The first of the real curveballs in the lives of Cyanigosa and Tyragos! Kekekeke

I recommend reading this chapter at ¾ or ½, due to paragraph length.

Edit 2015-07-19: 22:46, with thanks to Fenerath for pointing out that, contrary to what I thought, Penelope wasn't a year behind Percy. Ravenclaw Prefect Meghan Clearwater dies a silent death, never again to rise from the ashes. Unless Penelope needs an older/younger sister, of course.

Harry the Blue Ch. 04

A heartbeat of shocked silence rang through the hall, conspicuous in the absence of any of the whispers that had accompanied the other Sortings, before the Ravenclaw table burst into cheers at the same time that the Gryffindor table, they who had been so assured that the Boy-Who-Lived would be a Lion before a quarter of a minute was up, let loose a massive groan.

The Slytherin table, with the exception of one furious blond who wished that Potter hadn't been Sorted at all, was rather neutral towards this particular Sorting. It would have been nice if they had gotten Potter, but very few considered it a great loss that the half-blood Boy-Who-Lived had been Sorted into Ravenclaw, all of them girls. At least he wasn't a Gryffindor.

The Hufflepuffs were, like the Gryffindors, also not very pleased, but for an entirely different reason. The House of Badgers wasn't a House that had a lot of opportunities for glory – Gryffindors made warriors, Slytherin bred politicians, and Ravenclaw engendered researchers, while Hufflepuff's virtues made them the perfect administrator, and rare was the occasion in which an administrator claimed some fame –, and nabbing Harry Potter would have finally brought some glory to the House. Despite this, they weren't very concerned about the loss of Harry Potter. The two girls he'd entered the Great Hall with were now Badgers, and as long as they ensured that they were often seen by his side, Hufflepuff would get some glory by proxy. They may be the house of friendly, hardworking, and loyal people, but that didn't mean they were completely inept at being sneaky.

By the time the cheering had died down enough for McGonagall to resume the Sorting – aided by several loud blasts from the Headmaster's wand –, several people realized that they may have been wrong about the Boy-Who-Lived, who had been shoo-in for the Lion's Pride if one went by publicly available information.

Almost all of the members of this group vowed to keep an eye on him. He may be useful after all.

– – – –

What remained of the Sorting Ceremony was fairly swift. Very few people had to be considered for more than twenty seconds before the Hat made its decision.

His stomach made it known that this was a good thing by grumbling loudly. Tyragos blushed when it caused most of his immediate environment to focus on him with looks of surprise and amusement. The dam holding back the laughter broke when his fellow first-year ravens – and many others throughout the Hall – joined him in the art of stomach-grumbling, one particularly loud one coming from the Gryffindor table.

A light, but nevertheless penetrating tinkle silenced them, and they turned to the Headmaster. He had stood up while the ravens' stomachs were making their displeasure at their current unfilled state known, and was beaming at every student gathered.

"It warms my heart to hear that the Welcoming Feast is anticipated so highly," he said lightly, spawning soft chuckles throughout the Hall and a 'damn straight' from somewhere. "To our new students, welcome to Hogwarts!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms. "To those who return for another year of learning at our fine school, welcome back. Before we being our banquet, I only have a few words to say, and here they are; Nitwit! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak!"

Tyragos raised an eyebrow at the words, even as he noticed delectable aromas suddenly wafting up from the table. "Is he all right up in the head?" he asked of an older student sitting next to him.

"Not entirely," the student admitted. "But, as any older-year Raven can tell you, genius and eccentricity are old friends. We 'Claws have our fair share of eccentricity too, and most of us are nowhere near as smart as Headmaster Dumbledore. Potatoes?"

Tyragos blinked once at the tables that were suddenly laden with food, the various smells combining into a rich odour that was a feast for his nose, if a little on the greasy side. Neat. Obscuration and odour suppression magicwith a vocally triggered release, or a third party in possession of relocation spells?

"If you're offering, yes please."

"No problem," the student replied, shovelling a generous helping of potatoes on Tyragos' plate. "I'm Roger Davis, by the way. Currently in my third year."

