Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Shots in the Dark ❯ PCPIBLS 7 ( Chapter 7 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Jim Ohki 
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Adventure / Action | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 10.06.2014 | Pages: 4 | Words: 6.4K | Visits: 483 | Status: Completed
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Adventure / Action | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 10.06.2014 | Pages: 4 | Words: 6.4K | Visits: 483 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I make no claims at ownership of any copyrighted characters, places or events used herein. The only thing I make a claim to is this fic, which originated in my head and any original characters created by me herein. The following was made for public consumption at zero profit, and is not for sale except to the owning companies. Yes, I dream big.
Rant: Some good, some bad responses to the newest element. Fear not, for the plot thins . . . I mean thickens. Whoops. I’m on the fence about “Manipulative!Dumbledore” and am asking my readers opinion on that particular plot bunny –and the other general nonsense that goes with it- before going full bore.
A general warning for Ron fans: in my honest opinion, he’s whiney, self-centered, lazy yet has a certain cunning that really shines when he chooses. He’s not evil, but he has a cowardice that just screams at me. I don’t like him at all, especially since he seems to be rather ‘Fair Weather’, if you catch my drift.
Sorry for the long delay and even longer rant. My muse took a vacation without me, and real life got in the way while I looked for it. That and real life got in the way again, again, and again.
Phenomenal Cosmic Powers, Itty Bitty Living Space Arc Two Part Two.
By: (Driver) Jim Ohki
(Primary Reality)
“Talk to me,” demanded Tsunami, having exerted her authority to keep Akane and Ryoga out of the dungeons for this little get together. She was rather irate that her newly reincarnated brother had up and vanished mere moments before the arrival of the Chousin, and was seeking answers.
“Why should we?” retorted Ryoga, his fears and insecurities turning into the more familiar anger. Like Akane, he had issues dealing with his emotions, especially those that made him uncomfortable.
“Because we want to know exactly what you did to him,” rumbled Washu, showing her own displeasure. Being the first to arrive she had caught the briefest of glimpses before her reborn brother with those that had literally attached themselves to him had vanished and didn’t like the fact that they were all apparently eleven again. She remembered, upon that new look, that the original Chaos had stated rather balefully that he disliked any age under eighteen for being too restrictive.
“That baka is gone, took the last of my family with him, and all you care about is Ranma?” barked Akane, looking neither smug nor angry. Her expression was rather neutral, for once succeeding in guarding her thoughts. She had gone along with the original plan of de-aging said Saotome again for the fact that it would make controlling him easier and had the brainwave to use the ‘shrooms on her sisters in an effort to be the one to make the decisions. The Holy War that had erupted around her had scared her, and when her father was taken something deep within her psyche snapped.
The only one that was silent was Tokimi, whom had taken to floating cross-legged in a corner with her eyes closed. She was reaching through the multiverse strings trying to locate their brother, and had some success. She’d narrowed the possible realities down to an even dozen and was in the process of refining her search.
“This is getting us nowhere,” drawled Tsunami, giving a half-lidded glare to the couple sitting on the other side of the mahogany conference table that had appeared from nowhere via Washu waving her hand.
“Then we’re outta here, we have things to do like getting those . . . freaks of nature out of my house,” declared Akane as she rose, believing that as the eldest present Tendo she had authority to do as she pleased. Under normal circumstances this would be true, however current events were far from normal.
“He’s finally gone,” cheered Ryoga, instantly ignoring the Chousin to do a happy dance and ignoring the fact that he wasn’t the reason for the disappearing act. “I finally won, took his happiness right out from under his nose!”
“SIT DOWN!” thundered Tokimi, having finished her task. As the notoriously angry Goddess, it was now her turn to interrogate their guests for information. Her methods were far more aggressive that those of her sisters, as the duo that represented the remains of the Nerima Wrecking Crew were about to find out.
(Potter Universe)
The Great Hall of Hogwarts resonated with the noise of the second through seventh years awaiting the Sorting Ceremony. The general hubbub was that this was the year the Boy-Who-Lived emerged from wherever he’d been hiding to begin his magical education. Many were commenting that nobody had seen the boy on the Express, and not a few were debating if he was indeed alive after all.
After that fateful Halloween night ten years ago the only thing Dumbledore had said was that young Potter was alive, marked for eternity by his survival of one of the most feared curses of all. The Headmaster refused to elaborate more beyond that, spouting ‘reasons of security’ and whatnot.
The Sorting would set the record straight for the detractors, which was now underway alphabetically after yet another bizarre song/bout of insanity of the Hat. The usual suspects went to their Houses to loud cheer until when Professor McGonagall got to the P’s, the Hall fell silent. The Patil twins were split between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, though the applause was swift before silence descended upon the students again. More than a few sets of eyes tracked up to the Head Table, taking in Dumbledore and his reactions. A few groans were let out for a Sally-Anne Perks, before quiet applause followed her to Hufflepuff.
Surprise rang out when the next name called turned out to be Zacharias Smith. The students were trying to keep it down, but the increased noise of one caused another to follow suit and so on. Nobody failed to notice more than a few smiles along the Slytherin table, which instantly earned the ire of the Gryffindors.
“SILENCE!” thundered Dumbledore, a rare frown present on his face. He sat down, refusing to elaborate even with three quarters of the students staring at his person. The Slytherins were looking at Snape, fishing for clues and they saw that he wasn’t happy in the least. He was glaring certain death at his golden plate, not wanting –or daring- to look at those under his care.
The interrupted Sorting continued, although not a sound was made as the populace took the Headmaster’s demand seriously. The next shock came near the end of the Ceremony.
“Weasley, Ronald.”
Ah, here we are. He’d had a compartment on the train all to himself, even with Neville poking his head in looking for his toad. Not having the chance to meet Harry before arriving at Hogwarts had slightly altered his persona in that he’d stewed in his juices about being the last of the brothers and wanting to outshine them. His confidence had yet to take blows from Hermione’s critiques, which reinforced his ambitions.
Not a good thing to be thinking of at the Sorting.
‘What’s this, another Weasley?’ came from the Hat, after being placed on his head. Not giving time to answer, it continued, ‘Lots of ambition, but not much bravery. Selfishness aplenty, yes . . . what to do with you? A thirst to prove yourself to your brothers, yet no drive to learn. Hmmmmm . . . not much loyalty within you either, only to those that could get you a dose of the spotlight . . . I know what to do with you. There’s only one House you belong to, and that’s . . .’
“SLYTHERIN!”
Tumult.
The Weasley brothers Fred and George along with Percy had leapt to their feet to celebrate Ron’s inducting into Gryffindor when the word of the Hat sunk in. The twins, having been sitting together, tripped over each other tumbling to the floor in a fit of arms, legs and red hair. Percy scowled deeply for the first time since he was four, which definitely hurt his face before plopping rather heavily onto the bench, nearly dumping his neighbors.
Ron had thrown the Hat off in disgust, tempted to stomp on it a few times before McGonagall managed to shoo him in the direction of the Slytherin table. Ignoring this and where the Hat had put him, he turned and headed for the First Year end of the Gryffindor table to which the Second Years greeted him at wand-point. The sneering jests began, and more than a few of the older students made their way up the table with their wands out to ‘escort’ the youngest Weasley brother to where he belonged. Leading this charge were the now recovered twins, looks of embarrassment on their faces.
