SD: CH153 - Perthro

“Have you been up the whole night?” exclaimed Hermione. Harry, when I told you we have to find a solution, I didn't expect you to turn into a male version of me.”

“Hardy har har!” I deadpanned, eliciting a rolling of her eyes. 

Seriously though, I couldn't blame her. Not when I looked like I was about to keel over. Really, it was a tiring charade to hide my exhaustion behind cheerful grins. If not for glamour charms, people might think I’ve been having a double life at night.

Hmm, there’s an idea…

“Seriously, Harry,” she chastised. “You need to get more sleep.” Then she paused, and reconsidered her words. “Or at least, get started with the regulars earlier.”

“The regulars,” I snorted. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Yes!” 

Hermione means well, but her idea won’t work. Between poor sleeping habits merged with sexual needs, sound sleep steered clear of me until I hadn’t properly fucked someone for close to an hour and then some. And even after my ‘body’ fell asleep, my mind was back in Lecherous Shrine, exploring the boundaries of my consciousness and those of my lilims, or occasionally employing Oneiros Spindle to dip into the countless hormonal cesspools for minds that the students had.

It helped that I had a sizzling hot bookworm werewolf in my bed to satiate my carnal hunger, or else I’d have gotten sex-crazy and gone after the others. Knowing Hermione, she probably chose the private dorm with exactly that in mind.

That and the sex. Werewolves might not be incubi, but their sex drives bordered on the preternatural.

“What are you working on?” She asked, snatching my notebook and sifting through it. I kept myself from pointing out how jittery she’d get if I did the same. Hermione was always a bit touchy about her stuff. Doubly so, when there was something important on the horizon.

Usually that was reserved for the year-end exams and whenever ‘Harry Potter’ ran into his annual life-threatening problem.

“Runic equations for every single spell taught until third year, and their arithmantic coefficients,” she murmured. “I’d have thought things would be easier for you the second time around.”

Eh, what to say? That I didn’t actually live through them and only know about shit because I read them in a children’s novel? That learning spellcraft was actually way more difficult than what the books made it seem?

You know how Hermione Granger in the books stayed nose-faced in the library while Harry and Ron had so much time to play chess and chatter about Quidditch, and even find time for Oliver Wood’s obsession with Quidditch training at five in the morning, while also somehow having time for classes and whatever curve-balls Fate throws his way?

Yeah, I’m officially calling bullshit on that.

Learning spellcraft was hard. They weren’t the kind of thing you just learnt during the course of an afternoon, or during a weekend off. They were stupidly complex things that could just as easily end up injuring you badly if you made a single mistake.

I’m telling you. People really underestimate the effort Hermione Granger gave in the story. The fact that Hermione was able to perform nearly every spell in class was proof of the sheer number of ungodly hours she devoted to learning her craft. Without her, neither Harry nor Ron would have been dead a dozen times over.

I know what you’re thinking. But he’s got all those affinities! Trust me, affinities are only half the way. Having a high affinity only meant that you had the potential to cast a spell or study a discipline. It did diddly to help you actually cast the spell properly. Hermione’s perk allowed me to quickly memorise hundreds of spells if I wanted, but I needed to personally practise every single spell. Not just once or twice, but literally hundreds of times, over and over again until it became a reflex. In a fight, you didn’t have the time to think and choose between your arsenal. Even a split second wasted could get you killed, as I had seen from experience. You had to act without thinking, so any spell you cast had to be called upon instantly, with minimal wand movement and subvocalization if not completely silent.

Of course, having higher affinities also meant that once you learned how to cast a spell properly, you would be naturally more attuned to it, and waste less energy in forming and directing it than another fool with a lower affinity. As serious as that sounded, it offered little advantage in practical scenarios, because most spells you used day-in and day-out were standard stuff, and more often than not, dependent on the kind of magical juice you could push into the spell.

At least, that was how things were until your OWLs. 

