Unexpected Circumstances

Chapter 5. Unexpected Circumstances

I make my way towards the dungeons. Towards Professor Snape's office.

Usually, I wouldn't want to suffer his ugly mug outside of classes—definitely not on Sundays. But I've been summoned. And no matter how much I despise him, he is a teacher, and I have to show him necessary respect. Outwardly, at least.

Saying we have a strained relationship is putting it mildly. My mum is his best friend, so we've known each other long before I started Hogwarts. But we've also accepted that we'll never get along. Not when I know about his obsession with my mum. And not when he cannot see me as anything more than a James Potter clone.

Our hate is quite mutual, and we like to keep contact to a minimum.

So I'm intrigued why he has asked for me.

I hope Astoria hasn't betrayed me and revealed my healing ability. That will be inconvenient to deal with. I don't want to be swarmed by miserable wretches wanting to be cured just yet. Not while I'm busy focusing on my [God of Small Things] perk.

I come to a stop and knock on the mahogany door. It swings open the next instant.

I step inside reluctantly.

Snape's office is dark and reeks of pungent potions. Various shelves contain macabre displays of ingredients, ranging from insects to all the way to large animals. There is even a small skull on top of one shelf, and various organ-filled jars line the other. I cannot be sure if the brain in that one particular jar is human or not.

Ignoring the morbid curiosities, I approach the ghastly man.

He is standing before his desk with his arms crossed behind his back.

Severus Snape

Level: 42

Beauty Tier: E

Seduction: 0%

Points Available: 0

A powerful, intimidating man, no doubt. But that will never stop me from loathing him.

"Mr. Evans, take a seat," he orders, not bothering to hide his disdain.

I sit down, easily suppressing the flare of annoyance, my eyes following him as he sinks into his own chair. "Professor. Is there any reason for this meeting?"

"Obviously," he drawls, placing his elbows on the desk as he leans forward. "I wouldn't call you for idle chatter."

"Right. What do you want?"

Getting right to the point is better, even if it comes out as a little rude. I don't want to spend my first Sunday having verbal spars with him. I have better things to do. Like pounding Hermione's delectable arse or making out with Iris.

His lips twist in displeasure. "I have heard some fantastical rumours surrounding you."

Please tell me this isn't what I think it is.

"Didn't know you were into gossip, Professor." I hide my apprehension behind a barb.

"I am not." He glowers. "But an unprecedented miracle has shocked the staff. And I'm curious if you have a hand in it. Surely, a 'genie' can cure a blood curse. Can he not?"

Adopting the most innocent expression, I act oblivious. "I don't know what you're talking about. Though I'm curious about this blood curse thing."

"A blood curse is an incurable magical disease that comes in various forms. Astoria Greengrass had it, which was known to every member of the staff. But yesterday, Madam Pomfrey declared her cured. We don't know how it happened. Even Miss Greengrass herself doesn't know. Allegedly." His black eyes bore into mine, suspicion clear on his face.

"I'm happy for her," I say, not breaking eye contact. "Though I'm unsure how you think I'm involved in this."

He scoffs. "Do you take me for a fool?"

Yes, I do.

"I am still lost. What are you getting at?"

"There are rumours that you have the power to grant any wish. I wouldn't give this foolish notion a second thought if not for the recent miracle. Believe me, I'm not the only one finding a connection between the sudden miracle and the rumours about you."

I see. So Astoria hasn't turned on me. It's just people making assumptions. And it does make sense logically. Praise the resident genie for curing an incurable disease. Not an improbable conjecture. I now understand how he reached that conclusion.

Leaning back in my chair, I peer at him with a half-smile. "Even if I had the power to grant wishes, I couldn't cure an incurable disease. My hypothetical powers wouldn't allow me to create a medicine that doesn't exist in the first place."

Greed and hope cloud his visage, and he sits upright in his chair, his hands dropping from the desk and onto his lap. "Tell me, what do I have to do to make use of your 'hypothetical' powers?"

I hum and gaze at him, pondering my next step.

I don't want to help him with anything, of course. But there aren't many options here. The moment I stepped in, he was sure the rumours about me were true. He will keep hounding me until I cave in.

