Stormseeker: Unwanted Destiny

I am Lexen Chelseer, the Stormseeker. I was raised on the world of Lezaria, but now it seems my destiny to wander the multiverse.

I'm walking along the rune-lined streets of Torn Elkandu, the center of the universe. I make my way toward the Nexus, the powerful teleportation device that links together every universe.

Six hours from now, everyone in Torn Elkandu is going to die again. I don't have any chance of fighting the dark wizards coming to attack the city as I am now. They are far more powerful than me, and to have any hope of success against them, I have a lot to learn yet. So I intend to be far, far away from here by the time they arrive.

It's not like the attack will kill me. Well, permanently. In fact, it's being killed in this attack that made me discover that I don't stay dead. I usually just wake up again that morning as if it hadn't happened. Under certain circumstances, I wind up being sent back to the day I first died, like what happened today. Instant killing spells or effects are what does that, it seems. It's not the end for me, but it is the end of a lifetime, in effect.

Standing beside the Nexus is my cousin, Keolah Kedaire, the Seeker. Her silver eyes focus upon me as I approach. "Hello, Stormseeker. Where do you want to go today?"

It seems like I spend an awful lot of time visiting worlds trying to blend in, pretending at the very least to be a native to that world, if not somebody else entirely. I've been stumbling through it pretty badly up to this point, however. This has usually resulted in me just acting like myself, no matter who I'm supposed to be, and making a right mess of things. I only ever succeeded at taking Harry Potter's place by the fact that nobody had actually known Harry Potter anyway.

"Hmm," I say thoughtfully. "I'm interested in learning about acting. About pretending to be someone I'm not in a way that isn't blatantly obvious. I don't suppose there's any acting schools or anything like that on Wizarding Earth, is there?"

Keolah blinks at me for a moment over the odd question. "Well, let me see." Her eyes glaze over for a minute. "Huh, well, if that's what you're interested in for whatever reason, there should be plenty of options there. Do you want to narrow the search down a bit?"

"I just wanted to confirm that something is available somewhere there," I say. "I can take it from here, thanks."

"Well, alright then," Keolah says. "May your magic never falter, Stormseeker."

"And may yours find its favor," I reply.

I step into the Nexus, into the circle of runes between the eight obelisks that can send me across the Void to another world. I want to make a couple quick stops at different places before settling into where I'm going to be spending the remainder of this life. First, I focus upon my home in the village of Wishingsdale, on Lezaria.

The mists of the Nexus drop me off in front of the Chelseer manor. I head inside and back to my great-grandmother's bedroom, and look in her wardrobe. There's some mage robes hanging in here, although why she even has them, I'm not sure. She doesn't like wearing robes. Well, she won't mind if I borrow one, and it's not like it looks the least bit feminine, anyway.

I strip off my clothes and pull the green robe over me. It's much too big for me at ten years old. Good. I concentrate on my Time Magic and make my body age itself up to around twenty-five. My skin crawls and my bones ache, and I become larger and older. Much better. I take my child-sized clothes and shove them into a pack. I might wind up needing them again later, but for now, it's better that I appear to be an adult.

I head down to the family vault. I help myself to some bars of gold and a handful of gems, and shove them into a bag. Some funds to get me started at my next life. My family would hardly care about me taking this stuff even if they weren't all likely to be dead by the end of the day. It's awfully heavy, but that problem will be rectified shortly.

I Recall back to the Nexus and think of my next destination. A town in Nodye Coast on the world of Terrestia. I go into the jewelry store and sell one of my gemstones for a bag full of coins of the local currency. From there, it's to the alchemist.

The place has a number of small gourds in different colors laid out on display. They're what the local mages keep their potions in. The ones I'm interested in here are the blue ones, called essence pods. They restore a person's magical energy. I buy as many as I can afford, which turns out to be half a dozen of them.

I never ran across anything like this in Wizarding Earth, and I'm sure Snape would have mentioned it if there were, although their wand-based magic made them less necessary. I'm rubbish with Potions, but I'd like to try to find out how they're made, even if I need to ask Snape to analyze them for me. Failing all else, having some around for emergencies would not be a bad thing.