"Harry Potter," he replied as he loaded his plate with some nearby pork chops. "Pleased to meet you, Roger Davis."

"Call me Roger," Roger replied automatically. "So, Harry, you looking forward to classes?"

Tyragos nodded. "I am," he said. "Transfiguration and Charms more so than the others, Arithmancy and Runes trailing closely."

Roger grinned toothily, involuntarily displaying bits of food he still had clinging to his teeth. "You'll fit right in, then. Most the House loves those four, though you'll have to wait with Arithmancy and Runes until third year."

"Why?" he asked with a frown between bites of pork chop. Those two subjects hadn't appeared that difficult when malana taught him. Maybe it wasn't the theory, but the practice?

"The school doesn't offer the classes as part of the core curriculum, only as electives, and electives don't get offered until third year," Roger said after quickly swallowing his own food. "There used to be opportunities to test in early, but they were removed by Headmaster Dippet, Headmaster Dumbledore's predecessor, and Headmaster Dumbledore never reinstated them."

Or it could be a decision made by administration. Perhaps Tyragos could request the Headmaster for testing into the subjects regardless? Something to think about tomorrow.

Roger frowned. "Speaking of tests, watch yourself around Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin. The hook-nosed, greasy-haired one at the far right end of the table. He's got a habit of throwing questions about things at the end of the book in his first class, and he seems unusually sour this night. Dunno why."

"Thanks," Tyragos said. "What can you tell me about the other Professors?"

"The stern witch is McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House," Roger replied without hesitation. "You've already met her, she led you into the Hall for the Sorting. Teaches Transfiguration and word of advice, do everything you can to not get on her bad side. It's really not a nice place to be."

Tyragos raised an eyebrow. "Speaking from experience?"

"Unfortunately," Roger confirmed with a grimace, then hastily indicated another Professor. "The twitchy one with the turban is Professor Quirrell. Rumour has it that he went to Albania to get some experience before he switched from teaching Muggle Studies to Defense Against the Dark Arts, ran into a pack of Vampires, and was never the same."

"Vampires?" Tyragos interjected. "Sucking blood, superhuman strength, can't stand daylight?"

"Yup," Roger confirmed. "Them's the ones. They tend to stay away from wizards because lumos is effectively a hard counter for them, but we're delicacies to them so if they think they can catch one of us unawares..."

He mimed biting and sucking the blood out of a neck. It was realistic enough that Tyragos grimaced. "Anyway, his stories should be interesting, at least. The Professor with dirt stains on her robes is Professor Sprout. Head of Hufflepuff, teaches Herbology, one of the nicest witches you'll ever meet."

"The Nubian-looking one is Professor Sinistra," Roger continued, needlessly pointing a finger in the Professor's direction before he loaded his now-empty plate with roast beef. "Teaches Astronomy, generally nice and doesn't really have a bad side to get on, like Sprout. Once you do, however, you're in deep, deep shit."

"I don't know the rest by name, excepting of course Professor Flitwick, our Head of House, and the Headmaster. Flitwick's the short bloke, the Headmaster should be self-evident."

"Professor Flitwick showed me around the Alley," Tyragos said in between bites of his food. Whoever made these pork chops knew what they were doing, because they were better than malana's. "Was shopping with mother and we stumbled upon a muggleborn he was guiding around, and we were invited to join them on the shopping trip. We accepted."

Roger nodded. "As good a first meeting as any, I suppose," Roger said, taking a sip from his goblet. "I would have appreciated a staff guided tour of Diagon Alley, too, I spent so much money on things I ended up not needing that I kind of wish now that I wasn't a magically-raised half-blood, like my younger sister Tracey, who was Sorted to Slytherin this year."

"What kind of stuff?" Tyragos asked curiously.

"A little of column A, a little of column B," Roger said evasively. "I'll show you sometime."

"Okay," Tyragos said, before Roger's attention was caught by another third-year student and Tyragos turned to his fellow first-years, joining a discussion on the upcoming lessons, particularly Transfiguration.

