(January 5th, 1992, Hogwarts Castle, Scotland)

We returned to Hogwarts on the Sunday after New Year's Day. I took the train this time, and my friend group jovially reunited together during the ride. I bought everyone snacks in the Buffet Car, as we recounted tales from our holiday. Alice, Sue, and Gabby all had similar stories about a beautiful elvish ghost delivering magical socks, which caused everyone to have a moment of collective horror upon looking down and realising we were all wearing the same dark blue cable knit stockings with colourful flower patterned embroideries.

“I blame Artemis,” Gabby accused.

I sputtered. “What? Why are you blaming me‽”

“You've clearly been the cause of all past shenanigans that've happened around us, I see no reason to stop assuming that these things are your fault.” she retorted.

“That is a completely baseless accusation, which is supported by nothing but purely circumstantial evidence! (✿.>`‸´<.)” I countered.

“…So you didn't get any of us presents? Not even a single Chocolate Frog for any of your friends?” Janet struck with awe inspiring lethality.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that question.” I non-answered.

“So you did get us all socks for Christmas.” Hermione pressed.

“I have no idea what you're talking about. Besides, what sort of weirdo would gift socks anyways?” I deflected.

“Whatever sort you are, apparently.” Rainy jived.

I puffed up my cheeks, but otherwise remained silent.

“…They're really nice socks,” Megan offered.

“Yeah, they are.” Hermione confirmed.

“Seem to be waterproof as well,” Rainy supported.

“I got a piano dropped on my foot, and I barely even felt it.” Sue supplied, and was then seconded by Eileen and Laura, who both stubbed their toes at some point, to little effect.

“So… we all agree that Artemis definitely had a ghost-” Janet started, but was then interrupted by Hermione.

“Poltergeist. Ghosts can't significantly manipulate physical objects.” she corrected.

“Fine, Artemis definitely had a poltergeist deliver everybody magical socks. Why didn't you just use an owl?” Janet asked.

Oh, that one I could answer! “Witchcraft,” I said, which caused everyone to groan.

“Ugh, we could be at this for hours, and it would do nothing but amuse her!” Gabby complained.

I started wheezing with laughter at the truth of her statement. “Hehehe, (✿^ლ^), trust me, you have no idea!” I managed through my giggles.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

(January 21th, 1992, Hogwarts Castle, Scotland)

I managed to convince the house-elves to let me make tacos in the kitchen, which was harder than expected. When I mentioned yesterday that I wanted to make them as a brunch time snack the elves were very much enthusiastic with the idea, right up until I made it clear that I wanted to be the one doing the cooking.

Normally a chef would be expected to be somewhat protective of an unproven adolescent using their kitchen, but they weren't. Instead they did that house-elf thing where they all blamed themselves, whilst simultaneously promising to make the best tacos ever. At which point I then had to spend half an hour gently convincing them that, “Yes, I'm sure that you are all very skilled taco makers.”, and “I want to cook them myself because I'll find it fun to do so.”

If I wanted the world's best tacos I could just assemble them from my body, in the same manner most of my clothes were made with. But I didn't do that. I wanted the experience more than the result. So, eventually I convinced them, and then on Tuesday morning I made a bunch of those small tacos that could fit in someone's mouth in one bite if they really pushed it. They probably had a name for those, but I had only had them once at a restaurant and the menu had just called them tacos. Regardless, the food was made and I set up a small AOE warming spell out on the still-snow-covered castle lawn.

I had sent out an open invitation for the Taco Tuesday Picnic to all of my friends…

…It had been made clear that they weren't expected to come at a specific time, just that if they saw me out here during this morning then they were free to join me.

I sat in my bubble of magical warmth, nibbling on a taco, alone, for quite some time.

An hour passed…

At 10:32AM Rainy trudged into my circle of snow free grass. “Yo,” I greeted minimally.

“That's an awfully full plate you got there,” he said, referring to my platter of still warm food.

“Yup,” I confirmed.

He sat down on the grass next to me and started eating. “They're a little dry,” he commented.

I whacked the back of his head, which caused him to yelp. “Of course they are, they've been sitting in two separate layers of warming charms for over an hour!”

He rubbed the area I had thwacked. “Hehe, I don't suppose you-” Merlin's beard, the audacity.

I tossed a water bottle at him, answering his predicted question. Fifteen minutes later I cleared out the large number of remaining tacos, and then we headed off for our Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

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‘They need to review that naming, it’s just way too long, and the abbreviation is simply atrocious.’