I step into an alleyway out of sight, and Recall to the Nexus again. I'm ready to go now. I won't be back to Torn Elkandu again in this lifetime. Once the attack is over, the Nexus will destabilize without anyone watching over it, making it unusable. I give one last look at the streets of what should have been my home, and fix in my mind the image of Diagon Alley.

First stop in Wizarding Earth is Gringotts, to get my gold bars changed into galleons. I like the goblins. They don't ask any prying questions, and get their job done in an expedient manner.

Pouch of galleons in hand, I head down the street to the luggage shop and buy a bag with an expansion charm on it. Bags of holding, don't go anywhere without one.

Then, for my next bit of essential equipment, it's over to Ollivander's. I step inside to receive the scrutiny of the old wandmaker.

"What can I do for you today, young man?" Ollivander asks.

"Pine, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches," I say.

"Eh?" Ollivander says.

"Sorry," I say. "I'm Lexen Chelseer, an interdimensional time traveler. Could I pick up my wand, please?"

"I see," Ollivander says. "Very well." He goes to find the wand in question and bring it to me. I already have the money counted out for him by the time he returns.

"One question, though," I say. "Is this wand supposed to be good with curses and not so good with charms?"

"No," Ollivander says. "It's a very flexible wand, but it will adapt to whatever you teach it. The wand learns from you, you see."

I pick up the wand, and it emits a shower of blue sparks at my touch. "I hadn't really used it for a lot of curses up until that point, though," I say. "Actually, I had mainly used it for charms."

"Hmm," Ollivander says. "Perhaps the wand remembers you."

"What do you mean?" I say.

"You are a time traveler, you said," Ollivander says.

"Wait," I say. "Is that even possible? That this wand can actually remember me across time as well?"

"Perhaps," Ollivander says.

"When did you make this wand?"

"1933," Ollivander replies.

I gape at him. "It's been sitting around in here that long?"

"And in all that time, it has refused any other wizard than you," Ollivander says. "I didn't think much of it, however. I thought it was merely being difficult to match. But perhaps it has a connection to you that spans across time itself."

"But I've never been to 1933, or anytime even close," I say.

"Yet, perhaps," Ollivander says.

I frown. I wouldn't even know how to get to that period in time. I wouldn't put it past my powers to be able to take me through time more freely than merely through dying, but I don't know how to do it yet.

"I've had this wand in multiple lifetimes, but you've never mentioned anything unusual about this wand before," I say.

"There's nothing unusual about the wand, so far as I can tell," Ollivander says. "It would hardly be the only wand that refused to choose a wizard for decades."

"Alright, then. Well, thanks for the information," I say. "And the wand. I'd best be off, then."

I leave Ollivander's and head for the public Floo point. From there, my next stop is the Hog's Head. I toss in a pinch of Floo powder and declare my destination, and step through. I tumble out of the fireplace at the Hog's Head and onto my face in a most undignified manner.

Aberforth and Albus Dumbledore are alone in the Hog's Head today, as they seem to be for at least the six hours until Torn Elkandu is closed to me. I never did find out exactly why, but it's convenient for me when starting a new life.

"Pardon me for interrupting, Aberforth, Headmaster," I say. "I am Lexen Chelseer, a time traveler, and I require your assistance." I have the time, but not the patience, to do this the hard way, by showing him memories in a Pensieve. So I'll just settle for the shortcut. "In the Mirror of Erised, you see your sister Ariana."

Dumbledore stares at me for a few moments, as he has many times before, even if he doesn't remember it. "What do you need of me?"

"I'm intending on remaining in this timestream for a while in order to learn some things, but I would like to be unmolested by any Dark Lords while doing so," I say. "So, to that end, I'm going to request a few things in order to prevent that. I'm sure you won't have any objection to that." I smirk.

"Certainly not," Dumbledore says.

"First point," I say. "Whatever stupid plot you have intended for the Philosopher's Stone isn't going to work. Quirrell... well, best keep an eye on him, but preferably not from a position where he can do any harm."

"I see," Dumbledore says, eyes widening a little.

"Second point," I say. "Sirius Black is innocent and Peter Pettigrew is a Death Eater. He's an unregistered Animagus masquerading as Ron Weasley's pet rat, Scabbers. I don't care what happens to Peter, but preventing him from helping the Dark Lord would probably be wise. And getting Sirius freed would be very much appreciated."

