agitated, "Please teach me how to fight! I know the old man and your mom and your uncle can save her together, but I feel so useless! My sister is trapped and I can't do anything..." he trailed off, upset. "When they bring her back, I want to protect her. Please," he implored, bowing deeply.

And so, sparring with Shirou had been added to her daily routine.

In return, he would help her with Structural Analysis. Despite the fact that she had probably been training for longer, the sisters found that the boy was more talented at those than her, capable not only of getting an item's makeup, but glimpses of its history as well. Perhaps recreating the history of an object was beyond her, but being able to learn it sounded useful; maybe it could even replace the Alchemy forensics her uncle tried to teach her before they decided she had no talent for it.

The rosette glanced at the conjured dagger, twirling it in her hand. She might have to get an actually forged pair if she wanted to let her tools actually accumulate history.

She was broken out of her musings by the doorbell.

Wha?

They can't be back that fast, can they? The only person who ever rang their doorbell was Uncle Kerry, who said it would take at least a week for them to be done.

Iris hurried to the front door, with Shirou running ahead despite his fatigue. He impatiently unlocked the old oaken door, and threw it open.

She was met with a tall and thin silver-haired man with equally silver smiling eyes, dressed in white dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves, gray vest, slacks and polished leather shoes. In a nutshell, quite posh. He held a couple boxes of what looked like board games under his left arm.

"Hullo!" he greeted brightly, "I'm Melvin Weins, your Uncle Waver's best friend! He sent me to check up on you every few days."

A beat.

Iris wordlessly shut the door, power walked to the shoe cupboard to nab the brick-shaped phone and punched a number in. After a few painfully long rings, it picked up. There was no small amount of background noise.

"Hey, hold on for a second- Iris? This is Waver. Is something up?"

"There's a shady guy at the door called Melvin claiming to be your best friend, saying that you sent him to check up on us," she explained, clipped.

"A-ah, that's- What? No! We're not going to turn every other Einzbern in the castle into sludge with Medusa's Blood Fort!" Iris held the phone away from her ear as her teacher raised his voice suddenly. "Oh, right. Sorry about that. So about Melvin..."

….

Waver was on his way to his office to pick up a few things, accompanied by Kiritsugu who was headed the same way to call in a favor from an acquaintance in the same Faculty. As they rounded the corner discussing what equipment to bring, they were accosted by a silver haired man.

"Oh hey it's Waver! How is my best friend doin-" Whatever words he was about to say died on his tongue as he gaped, looking between Kiritsugu and Waver with sparkling eyes.

"My friend...you never told me you were acquainted with the infamous Magus Killer," he said, eyes full of mirth.

He groaned, facepalming. "Look, Melvin, I don't have time right now. It's important. I promise I'll tell you about it later, alright? "

"Hmm..." the pale man hummed, holding his hand to his chin, making a show of thinking deeply, "You know, somehow, that phrase sounds familiar..." he said, pretending to look off to the distance.

Waver grimaced. "Really. I promise I'm going to call you first thing I get back."

That seemed to placate Melvin somewhat, but the greedy glint in his eyes still wasn't gone. "Come now, Waver. You know I don't ask much in return for borrowing my money...I'll even let you use my private jet for whatever you need to do! Just tell me the short version of what you're doing!"

A glance from the assassin told the magus that he should make nice, because having that private jet on call was something he actually really wanted.

Waver sighed in exasperation and forced a smile. "Hey, Melvin, have I ever told you about my niece?"

….

"...So yeah."

"So you sicced him on me so he would stop chewing your ear off and let you use his private jet?"

"Well, when you put it that way...In all honesty, despite my reservations about being his "best friend", I do trust him. Just tell him a few stories about us and you'll be fine. It's doubtful there's many people in the Tower as interesting as you. I'm quite sure he's not going to tell anyone, if only to keep his source of entertainment safe."

"Uh-huh," was Iris' intelligent reply.

"Er...I'm sorry for not telling you about this. I'll make it up to you when we come back, alright?"

The girl sighed in tandem with her sister's mental one. "Alright."

"We'll be back as soon as we can. Take care."

She grunted, finishing the call, put the brick of a phone back on the cupboard, and walked back to the door. Opening it revealed Melvin chatting with a clearly uncomfortable Shirou. She winced. Iris forgot him outside.

'It is not your fault. You did what you had to. Introduce yourself and invite him in,' Ivy chided her. Not for the first time, Iris envied her sister; despite only ever having Iris and Medusa to talk to directly, she always seemed to have a better sense of propriety.

"Er...sorry about that, you can come in. Uncle Waver forgot to mention you before he left and I had to call him to make sure you're okay," she explained with some trepidation. "I'm Iris Potter, Waver's adoptive niece."

"Ah! That's fine, I completely understand. You can call me Uncle Melvin!" he said, giving a stellar smile.

Then the blood came gushing through his teeth. Iris was suddenly grateful that Waver got her to start wearing these glasses that glamoured her eyes and fangs, so wearing them becomes a habit by the time she starts school.

After 30 whole seconds of panicking, it was finally revealed that he has a condition that makes him puke blood occasionally, but was completely fine otherwise.

Flustered, the Gorgonette finally managed to invite the man in and offered tea after washing up. Thankfully, Melvin defused the awkward mood with the idea of getting to know each other over a board game he brought. After some small talk, Iris couldn't hold back her curiosity any longer.

"I-If it's okay to ask, what do you do at the Clock Tower? Are you a researcher, or…?" she trailed off as she moved her piece five steps forward, unsure if she made a faux pas.

"Ah, it's fine, it's fine," Melvin reassured, "I'm a Tuner. Have you been taught what that means?"

"No, sir," Iris responded while Shirou shook his head.

"Ah-ah! None of that. Call me Melvin, or uncle if you must," he tutted.

"Okay, uncle."

"That's better," he smiled, rolling the die, "So, I as a Tuner, work with Magic Crests and Circuits themselves."

"How does that work?" She balked.

Crests were an accumulation of Magic Circuits that were transplanted from the head of the family to the heir, storing all of the spells learned during a lifetime, so the older the lineage was, the more that process was repeated, and the greater the amount of knowledge stored inside it is. Being the legacy of many generations of work, it's the most jealously guarded treasure of magi families, granting both legitimacy, knowledge and power, thus her surprise that families would allow an outsider to tamper with them.

Spurred on by the girl's interest, he elaborated: "All living things exist on a certain wavelength, and this includes Magic Crests. Yet, this also means that the Crest's wavelength isn't the same as its host's. One example of what I can do is move the wavelength of the Crest closer to the holder's to make their thaumaturgy more effective," he paused, remembering to move his own piece on the board.

His audience ooh'd.

"Furthermore," he continued with a self-satisfied air, pleased by the attention he was getting, "I can repair the damage a Magic Crest incurs, be it from a troublesome transplant, or other causes."

Iris hummed, contemplative. She was beginning to see the man in a new light. Being able to repair damaged Crests was something she could totally see him being respected and being in demand for.

"While I'm flattered about your interest in my work," which he was totally going to lord over Waver, "I'm more interested in getting to know you two. Waver didn't so much as hint to me that he had an adopted niece."

"Well..."

~~o0o~~

In a dingy corridor, a small girl with brilliant blonde hair that went past her ears, doll-like porcelain skin and mischievous emerald green eyes in an off-blue dress hummed to a nursery tune as she picked the lock to Waver Velvet's office after disabling the (for her) measly Bounded Fields on the door.

Reines El-Melloi Archisorte was performing what is probably a scandalously big transgression in the Clock Tower: breaking into a magus' office, one magnitude below breaking into their workshop. Unfortunately for her target, she was well aware that it would not be taken too seriously since the Velvets were a young family by magus standards with budding, minor political clout at best, with the latest heir making a reputation as an outside-the-box thinker.

She smiled in satisfaction as the lock clicked open and she surreptitiously let herself in. Now to look for her objective: any sort of disreputable or scandalous piece of information; bonus points if it's something she can use as leverage against him. Would it have been wiser to have someone else do what she does? Definitely. Would that be fun? No. Would the other reprobate adults in her family agree with her plans? No. Did they have any say in the matter? Also no. It's not like she needed any, anyways. She's already had to walk the political tightrope through primary school with settling her family's debts and walked away alive.

It was a cozy office; nothing too fancy, albeit a mundane person would call it so: lacquered mahogany, burgundy and forest green were dominant with lightly carved tables and chairs. Besides the large, comfortable looking couch and the game console in the corner, the office's defining feature however were the stacks upon stacks of papers, files, scattered documents.

She picked up a file at random and started skimming it. Research, research, alchemy notes for spells not at all ambitious, further uncontroversial research for another faculty...

Truthfully, there should really, really be nothing special about Waver Velvet, except for the fact that he walked away alive from that ritual involving Heroic Spirits in the Far East, where both her predecessor Kayneth, who was a first-rate magus in all respects, and other people of even higher combat capability had perished. There wasn't much else to do for everyone than to register his return as a fact and move on.

Except…

Something changed about the brat who had an ego too big for his own good. He transferred over from the Faculty of Mineralogy to Modern Magecraft, and took it upon himself to buy the rights and teach the El-Melloi Classroom that Lord Kayneth left behind. At first, it had an abysmal attendance rate, but it then rapidly started growing in popularity after news spread of him being a first-rate lecturer despite being utterly mediocre as a magus, so much so that a few New Age students called him "Professor Charisma".

As her mind schemed a ridiculous scheme about using him to rebuild her family, something about him piqued her interest. It was a gut feeling, but she was so sure that there was something calumniously interesting going on with him.