There was a reason why Hogwarts followed a structured model for teaching the core subjects — Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Herbology and Defence, even if the last one was run roughshod by poor appointment and the curse supposedly cast on the position. In the books, the curse had ended when Harry had killed Voldemort, or destroyed the diadem horcrux. Could be either of them, but both had happened in too short a span of time to really differentiate what caused the curse to dissipate. And I had no reason to deal with this stupid curse on top of everything else.

All I needed to do was ensure that none of my girls ever got to the point of teaching Defence.

Same for the Defence Association that supposedly formed in the fifth year. Fat chance of that happening if I have a say in it, and luckily, I do.

Speaking of the diadem, I have my plans to acquire it. I’m just waiting for the weekend so that Emmeline gets a check on my psyche first. There are few things worse than having another horcrux twist the one sitting cozily inside me into running awry.

Before my mind could go further down that tangent, Hermione spoke up again. 

“Ambitious,” she remarked, flipping through the pages. “You aren’t just noting the spells down. You’re actually deriving proof for how the numerous spells in each year of charms can be arithmantically derived from the rune lattice superimposition in wand movements. This is…” She met my eyes. “You know you don’t need all this to impress the professors to let you sit in fourth-year class, right?”

“Oh definitely not. Just walking in with my dick hanging out would be enough for that,” I said with a straight face.

Hermione blinked, surprise flitting through her features. “You’re… not going to do that, are you?”

“I’m an Incubus, Hermione,” I sighed. “And I’d rather feed off a few that actually matter than become a manwhore and feed on anyone with a pussy that walks by.”

Hermione frowned. Despite her previous statements, she was still very much possessive of me, and it showed. It was probably why she’d never quite be my Lilim. 

“I imagine you’re going after Babbling and Vector next.”

“Woah!” I said, halting her. “Slow down, girl. Charming students is one thing, but going after multiple professors under Dumbledore’s nose? That’s bold, even for me.”

“Hence all this?”

“I’ve got to learn things either way, don’t I? You should’ve seen McGonagall when I told her about changing electives. She practically apparated through the room to get me transferred to runes and arithmancy.”

Hermione snorted. McGonagall’s derision for Divination and Sybill Trelawney was an open secret at Hogwarts.

“Still, this feels a bit… much. What are you really angling for, Harry?”“You, telling me to study less? Who are you and what have you done to Hermione Granger?”

“Ha-ha-ha!” She mocked. “Fair warning! I’m not so easily distracted.”

Damn it. I sighed. “Look, the last time, I was unprepared and the Goblet of Fire chose me as a fourth Champion. This time, things are so much bigger and potentially way more dangerous. I need to be the best version of myself possible.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re already the best version of you you can be,” Hermione argued. “You’ve got everything you had in your time, plus all these whacky incubus and necromancer powers.”

I chagrined. Hermione’s words pricked me. I was powerful, yes, but none of my perks could save my arse if Albus fucking Dumbledore came after me. Unlike back at home, Dumbledore had the homeground advantage. He could spy on me at all times and I wouldn’t have a fucking clue.

“Harry, you took down Lucius Malfoy and a whole bunch of werewolves by yourself —”

“Only because I was lucky, and planned for it, and even I had multiple things going in my favour in the background. I’ll have none of that in the Triwizard, or whatever else Fate throws my way.” “You know, warding the crap out of someone’s room means little if you have to keep speaking in code.”

“...you knew?”

Hermione met my eyes. “I might just be a lowly fourth-year, but I ain’t stupid, Harry Potter. And I know exactly how paranoid you’ve been. I just casually mentioned time-travel and you didn’t even flinch.”

A sharp one, wasn’t she? I didn’t exactly know how to perform wards on a smaller scale, so I had Amelia carve some runescripts for me. And the kind of warding that I did know would set off alarms inside Hogwarts.

“Now come on, or we’ll be late for class.”

“I really can’t believe she has students signing up for something this early.”

Hermione grinned. “Yeah, everyone says that.”