"Wasn't Sirius the Potters' Secret-Keeper?" Dumbledore says. "Are you saying that was Peter instead?"

I nod. "They switched at the last minute. Alright, third point. Bartemius Crouch Junior is still alive, still crazy, and still a Death Eater. Please don't let him impersonate Mad-Eye Moody as the Hogwarts Defense professor and demonstrate Unforgivable Curses on students."

Dumbledore blinks at me. "Under normal circumstances, I would question how you would even think of some of these things, never mind whether they could possibly happen."

"Hmm, fourth point would be Tom Riddle's diary, currently hidden in a secret room in Malfoy Manor," I mutter. "I might have to deal with that one myself somehow."

"I don't know that any of the things you've suggested will actually help to defeat Lord Voldemort, rather than merely hinder him a bit," Dumbledore says.

"You aren't still hung up on Harry Potter, are you?" I say. "You know that prophecy is bullshit. Prophecies can't actually predict what will happen in the future, just what might happen in the future. Abyss, the prophecy about me, the Stormseeker, doesn't even say anything beyond enough to clearly identify me. And some nonsense about bearing the hope of a thousand worlds."

Dumbledore says, "You are the Stormseeker? But that means that you could be the hope for this world, as well."

I snort softly. "And last time I was here, you had me impersonate Harry Potter. But I'm not going to do that again."

"You look the part, certainly, although you're a bit old to do that easily now, I think," Dumbledore says.

"That's not an issue," I say. I focus for a moment, and shift my form into that of an eleven year old boy. "I'm a Time Mage. I can change my age at will." It aches for a few minutes after doing it, though. I ignore the robes now dragging along the floor.

Dumbledore's expression practically lights up at that. "I'm certain that you have other things that you need to be doing, but I don't suppose you would consider doing so again, would you?"

Aberforth snorts softly at our conversation and goes off to find something to clean.

I sigh. "I'm not going back to Hogwarts. I intended to find some sort of theatre school somewhere and learn acting."

"Hogwarts could accommodate you in that, you know," Dumbledore says. "I could start up the Theatre Club again."

I rub my temples. I suppose going to Hogwarts again wouldn't be such a terrible thing. I've only attended up through fourth year, after all, so there's still plenty for me to learn. And I got a bit used to being Harry Potter, I suppose.

"Alright, look," I say. "I would really rather not do this again. If I do this for you, if I take the place of your Boy-Who-Lived, you're going to need to agree to do a few more things for me before I even agree to this."

"Such as?" Dumbledore asks.

"The Theatre Club is a good offer," I say. "How about a club or elective for politics and diplomacy as well?"

"That's doable," Dumbledore says.

"And Defense Against the Dark Arts is a complete disaster," I say. "Can we please do something about this?"

"Like what?" Dumbledore asks.

"Get around that stupid curse already," I say. "How about just calling it 'The Dark Arts' and leaving it at that? That can readily include defending against them as well, after all."

"I'm afraid that's not acceptable," Dumbledore says, frowning at me in disappointment.

"Dueling?" I suggest. "Battle Magic?" That's what the mages in the last world I visited called it, after all.

"Battle Magic?" Dumbledore says. "I suppose that wouldn't be too objectionable. But what about defending against dark creatures?"

"Lump it with Care of Magical Creatures into just a general class on Magical Creatures," I say.

Dumbledore nods thoughtfully, but is now looking at me suspiciously. "Mr. Chelseer, are you a proponent of the Dark Arts?"

"I don't see anything inherently evil about them," I say. "However, I acknowledge that they can be very dangerous, that it's often easier for those who are evil to use them, and that they can cause quite a bit of harm. But it is naive to think that they are without their uses for good purposes or that they are the only sort of magic that can be harmful."

"This is true, I suppose," Dumbledore says.

"If you'd like some tangible proof that I'm not really a dark wizard, then how about this?" I say. I pull out my wand and focus my thoughts upon the rainbow after the storm. All troubles will come to an end. All strife will pass. Life will go on. "Expecto Patronum!"

A translucent duck made of shimmering silver light emerges from the end of my wand and looks around for trouble. I hold onto it for a minute before letting it vanish.