This isn't an inquisition; rather, it's a judgement. And he wants to take advantage of being the first to connect the dots. He wants his wish to be realised.

He wants a deal.

Will I lose anything by fulfilling his wish? No, it may even lessen his intense hatred for me.

Actually, no, it won't. That sounds out of character for him. His hatred is his defining feature. He won't let go of it, no matter what.

I may not lose much by heeding his request, but I won't gain anything either.

Well, then, I'll listen to his plea and crush his hope by telling him I cannot do it. That seems more entertaining. It naturally sounds better than doing him any favours.

"First, you must agree not to talk about my methods with others. Second, you must give me 20 galleons as fees. And only then will you be able to put forward your wish. My hypothetical power will either work or it won't. I don't have any influence over it."

He opens his drawer and tosses me a coin pouch. "Here, take 50 galleons instead. And I'll not share your methods with anyone. Now, what next?"

I blink at the swift response, weighing the coin pouch in my hand. It is definitely more than 20 galleons. Good enough to con him, I guess. "Just remember, there won't be a refund if your wish doesn't get heard."

"What is the next step?" He growls, repeating his words.

Someone is impatient. I resist an eye roll. "I'll now ask you your wish. So, what do you wish for, Professor?"

"I wish for the subject of my love to return it," he answers shamelessly and vaguely.

…

A fury like none other takes hold of me, and yet my face remains impassive.

I know who he is talking about. Does he think I'm not clever enough to guess his subject of 'love'?

The audacity to ask me this wish, as if I'll pimp out my mum for some fifty galleons, as if I'll let him have her.

I'm not childishly possessive, mind you. I know not every girl or woman I sleep with will remain with me forever. I know they will move on and become someone else's lovers. Hell, I myself won't want them to cling to me after I'm done with them. That would be quite a chore.

I don't desire a ridiculously large harem with tens of women at my beck and call. It will take too much time and effort, which I'm not willing to expend. And I'm not going to sleep around for 'feelings' or to create memorable relationships. No, sex is just a currency that I am hellbent on collecting, a means to an end, a way to get me gacha points.

But still, there are few people who are not just disposable point machines. My mum and my sisters are on that list. The very thought of someone else touching them makes my blood boil. And this man dares to wish for my mum's affection? For her body?

Never.

Concealing my rage, I offer him a slight smile. "I can feel it, Professor. It's working. You might have your mysterious lover in bed by tonight."

Let's give him hope, just to crush him thoroughly.

The broad smile on his face is disgusting. The ugliest sight I've ever seen.

I close my eyes and act as if something mystical is happening.

Then I frown and shake my head. "I'm sorry, Professor. It didn't work. My powers refused to accept your wish. You have my sympathies."

The next thing he does bamboozles me.

It's not an angry denial, nor a sad whimper, and neither a teary groan.

No, he whips out his wand and strikes me with an unspeakable. "Imperio!"

…

…

"Ask for my wish again!" He roars in madness, getting on his feet and looming from across the desk.

My mind is still my own, of course. My [Shield] perk keeps me safe.

[Shield]

— Your mind and soul are protected; they are immune to foreign influence.

But I'm staggered by this action. He really just attempted to put me under the Imperius Curse. Probably because he thinks I'm lying. Which, while yes, still doesn't warrant this scale of reaction. It's one of the worst spells to exist, after all. And I've never imagined I would find myself in a situation where it'd be used on me.

I am dumbfounded and shaken to my core.

A teacher using an unspeakable curse on a student—that's the bizarrest thing ever.

Even though I hate him, I never thought he would stoop so low.

"Ask for my wish again!" He yells, slamming his hand on the desk, making me jolt and pulling me out of my dazed mind.

Amazement evaporates, and wrath envelopes me from head to toe. I vibrate from anger, an anger so dark and fiery that my body is unable to remain still.

I snap my face towards him.

It's meant to be a whisper. But what escapes my lips is a shout that destroys the entire room.

"FUS RO DAH!"

An energy blast rushes from my mouth and slams right into him.