The Slytherins themselves were up in arms, yelling as loud as they could about not having ‘blood traitors’ in their midst led by the ponce Draco Malfoy. Snape himself looked extremely surprised, an ultra-rare feat in and of itself. Even more surprising was the look on Dumbledore’s face, for he looked like he’d eaten a whole lemon rather than one of his famous Lemon Drops.
It took some time for the ruckus to die down, after the twins bodily dumped Ron at the far end of the Slytherin table where he sat all by his lonesome near tears. He was locked in a mental loop about what his parents would think about breaking the many-generations old tradition of Weasley’s –and by extension, the Prewitt’s- going into Gryffindor. He’d heard it every year since his oldest brother Bill had attended Hogwarts, how the family had always gone the route of Godric even when times were tight. Oh he wasn’t looking forward to that conversation, not at all.
The students looked at Dumbledore as soon as Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin, believing that the Ceremony was over. Thus they were in prime position to see McGonagall transfigure the old stool into a bench facing them. Many eyebrows rose at this action before another name was called out.
“Saotome, Ranma.”
The upper Years were beginning to wonder if somebody had gotten a massive Confundus charm to work on the staff before the door to the antechamber behind the Head Table opened admitting a boy and eight girls. What the students didn’t know was that as the Norns nor Hild had surnames it had been determined to be easier to just call for Ranma.
The group of nine sat on the bench, the lone boy in the middle with four girls to a side when Peeves made an appearance. The water balloons flew before the surprised staff could do anything about them, all turning in mid-air to a single target.
“Why me?” demanded the soaked red-head that hadn’t been there two seconds ago. Those in the Hall were stunned, having never seen anything like this before. That was until they felt a wave of . . . something . . . come from the voice-identified girl. She was dry in an instant, without so much as closing her eyes before being doused by a thermos held by one of the brown haired girls. The wave of power again, followed by the raven haired boy standing up.
“Hey Peeves, c’mere,” he said in the best innocent tone he could muster. The poltergeist surprised those that had known about him and his ways by doing exactly as he was told, floating within a few feet of the boy. “What have I told you about doing that?”
The students were treated to something new as the practical joker poltergeist shivered in fear but not verbally answering.
“You’ve had yer last warnin’,” he continued, hands cupping by his right side ever so slowly. “I’ve tried to be patient with you, but that was the last straw.”
“No! Not that! PLEASE!” screamed Peeves, frozen in place and obviously wanting to flee but too scared to do so.
“Moko Takabisha!”
KROOM!
Shouts of fright filled the air as Peeves rocketed towards the closed doors, before impacting them and falling limply to the floor. The other ghosts in attendance were not so shocked by the fact that the poltergeist hadn’t sailed through a solid object after having so much life-force interact with his own energies, having seen a situation like this before.
“Please, sit down,” directed Professor McGonagall, also having seen this before the last time Peeves had pranked the displaced youth. It had taken some time to understand just why he was more solid than before.
Infusing any type of spirit with life energy made it stronger, and those that were dead came closer to being ‘alive’ again thus making objects like walls and doors solid to them. The last time this happened Peeves had to take the long way anywhere for a day, as the event had happened on the day of the groups’ awakening.
Having reclaimed his seat, the Hat was put on his head and expanded to encompass the girl’s heads.
‘Oh, this is different,’ came the mental voice of the Hat, ‘so very different. You young Saotome have been through much, with bravery and confidence leading the way. Not very bright, yes . . . but that’s not entirely your fault. A thirst for understanding and knowledge, and you’re obsessively loyal to those close to you. Lots of ambition to be the best, although I sense some hesitation in anything that disinterests you.’
The student body was beginning to fidget, for the Ceremony was taking a lot longer than usual. Small snacks had appeared on the tables to tide them over until the actual Feast began, to which they were grateful.
It took almost five minutes for the Hat to sort through the nine minds, before proclaiming loudly that they were to be in Gryffindor. Again the students believed the Sorting was over when they got the shock of their lives.
“Abbot, Hannah; Bones, Susan; Granger, Hermione; Lovegood, Luna; Potter, Harry; Tonks, Nymphadora.”
Silence.
The door to the antechamber opened again, and the group trooped their way to the bench. Upon seeing Harry, whispers broke out and more than one excited “It’s him!” drifted to their ears which they deftly ignored. The Hufflepuffs were grumbling about Tonks getting resorted, even though she had made heavy use of her metamorph-magi abilities to look eleven again.
‘Quickly now, the others would like to eat,’ said the Hat, picking up hints at Gryffindor being the dominate trait within the boy. The decision was made swiftly, without much fanfare or –pardon the pun- badgering to avoid a certain blonde.
“GRYFFINDOR!”
“Thanks Phil,” came from Harry, although where the name came from he had no idea.
“The Hat has a name?” wondered Tonks, having dealt with it before and never hearing of this.
The silence of the student body ended suddenly, roars of approval coming from just about everywhere but none louder than the House of Godric.
Before Harry could get up from the bench, the youngest Weasley boy had come around to current events only to find the very person he wanted to ride the coattails . . . befriend already surrounded by a crowd and this angered him. Before he realized exactly what he was doing, he was charging across the Great Hall to remove them and claim his spot.
“Get away from him!” he bellowed, just as he reached the elevated platform. Unfortunately for him, there was a missed puddle of water on the polished oak flooring, to which he promptly lost his footing. His right foot, having been trailing slightly behind him caught the lip of the platform, sending him flying forehead first into Harry.
Over five hundred males, students and Professors alike -including Snape- collectively placed hands in a strategic place wincing in sympathy while the boy in question slowly turned blue from the pain emanating from down below; mouth open in a silent scream of agony. The five girls, two on either side and one behind, heard his mental screaming and swearing though. It was hard for them to tell if it was phantom sympathy pain or the as yet unexplored link, but they partially felt it too.
Ron, having gotten back to his feet and seeing that they were distracted, slung Harry over his shoulder and made for the Entrance Hall doors, ignoring the fact that after five steps he had gone completely limp. He was a man-child on a mission, thus enabling him to ignore the sudden shouting of the students and Professors that he return him to the transfigured bench. He was almost to the doors when his ‘best friend’ floated out of his arms and returned to the bench, where the others that had just been sorted were unconscious.
“What are you doing?!” he shouted, seeing the wand of Dumbledore being the one responsible for putting his meal tick . . . best mate in the spot that rightfully belonged to him. “That’s my best mate you’re messing with!”
“Mister Weasley,” came the silky drawl of his new Head of House, “no doubt you fail to see the significance of the situation. Sit down and be silent.”
“Who’re you to order me around?!” was the retort, raising the eyebrows of those that were paying attention to the developing argument. “I should be in Gryffindor, not slimy Slytherin! Every wizard worth their magic knows that House breeds Dark wizards, and I am no Dark Wizard!”
Having resituated Harry within his bond-mates, Dumbledore had turned his attentions to the argument between student and Professor. The twinkle in his eyes was gone, and a perpetual frown marred his face listening to young Ronald spouting off at the mouth. This day was not going by design in the least.
“Who am I?” was the response from Snape, glare in place and voice hard as ice. “I am your Head of House you blistering blathering bumbling baboon, and you will show me respect. As for which House you belong in the Hat has spoken, you are a Slytherin. Now I say again, sit down and be silent!”
“Sod off you overgrown bat!” he retorted in a full Weasley, or perhaps a Prewitt, temper-tantrum. “Harry is supposed to be my tick . . . friend, and it’s family tradition to be in Gryffindor!”
“That’s quite enough,” barked Dumbledore, having heard all he wanted to and then some. “Mister Weasley, you will show respect to every member of the staff or you be gone from this school, do I make myself clear?”
“You’re barmy!” he roared, his anger getting away from him. “The lot of you have gone mad!” Having enough of the argument, Ron charged the stage again, again targeting the still unconscious Harry. The one thing he didn’t count on was another first year standing up and getting in the way.
“Here’s where I draw the line,” drawled a bored Ranma, having taking a liking to Harry and his friends. “If he was aware of your attack, I wouldn’t even intervene but as you can see he’s not. I don’t care what your beef with the world is but you’ll not take it out on my friend.”
“Outta my way, Fem-boy,” growled Ron, not noticing that the Great Hall was completely silent again and could hear every word. “Yer no friend of Potter, you don’t even know him! Why don’t you go back to your little whores, filthy mud-blood!”
There are certain things that are just not done. One of them is calling the company Ranma keeps ‘whores’, considering just whom they were. Another is insulting his manhood, using the exact taunt a certain individual named by Happosai would. The last being picking a fight with them, the reason being that most of the group was rather heavily armed.
Every eye fell upon those that had been sorted with the foreigner, and many had come to that very conclusion after taking in their facial expressions. Just seeing the two excessively pretty brown haired girls frown sent shivers down many spines. Noticing the power rolling off of the pair of platinum blondes had many converting their faith on the spot. Seeing the brunettes utilize the Ikari Death Glare, Seated Variation gave the muggle-born’s feelings of impending doom.
Noticing the weapons now in the hands of the blue-haired and the almost-black-haired girls gave them a great idea of what would happen if they tried this tactic again.
Staring down the blade of a six foot long katana, such as Ron now found himself doing, reinforced those notions.
“I think not, pretty-boy,” ground out Ranma, trying to reign his temper in. “Unless yer challengin’ me, that is?”
“Mister Saotome, please,” came the voice of Dumbledore from behind him, much closer than the Head Table. Giving a slight nod without taking his eyes off of the pompous arse in front of him who dared to utter those words, he made the katana disappear before putting a restraining hand on Shampoo’s left shoulder. Upon seeing that that situation was under control, the Headmaster turned to the statue-esqe Weasley.
“Mister Weasley, I warned you,” he monotoned, wishing to not have to do this here but not having much choice as he was certain another explosion was eminent. “Fifty points from Slytherin for not controlling one of their own and excessive verbal abuses, especially at the Welcoming Feast. I may tolerate some of their shenanigans later in the year, but not now. You will serve detention every night for the entire year with Mister Filch. You are also banned from any and all extracurricular activities for your entire tenure at Hogwarts, including Quidditch, Hogsmeade and any other event that may come up. If there is another incident such as this you will be expelled immediately. Do you understand?”
All that Ron could do was nod, his eyes not leaving the now seated Saotome. Then the words of the Headmaster filtered in, to which he narrowed his eyes in anger but somehow held it in.
“Professor Snape will escort you to your dorm, where you will remain until morning,” concluded Dumbledore, the aforementioned Snape having been hovering in the background. His quietly added just for his Potions Master, “Make certain the other Slytherins don’t get carried away with their . . . behavior corrections. I’ll speak to you after the long-delayed Feast.”
Snape narrowed his eyes, before grabbing the collar of Ron and ‘escorting’ him out of the Hall.
While that was happening, conversation broke out across the Hall. In the standard that was Hogwarts, once the entertainment value was lost the students ignored the clean up efforts to jibber-jabber about something else.
“Brilliant!” barked the Irish brogue of Seamus Finnegan, while somehow restraining himself from delivering a solid slap on the back of Ranma.
“Wha?” was the eloquent response from said youth, looking lost and confused. He had taken notice that the entourage of Harry was up and about again, making their way to where he was seated.
The students, professors and ghosts thought they’d seen it all. Thus they were woefully unprepared for the Saotome Eating Machine to fire up once the main Feast began. There had only been a slight pause, followed by a choked cheer complete with sparkles and doe eyes then the arms started blurring. The food was disappearing at a rapid pace, and not just from the serving platters. Those that surrounded him had to defend their positions lest their own dinner came under attack.
“Hey!” scowled Nabiki as Ranma pilfered his fifth chicken leg from her plate in a row. “There’s plenty still on the platters, stop stealing my food!”
The response was unintelligible as he tried to talk around the mouthful of food while attempting to look innocent. This didn’t set well nor earn him any brownie points with his friends or the other Gryffindors.
Twenty minutes later, he was still going strong even though the rest of the population was wanting dessert. It took a combined effort by the girls to get him to stop long enough for the dessert trays to appear. He whimpered at the loss of such good food, and could only stare at the available treats as the teaching of his father roared in his mind about such frivolity.
‘Bah! Panda-Man isn’t here!’
The dessert trays suffered the same treatment . . . eh, fate as the main course. Dumbledore completely forgot his after-supper speech after the rather grotesque eating display, instead shooing the students out of the Great Hall and off to bed.
The next day started as the previous night had ended, with Ranma stuffing as much food as possible down his throat. Even though the female populace was rather grossed out by his eating habits, they were also envious since he apparently gained no weight. The disturbance was great enough to befuddle the Professors to the point that the Heads of House had to scramble to get the schedules to the students before ejecting them from the Hall.
“Why are bothering with this?” demanded Urd again. Nabiki had tried to count the number of times the same question was asked but lost count somewhere in the ten millions.
“Think about it,” answered Hild yet again, making the group pause en route to Transfiguration. She shifted her weight to her right leg, resulting in her right hip cocking out to which she rested her right hand and checking to insure they were alone in the corridor. “We intentionally removed our limiters. With the Almighty having triggered Ragnarok, we can’t get them reinstalled. So instead we shall take this opportunity to learn control without them, and just maybe we can pass the knowledge along when we get home.”
“Yeah, about that,” chimed in Nabiki, using a convenient corner as a back scratcher, “we agreed to keep our extra friends a secret as long as possible. Just how are we supposed to get them extra training if we don’t let them out?”
“She wants out that bad?” came the concerned voice of Belldandy as she took over the back scratching.
“Yeah. She’s the one causing this blasted itch, doing it on purpose to get me to release her,” was the answer, half moaned in the bliss that getting that damnable itch in the hard to reach spot brings.
“What are you talking about?” came the voice of Harry as he and his entourage appeared from behind a tapestry. Having one of his group going through the Hogwarts experience again had its advantages, such as knowing some of the secret passages to get around in a quick order. Although he did a double take when Tonks grumbled about the moving staircases behaving themselves for the first time.
“Oh, nothing,” replied Ranma as he swung by on the beams in the ceiling. Since everything but Herbology and Flying were indoors he had come up with a new expressway for himself. The odd scene he created he ignored as the other students in the packed hall ducked for cover thinking that he’d lose his grip and fall.
“Would you get down?” demanded Skuld, her face turning red from a combination of embarrassment and anger. She had yet to have the full Ranma experience and was trying to instill a sense of normalcy into the boy.
“Y’know, if it weren’t for these robes I’d be beam-walking,” was his almost wistful response. He been busy the night before, modifying the school robes into something more akin to battle robes. From his hips down now sported slits on either side for mobility with stitched in pants for prosperity’s sake. “And while I’m at it, thanks for waking me this morning Kasumi.”
The former eldest Tendo daughter blushed prettily, her right foot lifting slightly to scoff the floor with her toes providing the perfect “Weren’t nothing” pose.
“We’d better get a move on,” chimed in Tonks, having drilled the usage of her family name into everybody’s head. “McGonagall may be fair, but she’s also strict and a stickler for the rules.” Not knowing of Ranma and bad reactions to cats she left out the information that a tabby was awaiting them, as a test to see whom would be on time and whom needed a map and watch as her favorite threat went.
The fairly large group made for the Transfiguration Year One classroom on the fourth floor, Harry and Ranma in the midst of a gaggle of girls much to the humor, disgust, and jealousy of their fellow schoolmates, depending on the individual point of view.
There is the saying that the first impression is the most important. This, being Transfiguration which the Animagus fell under, was why for the entire time she’d had the post Minerva McGonagall made a powerful impression on the first years by showing the children her Tabby form. Some were quick on the uptake, seeing how the ability to go from human to animal while retaining their own thought processes was a Very Good Thing.
Never, in her life, had McGonagall heard of let alone encountered an Ailurophobe. Just knowing Ranma for the past few days had introduced the ultra-rare Aquaphobe, a meaning she had to hand write into the dictionary.
So it came as a great surprise as when the gaggle of girls in front of said youth moved enough for him to be able to see the massive oak desk at the front of the room Ranma froze, paled, screamed with a rather high pitch, then leapt for the ceiling.
Those that were linked to his mind finally understood his conditioning and absolute fear of cats. The dimensional travel had, in a fit of Chaos, made certain that even the beings of Higher Power heard his mind go into fight or flight mode.
‘DANGER-DANGER-DANGER-CAT-CAT-CAT-RUN-FLEE-PAIN-FEAR-ATTACK-MOVE-MOVE-MO VE-RUN-RUN-RUN-CAT-CAT-CAT-ESCAPE-ESCAPE-ESCAPE-TERROR-MONSTER-EVIL-CLAWS-P AIN-SUFFER-DANGER-DANGER-DANGER’ repeated in his mind like a mantra, progressively getting weaker on each repetition.
“What is the meaning of this?” came the panicked voice of their Professor, having returned to being human while the rest of the class was looking at the cowering form that had wrapped his arms and legs around a beam in the ceiling, some dozen meters above the floor.
One of the Ravenclaws thought the scene was the funniest thing he’d ever seen until he caught sight of two of the brown haired girls frowning. Those two were the embodiment of peace and tranquility, and to see the pair frowning approaching scowling scared him and those that wondered what had cut the laughter off so abruptly.
There was no answer forthcoming to the panicked demand of McGonagall as those that were linked to Ranma ‘saw’ in their minds the memories of The Pit. While he’d explained the training before, he’d obviously left out some parts such as Genma’s ‘punishments’ for failure. Or calling for his mother. Or complaining about the pain and injuries. Or attempting escape after freeing himself of the sausage-ties. The girls, even those that had been young and older women, were not able to experience outside stimuli as their minds were bombarded by one of the past horrors that he’d suffered through.
Shampoo was hit the hardest, as he’d been too nice to explain this depth of his fear to her Cat Curse. In her home village the actions of Genma would have guaranteed the oaf a most painful death for the treatment, let alone endangerment, of his only son. There was a reason why even the feared Amazons did not teach the Neko-ken.
Ranma came back to himself, shuddering in reflex to his panic attack. Looking about the room revealed that the feline was gone, although he was weary that it might return. He shifted his weight before dropping off of the beam, which earned more than a few sharp inhales as he had been a dozen meters up. Landing light as a feather, he continued his survey to insure the beast was indeed gone while ignoring the odd looks send his way.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled while using his right hand to play with his pigtail. “Training mishap when I was six, left a deep fear of c-c-c-felines. If I’m exposed too long . . .” a full body shudder worked its way up and down, “ . . . it’s not a pretty sight.”
Deciding to put the whole incident on the back-burner, McGonagall got them seated and the lesson started. By lunch, the school was abuzz with the news that the foreigner had a problem with cats, to which certain party’s made a note of for future use if need be.
(Potter Universe Heaven)
“You three do realize what it is you’ve done, do you not?” came the guttural-yet-extremely-angry voice of the Almighty. This aspect was surprisingly neutral in the goings on across the rest of the multiverse, instead having to counter open rebellion by not just those under His command but also the Spirits.
The native Urd, Belldandy and Skuld stood at attention, what would be shoulder to shoulder if their heights had matched with contrite expressions on their faces. Skuld was the worst, having had some compassion for their target.
Well, she called it compassion. The Almighty called it a weakness, an attempt to break the Infinite Circle –‘What Has Come Before Will Come Again’- and outright mutiny. Getting her sisters onboard had taken persuasion above and beyond the extreme, with a hefty sprinkling of threats and trademark explosives.
“They are stagnate,” she deflected His righteous anger without so much as a flinch. “Those that we gifted millennia ago are too locked in their ways; too resistant to change to see that the rest of the world is growing without them.”
“The traditionalists are a dying breed,” Belldandy took over, her face expressionless. “Soon, they will be no more. Especially with that madman Riddle at the helm of their ‘cause’, and everything will be destroyed.”
“So you took it upon yourselves to interfere,” was His response, before being cut off.
“You were too busy to listen to us,” came from Urd, her rage barely restrained. “We’ve tried for the past four centuries to get you to look at this matter, but you never did. You put us in charge of the Circle, delegated your responsibility to us so that you could pursue other interests. We are trying to fix what your inattention has brought forth. By their history, Dark Lord’s surface ever other century or so like clockwork. Now, there have been two in fifty of their years. The Circle was broken by the Mortals and we are struggling to hold it together.”
“So you interfered by allowing Chaos energy into this plane,” He continued, glaring at Urd for her interruption. “Now the reborn Chaos himself is here, drawn in by the boy that would have, on his own, repaired the Circle to what it was.”
“That Circle is invalid,” Belldandy stuck to logic in her argument, “as Urd has pointed out, the Mortals broke it on their own. We are trying to establish a Circle, period. It was either this or watch the entire System fail.”
“No matter,” He brushed the three off, having had enough of their treasonous behavior. “The Circle is beyond us to control now; the Others are wanting to send in an attack force before Chaos can learn to harness his powers more efficiently. Everything we have ever worked for here is lost . . .,” here He paused, leaning back in His chair before making a steeple out of His fingers. “And so are you. You three are henceforth terminated, sentenced to your counterparts on the surface. We, the Council, aren’t going to execute you because We believe that those on Midgard won’t see the Summer Solstice.”
Using His terminal interface, He erased the trio from the Yggdrasil Mainframe before converting their bodies to energy and funneling it into the Duplicates on Earth.
“Hopefully, the information you have will tip the scales of the coming battle. I’m sorry, my daughters . . .”
TBC
Aight, that seems like a good enough place to stop for now. It’s been an insane year since I last updated. A change in employers, a friend’s heartbreak, watching children over a span of two solid months . . . that, and my muse coming and going in fits. I’ve recently stumbled across another fic that has a great idea imbedded in it in regards to something similar here, one that’s making me think.