"Ah, yes, that does help," Dumbledore says. "Thank you for the assurance. It's hardly a guarantee, but there aren't many dark wizards who can cast a light spell of that magnitude."

"If you want me to swear off the Dark Arts entirely so long as I'm being Harry Potter, be on my best behavior as a shining example of goodness and light, I am willing to do so, but that has its price as well," I say.

"I would appreciate it, but what price would you ask for that?" Dumbledore wonders.

"I want to personally vet every new staff member," I say. "I've had entirely too many disasters with that." I've had some disasters that were my own damned fault, too, but at least then I could only blame myself when things went wrong.

"What happened?" Dumbledore wonders.

I take a deep breath. "Quirrell is possessed by the Dark Lord, and he spent an entire year attempting to kill me. Lockhart is a fraud who is only good at Obliviation, and he spent an entire year trying to Obliviate me and my friends and take credit for my actions. Lupin, no complaints, he just needs to not be an idiot and remember to take his Wolfsbane Potion. And Moody would have probably been an excellent teacher if it had actually been him and not a Death Eater under Polyjuice. Actually, the Death Eater was a pretty good teacher, too, if it weren't for the fact that he was trying to use me to resurrect the Dark Lord."

"Those were all Defense teachers?" Dumbledore asks. "Were there any problems with any other teachers?"

"Well, there was Hagrid with Care of Magical Creatures," I say. "His enthusiasm was only matched by his inability to figure out what would be suitable lesson plans."

"I see," Dumbledore says. "Any other complaints?"

"Could you possibly make Astronomy an elective, please?" I say. I wonder how desperate he is and how far I can push.

"I think that could be arranged," Dumbledore says. "I'm surprised. I would have expected you to complain of Professor Binns."

"Not really," I say. "I actually found his classes to be quite refreshing. I frequently found myself in want of a nap period, after all."

Dumbledore chuckles softly.

"Oh, another thing," I say. "If anyone suggests for any reason that the Tri-Wizard Tournament be reinstated, flat-out refuse. I don't care what excuse you have to give, just don't do it."

"I don't see why I would, but I will keep that in mind," Dumbledore says.

"Alright," I say. "Alright, I think that covers it. Do you have any other concessions or assurances that you would ask of me?"

"I'll admit that I'm still concerned about your propensity for dark magic," Dumbledore says. "As well as the fact that you are attempting to manipulate me."

"I'm not manipulating you," I say. "I'm making you an offer for fair trade. It's not like I want to be Harry Potter. Manipulation would be threatening to expose your every fault and mistake if you don't comply. That would be blackmail, I believe they call it. I won't do that. No, instead, there's something you want from me, and something I want from you. It's an even trade, and I'd prefer that we're both happy with the arrangement."

"And what if something goes wrong?" Dumbledore asks.

"Then I will take full responsibility for it and deal with it as best as I can," I say. "I have future knowledge, but I'm not omnipotent. I've made mistakes. But I'm not going to blame you for that."

Dumbledore sighs. "I suppose I have no choice."

"There are always choices," I say. "You can refuse my offer and we both walk away and never speak of this again. You can request further concessions or assurances from me. You can make other suggestions of your own."

"Are you trying to argue against this now?" Dumbledore says.

"No," I say. "I just don't trust any choice made on the notion that there is no other option."

Dumbledore looks at me appraisingly for a long moment. Finally, he says, "Very well. I agree to this arrangement."

"Alright, then," I say. "Do what you need to do in order to make me Harry Potter."

"I will need to replicate the scar," Dumbledore says, pulling out his wand.

I nod. "Of course. Go ahead."

There's a flash from the end of Dumbledore's wand. It strikes my forehead with an instant of raw agony. I stagger for a moment, but don't even cry out. It's not like I'm trying to be badass or anything. It's just that it's nothing compared to the pain of many of the times I've died.

"That will suffice, I believe," Dumbledore says. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," I say. "Perhaps I haven't previously expressed that your control over that spell is impressive, that you're able to make such a precise marking without causing any serious damage."

Dumbledore inclines his head toward me. "Come. There are other arrangements that we will need to make."

"Can I change first?" I say.

"Ah, right, that," Dumbledore says. He points his wand at me again, and my robe shrinks to fit. Good enough, I suppose. I can get some self-adjusting clothing later.

"Are you leaving now?" Aberforth says, poking his head up from the bar.

"Yes, Aberforth, we have some things to take care of," Dumbledore says. "Farewell."

"Right, I'll just open up the pub again, then," Aberforth says.

Dumbledore takes me through the Floo to the Ministry of Magic. Interesting. I haven't actually been taken through this process myself before. He's always left me behind and done it himself. Now that I have the opportunity to see what he does, I pay close attention to what he does, on the offhand chance that I should ever want to do it myself without going through him.

Some alteration of records is made to show that "Harry Potter" was raised in the United States by distant relatives who are now dead, leaving Dumbledore as my legal guardian.

From there, we head to Gringotts next. If any of the goblins recognize that I'm the same person who was in here not long ago, even wearing the same clothing, only younger and smaller now, they don't mention it.

After speaking briefly with Dumbledore, a goblin named Ragnok leads us back into a private room. "An issue of confusion over inheritance issues, huh. Stands to reason, what with the Potter line being left without a direct heir."

"You know about that?" I say.

"Of course," Ragnok says. "Not that we'd see fit to tell the Ministry about it, if they even deigned to ask. Inheritance matters are private business."

"The Potters entrusted their vault to me in the event that anything happened to them," Dumbledore says.

"That's not my concern at the moment," Ragnok says. "I'll need a blood sample." The goblin takes my blood and does an analysis on it. "Very well. He can inherit the Potter Vault."

"Ah, you can get it shifted over by my authority?" Dumbledore says.

"I don't care one whit about your authority," Ragnok says dismissively. "He can inherit the Potter assets because he's a close blood relative of Lily Potter."

"I'm what?" I exclaim.

"Second cousin, or perhaps first cousin once removed," Ragnok says. "James Potter ensured that no relatives on his side of the family would be able to claim the vault, except for Sirius Black. However, he also ensured that any magical relatives of his wife would be able to claim it instead."

"I see," Dumbledore says, frowning a little. "I suppose James wouldn't want the Malfoys or Blacks or anyone else to get their hands on it..."

"Wait a minute," I say. "How can I possibly be Lily's cousin? I'm not even... I don't even..." I'm less than eager to bring up the bit about being from another world at the moment. That's an unnecessary complication.

"You're a pureblood, you mean?" Dumbledore says. "Did your family have any Squibs that were disowned?"

I frown a little. "My great-grandmother Hawthorne had five Squibs after producing an heir... I suppose it's conceivable that one of them could have been Lily's mother." My father and grandfather were from other worlds. Why not the reverse? I'd never considered the possibility of a relative of mine deciding to go to another world to stay. "Was Lily's mother's maiden name Caithnor, by chance?"

"Lily's mother was named Magnolia Caithnor, I believe," Dumbledore replies, nodding.

"Magnolia... Yeah, that was the name of my grandmother's oldest half-sister," I say. "Well, damn. Sorry for the tangent, Ragnok, I was just surprised is all."

"What, did you seriously expect to inherit a vault you had no claim over?" Ragnok says, snorting.

"I expected Dumbledore to know what he's doing," I say.

"Whatever," Ragnok says. "Here's your vault key." He hands it to me. "Now quit wasting my time." He leaves the room.

"I did not expect things to work out like this," Dumbledore says. "But it's just as well. Although James tried to entrust me with his vault, the goblins have not actually allowed me access to it."

So that's why he was willing to let me have the vault before? Because it actually was me that had a legitimate claim over it? "You never mentioned that I'm Lily's cousin before."

"In the... other times you've done this?" Dumbledore says.

"You went alone before, with a sample of my blood," I say. "I can assume that the same thing happened, but you never saw fit to mention it to me. I just have to wonder why."

"I can only speculate on potential motivations for my own actions," Dumbledore says. "Perhaps I didn't believe it necessary, or thought it anything more than a fluke to be related to a Muggleborn. Or maybe the goblins didn't tell me at all when they gave you access to the vault."

"I suppose there's no use fretting over it," I say. "Is there anything else that needs to be done?"

"A visit to your vault, perhaps, and then we will need to discuss living arrangements for the summer for you," Dumbledore says.

"I'll stay at the Leaky Cauldron," I say. "No discussion necessary."