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

(February 20th, 1992, Hogwarts Castle, Scotland)

The Owlery was disgusting, and if I had any care about my personal hygiene then I would've stayed away from that place as much as possible. Luckily, I didn't— because I was an incredibly unfair existence— so I was free to visit Olea as much as I liked. We could meet elsewhere, and we often did, but I like coming to her because it was one of the many small ways I liked to show that I cared about her.

She was fine with the shit and bones, as anything that touched her could be vaporised at will. Owls were quiet creatures and knew in their tiny bird souls that it would be a bad idea to mess with the phoenix in their midst, so she didn't get bothered much at all. And she was made as a phoenix, which meant that she was used to living life like a bird. ‘Though she did very clearly enjoy her time during Yule.’

In the back of my head I silently cracked away at plans and designs needed to provide her more humane living conditions, just to be ready if- when she asked for them.

In the meantime, I chased Olea around the Owlery like I was a headless chicken. It was fun… mostly for her, but I also got some amusement from making a fool of myself. The indoor game of tag was incredibly uneven, as Olea was always just out of range. Even when I parkoured off the walls, and flipped through the air to try and get her, she'd always flutter away before I could.

I wasn't shouting or making any large rackets, but I was absolutely getting my jumper and britches filthy from the activity. It was technically a public place, so when I heard someone approaching, I leapt with more speed than humanly possible and trapped Olea in a hug.

“Sorry, someone's coming,” I explained quickly, before I sat down on a relatively clean part of the floor and started petting her pretty little head.

Even if not consciously, I had long since catalogued all the names and faces in attendance at Hogwarts. So I was quick to recognise Lannolia Sallow when he walked in through the door to the Owlery. He was a seventh-year Slytherin who was taking classes to be a lawyer.

He eyed me for a moment, and cringed slightly at my apparent filth, before calling out to one of the owls. “Farlo, get down here!” His owl descended from above and landed on his outstretched arm. Then Lannolia handed a letter to its beak, whispered off the recipient's name and address, and after that he tossed it out the window with a confidence born only from years of assisted takeoffs.

He then turned his attention back to me.

“They don't teach you until we start learning to apparate, but a more detailed address will make an owl fly faster.” He said in an awkward but kinda friendly way, and then shuffled out of the room.

Lea looked up at me. ‘That was weird,’ she sent.

“I think he was trying to be nice?” I responded. I already had a deeper understanding of owls than probably anyone ever, so it was a little silly feeling to be given advice on the matter. “Whatever, this is a good stopping point anyways. Whad'ya say we vanish into the forest for some sandwiches?”

She agreed promptly, and we both silently backstepped out of reality.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

(March 8th, 1992, Hogwarts Castle, Scotland)

It was surprisingly hard to just walk into a cinema and have them start playing a movie. Instead I'd had to get into contact with an agent, and then he got into contact with a publisher, and then they were sent a copy of the movie for review, which then, finally, got them to get into contact with a bunch of cinemas.

Thus, two months after I finished production, Freya O’Founderlin and the Quest of Doom hit theatres. I was mostly working through fake corporations and identities, which allowed me to buy out some ad slots with money that I'd laundered. After the initial small— relatively small— wave of viewers that were enticed by the advertising campaign, the next couple days saw an explosive increase in popularity as the reviews came in and everybody started talking about the blockbuster hit from the never before heard of Miracle Made Films production company.

Less than a week later, there were already official requests for reruns, VHS ports, translations, and merchandising coming through to my empty building's mailbox. Well, mostly empty, I did have a bunch of drones pretending to do office stuff, but they didn't really count.

It was almost too easy. All I'd had to do was tweak the pacing, add a few subplots, and then write a script that was optimised from what my greater self knew about psychology. Since all of the video was just synthesised, I got to do some bullshit cinematography and VFX which I knew muggles wouldn't be able to match for multiple decades.

On the last showing, during Sunday night, I left my ‘main’ body in bed, and instead took Mom out to Dublin. It was a pretty long film, being just under three hours, but Mom clearly enjoyed it nonetheless. We walked out of the cinema near midnight, and I nervously asked her “So, um… what'd you think?”

She turned to me and patted my head. “It was lovely, very creative you, Artwork.” she answered, making my insides bubble with warmth as I blushed.

“Yeah, I- I tried my best!” I replied excitedly. “I actually spent more time waiting on the publication company than I did producing the fill.”

She continued to smile softly as we walked through the streets holding hands. “Of all the things you could've done, I'm glad you chose this.” she said.

“Me too,” I agreed easily. “It was nice… I miss you, we should do this more often.”

Mom bent down and kissed my forehead without breaking stride. “I miss you too, Cuddlebug, but Ēostre isn't too far away, we'll see each other plenty then.” She then smirked. “Unless there's someone else you wanted to spend Ēostre with?” she asked teasingly.