The girl clicked her tongue in frustration. There was absolutely nothing of note; not that she would expect a self-respecting magus to keep anything too important laying around like this.

She began looking through the cabinets and the desk drawers. Packs of cigars, a hairbrush, stationery- whoa, is that a gun? Maybe those rumours of Velvet being seen accompanied by Kiritsugu Emiya are more than just rumours after all. Moving on...

Jackpot. Her eyes began heating up, as they usually do when in contact with magical energy. There was another bounded field on one of the drawers, this time significantly stronger. Her brows furrowed in concentration as she subconsciously stuck out the tip of her tongue. This one was a tough cookie.

But, as always, she succeeded. Hmph, as expected from a talented magus like herself.

The bubble broke, and a small statue of a lion was revealed to her.

That...that's it?

She picked up the copper lion and winced as her Mystic Eyes of Analysis began overheating from the magical energy on it as she turned it in her hands. It held some sort of magecraft Reines hadn't seen before. Made of mundane materials...activated by password, purpose…"going home"?

Tsk. If only she knew the activation word. She could go with the brute force method, but that might trip alarms. Whatever this is, it would be a one-time chance to perhaps look at Velvet's workshop since he was supposed to be away for a good while.

Reines drew a steady breath, pushed prana into the item and felt a yank in her navel.

~~o0o~~

The silver-haired man could barely contain his glee as he bounced his leg in the car he was driven in.

Oh man. Oh, by the Root. When Melvin agreed to babysit the kids a few times a week, all he expected were some embarrassing stories about Waver's domestic life, and instead hit solid fucking gold.

When he learned he was talking to the Magus Killer's son, he thought he already got to the juiciest bit.

But no.

Naw.

From the dark pink haired girl, who he thought would give him something along the lines of a sob story about being saved by Waver from a really bad situation, he gets bombshells after bombshells. It took a trade of information and a promise to teach her basic Runes, but that's nothing compared to what he got in return.

She not only freak summoned a Servant after the 4th Grail War ended, but also got blood adopted by said Servant. Then the Servant and Waver decided to co-raise the kid together (he was so going to rib Waver about basically living the married life). Oh, and she called the Magus Killer Uncle Kerry.

Saying Melvin Weins got a kick out of this was the understatement of the century.

He didn't say anything even though he could tell the girl was leaving things out, but he was completely fine with that. If Medusa being her mother was something she was comfortable telling someone she just met but was assured is trustworthy, then he was happy to leave the bits that would get a dramatic revelation for later. Especially since the kids seemed to have even more to tell.

Melvin couldn't believe his friend would keep something like this from him! Well...actually, he completely saw the reason for his best friend's recalcitrance to tell him about her. There's no telling what the folk at the Tower would do should they catch a whiff of this.

Iris was just too precious, even has her waist-long hair tied together at the end with a purple bow. She said her mother wears it like that, too.

Melvin swore himself to secrecy to keep his newest source of exciting stories his best friend's niece safe.

Hmm. Maybe it was about time to ask about the trip Waver left on. As he was pondering about how to coax that story out, the expensive car halted to a stop, signaling arrival on Hemwick street. Melvin quickly bid farewell to the driver,walked up to the entrance of Lion House and rang the bell.

He blinked as the door opened seemingly by itself.

"Hellos Mr. Silvery!" a high-pitched voice squeaked.

Melvin looked down, brows wanting to disappear into his hairline as his eyes met a house elf's big, green eyes.

"Uh, hullo?" he replied, uncertain. He was well aware of what the creature was and their role in a household, but the fact of one being in a magus' household was entirely too unexpected.

"I is Sooty! Young mistress Iri is waiting for you in Wavy's room with another guest!"

Another guest?

"I see. Er, lead on?" he replied, gesturing for the elf to go ahead.

He followed the little figure in, wondering with anticipation and trepidation why the girl or the Emiya kid wouldn't be able to come get the door.

Shortly, Melvin was met with the sight of Iris, sitting on the sofa, glaring at a girl on the opposite side of the coffee table to a girl in high-end clothes roughly the same age bound to a chair with ropes, gagged with a handkerchief and blindfolded. Shirou was standing right beside with arms crossed, looking rather concerned.

On further inspection, Iris' eyes were glowing a pale pink, which he deduced were some variation of Eyes of Binding, as she kept them locked on the girl who would be obviously squirming and protesting.

"Iris-nee, do we really have to do all this?" Shirou asked from the side, gesturing with a hand to the excessive measures of securing the...guest.

"Mistressy Iri, Sooty has brought Mr. Silvery!" announced the house elf, who then popped away after receiving a nod of acknowledgement from the girl.

"Hello, Uncle Melvin," the rosette greeted without moving her gaze, ignoring the redhead's question, "Do you happen to know someone by the name of Reines Archisorte?"

"Archisorte?" Melvin repeated, looking closer at the girl, eyes widening in recognition, "Reines El-Melloi Archisorte?"

"We caught her early morning after hearing some noise in Waver's office with his portkey in her hands. I think that's what she said she was, yelling it like she was supposed to be some sort of big shot name...is it?" she asked, hesitation entering her voice for the first time since she started speaking.

"Er...quite important, if I recall correctly. Before the previous head died, they were highly respected, but they've been struggling a lot these past few years," he explained briefly before looking back to Iris, "I have to second Shirou's question, kiddo. Isn't this a bit much?"

"I don't think it is. I knew Waver had a portkey to the Clock Tower, and he and Mum hammered it into me to trust no one who wasn't invited, so I froze her the moment I met her eyes. I'm not about to take risks dealing with an actual magus. Besides, she has some sort of Mystic Eyes too that she almost started burning the ropes with, and I couldn't tell if she had more up her sleeve," she elaborated.

Melvin almost whistled, impressed by the judgement of the girl. Waver taught her well.

"Still, now I'm here, you two can relax now. How about you rest your eyes and let me deal with her?" he offered.

The girl appeared to contemplate the offer before acquiescing at Shirou's pleading gaze, rubbing her eyes tiredly. Reines crumpled into the chair she was tied to, likely stiff from being frozen for hours.

Melvin moved up to the girl and turned the chair so it would face him, before untying the blindfold and removing the gag with Shirou's help.

"Hello, Miss Archisorte," Melvin greeted. Seeing the girl struggling to form words, he murmured a request for a glass of water that appeared on the table, lifting it to her mouth. The blonde greedily gulped it down.

"Mr. Weins," Reines gasped, "Fancy meeting you here," she said, looking around with a wry smile before settling her gaze on Iris. "That's a real nasty pair of Mystic Eyes you have, holding me for so long. I never would have thought Velvet already picked up an apprentice! Dealt with me within seconds!" she exclaimed, a rueful smile on her face.

"So, what are you going to do with me? I somewhat doubt you'll get too big of a ransom, taking my family's debt into account," the blonde went on.

The silver haired man considered for a moment, maintaining a pleasant smile as he thought. 'Waver trusted me to take care of the kids...I should let Waver deal with it, otherwise, but I don't think keeping her here until they get back is a good idea. It's not overly serious since nobody knows and there's no actual damage.'

"Please, Miss Archisorte, even if I wasn't part of the Trambelios, your family pays me well enough for the repairs of the Archibald Crest," he replied good-naturedly.

"Now, would you mind telling me how you ended up here?"

"Oh, I was looking for Professor Velvet to discuss something with him. When I knocked and didn't get a response after five minutes, I remembered that one of his students said he was prone to doze off in his office, so I let myself in," she explained, her brows furrowing, looking away as though having difficulty remembering, "I recall my Mystic Eyes reacting to a trinket on his desk, after which I felt briefly disoriented and found myself in another office and then shortly bound," she finished, her face the icon of innocence.

"Ah, I see, I see. I understand if you feel perturbed over the reception. I shall unbind you and promptly have Iris apologize," Melvin replied wrily, letting the ropes fall around the chair.

Reines sneaked a glance at the other girl in the room, who was watching her, unblinking, ready to freeze her again at a moment's notice.

"The latter will not be necessary. Her reaction is understandable. In fact, it is I who should apologize for the intrusion," she refuted, looking sheepish, "Still, may I ask for Professor Velvet's timetable should he actually be away at the moment? I would like to apologize personally before seeking his advice."

He nodded as though he believed that. "Unfortunately I cannot say for certain when he will be back, besides that he will return from his trip by the end of the month. I shall relay it to him to expect you upon his return."

"I suppose I will have no choice but to wait," Reines acquiesced.

"Shall I call a car and escort you back? I'm sure your family is in an uproar over your unannounced absence," Melvin offered, though he was sure the only reason why her family would be concerned over Reines going missing is having the problem of who to leave the handling of the massive debt to.

"It would be greatly appreciated," the girl nodded with a practiced smile.

"It is no trouble. If you would give me a moment," the elder magus excused himself, stepping aside as he plucked a small stone plate with carved runes that lit after a murmur.

Iris bit her lip as she watched the conversation end, and got up to walk up to him as fast as possible without making it awkward, and rose to her toe tips.

"Uncle Melvin," she whispered nervously to the tall man who looked on with raised brows, "Could I- could I come with too? To the Tower?" the rosette asked, fumbling her words slightly. "I- I won't even come out of the car if you don't want me to. I just want to go see- Waver never tells me anything about it!" she haggled hastily.