Snape is thrown against the wall with such force that the entire stone wall cracks in half.

The wooden desk and chair shatter. The room rumbles. Shelves come crashing down. Potion vials explode, spraying liquid and fumes. And a distinct snapping sound cuts through the clamour.

He is half-buried in the wall crack, and his neck is bent the wrong way.

… Shite. He's dead. I just killed him.

I'm rooted in my place, unable to believe what I've done. A static noise pervades my head, drowning out my own inner voice and dumping me into the dark sea.

Okay, calm down. Don't panic. I can still escape and act like I didn't do anything. No one saw me entering. And people will likely chalk it up to a potion accident.

I still have a chance.

A pillar of fire erupts behind me, and guess who steps out of it?

On Dumbledore's shoulder is his phoenix companion, who trills sadly as it looks around the devastated room.

Fuck.

~xXxXx~

Here is a rundown of what happened in the last five minutes since I was caught red-handed.

Dumbledore found me with the dead body. Before he could draw any obvious conclusions, I burst into tears. Not my proudest moment. But it had to happen if I wanted to come out of this mess without jail time or expulsion. It was part of a plan to gain his sympathy.

I told him everything that happened. All truths, except the instance where I killed Snape. Instead of admitting it was a deliberate move—however reckless—I blamed it on accidental magic. My [Unrelenting Force] can be construed in that way, if you assume those three words to be incoherent exclamations. It's the first offensive skill I got yesterday following my encounter with Astoria.

[Unrelenting Force]

— Allows the user to call on the system's power to create a supernatural shout. You can use it to throw others and inflict the ragdoll effect. Use it wisely, Dovahkiin chump; it can kill depending on the place and the situation. Note: It can only be activated by uttering 'Fus Ro Dah'.

No, I don't know what 'Dovahkiin' is. Probably an insult in an alien language. As if wasting my other point wasn't enough. I guess receiving this rare skill makes up for getting a literal trash bin from the first point.

Coming back to the topic, I shouldn't have used it without knowing its full effects. But my anger got the better of me, and I went overboard, landing myself in this trouble.

Anyways, after hearing my side, Dumbledore 'flamed' me to his office and asked for my memory to verify my words. I reluctantly agreed. When he couldn't pull it out of my head himself, he instructed me on how to do it. Once I gave him the silvery strand of memory, he took it to a pensieve.

And here I am, sitting behind a claw-footed desk, waiting for him to come back. I'm praying that he chalks up my shouting 'Fus Ro Dah' as raging incoherent words instead of a spell. That's the only way to make my act seem accidental.

This one event has the potential to derail all of my plans and ambitions.

I can only hope it won't be too bad.

Will I be suspended? Will I be put on trial? Will I be expelled? Or will I be sent to Azkaban?

Before my mind can supply a worse scenario, the Headmaster returns.

He plops down in his throne-like chair and regards me with a tired look. "From what I saw, it was indeed an accident. And even if it wasn't, you were in the right to fight back once Professor Snape resorted to an unforgivable."

"I didn't mean to kill him. Please, believe me." I don't bother to hide my panic. "It just… happened. Something rushed out of me when his Imperius Curse didn't work. And it flung him against the wall with too much force."

Am I sad that Snape died? No. But I am frightened of the repercussions.

He rubs his face. "I know."

"What will happen now, Professor? Even if it was an accident, others will never let me forget it. All my hard work will be in vain. My reputation will be forever marred. I'll always be known as a killer. It will be a black mark against me for my entire life. I'll be ostracised and excluded, and I won't even get any respectable jobs. My life is truly over." I hang my head in my hands, not even acting this time.

Killers are rarely welcomed with open arms. Even my family will start looking at me differently. And let's just not talk about my friends and acquaintances.

How will I even utilise my Seducer System when everyone is wary of me?

Dumbledore stares at me for a long time before sighing and pushing his half-moon glasses up his long nose. "Only we know what actually happened. Let others think it was a potion mishap. Forget about it, Harry. I'm willing to lie to the Ministry this time. You are an exceptional young man. Your bright future doesn't need to be endangered."