Over the course of the next hour, the main course came and went, to be replaced by the desserts. Tyragos tried the various types of icecream near him, but found that he was one of the few who didn't enjoy it at all, not that such was unexpected. Like malana, he was a dragon of Spellfire, though he was also sort-of okay with Lightning, and he did not enjoy the cold.

Thirty minutes later, the desserts had vanished as well and the Great Hall fell silent as Headmaster Dumbledore rose to his feet. He loudly cleared his throat.

"Now that we are all fed and watered, I would like to make a few start-of-term announcements.

"All first-years should be aware that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden for good reasons. A few of our older students would do well to remember this as well."

His eyes twinkled as they flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table.

"First, Mister Filch has asked me to remind you all that magic is not to be used in the corridors between classes.

"Quidditch trials are, as usual, held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their House should inform Madam Hooch.

"Lastly, I regret to inform you all that the right-hand corridor on the third floor is out of bounds to those who do not wish to die a horribly gruesome death."

Tyragos narrowed his eyes at that announcement. That was practically an invitation to try their worst, and he could already hear the soft whispers of plans being made to find out. After all, as some of the whispers rightly said, the floor was not out-of-bounds if one did wish to die a gruesome death. Or, at least, claimed such.

Given that Dumbledore was effectively the chairman of both the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards, the man had to be a master politician to hold his posts as long as the books said he had. There was no way he wouldn't have thought of that interpretation – if he, someone not involved in the wordplay of politics, had spotted it, someone with decades of experience in the art should have noticed it as a matter of course –, which could only mean that he was deliberately baiting the students to try their luck at the mentioned corridor.

"Is he mad?" Tyragos asked softly to Roger Davis.

"Absolutely," Roger said. "Smart as hell, but not entirely on his rocker."

"So I didn't imagine him daring every prankster in the castle to try their luck at the corridor?"

"Nope," Roger agreed. "I suspect that the Weasley Twins, the most notorious pranksters currently in Hogwarts, will make their first attempt tonight, before midnight. Got two galleons riding on it, even."

"Now," Dumbledore boomed over the emerging whispers, "before we retire, let us sing the school song!" He flicked his wand, as if it had acquired a case of boogers on the tip, and a golden ribbon flowed out. The lengthy golden ribbon eventually twisted and turned to form words that hovered in the air above the teacher's table, many of whom were grimacing.

Tyragos' stomach sunk in a depressing premonition. The looks on the teachers' faces could not possibly mean anything good.

"Everyone pick a tune," Dumbledore said. "And off we go!"

The next few minutes made 'find out if a silencing spell exists and if yes learn them' rise sharply to the top of his priorities. As the Headmaster had indicated, there was no one set rhythm for the school song, which meant that jazzy renditions were sung at the same time as more classical versions as well as a funeral march.

Tyragos was of the opinion that this assault on the ears was borderline illegal, and thankfully the worst of it was over within a minute. The funeral march offered by the Weasley Twins was, when on its own, a well-performed, if depressing, piece. The twins had good baritone singing voices.

Dumbledore conducted the last few lines with his wand, and when they had finished he was one of those clapping the loudest.

"Ah! Music," Dumbledore said, wiping a tear from an eye. "A magic beyond any we do here. And now, bed for you all. Tomorrow starts bright and early."

– – – –

The back-end alleys of the magical section of Berlin were not places where one went for one's enjoyment unless one was inclined towards being robbed, maimed, tortured, raped, and/or killed via a variety of ways, depending on wealth, age, and gender.

However, like all back-alleys, there was a system in place. It was just too chaotic for most people to recognize. But, at the end of the day, all the back-end alleys worked in the same way, no matter if the city in question was Dalaran, Stormwind, Silvermoon, Prague, Cairo, Darnassus, London, or Berlin.

Power, and the projection thereof, scared everyone out for a little robbery, rape, or murder – or combination thereof – away.

All she had to do was leak a little magic like she used to do when she was a mere whelp, and people fled before her. Power projection was considered a trait of the powerful in this world, and given their distinct lack of a magical core to reduce the magical 'cost' through efficiency, Cyanigosa was inclined to agree. Not that it mattered much if she didn't agree, the only thing that counted was people's perception.