The silver haired man hummed in thought. His first thought would have been a knee-jerk no, because Waver would really, really not want her to. Then again...for the same reasons, Iris might actually never get to see it at all. Her teacher would eventually confess about the reality of what goes on in that organization, making her predictably upset and disappointed about having her ambitions being denied like that. Melvin looked down into pleading green eyes. Maybe he could at least blunt the resulting bitterness, if she was able to honestly claim to have seen and been to the Clock Tower, even if it was just a small part of it.

"Okay," he finally said, "We'll drop off Reines, then we'll go visit a friend of mine, but this will be a one time thing, understand? Waver would have my hide if he knew."

"Yes! I'll be good, I promise! You're the best, Uncle Melvin!" Iris squealed, "I'll be ready in five!" she quickly said before running off.

Melvin let out a breath, looking on as the girl disappeared upstairs, then turned to look at the redhead boy who has been sitting quietly this entire time, watching with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.

"I suppose you'll want to stay here in case the others get back?" he asked.

He couldn't help but appreciate the simple nature of the grunt he got in confirmation.

~~o0o~~

Iris was practically vibrating with nervous energy when she saw the sleek black sedan stop in front of the house.

She set down the paper bag she brought with herself on the expensive backseat and checked herself over again: ankle boots, dark jeans, dark green dress shirt, biker jacket. The dress shirt was pretty much the only part of her wardrobe resembling anything fancy, which would never ever hold up a candle to whatever Reines was wearing, but it was going to have to do.

"Hey, Peter. Could you help us drive Miss Archisorte to the Modern Magecraft Faculty over at Slur Street, then drop us off at the Creation Faculty?" she heard Melvin ask the driver.

"Of course, sir," came the deep voice of Peter, as the car started up.

The rosette watched on as the buildings went by and the city started to change. Her thoughts whirred, wondering what sort of things she might see at the place her uncle was so adamant not telling her about. Will it be amazing? Will it be horrible? Both?

'Sis, your thoughts are going haywire. Defensive Meditation, remember?' for the first time in a while, Ivy's voice resounded.

Realizing her speculation wasn't going to help in calming down, she took her sister's advice and closed her eyes, deciding to use the opportunity to practice the technique to reign in her emotions. As she exercised the breathing patterns, her mind steadily began to clear of jittery thoughts and emotions, and felt her pulse start to slow down.

In the middle of her 6th set, a growl interrupted her, coming from her side. She blinked open her eyes, suddenly remembering that she was sharing the back seat with Reines. As she side-eyed the blonde, she saw that the girl had a small amount of red coloring her cheeks, even with her carefully schooled expression.

Iris picked up the paper bag she had asked Sooty to pack quickly right before she went out the front door, turning to Reines. She hadn't really known how to interact with her and so she just let her talk with Melvin uninterrupted. To her frustration, Ivy seemed to be more intent on letting her struggle for her own amusement on this one than helping her. Probably because she was being nice to the girl, even though Ivy thought she was really suspicious.

"Here. Some sandwiches I had packed before we left. It's my fault you didn't have anything to eat while I had you tied up so...sorry about that," the rosette explained awkwardly, cringing as she realized she neglected to use formal language.

The heiress stared at the bag offered for long enough for awkwardness to creep in, and Iris' face began to redden in embarrassment.

"I-I apologize, if you do not want them..." she stuttered, starting to retract her arm.

"No!" the blonde started abruptly, grabbing Iris' wrist with the package, "I mean, I'll have them, if you are so kind to offer..."

"Um, here you go then."

A slightly tense mood pervaded the car as the exchange ended, with paper being crumpled occasionally being the only noise that could be heard. After the noise hadn't repeated in five minutes, the witch dared a glance to her left. Huh. The paper bag was empty in her lap, folded into a small shape. She wondered how Reines could eat so fast so quietly.

"Was it okay?" Iris asked with an evenness that was at odds with her emotions.

"...it was adequate."

"Oh. I'm glad you liked it, then," she replied, silently thanking Sooty for his sandwich-making skills.

"...ank you."

If it was anyone but Iris, they would have most likely not have been able to hear Reines' near-silent murmur. With that, the rosette laid back on her seat, allowing a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth. Facing away from the blonde, of course.

~~o0o~~

Having dropped off and bid goodbye to the heiress, Iris observed as the buildings they passed by became increasingly….sophisticated. Old. They eventually stopped in front of what she would have guessed was a building housing a museum of sorts, with the roman pillars used in its architecture.

"We're here. Thanks, Peter!" Melvin grinned with perfect teeth as he disembarked with Iris following suit, the driver merely nodding in acknowledgement.

"Come on. Stay close, alright? I will be very cross with you if you wander off, okay?"

"Okay."

She followed the magus into an alley beside the museum. Halfway through, she felt something wash over her, and shivered.

"The Boundary Fields are pretty jarring, aren't they?" he chuckled. "It's a bit rough the first time. If you already know the Creation faculty is here, it will let you in."

The witch glared half-heartedly at Melvin as she shook off the sensation and caught up to the man standing at the entrance to what seemed to be an open area.

Bounded Fields were a type of magecraft that layered a network of magical energy over a certain area to separate the inside from the outside world. It certainly rang true as the university campus she was seeing shouldn't have been able to be so big, considering the cramped area the town surrounding it is. She suspected the Bounded Fields manipulated the surrounding space as well, not just making sure outsiders stayed away.

There were many pieces of carved artwork strewn about the courtyard, with a fountain in the center that was much more elaborate than was reasonable. Not only carvings filled every bit of surface on it, but there was some sort of optical illusion involved that made them seem like they were moving around. It was the sort of thing that would give you headaches if you looked at it for too long.

The buildings however, it was like they were an exhibition by themselves. Modernism, expressionism, renaissance style, and others that Iris' that had no idea what style they were supposed to be. Even so, there seemed to be an uncanny sense of harmony about it all.

"It's odd, isn't it?" Melvin asked, noticing the knitted eyebrows on the girl, trying to piece together why it looks good when it had no right to.

"People in the Faculty of Creation are all some sort of artists. This includes the architects who designed all this," he elaborated as he walked, "And me, of course. I do my Tuning work with a violin."

Following the man, Iris' trepidation steadily increased from a small sensation at the back of her head as she watched the buildings become increasingly less well-maintained, until she felt the need to ask Melvin, who hasn't really stopped talking since they entered the campus.

"Uncle Melvin? Where are we going? These buildings don't really look good..." she asked, glancing at the brick building spotted with moss.

If there was a seedy part of the Creation Faculty, they were probably in it.

"Hm? Oh, don't worry about it. These are just the parts where the less fancy magi set up shop. All the people in the pretty buildings are part-time politicians. The magi around here just want to be left alone to do their thing...mostly."

Iris hummed as Melvin opened a metal door with a creak that led to the basement level. Even with his reassurances, Iris couldn't help but feel uneasy in the dingy brick and concrete hallway.

They turned a corner into another hallway and stopped after passing a few doors of reinforced steel, at number 8th, which he knocked. The metal resonated with each it, making the witch shiver as the sound rebounded on the walls, echoing. Muffled shouting could be heard after a few moments.

"On second thought...Iris, could you wait here for a moment?" the magus asked, grabbing the door handle that apparently wasn't locked, "I'll go in and make sure there isn't anything dangerous lying about. My friend tends to be rather...absent-minded with her tools," he explained with a wry smile.

"Please hurry?" she asked with trepidation.

"I'll be back in a jiffy. Don't wander off!" He warned hastily before the blast door closed behind him with a clack.

'I'm fine, Ivy,' Iris reassured, a small bundle of worry in the back of her head alerting her to what her sister was thinking of.

Minutes trickled by as Iris absentmindedly Structural Grasped the bricks around her, trying to get a feel for their age. She roughly estimated that they're roughly two centuries old when the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood on their end.

Clack.

The sound echoed in the hallways, and the origin seemed to be right behind her.

Iris gulped, and mechanically turned around, unable to decide whether it should be better to run or buy time for Melvin to get back.

She immediately flinched away from the face that stood a mere ten centimeters away from her own.

"My, my, what a pretty little thing I've stumbled on. Aren't you a bit too young to wander around these parts alone?"

If you could be beautiful in a disheveled way, this woman would be it. The woman's wavy hair was streaked with legitimate streaks of gray, as though they were dyed, furthermore, both her arms and her apron were splattered with paint. Even so, her posture was that of a noble.

She appeared to study Iris closely for a moment before she gasped, and an unhinged sheen took over her blind eyes, though the witch suspected deception on that end.

The magus stepped closer with an extended arm that Iris inched away from, mumbling.

"...if I could have those pretty eyes of yours, I wonder what I could do with them...irises with divine proportions..."

'But I have the glamoured glasses on! How does she know?!' Iris thought incredulously.

Panicking and figuring the glasses were useless in their role, she tore them off her nose and cast them aside, firing up her Core to channel prana into her Eyes.

She looked into the woman's milky eyes whose movement froze. Before Iris could contemplate relief however, she resumed her movement in spite of making eye contact with her Eyes of Paralysis.

The woman appeared to have only stopped out of surprise.

"...amazing, they are even more beautiful than I thought! To see the world through irises of perfection..."

She didn't know what, but Iris felt the air around start saturating with prana. There was some sort of spell being cast, and she didn't know what.

'Run!'

Iris' heart beat in her ears as she pumped prana into her legs instead and turned to-

The blast door opened abruptly, and with great noise as it impacted the wall it was affixed to. Melvin looked haggard as he hurried through and headed straight to the unhinged woman, fixing a pleasant smile on his face.

"Good day, Imogen! I trust you are doing well?"

Abruptly, the woman's expression schooled into graceful smile, along with her posture.