I cannot hide my shocked relief and gratitude.

"Thank you, Professor. Thank you." I wipe my eyes and keep thanking him.

He shakes his head, his blue eyes emanating anguish. "No, Harry. It was my own fault for hiring such an unethical man. I should be the one apologising for what you've gone through."

I don't know what to say, so I opt to remain quiet and wait for him to dismiss me.

He doesn't, and he keeps peering at me.

"Will you humour my curiosity? Your memory was full of shocking revelations."

Ah, of course. He, too, must want something from my powers. It's not every day that someone comes across a real genie. Albus Dumbledore, however kind and mighty, is just a man in the end, with his own desires and wants.

"Gladly," I answer, resting my arms in my lap.

"Is it true that you have the power to grant others' wishes? And if it is, then how did you get it?"

I simply shrug. "Yes, I have the ability. But I don't know how I got it either."

"I see. And is there any reason why you're using it for business?" Here his voice gains a hint of disapproval, apparently not amused by my capitalistic model.

Now, how do I respond to that? A mixture of truth and lies to lean further on his sympathy seems like the obvious choice.

"You may already know that my mum runs a potion shop. Unfortunately, she doesn't make much. When I got this power, I saw an opportunity to help her. I wanted to share her burden and give my siblings freedom to buy whatever they desired. That's why I'm charging for my services."

His eyes glint in understanding. "I can't stop you from running this unique business. But with such benevolent power in your possession, you shouldn't only reserve it for the ones who can pay you. There are many children in the school who won't be able to afford your exorbitant fees."

Before I can say anything in my defence, he speaks up again. "How about I hire your mother as the new Potion Professor? That should free you from your financial shackles. Will you still overlook the needy and poor then?"

My eyes widen, and I barely contain my excitement. "I'll grant wishes to even the ones who can't pay me. You can be sure of that."

It's not a bad deal at all. The reason I was charging in the first place was to seem like a professional merchant. Now that all Gryffindors know I'm not a scammer, I don't have to continue this businessman persona. Not to mention I'm getting my mum to transfer here in the castle—so close to me, which will surely provide me with an abundance of opportunities to woo her.

"Good. Then please see yourself out. I have a funeral to organise."

I slide off the chair and turn to go, still unsure if this is really happening.

Am I really getting away with a murder this easily? It appears so. Not that I am complaining.

But I can't ignore the urge to ask an important question. "Don't you want anything, Professor? I can grant your one wish."

He smiles sadly and shakes his head. "I have everything I need. And the things I do want are too unreasonable for your little power."

I nod and start for the door.

"Actually, come back. I do have one wish." Dumbledore interrupts me just as I'm about to leave the office.

Once I'm seated again, I look at him and ask, "What do you wish for, Professor?"

"I need an answer. Is Voldemort really dead?" His tone is sombre.

I don't know why he is asking such an obvious question, but I feel my perk thrum in acknowledgment.

A piece of parchment pops in the air over the desk and flutters down and lays on a thick tome. Written on it is 'Yesn't'.

"What does yesn't mean?" He asks with furrowed eyebrows.

I shrug, dread welling up in my belly as I stare at the parchment. "This means it's not a simple yes-or-no question. I assume the answer is somewhere in between. Does that mean Voldemort is not entirely dead, Professor?"

Dumbledore sports a stricken look. "I don't know."

Oh well, not my problem.

~xXxXx~

The 'unfortunate' death of Severus Snape is revealed at lunch, and it becomes a hot topic to gossip about. Wherever I go, I hear about him, whether it be the Gryffindor common room or the library. The reaction is nearly unanimous: everyone is taken aback by the abrupt announcement. While a few students are morose, none are truly heartbroken.

Snape wasn't loved either by the staff or the students. I even caught some younger Gryffindors muttering their relief, hoping for a better teacher next time.

That's quite a low bar to set. My mum will have no problem exceeding their expectations.

As I take shelter in my 'Genie For Hire' office, I'm faced with an urgent question.

Am I a psychopath?

Because no matter how much I try, I can't force myself to feel sorrow or guilt for what I did.