Cyanigosa parted the shady crowd before her like one of the religious figures on this planet did with a sea as she made her way to one particular dinky little shop in the back alleys of Berlin that held a book she'd been wanting to get her hands on for the past ten years. Now that Tyragos was at Hogwarts, she finally had the free time to come over and collect it. It also helped to keep her mind off the absence of her whelp, not that she'd ever admit that out loud.

It took her all of five minutes to arrive at the shop she was interested in. She ignored the dilapidated exterior and opened the door with a low-power banishing charm. No telling what kind of potion may have been on the handle, like that shop in Cairo. She reigned in her magic. It was considered bad form to leak magic inside a shop, even a Dark one such as this.

Her eyes roamed over the shelves upon shelves of books, most of them borderline illegal. There weren't any fines or prison sentences for possession of these tomes, but if Law Enforcement caught you with them, you had the dubious honour of being in their spotlight.

"Herr Schulz," she greeted softly into the interior, void of life. "Kanaan informed me you might be able to help me."

The void was swiftly filled by a man with greying hair appearing from a door in the back. "A customer!" he cried jubilantly. "How may this humble shopkeep help if the esteemed Kanaan could not?"

"As much as Kanaan has knowledge," Cyanigosa said. "His knowledge is all about creation. I am interesting in destruction."

His eyes narrowed. "Destruction? You wish to destroy knowledge?" he said, spitting the second utterance of the word as if she was a heretic. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't throw you out of the shop right now."

"Because you have leapt to conclusions," she said calmly. "I have recently come across a Dark object that I wish to personally dispose of, but I am a little leery of summoning Fiendfyre, as the object in question is dear to me. Basilisk venom, the only real alternative, is out for the same reason."

She didn't mention that she suspected that her Spellfire could, maybe, do the job as well, but since it was her son's scar she was talking of, she was rather leery of testing. It had taken six years of searching through Knockturn Alley to find anything on the creation of phylacteries, which were called Horcruxes in this world, and the fact that they could be destroyed by Fiendfyre or the venom of a Basilisk. Egypt's Kanaan, one of the most renowned black market knowledge brokers in the magical world, did not offer her the answers she required; how to destroy Horcruxes without destroying the vessel.

Herr Schulz adopted a thinking expression for a minute, before his face crunched in distaste. "You found one of those, did you?" he asked, his distaste for the subject clear. "Very well. I will show you the back room. After a Vow of Silence, of course," he added, handing her a piece of parchment with writing.

"Of course," she replied easily as she accepted the parchment and inspected the wording of the oath written upon it. Vows of Silence for entry into the back rooms of shops like these were common practice, not to mention that she wasn't going to push her luck. She'd already lucked out by Herr Schulz having a distaste for her particular object of enquiry, but not enough that he didn't keep books on the subject. "On my magic so I, she who makes herself known as Sapphire, do swear to keep the content of, and my dealings therein, Herr Schulz's back room secret unless or until released from this vow by Herr Schulz or his legal successor as proprietor of Kenntnisse der Magie. This I vow, this I swear."

Golden light flared around Cyanigosa as her Vow registered properly. Herr Schulz nodded at her oration of the given oath and motioned for her to follow, which she promptly did.

Contrary to expectations, the back room was not a gloomy place of dread and despair, but a well-lit room where the books rested on lecture stands, each book having its own stand. She could only read a few of the titles – she was not fluent enough in scripts like Sumerian and Egyptian to do more than recognize them –, but the few she could had such comforting titles like 'The Soul and You; A Guide to Phantamagia', 'Magick Moste Evil', 'Necromancy Unveiled', and 'Cruormagia: Mastering One's Blood'. Possession of any one held a fifty to life term in Azkaban. Two of any of these books was grounds for summary execution via Dementor's Kiss.

At last, the pair stopped in front of a stand that stood by its lonesome against the far wall, upon which stood a book that could charitably be described as 'aged'. Cyanigosa almost gagged at the miasma of evil that hung around the book. If it hadn't been exactly what she was looking for, she'd have torched it without a second thought. As it was, the book with the goldleaf-embossed cover that was crumbling in various places where the ancient stasis spells had started to fail was an unavoidable purchase.