"Oh, if it isn't the Weins boy! Here to visit Alba again, I suppose? I don't understand why you come back to her after all this time. You could visit me instead! I'm sure I could make it worth your while..." Imogen replied, her tone becoming sultry towards the end.

It was one of the creepiest things Iris has ever witnessed.

"Very funny, Imogen. Please, spare me your paintings. Remember, it's impolite to put your hands on things that aren't yours," Melvin brushed her off, rolling her eyes.

"Hmph. Very well. Do remember that my door will always be open for you!" she winked a milky eye before walking off, her heeled shoes still unnervingly silent in the halls.

"What...what was that?" Iris gasped at Melvin.

"That was close," Melvin breathed out, "I'm really sorry for taking so long. Come one, we'll talk inside."

Wordlessly, the rosette hurried inside and plopped on the first chair she saw inside as the magus shut the door. Her legs felt like jelly.

"I'd forgotten about Cruorholm. She usually doesn't leave her workshop," she heard Melvin say, more to himself than anyone else.

As she was focusing on evening out her breathing, a bottle of water was shoved in her hands, uncapped. She gulped it down greedily.

"Easy, girl."

Iris' breath hitched at the new voice, making her choke on the water she was drinking. It took a minute of being pat on her back to breathe evenly again.

"Heh, I'm not helping am I? Imogen snuck up on you just like I did," the voice commented self-deprecatingly.

'Certainly not,' Ivy spat. Iris could tell that she'd be glaring at the person if she could.

At this, the witch finally looked up to see wrinkled, steely blue eyes looking back. Just like Imogen, the elderly woman seemed to have a disheveled grace to her and wore a dirty apron, but unlike her, she didn't make her feel like she was in danger just by existing. Her arms with rolled-up sleeves were crossed and her wavy gray hair was tied back.

"Melvin, introduce us, would you?" she asked, a smile tugging the corner of her mouth.

"Right; Iris, this was one of my teachers before I took up Tuning, Alba-Flora Cantacouzine; Alba, this is Iris Potter, niece of my best friend that I'm looking after," Melvin gestured from across the table; Iris nodded as finally noticed that she was seated at one. There was a table with a few chairs to it, a leather sofa and in the room...daggers? Swords?

It was like she was like Ollivanders' again, but the walls were littered with all sorts of equipment and tools.

"Haven't seen something like this, have you? I reckon other magi don't really put their work on display like that. Well theirs, and others'."

Iris blushed in embarrassment, distracted by the room. Turning back to face the others again, she asked a pressing question.

"Melvin? Who was that? Why did she act like that? It was so creepy, an- and my Mystic Eyes couldn't affect her!"

"Ah...that was Imogen Cruorholm, distantly related to Lord Valueleta Atroholm," Melvin explained, "I recall she sacrificed her eyesight for improved magical senses. Figures that she would use that to give herself some sort of protection from Mystic Eyes."

"Oh, I can see why she was so interested in you," Alba commented, "Any Creation Faculty member would recognize the rectangles with the Golden Ratio in your eyes."

"Golden Ratio? Like...maths?" Iris asked, confused, "But what does that have to do with anything?"

"You really don't know, do you? How beauty, mathematics and magic are related?" she asked, sighing, "That you will have to ask your teacher about at a later time. Weins boy here has something pressing to ask you, it seems," she said, gesturing to the silver haired man, who smiled sheepishly.

As Iris turned to him however, his face gained an uncharacteristic air of seriousness to it.

"Before I just thought your Circuits have an abnormal composition, but you're a witch, aren't you, Iris? You ought to start Hogwarts this fall, shouldn't you?"

The girl paled; she had left that detail out in telling Melvin about herself.

"But...how? I didn't cast any spells," she asked weakly.

"My magical senses are tied to my hearing, Iris. I can hear Magic Circuits. It's why I'm so good at being a Tuner," Melvin explained, a smile tugging the corner of his lips, "Your...tune...was like a person with mutated Circuits until you opened your Circuit in the hallway. It was the only explanation left."

"Oh..." Iris huffed, and stayed pensively quiet for a long moment. "Are you angry at me for tricking you?"

"Of course not!" Melvin replied, grinning.

She blinked. "Huh?"

"I think it's hilarious! You could just totally waltz into the campus and nobody would suspect a thing! Even I thought that you just had to have abnormal Circuits, because being a witch simply doesn't occur as a possibility," he elaborated energetically, clearly getting a kick out of the situation.

"Do you...do you think Waver would let me attend the Tower then?" Iris asked with hopeful eyes. Maybe Melvin can convince Waver to let her attend the Tower!

"No. I won't bring you anywhere like this if I can help it," he continued, dashing Iris' hopes just as fast.

"But why?" she asked petulantly, "I don't wanna go to Hogwarts."

"Iris, if I may call you so," Alba began, setting down a freshly brewed cup of tea, "You thought Imogen was crazy, right? You saw how suddenly her entire personality changed?"

She nodded.

"To reach the Root, the majority of magi deemed having things like right or wrong and sometimes sanity...disadvantageous. The moment you step within the Clock Tower's Boundary Fields, people may follow its customs, but can't expect them to abide by the rules of normal society," she paused again, glancing at the rosette if she was following, "For example, magi even train themselves to have borderline split personalities in order to be in a more effective mindset during socializing and research, all for the sake of reaching the Root. Practices that would be normally considered disturbing or repulsive are also considered the norm among respected magi."

The woman noticed the girl glancing at Melvin with a questioning expression. "Of course, there are outliers like Melvin, but I digress," she said, glancing at the Tuner before rolling her eyes.

The woman fixed Iris with a stony gaze, and she had to hold back the urge to squirm. "As it is, you, child, irrespective of what sort of Circuits you have, will be eaten alive in this place."

"But Reines-"

"Reines doesn't count," Melvin interrupted, "She's had to grow up fast and handle family business like an adult since she started primary school. And unlike you who barely became aware of magic two years ago, she was raised to become the heiress of a magus family her entire life."

At this, the witch had no reply to and merely looked away with a pout.

Seeing Iris downtrodden, the violinist's expression and tone softened. "This is why Waver didn't want you to have anything to do with this place," 'Among other things,' he left unsaid, remembering the girl's special circumstances. "He didn't want you to be interested in the Clock Tower because you weren't raised to survive in it. You don't have the experience."

A lightbulb lit in his head and he clapped abruptly, making the Gorgon look up.

"So, you'll have to get your experience elsewhere. In another magical society where you can get both life experience and magical knowledge. I wonder where else these things can be found? A certain boarding school, perhaps?"

The girl's expression became pinched instead. "Besides witchcraft, how am I going to get more experience at Hogwarts than a mundane school?"

"It's not just a school, Iris. It's a magical school. There is no such thing as an establishment with magicals without its own strange incidents caused by magical shenanigans or plots," he explained with a wave of the hand as though he was stating something obvious, earning a raised eyebrow from the witch.

"So kiddo, go to Hogwarts, get some friends, learn witchcraft and develop your magecraft, get some action in, and then you can start wondering how you can get in your uncle's class. You got that?"

Iris, a bit overwhelmed, quietly did a slow, deliberate nod.

~~o0o~~

A sullen silence descended on the table, only interrupted by the clinking of china.

"Tea?" Alba offered belatedly with a wry smile.

"Please," Iris' shoulders slumped as she replied.

The woman stood with a chuckle and disappeared behind another door, deeper into the workshop.

Melvin snorted. "Well this is not how I expected this visit to happen either."

There was a muffled groan on the other side of the table, as the witch rested her head on her forearms. "So...Alba?" She asked, trying to change the subject.

"Right. So, I've told you that I'm a Tuner, right? I didn't always specialize in this. I promise it's relevant," he added hastily at the girl's raised eyebrow, "When I was a teenager, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what I'm talented at. You see, people have a lot of expectations when you're part of the Trambelios, even if just a branch family. Almost every person I've apprenticed to wanted to get something out of being the teacher of the Weins heir, like a typical magus. Prestige, political clout, that sort of thing," he paused as he looked aside, reminiscing.

"But Alba...she wasn't interested in any of those things. The offer to apprentice with her was already unusual by itself. It was an invitation for tea, but when you try to see too hard between the lines, you start seeing things that aren't there. So I came expecting another test for my abilities, but she just literally sat us down for tea, and then asked me to tell her about myself. Asked me what I do for fun."

"And then he looked at me like I told him I deciphered the Sixth True Magic," came the woman's voice from behind holding a tray of tea, who closed the door behind her with her foot.

"Quite," Melvin chuckled, taking a cup of tea, "And then I puked blood on her table when I tried insisting on an aptitude test for crafting."

"Which you failed," the crafter added, setting down a cup of tea for the witch.

"Obviously. Then I asked, "But then why did you invite me?""

"Because I thought I could get something interesting out of it. Which I did, because you kept coming back after a while to tell me about all the interesting stories you've heard."

"That I did," he continued, sipping his tea, "After that, I decided that even if I'm going to try something that might not work, I'll do it if I think I'll get something interesting out of it. Life becomes too dreary if work becomes your only focus."

Iris hummed as she drank her tea. She couldn't really disagree on that. 'That does sound like his life philosophy,' Ivy commented, speaking up for the first time in a while.

The rosette was about to ask her sister if there was something particular she wanted to ask the magi about, when she noticed her attention was directed to the wall cluttered with Mystic Codes in her peripherals.

"Is everything you have on display?" she asked the crafter, eyeing some of the blades.

The magus scoffed. "Of course not. These are merely the pieces with the best aesthetics I have."