Bathsheda Babbling’s class was during the first period of the day and required students to rise and take breakfast early. Historically, the early hours were enough to make the elective unpopular in the eyes of most. Other reasons included the ease with which one breezed through Divination, since Trelawney was a well-established charlatan for most students and teachers. Another was the fact that taking the class meant choosing Arithmancy, since writing runescripts for NEWT-level spellwork was impossible without at least a cursory knowledge of fourth-year Arithmancy, which was widely regarded as the most complex subject among all four electives. A third factor could be that most purebloods that didn’t dream of gaining a Mastery in any of the core subjects preferred to go with Care of Magical Creatures and interestingly, Muggle Studies — since purebloods more often than not, needed to know about muggles for the occasional interaction with the muggle world for business purposes, or if they wanted a job in the Obliviation Office. That the Muggle studies syllabus was hilariously outdated only festered the inherent bigotry in the system, reinforcing the belief that muggles were ignorant barbarians stuck in a pre-Victorian era.

Despite all the above reasons, Ancient Runes continued to be one of the top chosen electives, both for OWL and NEWT students. The reason, apart from the subject’s relevance for those that sought academic brilliance or had high ambitions like working in the Auror Office or even higher, in the Department of Mysteries, was the sheer skill with which the professor made the class not just interesting but also engaging. In fact, Bathsheda Babbling was #2 when it came to ‘favourite teachers’ among the student demographic despite being an elective teacher.

Why? I’d soon find out.

“Harry Potter,” said Bathsheda Babbling. “I was told that you wish to audit this class today before choosing it as an elective.”

At my nod, she said. “Well then. Why don’t you take a seat? If things are to your liking, perhaps you can join me in my office later and we can have a little chat about where you might be best placed?”

‘That works for me, Professor.”

The woman gave me a clear nod, and strode away to her chair. 

Babbling, I noted, was a study in contrasts. She was lithe, her complexion was dark and smooth, while her cheekbones and piercing amber eyes suggested a lineage steeped in mystery and magic. Her tightly coiled hair was styled into an intricate crown of braids, adorned with tiny, rune-etched beads of gold, silver and obsidian. Even her robes were a striking blend of cultures: the structured silhouette of traditional wizarding attire merged with vibrant African textiles, displaying geometric patterns reminiscent of ancient runic symbols. Over her robes, she wore a shimmering shawl embroidered with Nordic runes, signifying her deep connection to both African and Norse magical traditions. 

Resting my thoughts on the afterburner, I took a seat next to Hermione. 

“How many of you are familiar with the name Altherion the Ambitious?” asked the teacher. 

Very few hands went up. Naturally, mine wasn’t one of them. Either this Altherion fellow wasn’t someone very important, or JKR simply hadn’t thought him relevant for her tale. And Harry was never really interested in learning history.

“He’s the wizard that killed Salazar Slytherin,” said Susan from the next row.

“Absolutely correct. Take two points for Hufflepuff,” said Babbling. “But there’s one other thing he’s famous for. Can anyone tell me what that is? Five points for the taking.”

“Eh, he wanted to take control of Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets or something?” attempted Tracey Davis.

“Good try, but no dice,” laughed Babbling. “Even if it was a good guess. Well, no one? Not surprising. Altherion the Ambitious was famous, or infamous, depending on who you asked, for two things: his knack for winning magical duels and his insatiable desire to outsmart fate itself.”

And just like that, Bathsheda Babbling had my attention.

“The story goes that one fateful day, while exploring the ruins of an ancient magical library, Altherion discovered a glowing stone tablet inscribed with an unknown rune. Below it was an inscription that read: For those who dare to play the game of life, I offer fortune unmatched. But beware, for my gifts demand balance."

For one moment, I wasn’t in the Ancient Runes class. I was far away, sitting cross legged inside a burning stadium, spiritually locked with the horcrux speaking to me. 

Life versus Death. Emotion versus puppetry. Love versus Hate. It’s an eternal struggle. But your presence can tilt the balance. I am curious, Outlander. You are no light child, so why stay as Harry Potter?

The balance. It was always about the Balance. Allure versus Necromancy. Incubus Lord versus Necrolord Primus. Emotion versus Death.

Until I found the balance, I would remain weak. Incomplete. A problem easily solved if I just accepted the offer and chose to become Lord Volde —

I physically snapped my neck to the other side, ferally cutting through that line of thought.

Babbling was speaking again.

“Naturally, Altherion saw this not as a warning, but as an invitation. He was accomplished in many magical arts, but a runesmith he was not. He did not understand the myriad ways in which even a single rune could be interpreted. He was not aware that with the slightest mistake, your greatest power could become your worst vulnerability.

His curiosity got the better of him. With a flourish of his wand and a muttered incantation, he activated the rune. The room around him shimmered, and a booming voice echoed: ‘Do you dare to stake your fortune, wizard? Roll the dice of fate, and claim your prize.’

The floor instantly transformed into a glowing game board, and a pair of enchanted dice appeared in mid-air. Without hesitation, Altherion rolled. The dice clattered to the ground, stopping on a seven. The rune flashed, and a chalice of gold materialised before him, brimming with a potion that promised to grant perfect health.”

A chalice of gold that promised perfect health? Could it possibly —

But Babbling was speaking again. 

“‘Not bad,’ Altherion said, smirking. ‘Let’s see what else you’ve got.’

He rolled again. This time, the dice summoned a stone golem that could come to life, shimmering with protective enchantments. Another roll brought forth a gem that glowed with the power to ensnare minds.

For days, Altherion played the game, collecting treasures and magical artefacts that would make any wizard green with envy. But with each roll, the game grew more unpredictable. On one turn, a pair of lips appeared on his left palm, enchanted to sing Horrid Hymns of Helga, an ancient tune so ear-piercing it drove him to distraction. On another, his beard turned into live snakes that hissed curses and weaknesses at him.”

Was it just me or was every single of those treasures referring to the powers of the Founders? Helga’s Cup. Horrid Hymns of Helga? Snakes that whispered weakness into another? I would find out. Like everyone else, I just sat there, entranced by her storytelling.

“Still,” said Babbling. “Altherion refused to stop. ‘I’m a master of magic,’ he declared. ‘I can handle a few hiccups!’

That’s when he rolled the dice one last time.”

She gazed at each and every one of us.

“The room went silent as the dice landed on double zeroes—an impossibility on any mortal dice. The Perthro rune blazed brighter than ever, and the voice boomed again:

‘You have taken much, Altherion. Now, fate will take in turn.’

Suddenly, the treasures he had won vanished, replaced by a flock of enchanted chickens that clucked insults at him in perfect Latin. His stone golem transformed into a massive gargoyle that attacked him viciously, and his gem began to crack. Worst of all, his enchanted beard-snakes began singing the Horrid Hymns of Helga—in harmony with the lips in his hand.

Stripped of his spoils and dignity, Altherion fled the ruins, chased by his flock of insult-uttering chickens. He retreated to his tower to reflect on his misadventures. Weeks later, his friend, an alchemist named Zygmunt Budge paid him a visit. He attempted to cure him, but the whispering curses had already taken its toll on him. Together, both of them studied the unknown rune Altherion had found on the tablet, a research that several decades later, helped Budge to create his most famous invention, Felix Felicis, commonly known as —”

“Liquid Luck,” I muttered, thinking of Tonks.

Hermione looked at me sharply.

“Exactly,” said Babbling, looking at me. “One point to Gryffindor.”

“Professor,” asked Justin Finch-Fletchley. “Does that mean that this stone tablet really exists?”

“Of that, we’re uncertain. Majority of the relics from the Founder’s Era have been stolen, scattered and lost over the centuries. It is entirely possible that the magical library might refer to Hogwarts, and somewhere inside these halls lies a stone tablet that has such wondrous power. On the other hand, it might just as well be a parable that tells us that fate always has the last laugh. No matter how clever you think you are, you can’t cheat the balance of magic."

An ominous shudder ran down my spine.

Susan’s hand shot up in the air. “Professor, just what was that unknown rune?”

Babbling flicked her wand across the empty air before her, and the sigil of a dice cup formed before her.

“Perthro,” said Babbling. “The Rune of Secrets. That which holds sway over the threads of fate and fortune. It is often linked to games of chance, the revealing of hidden truths, and the unlocking of one’s destiny. But one must exercise extreme caution, for the Perthro rune gives no answers without a price. Trust me, the bill comes due. Always.”

The bottom fell out of my stomach.

Much like Altherion himself, I too had played with Perthro rather ambitiously, using it to alter things that should’ve never been altered. The first, to churn the souls of the dead and the dying as fabric to reforge Amelia’s soul and strengthen her beyond what she originally had been. The second was to grab every single remnant of their ghostly forms and bind them into a cohesive force bent on vengeance, and amenable to Amelia’s commands so long as I was anchoring them in this realm.

Come to think of it, wasn’t Meta-Luck too based on a similar power? The ability to alter Fate itself at a whim, so long as I could provide enough Meta-Luck? Was the Tether system just handing me free Perthro cards to use at my convenience, all the while hiding the fineprint that using them could, and would fuck me over sideways when I least expected it?

The first time I had used Meta-Luck, it was to stop Dumbledore from sending me to the Dursleys. Itt had elevated the minimal world-anchor requirement to 15, thus pushing me towards the Incubus Path. 

The second time I had used it, it was to save my magical core from being crippled for life. In exchange, it created the perk — Domino Effect, causing the fates of all my anchors to be intertwined by myself and the Child of Prophecy perk. 

The third time….

Come to think of it, the third time I had used it to raise Amelia’s World Anchors back to 100 right after she had died. It had worked, only temporarily, and thus, I had to use it a fourth time, to heal Amelia’s body. And yet, neither of those events had listed the potential costs I had to pay.

And the fourth time had been…

I paled.

…to connect to each and every person I had ever enthralled and feed them sensory visions of me pleasuring them like nothing they had ever experienced.

The bill comes due, Babbling had said. Due, I understand, but delayed? And if Meta-Luck worked on the principle of the Perthro rune then… then I had used it a fifth and sixth time, to resurrect Amelia and turn the tide of the battle. And then that last time to connect myself to every thrall all at once…

Fuck.

Seven times.

SEVEN TIMES.

Seven.

One of the most powerful numbers in Arithmancy.

Create seven Lyctors, or seven Horcruxes…. That’s what the Screen had said. I’d not be surprised if fully awakening the Lecherous Shrine would ultimately require seven lilims…

Just… just what kind of bill would I have to pay for twisting fate? Or seducing  my way to alter Destiny?

Fear can literally feel like ice water. It can be a cold feeling that you swallow, that rolls down your throat and spreads into your chest. It steals your breath and makes your heart labour when it shouldn’t, before expanding into your belly and hips, leaving quivers behind. Then it heads for the thighs, the knees (occasionally with an embarrassing stop on the way), stealing the strength from the long muscles that think you should be using them to run the hell away.

I swallowed a mouthful of fear, my eyes on the professor. All thoughts of trying to seduce the woman vanished from my eyes. At the same time, an urgency to add the woman among my Lilims rose within me. Someone like her would be very useful. Amelia and Susan might be blessed with runecrafting that ran down their family, but Babbling… Babbling could help me traverse the paths of runic magic and understand the games I was unwittingly being drawn into.

Preferably before it was too late.

“Before we go any further, there’s something I need to talk about. I’m certain several of you already know by now that Hogwarts is going to conduct multiple workshops this year, open for students both native and visiting, as well as the other guests. The Runeforge Hall, one of the most prestigious academies for pursuing a future in runecraft, is among the many sponsors of this tournament. For that reason, I’d like you all to choose your particular rune, and write a paper on it. If the delegates like what you have written, it’s entirely possible you might land up with an internship before you even sit for your OWLs.”

Instantly the entire class dissolved in murmurs.

Well then,” said Babbling. “Any questions?”