Yes, Snape was a horrendous man, but he was still a human. Shouldn't I feel at least a little bad after murdering him?

I can't be an emotionless psychopath, though. I do have emotions. I feel love and affection for my family. I feel unhappy when they are sad. And I don't get overpowering urges to dissect puppies for fun. Maybe it's just that Snape is not good enough for my guilt. He tried the Imperius Curse on me, after all. He deserved it.

Whatever, I'm not going to slam my head over this. If I don't feel guilty, so be it. Doesn't change anything.

The rest of the day goes on as usual. Three Gryffindors come down to get their wishes fulfilled, and I inform them that I won't be demanding any fees from now onwards.

They are stunned but relieved, and they shower me with compliments. Apparently, all three of them took loans from older students. Now that I'm not charging money, they won't have to worry about it. Their reverence alone is a good enough replacement for the fees.

Maybe I will become a real God. Who knows.

Unfortunately, since I used one wish for Dumbledore, I won't be able to grant my sisters 1000 galleons each. I'll have to choose one of them.

It's fine; we have already accumulated so much wealth. A couple of skips won't affect us in the grand scheme of things.

Soon, evening approaches. And it's time for me to 'tutor' Iris, which obviously involves kissing her senseless while she squirms in my lap.

~xXxXx~

Daphne Greengrass

"I have already said that the thing is not there." Daphne scowls at her partner, throwing her leg over the knee.

The two are in his room, planning their next excursion. Their sudden 'friendship' has sprung up a well of gossip, which is only exacerbated by her need to go into his room for 'mysterious' reasons.

Is she disgusted by the rumours that say she is sleeping with the blonde prat? Yes, but she is not inviting him to her own room.

Draco crosses his arms and returns her scowl, seated on the edge of his bed. "I talked with Moaning Myrtle. From all the clues I have gathered, it's clear that there is indeed a Chamber of Secrets in the castle. I know the dark lord must have hidden his thing down there."

The thing. Ew.

She wrinkles her nose, realising the double meaning of their words. "I don't see the traces of the thing's scent going in that direction."

"Scent of the thing?" He looks amused.

She groans and throws up her arms. It's impossible to describe how she perceives magic. Every magical being or thing has its own colour and scent. And that thing's colour and scent are dark and foreboding. She will know it the moment she is near.

Unfortunately, her task isn't going well.

A sudden idea takes root in her mind. "How about we use someone's help?"

He frowns, amusement melting. "Who will help us? And you do know that Aunt Bella will kill us if we leak her mission, don't you?"

"I know, I know. But this person doesn't need to know anything. He can just fulfil our wish."

Draco's frown deepens. "Are you talking about the rumours regarding Evans? That he can grant wishes now?"

"Exactly." She nods, hoping he will agree.

He doesn't.

"Don't be foolish. He cannot do anything. It's just rumours."

She wishes she could reveal how he cured her sister's blood curse and that he indeed has that kind of power. But both her conscience and the contract she has signed won't allow for that. "Fine, if that crazy bitch kills me for not finding her trinket, I'm haunting you."

He laughs and smirks at her. "I won't mind that."

She scrunches her nose, annoyed at herself for giving him a chance to flirt. "Don't make me curse you, Malfoy."

"Alright, we will go to Evans if we keep failing. But it's just the first week. Let's not give up just yet and keep searching."

She cannot find any fault in his reasoning. "Fine."

~xXxXx~

Bonus Scene

"Go, my lovely minions!" Bellatrix yells with a manic grin.

A crowd of muggles is converging around a particular shack. And no matter how many people keep dying from its dark magical defences, they keep on advancing, their eyes glazed, and the only desire presiding over their hearts is to do as they're told.

Dozens of men, women, and children die before a mousy woman finally returns with a ring in her open palm. Her skin is greying fast. And her tears reveal her excruciating pain. But no screams escape her lips. And by the time Bellatrix levitates the cursed ring into a safe container, the woman is already convulsing and is in the last throes of death.

The entire village of Little Hangleton is ransacked by the time she returns to Malfoy Manor, grinning and humming as if she hadn't just committed a massacre.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

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