"Here it is," Herr Schulz said unnecessarily as he delicately retrieved a bag and dropped the book inside, then cast a charm that blocked the stench from spreading beyond the bag. "Cheating Death, by Herpo the Foul. Guaranteed summary execution if caught with this in one's possession."

So all it would have to do was not leave her pocket dimension unless she was in the sanctity of her cave. Not that big a deal. "Many thanks, Herr schulz," she said politely. "If it is not too much of an imposition, could I obtain The Soul and You as well as Cruormagia in addition to this?"

"If you have the gold," Herr Schulz said with a shrug. "It's no small problem off my back."

"How much, exactly?"

"Two hundred each. Buy both, get Cheating Death at half-price."

Cyanigosa whistled. That was more than quadruple her whelp's wand for one book. "Three hundred for the three."

"Five hundred for the lot, or you can turn around now. I don't dislike those abominations enough to miss out on five hundred."

"Four hundred the lot, then," she offered, producing a bag of four hundred Galleons.

Herr Schulz looked at her with narrowed eyes for a long moment, then nodded. "Four hundred the lot."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Herr Schulz," she said as he gathered the two requested books for her.

"The pleasure's mine," Herr Schulz said with a dismissive wave. "You'll not believe how many Dark Wizards are unreasonably harsh against us humble shopkeepers, they who get them their less than legal items."

Dalaran's Underbelly, the site where most of the dealings Dalaran had that really ought not to see the light of day took place, briefly flashed through her mind.

"I do believe I can," she said, handing him the bag of gold.

Herr Schulz scoffed lightly as he accepted the coin. She was sure that she wasn't meant to pick it up, as soft as it was. "Anyway, another fifty Galleons gets you a bag that allows you to take them across international checkpoints without setting off alarms."

She smiled in response and raised her hand to the side, and pulled at the air reminiscent of opening a door. An invisible, transdimensional door. A small circle opened in the air, barely half a metres across. A small shelf could be seen through the circle, and she gingerly placed the books on it, before closing the circle by making a zipping motion.

She turned back to the shopkeep, who was looking at her with shock and awe written on his face. "I thank you for your kind offer, but I believe to be adequately outfitted in that regard."

Her words snapped him out of the shock, as he blinked and shook his head in rapid succession a few times. "Was that a pocket dimension?"

She nodded, but didn't respond otherwise. "I thank you for the books," she said.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you, Lady Sapphire," Herr Schulz said with a small smile. "I do hope to make your patronage again."

"You may, depending on what the future holds," she said simply, and turned to leave. "Goodbye."

"Auf Wiedersehen!"

– – – –

"Welcome to Ravenclaw House," the fifth-year prefect they followed up the stairs said. "I'm Prefect Robert Hilliard, and this is my female associate Penelope Clearwater."

"Hi!" Penelope said cheerily. "And allow me to also welcome you to Ravenclaw, the house where the Eagle soars in the skies."

"In keeping with the general Ravenclaw theme of air," Robert continued, "the Raven's Nest, as we like to call our house common room, is located at the top of Ravenclaw Tower, the second-highest tower in the castle after the Astronomy Tower."

"Access to the common room is granted not by providing a password, like the other houses, but by answering a riddle set by the enchanter doorknocker in the shape of an eagle," Penelope said. "This makes Ravenclaw both the easiest and hardest house to break into depending on who is doing the breaking in. Can you really blame them from wanting access, though? We have the best view in the castle from our circular common room."

"That's right," Robert took over again. "We have a view of the Black Lake, the Forbidden Forest, the Quidditch pitch, and the gardens. Furthermore, Ravenclaw not only provides visual stimulation, but also intellectual. Without wishing to boast, Ravenclaw generally attracts the most intelligent members of the student body."

"Despite this, the door's riddles are often of such a degree of difficulty that it's not entirely unusual to see two score Ravens outside the door, trying to figure out the Riddle of the Day. This is traditionally a great way to meet new Ravens, but it makes it a bit of a chore to go in and out of the common room swiftly in case you forgot something. I recommend that you triple-check whether you have everything you need for the day before you leave the common room."

"Makes a mad dash to your dorm to grab Quidditch gear before practice a chore, let me tell you," Robert said, drawing chuckles from some of the tired first-years. "We're working on installing a mirror system so that we can communicate from outside to inside to open the door, but we're having a little trouble making it Ravenclaw-exclusive."

Tyragos tilted his head, deep in thought. Challenge accepted.

"If you have an idea, posit it," Penelope said calmly. "Your minds are yet untouched by the limitations of magic, and ideas we may overlook because of an interpretation of magical rules may occur to you."

Tyragos raised his hand. "Mr. Potter?"

"Is there magic in Hogwarts that recognizes results from Sorting?"

"Yes, there is," Penelope confirmed with a tilt of her own head. "There's a record book in the Headmaster's office that magically catalogues who ends up in which house."

"Can you then not link this book with an identifier spell on the mirror?"

"In theory, yes," Robert said. "In fact, that's the main area of research. However, the Headmaster – rightfully – refuses access to the book, even when under supervision."

"Huh," Tyragos said. "Pity."

Robert nodded. "It is. To get back on track, there's only a few things we have left to say about Ravenclaw. The first is the fact that Ravenclaw tends to be more individualistic. Study groups are not uncommon, but the primary method of study is on your own. Research, on the other hand, is far more likely to attract groups. Even if your inclination is ovomancy, which is a form of divination using eggs, you're likely to find someone to help you."

"The second is inter-house relations," Penelope continued. "Slytherin isn't as bad as many make them out to be, but you'd do well to remain guarded when in proximity to a Slytherin, as more than a handful are. Gryffindors are OK, though they tend to be show-offs. They also tend to be less accepting of the less-than-normal behavioural tics common to Ravens. In fact, there have been many recorded instances of Gryffindors making jokes about Ravens that have attained an interest in levitation, or the possible magical use of troll snot."

Several of the first-years snorted.

"Hufflepuff, on the other hand," Robert said. "Is just about the nicest House you can find out there. Friendly to a man, or woman, and hard workers. The only negative side we've noticed to Hufflepuff is that they trend to isolationism and a hive mind from time to time."

"The third, and last," Penelope said as they arrived at the doorknocker, "is the Grey Lady. The ghost of Ravenclaw House. The rest of the school thinks she's mute, but she's always ready for a chat with Ravens."

Penelope grabbed the eagle-shaped doorknocker and banged it thrice on the door.

The eyes of the eagle lit up with an eerie blue light. "What came first, the Phoenix or the flame?" it asked, a slight echo to the voice.

Penelope turned to the first-years. "Are there any among you who have not yet tired enough to dare make an attempt at this conundrum?"

It was kind of off-putting to hear her talk so differently from how she had just been talking, but Tyragos surmised that it could have been rehearsed until that question. In any case, the riddle was easy, and simply the magical version of the chicken and egg conundrum.

"I would say that a circle has no beginning," Tyragos replied confidently.

"Well-reasoned." The door sank into the floor, giving the first-years their first view of the circular common room, dominated by the colours blue and bronze.

"Check out the brains on Harry!" Robert said brightly, before he furrowed his brows in an obviously faux thinking expression. "Or at least his resistance to sleep."

The room was rather cozy. A thick carpet covered the entire floor, and one half of the room was littered with comfortable-looking armchairs, while the other half appeared to be a massive study area. Three doors, excluding the one they had just appeared through, could be seen. The entrance included, there was one door in each cardinal direction.

"West is boys, east is girls," Robert said. "South is the Ravenclaw-only library, which you'll hear more about tomorrow. Curfew for first-years is seven p.m., bed at nine, lights out at nine-thirty. Wake-up call is at seven during the week, non-existent in the weekends."

"A meeting with our Head of House, Professor Flitwick, is scheduled for the morrow, at eight sharp, before you all break your night's fasts," Penelope said. "Attendance is not voluntary. You will be woken at seven-fifteen by myself or by Mr. Hilliard, and we expect you to be done with your morning ablutions at least fifteen minutes prior."