'Figures. It's the Creation Faculty,' she thought. "If I wanted to buy a Mystic Code, would you sell it to me?"

As she looked back to the owner, she was met with an evaluating gaze that accentuated the magus' wrinkles. "I'll be frank. You are both young and inexperienced. I am...hesitant to let you off with a piece you might bring with yourself into the wizarding world."

Iris was about to give an acquiescing nod, not having expected a yes, when Melvin spoke up. "Why don't you divine whether she should have one or not? I don't think I need to mention how special Iris is, and she might need it in her future magical shenanigans. Besides, it's been a while since a customer bought something you divined for them, right?"

Well. She was skeptical of the argument used, but she's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Well..." Alba drawled, "I suppose that would be fair. She won't get one if she's not meant to have it," she agreed, standing from her chair. "Do remember that this means you don't get to be picky, so you only get what I give you."

Iris nodded, following suit with some trepidation, directed to stand half a dozen steps away, facing the crafter.

"At ease," she said, taking out an eyepatch from her pocket and placing it over her right eye, "All you have to do is to let me look at you," the magus instructed, forming a frame with her fingers and looking at Iris through it.

"Eu nu strivesc corola de minuni a lumii," she chanted, her voice laced with power, and faint tattooed runes Iris hadn't noticed before lit up around her exposed eye with an otherworldly glow. She recognized Ansuz, Peorth and Algiz among them.

This is what Waver meant when he said "when casting, a magus becomes nothing more than a cog in the machine of enacting Mystery", she thought, watching the crafter work with impeccable focus. Ollivander's piercing gaze had nothing on this woman.

After a few long moments she felt the surge of prana recede and together with it, the magical tension in the room. Iris let out a breath she didn't notice she was holding as she watched the blue "film" between Alba's framed fingers fade away.

"Oh dearie me," she exclaimed, taking off the eyepatch, "Those are some calloused hands, girlie. Handy with a dagger, aren't you?"

"...I am," the witch confirmed. She knew it was divination but people suddenly just knowing things about you was still disconcerting. "So?"

"I Saw that you're going to live through...interesting times, so I do have something I am willing to part with," she drawled, walking up to the display and picking up a short blade that she began scrutinizing in her hands. "Give me a minute," she stated, abruptly disappearing behind the door to her workshop again. The muffled sounds of machinery could be heard.

Iris glanced quizzically at Melvin who merely shrugged unhelpfully.

Moments later, Alba came back and presented a dagger to Iris. The witch eyeballed the weapon to be a little over a foot long, with a concave handle shaped like the roman "I" numeral, made of a red-tinted wood capped with metal on top and bottom. The blade itself was shaped like an elongated triangle of a dark metal with satin finish, and etched with jagged lines on the fuller.

"It's called Balisarda. Honestly, it's more of a dagger with a special feature than a real Mystic Code, but this is what you get. Oh, and I added a ring on the bottom of the hilt you can hook your chain on," the magus noted, making the Gorgon look up in surprise. Using chains like her mother was what she was wondering how she would implement next.

The woman grinned impishly as she flipped the dagger in her hand and held it out, handle first. "This is why I don't get to divine people often like this. Magi really don't like giving away information about themselves."

"I can see that. What does it...do?" she asked as she took the weapon and turned it in her hands.

"Oh, I'm sure you can figure it out with that pretty little head of yours. I already gave you the biggest hint possible."

Iris rolled her eyes. She should've expected this from the person Melvin got his attitude from. "How do I pay you?" The girl was pretty sure she could afford it, but it doesn't cost to ask before agreeing. Goodness knows Waver hammered being careful with her money into her.

"This particular piece has already been paid for, actually. The Enforcer bloke that commissioned it went off and died on a mission before he could claim it," Alba explained before Iris had the chance to wonder if Melvin was throwing wads of cash at a whim again. He did offer to buy that python she chatted with at the Zoo when they visited, and he was completely serious about it, as far as she could tell.

"So take it and carve your path with it, come back with some interesting stories, and I might consider actually making something for you," she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"...I will."

Somehow, it felt appropriate to end the meeting there, and the witch-magus pair were shortly ushered out of Alba's room.

~~o0o~~

1 - type moon wiki - Clock Tower , Lord El-Melloi II Case Files Material

Chapter Text

~~o0o~~

Magic Circuit [magecraft term]

...are the metaphysical organ akin to a nervous system that exists within the body of a magical human. They are the paths that convert life force into magical energy. Because the number of magic circuits a person has is fixed at birth, magi lineages do what they can to improve themselves and create an heir with just one more Magic Circuit, which is why those from older lineages are more powerful. Circuits are sorted by Quality, Quantity, and Composition. 

It should be noted that besides the usual Normal and Abnormal compositions, witches fall into a separate category due to their Cluster Composition type, more commonly referred to as a Core. What sets the Core apart from other types is that the interwoven Circuits cannot be used individually because they act more like jumper cables that start the reaction of putting the Cluster in the “Open” state. 

This also renders witches unable to separate the necessary 1-2 Circuits off the Cluster in order to create a conventional Crest even if they had the knowledge to create one, not to mention the potential health risks the donor would undertake under such a procedure...¹

~~o0o~~

It was with some combination of nervous excitement and melancholy that Iris got off her mother’s motorbike after they pulled up at King’s Cross station. Ignoring the sideways glances and unsubtle stares the vehicle and its driver garnered, Iris unlatched the weighty trunk from the side of the bike. Although she knew driving with an offset balance was a negligible feat for her mother, she couldn’t help but be awed for a second as she hefted up her luggage with the smallest trickle of Reinforcement. 

Entering the railway station’s main lobby with her mother, she looked around for Waver - while he promised to see her off, he still had morning seminars to teach, so he had left home earlier than them.

Iris turned her head abruptly when she saw a flash of lavender hair and red eyes in the corner of her vision, and her brows knit when she looked but found no one with those features. 

“Ah, there you are.”

She turned to see her uncle walk up to them.

“Are you sure you packed everything you need?” 

“Yes, I’m sure, just like every other time you asked in the past two days” Iris responded, rolling her eyes.

“It costs nothing to-” 

“-doublecheck. I know,” Iris interrupted, continuing the phrase.

“...very well then,” the magus conceded with a sigh. “To platform 9 and...3/4ths, was it?”

“It says so on the ticket,” she noted, holding it up for her uncle to see.

The four followed the directions to platforms 9 and 10, where Iris and Waver proceeded to debate where exactly they had gone wrong for a solid minute before Medusa spoke up. 

“You two, can’t you feel how much magical energy this support wall between the platforms is radiating?” she asked with a mix of amusement and exasperation, Ivy shaking her head besides her in the corner of Iris’ eyes for a split second.

Said two abruptly halted, looking away sheepishly, before schooling themselves and inspecting the brick wall like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, making the Gorgon roll her eyes at the scene.

“Huh, it appears there have been several standard wards thrown on it, like the one to make the mundane person think it utterly unremarkable,” the magus observed.

He was about to step closer to it when two kids pushing carts ran by one after the other, nearly ramming into him and disappeared into the wall like it was an illusion.

The group blinked in befuddlement for a moment. “I suppose that explains it,” he finally commented.

“George! Fred!” called a shrill voice.

A plump ginger woman in robes followed by a gaggle of similarly ginger children halted in front of them. 

“I’m so dreadfully sorry. The hooligans didn’t manage to clip you, did they?” she asked wearily.

The magus waved it off. “Ah, it is no issue. It is my fault for being in the way.”

“Here to see off your little one too for her first year at Hogwarts?” she asked, glancing at Iris.

Waver flushed at the implication of being the father but quickly recovered. “Yes, here to see my niece off.”

The woman appeared to open her mouth for a reply when her nose crinkled when she noticed Medusa, before schooling her expression with a small smile and muttering another apology, going through the barrier. The rest of the children followed, although the smallest, a girl, lingered behind for a moment looking at Medusa with wide eyes before following suit.

The three traded a look at the odd reaction for a long moment that was interrupted by the youngest’s snort, making Servant and the magus raise their eyebrows at the girl in unspoken askance. 

“She’s like one of my teachers at school that goes on and on about being a “proper young woman””, she quoted in a faux posh voice, “Mum is clearly offending her delicate sensibilities because of how pretty and cool she is,” Iris explained snootily, gesturing at her mother’s appearance.

Waver snorted at the explanation. “You seem to have a fan in their smallest, though,” he commented, looking at Medusa who was smiling fondly at her daughter, then rolled her eyes at his remark.

With some amount of trepidation, they stepped through and found themselves on another platform filled with people in robes. The gleaming red steam-powered train in pristine condition certainly made an impression.

Iris saw Ivy walk up to the piece from a bygone era, leaning in to examine her own reflection on the polished metal. She blinked at the sight, but her sister was gone as soon as her eyelids opened back up.

Ivy had suddenly gone radio silent a few days after their trip to the Clock Tower, which left her feeling particularly lonely and worried, so much so that she asked Waver to check if there were still two souls in her, which she still had. She’s become rather regretful for taking her sister’s quiet company for granted, thinking that she would at least have Ivy with her at Hogwarts. Her only reassurance was catching sight of her in her perception every now and then alongside fluctuations of magical energy, which signaled that Ivy was working on...something, whatever it was. 

As they walked, the witch looked on enviously at the other kids with their parents and relatives. After she had been adopted, she fervently adapted to having Medusa and Waver as her parents and consciously-subconsciously imitating them, trying to make up for all the lost time she could have spent with them. Iris grew into trusting her own strength under her mother’s guidance and flourished academically under Waver’s tutoring -  but even so, she only had two years in comparison to the decade the other kids spent with their family. 