Also, for the foreseeable future, there will not be any new elements brought into this story. The Dramatis Personae is uber-long as it is, even with the characters that just float around in the background.
Finished in Louisville, Kentucky
Rant: Some good, some bad responses to the newest element. Fear not, for the plot thins . . . I mean thickens. Whoops. I’m on the fence about “Manipulative!Dumbledore” and am asking my readers opinion on that particular plot bunny –and the other general nonsense that goes with it- before going full bore.
A general warning for Ron fans: in my honest opinion, he’s whiney, self-centered, lazy yet has a certain cunning that really shines when he chooses. He’s not evil, but he has a cowardice that just screams at me. I don’t like him at all, especially since he seems to be rather ‘Fair Weather’, if you catch my drift.
Sorry for the long delay and even longer rant. My muse took a vacation without me, and real life got in the way while I looked for it. That and real life got in the way again, again, and again.
Phenomenal Cosmic Powers, Itty Bitty Living Space Arc Two Part Two.
By: (Driver) Jim Ohki
(Primary Reality)
“Talk to me,” demanded Tsunami, having exerted her authority to keep Akane and Ryoga out of the dungeons for this little get together. She was rather irate that her newly reincarnated brother had up and vanished mere moments before the arrival of the Chousin, and was seeking answers.
“Why should we?” retorted Ryoga, his fears and insecurities turning into the more familiar anger. Like Akane, he had issues dealing with his emotions, especially those that made him uncomfortable.
“Because we want to know exactly what you did to him,” rumbled Washu, showing her own displeasure. Being the first to arrive she had caught the briefest of glimpses before her reborn brother with those that had literally attached themselves to him had vanished and didn’t like the fact that they were all apparently eleven again. She remembered, upon that new look, that the original Chaos had stated rather balefully that he disliked any age under eighteen for being too restrictive.
“That baka is gone, took the last of my family with him, and all you care about is Ranma?” barked Akane, looking neither smug nor angry. Her expression was rather neutral, for once succeeding in guarding her thoughts. She had gone along with the original plan of de-aging said Saotome again for the fact that it would make controlling him easier and had the brainwave to use the ‘shrooms on her sisters in an effort to be the one to make the decisions. The Holy War that had erupted around her had scared her, and when her father was taken something deep within her psyche snapped.
The only one that was silent was Tokimi, whom had taken to floating cross-legged in a corner with her eyes closed. She was reaching through the multiverse strings trying to locate their brother, and had some success. She’d narrowed the possible realities down to an even dozen and was in the process of refining her search.
“This is getting us nowhere,” drawled Tsunami, giving a half-lidded glare to the couple sitting on the other side of the mahogany conference table that had appeared from nowhere via Washu waving her hand.
“Then we’re outta here, we have things to do like getting those . . . freaks of nature out of my house,” declared Akane as she rose, believing that as the eldest present Tendo she had authority to do as she pleased. Under normal circumstances this would be true, however current events were far from normal.
“He’s finally gone,” cheered Ryoga, instantly ignoring the Chousin to do a happy dance and ignoring the fact that he wasn’t the reason for the disappearing act. “I finally won, took his happiness right out from under his nose!”
“SIT DOWN!” thundered Tokimi, having finished her task. As the notoriously angry Goddess, it was now her turn to interrogate their guests for information. Her methods were far more aggressive that those of her sisters, as the duo that represented the remains of the Nerima Wrecking Crew were about to find out.
(Potter Universe)
The Great Hall of Hogwarts resonated with the noise of the second through seventh years awaiting the Sorting Ceremony. The general hubbub was that this was the year the Boy-Who-Lived emerged from wherever he’d been hiding to begin his magical education. Many were commenting that nobody had seen the boy on the Express, and not a few were debating if he was indeed alive after all.
After that fateful Halloween night ten years ago the only thing Dumbledore had said was that young Potter was alive, marked for eternity by his survival of one of the most feared curses of all. The Headmaster refused to elaborate more beyond that, spouting ‘reasons of security’ and whatnot.
The Sorting would set the record straight for the detractors, which was now underway alphabetically after yet another bizarre song/bout of insanity of the Hat. The usual suspects went to their Houses to loud cheer until when Professor McGonagall got to the P’s, the Hall fell silent. The Patil twins were split between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, though the applause was swift before silence descended upon the students again. More than a few sets of eyes tracked up to the Head Table, taking in Dumbledore and his reactions. A few groans were let out for a Sally-Anne Perks, before quiet applause followed her to Hufflepuff.
Surprise rang out when the next name called turned out to be Zacharias Smith. The students were trying to keep it down, but the increased noise of one caused another to follow suit and so on. Nobody failed to notice more than a few smiles along the Slytherin table, which instantly earned the ire of the Gryffindors.
“SILENCE!” thundered Dumbledore, a rare frown present on his face. He sat down, refusing to elaborate even with three quarters of the students staring at his person. The Slytherins were looking at Snape, fishing for clues and they saw that he wasn’t happy in the least. He was glaring certain death at his golden plate, not wanting –or daring- to look at those under his care.
The interrupted Sorting continued, although not a sound was made as the populace took the Headmaster’s demand seriously. The next shock came near the end of the Ceremony.
“Weasley, Ronald.”
Ah, here we are. He’d had a compartment on the train all to himself, even with Neville poking his head in looking for his toad. Not having the chance to meet Harry before arriving at Hogwarts had slightly altered his persona in that he’d stewed in his juices about being the last of the brothers and wanting to outshine them. His confidence had yet to take blows from Hermione’s critiques, which reinforced his ambitions.
Not a good thing to be thinking of at the Sorting.
‘What’s this, another Weasley?’ came from the Hat, after being placed on his head. Not giving time to answer, it continued, ‘Lots of ambition, but not much bravery. Selfishness aplenty, yes . . . what to do with you? A thirst to prove yourself to your brothers, yet no drive to learn. Hmmmmm . . . not much loyalty within you either, only to those that could get you a dose of the spotlight . . . I know what to do with you. There’s only one House you belong to, and that’s . . .’
“SLYTHERIN!”
Tumult.
The Weasley brothers Fred and George along with Percy had leapt to their feet to celebrate Ron’s inducting into Gryffindor when the word of the Hat sunk in. The twins, having been sitting together, tripped over each other tumbling to the floor in a fit of arms, legs and red hair. Percy scowled deeply for the first time since he was four, which definitely hurt his face before plopping rather heavily onto the bench, nearly dumping his neighbors.
Ron had thrown the Hat off in disgust, tempted to stomp on it a few times before McGonagall managed to shoo him in the direction of the Slytherin table. Ignoring this and where the Hat had put him, he turned and headed for the First Year end of the Gryffindor table to which the Second Years greeted him at wand-point. The sneering jests began, and more than a few of the older students made their way up the table with their wands out to ‘escort’ the youngest Weasley brother to where he belonged. Leading this charge were the now recovered twins, looks of embarrassment on their faces.
The Slytherins themselves were up in arms, yelling as loud as they could about not having ‘blood traitors’ in their midst led by the ponce Draco Malfoy. Snape himself looked extremely surprised, an ultra-rare feat in and of itself. Even more surprising was the look on Dumbledore’s face, for he looked like he’d eaten a whole lemon rather than one of his famous Lemon Drops.