She let out a long, loud yawn, doing her absolute best to suppress it. "I bid you all a good night," she said and vanished through the door leading to bed. Robert and the first-years mimicked her shortly after in near-complete silence, all of them too tired to speak.

The first-year dormitory was at the very top of the Tower, and the only thing Tyragos noticed of the room right now was that one of the beds had his trunk next to it. None of the five boys was interested in talking due to exhaustion, and sleep claimed them swiftly once they had changed into pyjamas and laid down.

Tyragos just managed to don his Malygos-inspired nightcap, specifically enchanted so that it would hide the elven ears that would appear during the night as his illusion dropped, and draw his curtains before Ysera called him to her realm.

– – – -

One flight later, sped up by magic to take four hours instead of the eight it would otherwise have consumed, an invisible Cyanigosa touched down at Sapphire Hill, once known as Urra Moor. She walked into the grotto's entrance and made a beeline for the library. Once safely ensconced inside, with several anti-detection wards that would only leave herself, Tyragos, and Hedwig through, she retrieved the three exceedingly rare and pricey tomes from her pocket dimension. Almost immediately, she had to resist the urge to expel what little remained of her dinner. The book by Herpo the Foul was truly the foulest tome she had ever beheld. Neither the phantamagia tome nor the cruormagia tome were anywhere near as foul.

"Truly, something that would have come straight out of the Scholomance," she commented, thinking back on one of the few times she had actively aided mortals in destroying something. When it came to the Scourge, there were very, very few boundaries she was not willing to cross. She smiled at the very satisfying memory of crushing Gandling's head in her claws. It was the last act she performed for the mortals before Lord Malygos called her back to Coldarra to prepare for the war against the Kirin Tor.

"Now, let's see what secrets you hold."

With that, she sat herself down on the lone chair – a very comfortable chintz armchair – and started reading. Fortunately, someone had provided a translation sometime over the centuries.

Old English was much more intelligible than Ancient Greek, if only because her prowess at the latter language was still at the point where she had to actively remind herself every now and then what letter was what in current script.

The first paragraph chilled her.

Sorcerers of ancient Sumer spoke of containers of the soul, though they used these phylacteries to house an entire soul, though they stumbled upon several problems they were unable to solve. The body eventually rotted away, any notion of what made Man, Man, faded away, until nothing was left but a desiccated husk seeking power.

She narrowed her eyes at the offending paragraph at the same time that a smile played on her lips. It was both promising and worrying that first paragraph dealt with Ancient Sumerians turning themselves into Liches.

The worry was obvious. If Liching was possible, were any other magics here connected to the Twisting Nether? She and fanal were connected to the Nether, of course. How could they not, being Blues?

The question was, was magic in this world connected to the Nether. If it wasn't, there was little cause for alarm. If it was...

She'd have to go establish herself and politic. She'd have to save someone's life, get them to listen, or simply go to a trustworthy person in authority with her case.

In both cases, she was more than likely to require revealing herself as extraterrestrial, if not outright as a Blue. Given the nation's stance on non-humans, that was going to be problematic, to say the least. Saving a planet from invasion by the Burning Legion was worth it, however.

As she kept reading, and feeling further and further mentally violated as Herpo casually talked about abducting Vestal virgins and raping them to death in a ritual circle, using an early variant of the infamous Imperius to force a husband to join in the rape of his wife until she died, and many, many more horrible things that she felt would require a mental scrub later, after she'd found out all that she needed to know.

After a number of hours, she felt a bird sit on her shoulder. She started slightly, before realization came. She hadn't felt the tingle of the wards – and it was a very persistent tingle that she would have noticed – that signified an unsanctioned entry, nor had she felt the feedback from failing wards. Logically, only a sanctioned entry could do so. As Tyragos was not yet capable of flight, only two birds were allowed entry. Official Hogwarts mail, and Hedwig. The chance of the former was present, but vanishingly small when compared to the chance her whelp was responsible.

She smiled and held out a hand for the owl to set herself on, which she promptly did. "Bal'a dash, Hedwig," she said. "Mail from the whelp?"