It felt so unfair.

Her pessimistic introspection however was short-lived, interrupted by the whistle of the train that would be leaving shortly. She walked up to one of the doors of the train wagons that would take her away from the only people she felt safe around.

The Gorgon sighed, turning around to face her family.

“This is it, I guess.”

“Come now, you’re acting as if you’re walking to the gallows,” the magus tried for a joke.

“...I’ll miss you,” Iris said, voice cracking as she did.

Medusa again smiled fondly at her daughter, kissing her on the forehead before moving in for a tight hug, petting her head and brushing through her rose-colored hair like all those times she had to comfort Iris after a nightmare. As the two embraced, the younger Gorgon took in the scent of the sea, aged paper and the metallic tang that she later on identified as blood - a mixture she’s come to associate with safety and comfort. 

“Remember to blink often,” her mother reminded her teasingly, making Iris roll her eyes. Anyone else but those in the know would be befuddled by the odd reminder, but it was specifically necessary for Iris, who seemed to have little need for blinking as a side effect of her Mystic Eyes. It was one of the small things that didn’t help her ability to socialize as people found her unblinking gaze rather unnerving.

With great reluctance, she eventually let go, turning to Waver and hugging him as well. The magus who ruffled her hair on the other hand, had the scent of ink, parchment and tobacco that filled her with calm and determination.

“I know you can just relay to me as well through your mother, but write every now and then, would you?”

“I’ll do my best,” she promised her teacher and mentor, making the corners of his mouth lift a little higher than before. It was both an answer and a promise to not hold back in her studies.

With that, the train whistle blew again, signalling imminent departure. Iris quickly hefted her trunk and climbed into a wagon with a parting smile.

The two lingered, watching the train steadily accelerate. Medusa watched as the person her life revolved around since she was summoned two years ago was carried away, struggling with more unfamiliar emotions budding within her that she couldn’t name. She knew this was for the best so Iris can grow both magically and as a person, but the faint ache in her chest made her pause. 

Suddenly, she felt arms wrapped around her waist, and she looked down to see lavender tresses and ruby eyes smiling up at her before disappearing as fast she appeared.

The mother blinked, looking back at the departing train and smiled wistfully. 

“Take care of each other,” she whispered.

~~o0o~~

Iris watched the cityscape gradually slip by through the windows as she walked, more interested in the wagon’s construction than actually finding a cabin to stay in. Shirou’s attempts at trying to teach her his variant of Structural Analysis hadn’t really gone anywhere. She brushed her hand against the walls, frames and fixtures, trying to glimpse any sort of information beyond the blueprint of the things she scanned, briefly wondering if she could have been able to tell its age more accurately if she had a history book on train interior design. 

As she was about to walk by an occupied cabin, the information she got from her scan made her pause and look back in mild alarm. 

The screws of that particular rack’s right side were very strained, making Iris doubt that it would hold out the entire day without falling on someone and possibly hurting someone. 

The mage peered in, seeing some girls in robes, two of whom were helping each other put their trunks on the rack with visible strain. She briefly glanced at the blonde and brunette before fixing her gaze on the luggage rack’s fixture on the side facing the door...which was already halfway separated from the wall. 

The rose-haired girl moved in tandem with the crack of its complete separation, leaving her trunk behind to rush into the cabin, one hand catching the luggage and the other on the rack. Acting quickly, Iris moved it back to its previous position and fused it to the wall with a bit of subtle Alteration and Reinforcement, then pushed the luggage on it, slowly removing her hands in a show of wariness over anything falling again. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, turning to see the blonde with icy blue eyes, blinking owlishly at her.

It was at that point when she became aware of the looks she was getting from everyone present, some rather unkind.

“Uh, sorry about that. I-it looked like it was going to fall on you two for a second. I’ll-I’ll just be going then,” she stammered sheepishly before retreating into the corridor and hurrying off. 

Finally finding an empty compartment, Iris threw her luggage under the seats and slumped on them, sighing as she shook her head. 

Trying not to think about the encounter that made her social awkwardness apparent once more, she instead unzipped her satchel and took out one of the wizarding books she picked up and her notebook, skimming over her notes on magecraft she made in the past few weeks first.

A week after her trip to the Clock Tower, her Mum, Waver and Kiritsugu finally returned with a small albino girl in tow, blinking owlishly at everything as if seeing everything for the first time, but Iris could barely so much as exchange a smile and a wave of the hand with her before they picked up Shirou with little fanfare and the Emiyas left for Japan. Something about being so close to the Tower not being safe after the altercation with the Einzberns. Or Europe in general.

Shortly after, Melvin also arrived, oblivious to the fact that Iris was able to relay everything that happened to Medusa through telepathic link, and promptly got skinned alive by Iris’ parents (only metaphorically, of course, but it was apparent that it wasn’t far from being literal) for bringing her to the Tower and putting her into danger. While Waver was glad to learn that Melvin managed to motivate Iris to attend Hogwarts, upon learning the motivation itself his face took on that pained expression that he always wore when he had to deal with an unreasonable situation. 

The conversations where the fact that she was a witch was brought up began to irk Iris. The resentment built up, which led to Iris eventually blowing up at her uncle, much to his dismay. She may have a Core, but she wasn’t some deplorable wand-waving spellcaster that wastes magical energy on something as menial as cooking, dammit! She was a magus too, if an apprenticing one! 

Waver reacted by looking at her skeptically to his own detriment, but managed to mollify her by agreeing that there is more to being a magus or a witch than Circuit Composition, as it was more of a matter of upbringing than anything else. He also begrudgingly promised that the only context in which he’ll call her a witch, if he does, was in the one of Circuit Composition and none of the other connotations.

She may be going to attend Hogwarts, but she’ll never really be a witch.

Since, she’s been feverishly studying both magecraft and since Waver finally relented on the topic, the factions that governed the Moonlit World, such as the Mage’s Association and the Church, with more focus on the former’s structure of organisation - and finally, the relationship between Moonlit World and the Wizarding World, or the lack of one, which had been gnawing at the back of Iris’ mind for a while even though it hadn’t really crystallized into that question.

Originally, there was no significance given to the differentiation between having a Magic Core and Circuits. It was merely one of the possible Compositions your Circuits could have, treated with the same attitude as having a physique more suited to heavy lifting or being agile. The terms Wizard, Witch, Mage, Magus were used interchangeably. It was all the same in the eyes of the mundane person, anyways.

That began to change roughly around the 6th century at the advent of the Mage’s Association when the last vestiges of the Age of Gods were fading in Britain, and the physical and cultural differences between groups became apparent. 

It was concluded that those with conventional Magic Circuits, now called Mages or Magi, were the ones who initiated the gathering that resulted in the Schism in order to address the weakening of Thaumaturgy. It was proposed that anyone capable of performing it should distance themselves from society and that Magic should become a secret only known by themselves. 

Those who are commonly referred to as witches or wizards today, excused themselves from the event. Their Magic Cores, as a result of having Phantasmal Beings in their ancestry, allowed them to be affected by Gaia a great deal less than those without. Thus, they were unconcerned with the magi’s issues and went on with their lives after the magi secreted themselves away, who then surreptitiously erased evidence of their existence and their Magical Foundations. 

There were proposals of simply killing the witches off to ensure total secrecy, but the risk of further exposing Magic to the world in the conflict were deemed too high. And well, if someone had to deal with the magical children popping up among the mundane people and weaken their Magical Foundation in sharing it to them, they’d rather it be the witches. 

Of course, the magi attempted to transfer or develop the same advantage that the witches had into themselves, only to find out that those with Magic Cores were always physically incompatible with the family’s magus-made Magic Crest, thus would be unable fulfill one of the most important tasks: pass it on so the heir may continue your work. This information spread like wildfire and means were quickly developed to do away with any potential of birthing a child with a Core.

Eventually, magi fell into obscurity, their only legacy left in the Wizarding World surviving in the form of stories about madmen told around the campfire, boogeymen meant to scare children.

Iris huffed, closing her spiral notebook with a dull clap, placing it back in her satchel and picking up Tales of Beedle the Bard, curious if she’ll find a story about boogeymen magi when she heard her compartment door open. 

“Excuse me, have you seen a...toad?” asked a bushy-haired brunette.

“Er, no, I have not,” Iris responded, looking up from her book. 

The two blinked at each other for a long moment, trying to place the familiarity.  

“It’s you! The girl from the Charnel Lane Library!” they both exclaimed at once, one more enthusiastically than the other.

“What a coincidence! You’re going to Hogwarts too? Wait, wasn’t your hair more...red the last time I saw you? Like crimson?” the girl noted, eyeing the other’s hair.

“Ah, that was just a glamour,” Iris explained awkwardly, “Red was more believable than my actual hair color.” 

“Ohhh. So you already knew about magic! I’m so envious! I didn't know about it until my letter came, my parents are just dentists. Your parents must be magical, then?”

‘Not in the way you think they are, no, but’ “...Yeah.”

“I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, I don’t think we’ve ever really introduced ourselves,” she said, extending her hand. 

“Iris Rider,” she introduced herself, briefly shaking it.

“Pleasure. Anyway, I have a toad to find,” the witch said, but didn’t move to leave, biting her lip instead. ”Would...would you mind if I sat with you afterwards?"

“Not at all.” At this, Hermione smiled and turned to leave. 

This had to be the most successful social interaction with others her age in Iris’ recent memory. She didn’t even need Ivy’s help for it!