It took some time for the ruckus to die down, after the twins bodily dumped Ron at the far end of the Slytherin table where he sat all by his lonesome near tears. He was locked in a mental loop about what his parents would think about breaking the many-generations old tradition of Weasley’s –and by extension, the Prewitt’s- going into Gryffindor. He’d heard it every year since his oldest brother Bill had attended Hogwarts, how the family had always gone the route of Godric even when times were tight. Oh he wasn’t looking forward to that conversation, not at all.
The students looked at Dumbledore as soon as Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin, believing that the Ceremony was over. Thus they were in prime position to see McGonagall transfigure the old stool into a bench facing them. Many eyebrows rose at this action before another name was called out.
“Saotome, Ranma.”
The upper Years were beginning to wonder if somebody had gotten a massive Confundus charm to work on the staff before the door to the antechamber behind the Head Table opened admitting a boy and eight girls. What the students didn’t know was that as the Norns nor Hild had surnames it had been determined to be easier to just call for Ranma.
The group of nine sat on the bench, the lone boy in the middle with four girls to a side when Peeves made an appearance. The water balloons flew before the surprised staff could do anything about them, all turning in mid-air to a single target.
“Why me?” demanded the soaked red-head that hadn’t been there two seconds ago. Those in the Hall were stunned, having never seen anything like this before. That was until they felt a wave of . . . something . . . come from the voice-identified girl. She was dry in an instant, without so much as closing her eyes before being doused by a thermos held by one of the brown haired girls. The wave of power again, followed by the raven haired boy standing up.
“Hey Peeves, c’mere,” he said in the best innocent tone he could muster. The poltergeist surprised those that had known about him and his ways by doing exactly as he was told, floating within a few feet of the boy. “What have I told you about doing that?”
The students were treated to something new as the practical joker poltergeist shivered in fear but not verbally answering.
“You’ve had yer last warnin’,” he continued, hands cupping by his right side ever so slowly. “I’ve tried to be patient with you, but that was the last straw.”
“No! Not that! PLEASE!” screamed Peeves, frozen in place and obviously wanting to flee but too scared to do so.
“Moko Takabisha!”
KROOM!
Shouts of fright filled the air as Peeves rocketed towards the closed doors, before impacting them and falling limply to the floor. The other ghosts in attendance were not so shocked by the fact that the poltergeist hadn’t sailed through a solid object after having so much life-force interact with his own energies, having seen a situation like this before.
“Please, sit down,” directed Professor McGonagall, also having seen this before the last time Peeves had pranked the displaced youth. It had taken some time to understand just why he was more solid than before.
Infusing any type of spirit with life energy made it stronger, and those that were dead came closer to being ‘alive’ again thus making objects like walls and doors solid to them. The last time this happened Peeves had to take the long way anywhere for a day, as the event had happened on the day of the groups’ awakening.
Having reclaimed his seat, the Hat was put on his head and expanded to encompass the girl’s heads.
‘Oh, this is different,’ came the mental voice of the Hat, ‘so very different. You young Saotome have been through much, with bravery and confidence leading the way. Not very bright, yes . . . but that’s not entirely your fault. A thirst for understanding and knowledge, and you’re obsessively loyal to those close to you. Lots of ambition to be the best, although I sense some hesitation in anything that disinterests you.’
The student body was beginning to fidget, for the Ceremony was taking a lot longer than usual. Small snacks had appeared on the tables to tide them over until the actual Feast began, to which they were grateful.
It took almost five minutes for the Hat to sort through the nine minds, before proclaiming loudly that they were to be in Gryffindor. Again the students believed the Sorting was over when they got the shock of their lives.
“Abbot, Hannah; Bones, Susan; Granger, Hermione; Lovegood, Luna; Potter, Harry; Tonks, Nymphadora.”
Silence.
The door to the antechamber opened again, and the group trooped their way to the bench. Upon seeing Harry, whispers broke out and more than one excited “It’s him!” drifted to their ears which they deftly ignored. The Hufflepuffs were grumbling about Tonks getting resorted, even though she had made heavy use of her metamorph-magi abilities to look eleven again.
‘Quickly now, the others would like to eat,’ said the Hat, picking up hints at Gryffindor being the dominate trait within the boy. The decision was made swiftly, without much fanfare or –pardon the pun- badgering to avoid a certain blonde.
“GRYFFINDOR!”
“Thanks Phil,” came from Harry, although where the name came from he had no idea.
“The Hat has a name?” wondered Tonks, having dealt with it before and never hearing of this.
The silence of the student body ended suddenly, roars of approval coming from just about everywhere but none louder than the House of Godric.
Before Harry could get up from the bench, the youngest Weasley boy had come around to current events only to find the very person he wanted to ride the coattails . . . befriend already surrounded by a crowd and this angered him. Before he realized exactly what he was doing, he was charging across the Great Hall to remove them and claim his spot.
“Get away from him!” he bellowed, just as he reached the elevated platform. Unfortunately for him, there was a missed puddle of water on the polished oak flooring, to which he promptly lost his footing. His right foot, having been trailing slightly behind him caught the lip of the platform, sending him flying forehead first into Harry.
Over five hundred males, students and Professors alike -including Snape- collectively placed hands in a strategic place wincing in sympathy while the boy in question slowly turned blue from the pain emanating from down below; mouth open in a silent scream of agony. The five girls, two on either side and one behind, heard his mental screaming and swearing though. It was hard for them to tell if it was phantom sympathy pain or the as yet unexplored link, but they partially felt it too.
Ron, having gotten back to his feet and seeing that they were distracted, slung Harry over his shoulder and made for the Entrance Hall doors, ignoring the fact that after five steps he had gone completely limp. He was a man-child on a mission, thus enabling him to ignore the sudden shouting of the students and Professors that he return him to the transfigured bench. He was almost to the doors when his ‘best friend’ floated out of his arms and returned to the bench, where the others that had just been sorted were unconscious.
“What are you doing?!” he shouted, seeing the wand of Dumbledore being the one responsible for putting his meal tick . . . best mate in the spot that rightfully belonged to him. “That’s my best mate you’re messing with!”
“Mister Weasley,” came the silky drawl of his new Head of House, “no doubt you fail to see the significance of the situation. Sit down and be silent.”
“Who’re you to order me around?!” was the retort, raising the eyebrows of those that were paying attention to the developing argument. “I should be in Gryffindor, not slimy Slytherin! Every wizard worth their magic knows that House breeds Dark wizards, and I am no Dark Wizard!”
Having resituated Harry within his bond-mates, Dumbledore had turned his attentions to the argument between student and Professor. The twinkle in his eyes was gone, and a perpetual frown marred his face listening to young Ronald spouting off at the mouth. This day was not going by design in the least.
“Who am I?” was the response from Snape, glare in place and voice hard as ice. “I am your Head of House you blistering blathering bumbling baboon, and you will show me respect. As for which House you belong in the Hat has spoken, you are a Slytherin. Now I say again, sit down and be silent!”
“Sod off you overgrown bat!” he retorted in a full Weasley, or perhaps a Prewitt, temper-tantrum. “Harry is supposed to be my tick . . . friend, and it’s family tradition to be in Gryffindor!”
“That’s quite enough,” barked Dumbledore, having heard all he wanted to and then some. “Mister Weasley, you will show respect to every member of the staff or you be gone from this school, do I make myself clear?”
“You’re barmy!” he roared, his anger getting away from him. “The lot of you have gone mad!” Having enough of the argument, Ron charged the stage again, again targeting the still unconscious Harry. The one thing he didn’t count on was another first year standing up and getting in the way.
“Here’s where I draw the line,” drawled a bored Ranma, having taking a liking to Harry and his friends. “If he was aware of your attack, I wouldn’t even intervene but as you can see he’s not. I don’t care what your beef with the world is but you’ll not take it out on my friend.”
“Outta my way, Fem-boy,” growled Ron, not noticing that the Great Hall was completely silent again and could hear every word. “Yer no friend of Potter, you don’t even know him! Why don’t you go back to your little whores, filthy mud-blood!”
There are certain things that are just not done. One of them is calling the company Ranma keeps ‘whores’, considering just whom they were. Another is insulting his manhood, using the exact taunt a certain individual named by Happosai would. The last being picking a fight with them, the reason being that most of the group was rather heavily armed.
Every eye fell upon those that had been sorted with the foreigner, and many had come to that very conclusion after taking in their facial expressions. Just seeing the two excessively pretty brown haired girls frown sent shivers down many spines. Noticing the power rolling off of the pair of platinum blondes had many converting their faith on the spot. Seeing the brunettes utilize the Ikari Death Glare, Seated Variation gave the muggle-born’s feelings of impending doom.
Noticing the weapons now in the hands of the blue-haired and the almost-black-haired girls gave them a great idea of what would happen if they tried this tactic again.
Staring down the blade of a six foot long katana, such as Ron now found himself doing, reinforced those notions.
“I think not, pretty-boy,” ground out Ranma, trying to reign his temper in. “Unless yer challengin’ me, that is?”
“Mister Saotome, please,” came the voice of Dumbledore from behind him, much closer than the Head Table. Giving a slight nod without taking his eyes off of the pompous arse in front of him who dared to utter those words, he made the katana disappear before putting a restraining hand on Shampoo’s left shoulder. Upon seeing that that situation was under control, the Headmaster turned to the statue-esqe Weasley.
“Mister Weasley, I warned you,” he monotoned, wishing to not have to do this here but not having much choice as he was certain another explosion was eminent. “Fifty points from Slytherin for not controlling one of their own and excessive verbal abuses, especially at the Welcoming Feast. I may tolerate some of their shenanigans later in the year, but not now. You will serve detention every night for the entire year with Mister Filch. You are also banned from any and all extracurricular activities for your entire tenure at Hogwarts, including Quidditch, Hogsmeade and any other event that may come up. If there is another incident such as this you will be expelled immediately. Do you understand?”
All that Ron could do was nod, his eyes not leaving the now seated Saotome. Then the words of the Headmaster filtered in, to which he narrowed his eyes in anger but somehow held it in.
“Professor Snape will escort you to your dorm, where you will remain until morning,” concluded Dumbledore, the aforementioned Snape having been hovering in the background. His quietly added just for his Potions Master, “Make certain the other Slytherins don’t get carried away with their . . . behavior corrections. I’ll speak to you after the long-delayed Feast.”
Snape narrowed his eyes, before grabbing the collar of Ron and ‘escorting’ him out of the Hall.
While that was happening, conversation broke out across the Hall. In the standard that was Hogwarts, once the entertainment value was lost the students ignored the clean up efforts to jibber-jabber about something else.
“Brilliant!” barked the Irish brogue of Seamus Finnegan, while somehow restraining himself from delivering a solid slap on the back of Ranma.
“Wha?” was the eloquent response from said youth, looking lost and confused. He had taken notice that the entourage of Harry was up and about again, making their way to where he was seated.
The students, professors and ghosts thought they’d seen it all. Thus they were woefully unprepared for the Saotome Eating Machine to fire up once the main Feast began. There had only been a slight pause, followed by a choked cheer complete with sparkles and doe eyes then the arms started blurring. The food was disappearing at a rapid pace, and not just from the serving platters. Those that surrounded him had to defend their positions lest their own dinner came under attack.
“Hey!” scowled Nabiki as Ranma pilfered his fifth chicken leg from her plate in a row. “There’s plenty still on the platters, stop stealing my food!”
The response was unintelligible as he tried to talk around the mouthful of food while attempting to look innocent. This didn’t set well nor earn him any brownie points with his friends or the other Gryffindors.
Twenty minutes later, he was still going strong even though the rest of the population was wanting dessert. It took a combined effort by the girls to get him to stop long enough for the dessert trays to appear. He whimpered at the loss of such good food, and could only stare at the available treats as the teaching of his father roared in his mind about such frivolity.
‘Bah! Panda-Man isn’t here!’
The dessert trays suffered the same treatment . . . eh, fate as the main course. Dumbledore completely forgot his after-supper speech after the rather grotesque eating display, instead shooing the students out of the Great Hall and off to bed.
The next day started as the previous night had ended, with Ranma stuffing as much food as possible down his throat. Even though the female populace was rather grossed out by his eating habits, they were also envious since he apparently gained no weight. The disturbance was great enough to befuddle the Professors to the point that the Heads of House had to scramble to get the schedules to the students before ejecting them from the Hall.
“Why are bothering with this?” demanded Urd again. Nabiki had tried to count the number of times the same question was asked but lost count somewhere in the ten millions.
“Think about it,” answered Hild yet again, making the group pause en route to Transfiguration. She shifted her weight to her right leg, resulting in her right hip cocking out to which she rested her right hand and checking to insure they were alone in the corridor. “We intentionally removed our limiters. With the Almighty having triggered Ragnarok, we can’t get them reinstalled. So instead we shall take this opportunity to learn control without them, and just maybe we can pass the knowledge along when we get home.”
“Yeah, about that,” chimed in Nabiki, using a convenient corner as a back scratcher, “we agreed to keep our extra friends a secret as long as possible. Just how are we supposed to get them extra training if we don’t let them out?”
“She wants out that bad?” came the concerned voice of Belldandy as she took over the back scratching.
“Yeah. She’s the one causing this blasted itch, doing it on purpose to get me to release her,” was the answer, half moaned in the bliss that getting that damnable itch in the hard to reach spot brings.
“What are you talking about?” came the voice of Harry as he and his entourage appeared from behind a tapestry. Having one of his group going through the Hogwarts experience again had its advantages, such as knowing some of the secret passages to get around in a quick order. Although he did a double take when Tonks grumbled about the moving staircases behaving themselves for the first time.
“Oh, nothing,” replied Ranma as he swung by on the beams in the ceiling. Since everything but Herbology and Flying were indoors he had come up with a new expressway for himself. The odd scene he created he ignored as the other students in the packed hall ducked for cover thinking that he’d lose his grip and fall.
“Would you get down?” demanded Skuld, her face turning red from a combination of embarrassment and anger. She had yet to have the full Ranma experience and was trying to instill a sense of normalcy into the boy.
“Y’know, if it weren’t for these robes I’d be beam-walking,” was his almost wistful response. He been busy the night before, modifying the school robes into something more akin to battle robes. From his hips down now sported slits on either side for mobility with stitched in pants for prosperity’s sake. “And while I’m at it, thanks for waking me this morning Kasumi.”