Hedwig hooted once, and bobbed her head. She held out a paw, to which was tied the letter she'd been carrying. She hooted once more, but this time there was a note of graveness to it that saw Cyanigosa suppress the simple joy at finally having someone write to her, even if it was her own son.

She removed the letter and opened it with a basic charm designed for just that.

Bal'a dash, malana'o,

Hogwarts is an absolutely amazing castle, full of moving staircases, walls that pretend to be doors, doors that pretend to be walls, moving portraits, and the works, just like in your stories! I became known to Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott on the journey, and we've stricken up a tentative friendship, though what stories I hear of Hufflepuff – the house they were both Sorted to – tells me that the friendship is a lot less tentative from their perspective. I'm not entirely sure that's going to be a good thing.

As to my own Sorting, I ended up in Ravenclaw. The fact that it's the only House with an other inaccessible library clinched the deal.

Cyanigosa smiled. She had expected no less, but it always felt good to have predictions confirmed.

I made tentative friends with two of my fellow first-year Ravens, Terry Boot and Padma Patil, and met up with Dean, Susan, and Hannah during lunch.

We've only had three classes so far, Transfiguration, Charms, and Herbology, and for the most part they were as expected. Unfortunately, Runes and Arithmancy aren't taught until third year, due to being electives. I've requested a meeting with Headmaster Dumbledore to discuss this, but the last time a request like this was granted was in the 15th century to a wizard bearing names like Aureolus and Bombastus, so if a no-name like him can get it, I'm hopeful.

She snorted at his no doubt unintentional calling of the highly celebrated Healer Paracelsus as 'no-name'. At least, to the best of her knowledge no other man had been unfortunate enough to have both Aureolus and Bombastus in their name.

This is, however, where the good bits end and the bombshells start.

Or rather, bombshell.

Professor McGonagall was demonstrating the power and danger of transfiguration by transforming her desk into a pig and back, then doing it slightly wrong. Instead of a pig, she got a pig-like creature twice the usual size with a mean pair of tusks, purple-red skin, and several spikes jutting out its back.

Cyanigosa swore, earning her a reproachful hoot from Hedwig, who had taken a position on the armrest of her chair. She shut the bird up with a glare. There were extremely few animals that listened to that description, and all of them were from demonic corruption. Her son's next words confirmed what she'd begun to fear.

She got a Felboar.

She transformed it back to a desk before I could fling Spellfire, but I'm sure she noticed something, what with being a Professor and all.

Ana belore dela'na, malana'o,

Fanal'a.

Cyanigosa let the letter fall from her hands as she sunk into the armchair, absently beginning to stroke Hedwig's head. The magic used here had an independent connection to the Twisting Nether, just like the magic back home. That meant that the Burning Legion was aware of this world, even if they didn't know exactly where it was. Which meant that she had to somehow enter this world's politics. On the global level, eventually.

It didn't take very long before she started cycling through every foul word she knew, in every language she knew.

– – – –

Thalassian:

No new vocabulary.

Thalassian 101

There are six suffixes for any word in Thalassian. O, a, e, u, thi, and lun.

They are, essentially, how Thalassian conveys possession.

'O indicates possession by the speaker.

'A indicates possession by the addressee, usually of the speaker. 'Your son' becomes 'fanal'a', though in many cases simply 'fanal' suffices.

'E indicates possession by a group, which can be indicated by further suffixes or context.

'U indicates multiples. 'Your sons' becomes 'fanal'u' or 'fanal'ua' or 'fanal'u'a' depending on context, preference, and regional biases.

'Thi indicates past possession. An ex-beloved would be 'dalah'surfal'thi'. The dearly departed are often addressed as 'dalah'surfal'thi'o' or 'dalah'surfal'thio'. In this case, the two are equivalent in meaning, but not enunciation. In the given word 'thio' is pronounced similar to the English 'theo', while 'thi'o' is closer to 'the o'.

'Lun is future possession. The sentence 'she will be my beloved' can, in proper context, simply be translated as 'dalah'surfal'lun', which literally translates to 'future beloved'.

A/N: This is the last of the pre-written material. Next chapter will come next month.