"Wait," Iris called out, "Ask one of the sixth or seventh years. They probably know a spell that would do the job."

“Oh! Good idea, I’ll ask,” the brunette replied before she left. 

Iris didn’t really have much of a chance to skim through two stories before her head full of bushy hair popped back in.

“Wow, they really did have a spell for finding the boy’s toad! How did you know?”

‘Because god forbid witches actually get up and do something themselves without wasting prana.’ Given her impressions of their culture so far, the Gorgon was willing to bet that they made a spell for every single common problem. 

“I didn’t. I just thought it would be useful if there was a spell for it, so there probably was one,” she replied with a...different interpretation of what she was thinking. 

“I suppose that makes sense,” The other witch hummed as she carried her trunk in, “You were right, after all. What are you reading?” she asked, curious. 

In response, the rose-haired girl simply held up the book so the other could see the cover.

Hermione’s brows jumped to her hairline. “Tales of Beedle The Bard? Isn’t that a children’s book?”

“I just...always found legends and such very interesting. Thought I’d check out what the wizarding ones were like.”

“I thought your parents were magical?”

“They are, but,” the rosette paused, racking her brain for her cover story, “It’s just me, Mum and my uncle. Mum is from Greece, and doesn’t really know about the british stuff. My uncle is a muggleborn so he wasn’t raised with magic either,” she explained, “So I know about magic, I read some books, but I’m just as new to this world as you are, really.”

Hermione hummed, thoughtful. 

Right after, there was a knock on their compartment door that was opened by a plump woman with a pleasant smile, holding onto a cart with an assortment of food and snacks, each with an assigned price tag. 

“Anything off the trolley, girls?”

“Oh! A Cauldron Cake and a...Chocolate Frog, please,” Iris asked, seeing there were no Blood Pops. “Hermione, do you want anything? My treat,” she offered, seeing the other girl’s hesitance. 

“Uhm, it’s kind of you, but my parents wouldn’t approve anyways,” she tried to wave it off.

“Come now, Hermione. Think of it as...” the rose-haired girl paused, trying to think of an excuse, “Learning about wizarding culture. There’s magic on the Frogs, too!” she tried to appeal to the girl’s curiosity.  

The brunette remained hesitant for a few moments, but gave in. “...I’ll have a Chocolate Frog too, then.”

Iris internally fist pumped as she handed over the sickles to the lunch lady and took the sweets, giving one of them to Hermione. 

“Careful, don’t let it get away,” she advised offhandedly as she opened her own pack, not noticing that it was making the bushy-haired witch - “...let it get away?” -  look at her in concern. 

The rosette held the package up on her palm and flicked the cover off with her thumb, revealing the animated contents. It blinked and moved as though it was looking around, then jumped with a twitch to Hermione’s surprise. To her greater surprise however, Iris’ other hand blurred and - “Gotcha!” - caught it out of the air, putting it in her mouth with the same motion. 

The witch looked down at the package in her hands and slowly took off the cover, just enough to see her own chocolate frog blink back at her; and slammed it right back down. Iris watched with bemusement as the small box rattled in her hand. She decided to take pity on the girl and told her that she can dispel the animation by turning the cover clockwise once, and was rewarded with a grateful look. 

“The packages come with a collectible card, by the way,” she nodded towards the packaging still in Hermione’s hand. 

“Oh! I got...Circe? Circe was a witch in Ancient Greece, well known for her skills in human transfiguration... ”

The Gorgon listened with half an ear as the brunette read the description as she checked what card she got, and laughed out loud at Hermione’s flavor text, catching the muggleborn’s attention again. 

“What’s so funny?” she asked with genuine curiosity. 

“I-it’s the picture,” Iris lied, still snickering, “There’s no way Merlin looked anywhere close to this,” she handed her card to the puzzled girl, which showed an elderly wizard with a long, white beard and a wooden staff. 

“How so?”

“Merlin was a half-incubus. He’d be much too proud to let himself be known as anything but young, handsome and attractive.”

“But...none of the books I’ve read mentioned something like that.”

“I mean, that’s a little weird, but that’s something everyone probably knows already. Even the mundane records and stories mention it.” 

The witch hummed. “Then why do they show him like this in the cards if it’s inaccurate?” she asked, annoyance tinged in her tone.

At this, the mage was brought up short. “...I don’t know. Maybe this is just how people think powerful wizards look like, even if facts say otherwise,” she mused. 

Her musing however was interrupted by another instance of her compartment door being opened. 

“I am looking for Harry Potter. Have you seen him?” asked a blonde boy with aristocratic demeanor. 

Iris sucked in a breath, her talk with Mum came to the forefront of her mind, some days before this.

...

“Are you Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived?” Medusa asked, interrupting her daughter’s rambling about how much the Boy-Who-Lived ideation was frustrating her and how people are going to look for him.

“No!” came the knee-jerk reaction.

“Then what does it have anything to do with you?”

She stilled, processing the elder Gorgon’s point. 

“...not much, really.”

“Then there you have it,” she said, patting Iris’ head, “And even if you do know something, it’s none of anyone’s business, is it?”

...

“No, we haven’t,” she replied as evenly as she could. As far as she was concerned, they were looking for a fictional character. “Why are you looking for him?” Iris asked conversationally.

The blonde sneered. “So I can teach him to associate with the right sort, of course. It wouldn’t do for him to be seen with the likes of you mudbloods. Come on, Crabbe, Goyle,” he spat disdainfully before taking off. 

Iris silently thanked the dead gods that Waver found her when he did. She dodged a bullet by managing to avoid being associated with the Root-forsaken Boy-Who-Lived thing. 

Hermione blinked, baffled.

“Well that was just rude! Who does that boy think he is?” she exclaimed indignantly. “And what does “mudblood” even mean?”

“Uh, e-excuse me?” a voice asked timidly.

The girls turned to see a round-faced boy with short blonde hair, his body language the polar opposite of the one just before.

“Oh, hey Neville!” greeted Hermione. 

“Hey. Thanks for helping me find my toad,” he paused, swallowing, “M-mind if I sit with you?”

“Oh, go ahead! I mean, if it’s alright with you, Iris?” she asked awkwardly, visibly relaxing as the other girl gestured to her to go ahead. 

The boy meekly introduced himself as Neville Longbottom. ‘And the socially awkward trifecta is complete,’ Iris thought to herself ruefully. It was times like these that she really missed her sister’s presence.

“Um, Neville? You’re wizard-raised, right?” Hermione asked, “A rude boy that just passed by called us “mudbloods”. Do you know what that means?”

At this, Neville quietly gasped, before answering, “I-it’s a disgusting way to call a muggleborn. It means you have dirty blood and that they think you shouldn’t have magic at all,” he explained.

Hermione gasped as well. “But why would they say something like that?”

The blonde’s brows furrowed, trying to come up with an explanation. 

“P-pureblood families who didn’t marry with muggles and muggleborns for many generations think that they’re inherently superior because of it,” he said, pausing, “and that muggleborns are somehow stealing “their” magic. Which isn’t true, of course,” he added hastily.

The Gorgon hummed thoughtfully as a faint memory resurfaced. “I remember my Uncle Kerry saying something about a civil war that happened ten years ago and wizard nazis,” she added.

Iris listened intently to Neville’s attempts to mollify an outraged Hermione who was coming to grips with the fact that bigotry existed in the wizarding world, realizing that she should’ve researched in advance to fit in better. Unfortunately, at the time she was too preoccupied with the fact that she probably won’t have as much opportunity to research magecraft as much she had at home. 

As much as she wanted to pick Neville’s brain about the topic, she felt that the other two wouldn’t find it interesting from an academic standpoint.

“So what did you think of Diagon Alley?” she asked once the brunette lost steam.

The two ignored the non-sequitur in favor of using the chance to move on to a more pleasant topic of conversation. 

They chatted, trading impressions about the wizarding world, although it was more the brunette prattling on energetically about how a professor brought her letter and took her shopping. Iris nodded along, adding her own comments where guessed appropriate. She didn’t mind, really. It was actually refreshing to see someone so innocent and in awe of the new world they’re in. The mage may have her views, but she would have felt guilty if her arguably cynical outlook colored Hermione’s any further when she was so obviously excited about learning about the magical world and learning witchcraft. At least one of them should have fun with it. 

Plus, she’d be a fool to not see this chance of acquiring an actual friend. 

At a certain point, she halted abruptly in the middle of telling about the spells she tried as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, this must be all kind of boring for you to listen to, and you probably know already about those spells too.”

“Not really. It’s nice to listen to someone so excited about all this,” the Gorgon reassured. 

Eventually, the conversation petered out and they spent the rest of the trip reading in companionable silence. 

Iris thought Ivy would be proud of her socializing feats.

Day gradually turned to night, and the three changed into their school robes, prompted by the voice announcing their imminent arrival and requesting them to leave their luggage on the train as they will be brought separately. Iris checked the Bounded Fields on her trunk once more before following her friends(hopefully) off the train. 

...

In another compartment, a blonde girl with icy blue eyes lingered, peering incredulously at the rack that she swore should’ve fallen on her at the start of the trip. Upon closer inspection, the right side that the rose-haired girl held up looked like it was alchemically fused to the wall. It didn’t make any sense. 

“Come on!” a voice called after her.

She sighed, finally stepping out to go after her friend. Just as she did, a heavy thud resounded, followed by a metallic clatter. The witch looked back with wide eyes to see the rack hanging off one side and her heavy luggage right at the spot she was standing at moments before, and shuddered. That could’ve been her in the morning.

“Daph! I don’t wanna be last!”