The former eldest Tendo daughter blushed prettily, her right foot lifting slightly to scoff the floor with her toes providing the perfect “Weren’t nothing” pose.
“We’d better get a move on,” chimed in Tonks, having drilled the usage of her family name into everybody’s head. “McGonagall may be fair, but she’s also strict and a stickler for the rules.” Not knowing of Ranma and bad reactions to cats she left out the information that a tabby was awaiting them, as a test to see whom would be on time and whom needed a map and watch as her favorite threat went.
The fairly large group made for the Transfiguration Year One classroom on the fourth floor, Harry and Ranma in the midst of a gaggle of girls much to the humor, disgust, and jealousy of their fellow schoolmates, depending on the individual point of view.
There is the saying that the first impression is the most important. This, being Transfiguration which the Animagus fell under, was why for the entire time she’d had the post Minerva McGonagall made a powerful impression on the first years by showing the children her Tabby form. Some were quick on the uptake, seeing how the ability to go from human to animal while retaining their own thought processes was a Very Good Thing.
Never, in her life, had McGonagall heard of let alone encountered an Ailurophobe. Just knowing Ranma for the past few days had introduced the ultra-rare Aquaphobe, a meaning she had to hand write into the dictionary.
So it came as a great surprise as when the gaggle of girls in front of said youth moved enough for him to be able to see the massive oak desk at the front of the room Ranma froze, paled, screamed with a rather high pitch, then leapt for the ceiling.
Those that were linked to his mind finally understood his conditioning and absolute fear of cats. The dimensional travel had, in a fit of Chaos, made certain that even the beings of Higher Power heard his mind go into fight or flight mode.
‘DANGER-DANGER-DANGER-CAT-CAT-CAT-RUN-FLEE-PAIN-FEAR-ATTACK-MOVE-MOVE-MO VE-RUN-RUN-RUN-CAT-CAT-CAT-ESCAPE-ESCAPE-ESCAPE-TERROR-MONSTER-EVIL-CLAWS-P AIN-SUFFER-DANGER-DANGER-DANGER’ repeated in his mind like a mantra, progressively getting weaker on each repetition.
“What is the meaning of this?” came the panicked voice of their Professor, having returned to being human while the rest of the class was looking at the cowering form that had wrapped his arms and legs around a beam in the ceiling, some dozen meters above the floor.
One of the Ravenclaws thought the scene was the funniest thing he’d ever seen until he caught sight of two of the brown haired girls frowning. Those two were the embodiment of peace and tranquility, and to see the pair frowning approaching scowling scared him and those that wondered what had cut the laughter off so abruptly.
There was no answer forthcoming to the panicked demand of McGonagall as those that were linked to Ranma ‘saw’ in their minds the memories of The Pit. While he’d explained the training before, he’d obviously left out some parts such as Genma’s ‘punishments’ for failure. Or calling for his mother. Or complaining about the pain and injuries. Or attempting escape after freeing himself of the sausage-ties. The girls, even those that had been young and older women, were not able to experience outside stimuli as their minds were bombarded by one of the past horrors that he’d suffered through.
Shampoo was hit the hardest, as he’d been too nice to explain this depth of his fear to her Cat Curse. In her home village the actions of Genma would have guaranteed the oaf a most painful death for the treatment, let alone endangerment, of his only son. There was a reason why even the feared Amazons did not teach the Neko-ken.
Ranma came back to himself, shuddering in reflex to his panic attack. Looking about the room revealed that the feline was gone, although he was weary that it might return. He shifted his weight before dropping off of the beam, which earned more than a few sharp inhales as he had been a dozen meters up. Landing light as a feather, he continued his survey to insure the beast was indeed gone while ignoring the odd looks send his way.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled while using his right hand to play with his pigtail. “Training mishap when I was six, left a deep fear of c-c-c-felines. If I’m exposed too long . . .” a full body shudder worked its way up and down, “ . . . it’s not a pretty sight.”
Deciding to put the whole incident on the back-burner, McGonagall got them seated and the lesson started. By lunch, the school was abuzz with the news that the foreigner had a problem with cats, to which certain party’s made a note of for future use if need be.
(Potter Universe Heaven)
“You three do realize what it is you’ve done, do you not?” came the guttural-yet-extremely-angry voice of the Almighty. This aspect was surprisingly neutral in the goings on across the rest of the multiverse, instead having to counter open rebellion by not just those under His command but also the Spirits.
The native Urd, Belldandy and Skuld stood at attention, what would be shoulder to shoulder if their heights had matched with contrite expressions on their faces. Skuld was the worst, having had some compassion for their target.
Well, she called it compassion. The Almighty called it a weakness, an attempt to break the Infinite Circle –‘What Has Come Before Will Come Again’- and outright mutiny. Getting her sisters onboard had taken persuasion above and beyond the extreme, with a hefty sprinkling of threats and trademark explosives.
“They are stagnate,” she deflected His righteous anger without so much as a flinch. “Those that we gifted millennia ago are too locked in their ways; too resistant to change to see that the rest of the world is growing without them.”
“The traditionalists are a dying breed,” Belldandy took over, her face expressionless. “Soon, they will be no more. Especially with that madman Riddle at the helm of their ‘cause’, and everything will be destroyed.”
“So you took it upon yourselves to interfere,” was His response, before being cut off.
“You were too busy to listen to us,” came from Urd, her rage barely restrained. “We’ve tried for the past four centuries to get you to look at this matter, but you never did. You put us in charge of the Circle, delegated your responsibility to us so that you could pursue other interests. We are trying to fix what your inattention has brought forth. By their history, Dark Lord’s surface ever other century or so like clockwork. Now, there have been two in fifty of their years. The Circle was broken by the Mortals and we are struggling to hold it together.”
“So you interfered by allowing Chaos energy into this plane,” He continued, glaring at Urd for her interruption. “Now the reborn Chaos himself is here, drawn in by the boy that would have, on his own, repaired the Circle to what it was.”
“That Circle is invalid,” Belldandy stuck to logic in her argument, “as Urd has pointed out, the Mortals broke it on their own. We are trying to establish a Circle, period. It was either this or watch the entire System fail.”
“No matter,” He brushed the three off, having had enough of their treasonous behavior. “The Circle is beyond us to control now; the Others are wanting to send in an attack force before Chaos can learn to harness his powers more efficiently. Everything we have ever worked for here is lost . . .,” here He paused, leaning back in His chair before making a steeple out of His fingers. “And so are you. You three are henceforth terminated, sentenced to your counterparts on the surface. We, the Council, aren’t going to execute you because We believe that those on Midgard won’t see the Summer Solstice.”
Using His terminal interface, He erased the trio from the Yggdrasil Mainframe before converting their bodies to energy and funneling it into the Duplicates on Earth.
“Hopefully, the information you have will tip the scales of the coming battle. I’m sorry, my daughters . . .”
TBC
Aight, that seems like a good enough place to stop for now. It’s been an insane year since I last updated. A change in employers, a friend’s heartbreak, watching children over a span of two solid months . . . that, and my muse coming and going in fits. I’ve recently stumbled across another fic that has a great idea imbedded in it in regards to something similar here, one that’s making me think.
Also, for the foreseeable future, there will not be any new elements brought into this story. The Dramatis Personae is uber-long as it is, even with the characters that just float around in the background.
Finished in Louisville, Kentucky