I sputtered. “Bwh- wha- Mom, I'm twelve!” I whined.

“And? I was having sleepovers at your age. Just because I ended up as a lonely old lady doesn't mean I want the same for you.”

“Mommm,” I groaned.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

(March 12th, 1992, Hogwarts Castle, Scotland)

I stared at the wooden butter knife on my desk with as blank of a face as I could manage. We were supposed to turn the knife into a hatchet, and I was just so disappointed. The rest of the class would struggle for multiple weeks no doubt, but I wouldn't. I couldn't. It was just so easy.

The more unrelated object would at least be interesting, yet here I was, being told to turn a cutting implement into a slightly bigger and sharper cutting implement. I was sitting with Janet and she was already working on hers, slowly making the knife's handle a tad longer.

I could tolerate Charms. Charms was much more fast paced. I learned stuff in Charms class.

I would take History of Magic over this. At first I understood the slow and safe approach that McGonagall was trying to instil, but my patience wore thin over the months. I wanted to do something about it. So I grabbed my wand, waved it haphazardly, and transmuted the butter knife into a longsword made of pure tungsten.

I then raised my hand, as Janet gave me a ‘What the fuck do you think you're doing‽’ stare, but wisely decided that it was above her nonexistent pay grade. McGonagall noticed my hand and started walking over to my desk. “Yes Miss Atterberry? Is there something that y-” She then saw the massive claymore on my desk.

“Can you undo mine? I think I messed it up.” I said, gesturing towards the ridiculous implement I had created. That turned some heads, as people were curious as to what I did wrong enough for the Professor to have to fix for me.

“…You did this?” she asked, as she examined the blade, struggling to lift it.

“Yes ma'am, 'm sorry,” I confirmed, doing my best to look innocent.

“Why is it made of lead?” she questioned.

I pouted. “It's not,” I flicked the metal, hitting it with my fingernail. “It's made of tungsten, because tungsten is good for cutting stuff.”

The professor nodded. “And why is it a sword?”

I shrugged. “Dunno, that's what I figured I messed up on.” I said.

“Well, why don't I fix this up,” She waved her wand, silently undoing the transfiguration with a casual ease. “And now you can try again.” McGonagall all but ordered, eager to see me pull some bullshit.

My wand was raised, a few movements were made, a “Securifors,” was said, and a massive tungsten sword was once again on my desk. “You see? I'm thinking I should try switching out the Latin ‘securis’ for the Old English ‘æcs’, or maybe the German ‘beil’. I've never been very good with romantic languages.”

She sat there stunned for a moment. “I- suppose that's worth a try, if you think you'd manage better that way.” the professor said as she reverted my knife, again.

So, I repeated all the motions, only this time I said “Æcsifors,” instead, which fixed my pretend issue. I then proceeded to lift up the enormous double edged tungsten battle axe, and started to wave it around joyfully. “I did!” I shouted repeatedly, as McGonagall frantically ducked out of the way.

“Miss Atterberry, put that down immediately!” she said once she escaped from her vivid Hagrid related flashback.

I froze, then looked up at my axe. “Oh,” And blushed terribly as I followed her orders. “I am so sorry, Professor McGonagall.” I lied.

She sighed tiredly. “At least you didn't break anything. Five points from Hufflepuff for disrupting class… Ten points added for exceptional transfigurating. Oh, and Miss Atterberry?”

“Yes ma'am?” I responded, doing my best to keep the hope out of my voice.

“See me after class.”

‘Fuck yeah! Hook line and sinker.’

And that was how I got Advanced Transfiguration sessions.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

(March 22nd, 1992, Hogwarts Castle, Scotland)

Gabby and I had taken to reading together.

We would both lay down somewhere comfy, she would pick out a book, I would read out the book as a whisper in her ear. It was fun. It was at the end of one of those reading sessions that I proposed something to her.

“You know, if you enjoy this so much, then I could probably hook you up with a bunch of audio books! My mum used to buy them for me by the truckload, so we got a huge stash that isn't doing much for us anymore.” I said.

“Oh, um, that- that's very generous of you, but really I prefer reading text over audio. I only like this more than normal reading because it's with a friend.” she said looking at her shoes.

I nodded thoughtfully. “Alrighty then, I'll see you around, Gabby!” I waved as I departed.

“Yeah, okay. Bye, Art.”

‘Maybe she'd like them more if it was my voice on the tape, then she could pretend that we're doing it together even if I'm not there? I'll ask her about it next time.’

Hehmm…

‘Perhaps a heated body pillow as well,’