“Coming!” she shouted back, her steps hurried. She looked through the windows, searching for a rose-colored head. 

‘Who are you?’

...

Iris followed the group led by the hairy giant of a man, who led them to a lakeshore lined with boats. 

“No more ‘an four to a boat!” he called.

Her train cabin group was joined by a fourth on their boat, a redheaded boy who seemed rather disappointed for some reason. 

Brrr. She was not a fan of the sensation of Hogwarts’ thousand-year-old wards washing over her, no matter how pretty the castle was. When they reached the other shore and were led up some flights of stairs until they were greeted by a severe-looking woman in a wide brimmed hat and dark green robes, who introduced herself as Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. 

“Now, after you go past these doors, the start-of-term banquet shall begin shortly, but first, you will take part in the Sorting Ceremony, to be sorted in one of the four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. For as long as you attend, they shall be something akin to your family.”

As the Headmistress went on to explain the point system, Iris recalled briefly touching on the topic of Houses with Neville and Hermione, once again cursing her lack of advance preparation. The brave, the hardworking, the bright and the cunning...it really seemed all rather arbitrary to her, honestly. Anyone can have those traits in different measures, and the stereotyping that was hinted at didn’t make the entire thing any more appealing.

When the woman left them to smarten themselves up, the noise level rose exponentially as everyone began theorizing what the Sorting would actually entail. Iris herself favoured staying quiet and listening; there were all sorts of ideas, ranging from some sort of test to fighting a troll, which left her blinking incredulously at the redheaded boy.

Witches can’t be that barmy...can they?

She suddenly felt less sure of herself.

Her train of thought was interrupted by some screams when some ghosts floated in above them, who introduced themselves as the House Ghosts. Even with the evidence of their harmlessness in front of her, Iris couldn’t help but place her hand on the pommel of her dagger hidden under her robe to keep from being overly tense. She’s learned too much of how dangerous Wraiths can be to be awed like the rest of the students.

Thankfully they were shortly led away by the returning Headmistress, into a grand hall with four long tables filled with students, each having a tapestry with its House’s motif hanging behind, and a raised dais where the teachers sat. 

The greater attraction that captivated everyone however, was the ceiling filled with the night sky and stars.

“The ceiling is bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in Hogwarts: A History ,” Hermione whispered, reverently. 

Iris bit back a question of why didn’t they make a skylight if they wanted to see the sky so much.

The hall fell quiet as the Headmistress placed a stool in front of the dais and a worn, faded white hat with wilted pink flowers on top of it, which to the mage’s astonishment opened up and began to sing.

Iris weakly clapped along as its song ended, unable to tell much about what the song was even about. Something about the Houses?

“When I call your name, you are to sit on the stool and put on the Hat to be sorted,” McGonagall explained, pulling out a long piece of parchment, and began with “Abbot, Hannah!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat shouted after a few moments. 

Iris watched on as the Sorting went on, each student spending a varying amount of time under the hat; at times, but a second, at others it took as much as a minute. 

She smiled reassuringly as “Granger, Hermione” and “Neville, Longbottom” were called, both of their robes taking on the red lining as they were sorted into Gryffindor. The one thing she noticed was that the snobbish looking students mostly went into Slytherin.

“Potter, Harry!”

Iris tensed as the hall fell into an anticipatory silence as the Headmistress looked up under the brim of her hat, her blue eyes scanning among the remaining first-years.

Would they recognize her somehow? Is her cover going to be blown anyways?

She relaxed somewhat when the older witch’s brows furrowed and checked her list again. 

“Go on, Minerva, we shall check shortly if Mr. Potter merely missed the train,” a wizard with a long white beard and eye-searing robes that Iris recognized as Headmaster Dumbledore from Neville’s chocolate frog card said, loud enough for it to be heard by the students at the front, which then spread to the rest of the students. The Sorting went on, to Iris’ great relief. 

“Rider, Iris!” 

With some trepidation, Iris stepped up, and had the hat put over her eyes.

…

“Ah, I haven’t seen this type of mental defenses in a while,” she heard the Hat speak into her mind, “You’ll have to lift them a little so I can sort you. Don’t worry, little mage, I’ve been practically built with a Geas to be unable to divulge secrets.”

Under the brim of the Hat, the rose-haired girl’s brows wanted to rise to her hairline. 

“You’ve sorted magi before?”

“Indeed. My handsome creator was one, you know? We do have the occasional magus sent to attend in order to hide or wait out whatever political threat the family was under at the Mage’s Association, so they would have a surviving heir should the worst happen, among other reasons,” it explained. 

She hummed thoughtfully before acquiescing to the hat’s wishes.

“Oh my. Truly, a Slytherin-worthy ruse, Miss Potter. And yes, I am a pseudo-personality. My name is Act,” the hat said, responding to Iris’ unasked questions.

Iris smiled sheepishly. “Nice to meet you. That was my uncle’s idea, really. I hadn’t even thought of attending at the time.”

“Yet, you are able to act the part. Anyways, let’s see...plenty of courage, a mind par course for a mage, a willingness to work hard to...oh my, be the first magus with a Core to attend your uncle’s classes at the Tower? Now that’s what I call ambition! A mite too reckless for Slytherin, though,” it said, pausing. 

“So? I thought I was going to be more or less a shoe-in for Ravenclaw?”

“One would assume that a mage represents Ravenclaw virtues the best, but even if it would be amusing at first, it would only end up fraying your nerves, making you isolate yourself with how much incorrect information they’re throwing around and treating like gospel nowadays. And you would just slowly go mad in Hufflepuff.”

“Huh.”

“Well it better be...wait, there’s two of you in that noggin’ of yours, aren’t there? Just to be sure, you’re the one who’s mainly in control, yes?” 

The Gorgon gave a mental nod, knowing how to from her conversations with her sister.

“Very well. Oh by the way, there are a lot of hidden rooms scattered around the castle that you can use for your workshop, like the third floor corridor on the right-hand side,” it said, with a mischievous undertone Iris was instantly suspicious of towards the end.

“You’re welcome. Now off you go, little...” 

“GRYFFINDOR!”

With that, Iris took the Hat, handing it to the Headmistress and made her way to the table with the red and gold tapestry, welcomed by Neville and Hermione. 

The rest of the few remaining students were sorted in short order and the hall quieted down as the Headmaster clinked his glass and stood.

"Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"²

Iris and Hermione blinked with concern at the old man before being distracted by the food that appeared in front of them. Roast chicken and beef, lamb chops, sausages, gravy, mashed potatoes...Iris was partial to most of it, but couldn’t help but miss Sooty’s Japanese dishes she’s recently grown accustomed to at home.

As before, Iris mostly listened to the chatter around her with half an ear, being prodded by Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown about her hair more than enough social interaction for her for the night. 

After their dessert finished, Dumbledore stood. 

"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the redheaded twins at her table. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors." He continued, "Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch." Dumbledore paused. "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."²

Iris shrugged at Hermione’s look of concern at the last part, saying that her uncle told her it was completely normal for a magical school to have stuff like that going on.

When being led out of the hall by the prefect who introduced himself as Percy Weasley, the mage merely asked “What school song?” with a look of genuine confusion on her face when she was asked why she didn’t sing along.

They were led through many staircases, hidden corridors behind tapestries and more staircases, encountering even the local poltergeist, Peeves. By the time they stopped in front of the portrait of the fat lady, even with her training, Iris was somewhat winded after such a long day. ‘If they had to hide it behind a portrait, why didn’t they at least make a doorway instead of a round hole?’ she thought annoyedly. 

At least they got a cozy common room for their trouble. 

The girls were directed to their own door to a spiral staircase, and found their beds on the top. Iris recognized her own trunk in the room and was relieved to find that it wasn’t tampered with.

Hearing some grunting, she looked up to see Hermione pulling her trunk upright. Taking pity on the exhausted girl, Iris wordlessly stepped over and picked up the brunette’s trunk with her left as she hefted her own with her right, picking Hermione’s to be next to her own, closer to the door. She smiled at the witch’s grateful look as the other girls with a different...temperament to their own picked the beds on the other side of the room.

Within minutes, everyone clambered into their pajamas and beds, exhausted. 

As she lay on her bed with the curtains drawn, the Gorgon sighed, resolving to put the Fields on her bed tomorrow instead. Considering what else she would have to do the next day, Iris suddenly cursed under her breath. 

Who was she going to spar with?

“I’m glad you asked that question, dear sister!” a familiar voice exclaimed in her head.

Iris suddenly felt as though she fell into herself, blacking out for a few moments before she somehow felt grass under her feet.

She opened her eyes to see her sister looking at her with mirth in her eyes, an endless expanse of grassy fields behind her. 

“Ivy? Where’ve you been?” Iris asked in mild alarm. 

“Working on a project. You see, since I didn’t have a body of my own, I thought that at least my thoughts should be well organized, so I started working on a mindscape. I found some weird memories I didn’t know I had and I got...busy,” she said, her expression becoming sheepish. 

The rose-haired girl hummed in acknowledgement, still at a loss for words. “It looks kind of...empty,” she commented in lieu of an answer, looking around. 

At this, the lavender haired girl simply gestured behind her. 

She turned around, and was met with the gates of a grand fortress of white and blue marble. 

Ivy chuckled as her sister gaped, then started dragging her by the arm to the gates that were slowly opening up. 

“Come! There is a training hall within. I have to admit that between us two, mother’s style suits you much more than I, but on the other hand, I find that I am quite partial to the longsword,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

¹ type moon wiki - Magic Circuits, Fate/side material

² Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone