What Should I Call You?

Important: New Chapter in Sheo.bio, you can read ahead for free there so my work can stay away from the p-word.

(Author Note: This chapter is dedicated to all those big banks that just keep dying these days. I don't know what is happening but it's pretty darn scary.)

The Yule Ball ended on a positive note this time around.

Most people had a good time, they laughed and danced and ate plenty of delicious food. Magnus thought the music was dreadful, but the wizarding world had so little variety he was forced to lower his expectations.

Crouch being in prison couldn't possibly be imperioused, Potter had a quiet year for the second time in a row and while the no-longer so golden trio did have another conflict once they realized that Granger wasn't an intellectually inclined eunuch but an actual girl, it was of no consequence.

Magnus barely cared about the state of wizarding Britain, let alone his so-called cousin's friend group.

What he did care about, however, was the state of his own relationship with a certain silver-haired Veela.

If his life was some sort of story, the two of them would have left to continue the evening somewhere else, perhaps because Fleur felt uncomfortable in the crowd. She would have followed him somewhere nice, perhaps the garden or the RoR which would change into a romantic setting.

As if none of them knew what happens when a girl asked her date to 'go somewhere' else, and of course, the facilities wouldn't be watching over the student body to make sure nothing foolish would be happening.

They would have danced for a while, had a 'meaningful' talk that isn't cheesy at all before kissing in a climactic moment. One chapter later they're an item, and the author would finally start doing something else like throwing enemies or challenges at the two.

His life wasn't a story though, that would be ridiculous.

Or at least he made sure to believe this, for the sake of what is left of his sanity. He might be a fierce advocate for the righteousness of madness, but he needed at least some normality to get by in his day-to-day life.

"Focus, Magnus." said the woman who made the cover of Stern Witch magazine every day of the week.

'Easier said than done.' He thought, slightly waving his wand each time he felt his control lacking.

Around him were multiple small boulders, the largest of them was as large as a great helm with the smaller ones could be carried on one hand.

They rotated around him, following some sort of orbit dictated by nothing but his intent and that magic that enforced it. Or at least, that's what was supposed to happen.

One of the rocks started swaying up and down, disrupting the careful order he created. Fortunately, he managed to fix it before McGonagall could verbally trash him for his lapse in control.

"Stop!"

And he did.

'This part sucks.' He thought, barely able to keep rocks still.

Not moving them on a precise path might sound easier, but there's a nice little thing called momentum that made everything much, much more troublesome than it should be.

He lasted a solid thirty seconds before the smaller rocks, mostly pebbles started escaping his grasp, another thirty seconds saw him desperately correcting a casting mistake every single moment until the transfiguration teacher finally showed some mercy.

"That's enough, with how distracted you are I'm surprised we managed to make this much progress." She said, shaking her head with a frown.

The two of them were using a little-known part of her study, it was more an extra room than anything else. Smaller than a classroom, but large enough to practice some relatively harmless spellcasting without hurting anyone.

It was meant for such practice, as one could see from the almost nonexistent furniture and superior magic saturation than other rooms reserved for theoretical work.

Such things were hard to say when you stood above more leylines than Merlin would ever need, but Magnus learned to tell those things after a few years.

"What's on your mind?" McGonagall said, putting away the strict teacher persona and wearing her worried aunt face.

"Nothing." Magnus used the classic teenager answer, it was obvious she wouldn't let it go.

"That girl didn't hurt you, did she?"

The identity of 'that girl' was rather obvious. Not to boast, but the number of people capable of actually hurting him was rather small, for one.

It would be strange if that wasn't the case, with how insanely dedicated he was to amass as much power as possible without giving up on things he would sorely miss.

That left the emotional damage avenue, and he was even more guarded on that front.

Few things could reach a skilled Occlumens, fewer still with one as emotionally distant and paranoid as Magnus Sirius Black.

'Padma could pull a colt on me, and I'd curse her on the spot.' He thought, smiling at the mental image of his pureblood friend wielding muggle weaponry, 'Though that's very unlikely, I doubt she'd know how to use it properly.'

That left very few people.

Minerva, the first person he ever related to in this new world of his.

Andromeda, who has shown nothing but care while knowing full well what sort of madness he could commit.

Ted, who is an absolute marshmallow regardless of his intimidating size.

'He's harmless, so it's safe to care that much, right?'

Sirius, that old dog came really close to being canceled from life by his own blood but was so earnest Magnus could do nothing but come to rely on him.

'And Fleur.'

His mind supplied the latest and most unexpected addition to that very select group, how she wormed her way there was anyone's guess.

Magnus blamed it on those pretty blue eyes and outrageously long lashes, how was he supposed to resist?

Andromeda was no girl, Ted was a wholesome Titan and unless Sirius messed around with a pretty muggle lady in his more graceful form and got neutered somehow, he was no lady at all.

That left a certain flower, and for the first time in weeks, Magnus could say she wasn't causing any trouble for his young heart. They danced and laughed and played like foolish children, and that was enough to satisfy him.

'For now.'

He looked at his worried teacher, and couldn't help but chuckle.

"No, she didn't do anything too cruel." The way she flooded him with her allure when he got too daring was cruel, but McGonagall didn't need to know that.

His surrogate aunt responded with pursed lips and a blank face, she didn't buy it.

"I'm experiencing problems of a more magical variety." He said, hoping she wouldn't dig in too deep.

"So that's why you wanted help sharpening your control." She said.

"Aye." He nodded, "I'm looking for a way to move multiple light objects with both speed and precision without using my full attention."

She glanced at him, then did a double take.

"That is a very high goal,' She noted, now he got her curious. "Part of a pet project of yours?"

Magnus shook his head, vanishing the rocks and pebbles in one swift move of his wand. It was a strange thing, the ability to casually banish objects back into a state of nothingness.

'This fact alone would be enough to scare muggle into a war, with more than a few of us magical being strapped to a table while scientists will do their utmost to see what makes them tick.' He thought.

His concerns about the seemingly inevitable contact with the mundane were growing with every passing day, but there was little else he could do at the moment.

The Blacks were throwing plenty of money, and while stopping progress was impossible, they could and did try to guide toward a less troublesome outcome.

'If push comes to shove, I'll start world war III.'

If Dumbledore heard this, his 'This child is going dark' signal would flare within the minute.

"Nothing good enough to be shown." He said, and that was it.

The woman knew not to press further, he was secretive to a point and unlikely to accept anything short of perfection before showing it to his people.

He was grateful for her understanding, even if it was largely built on his deceit.

'It's sad, but there's simply no way I could tell her I'm looking to counter the killing curse.' He thought, while he outwardly joked around to lighten the mood.

His favorite teacher was smart to a point, more so than most Ravens could ever claim to be. While anyone would either laugh or applaud him for such an unlikely yet noble goal, she would know the only way to counter a spell is to understand it.

To understand it, you need to see it.

To see it, you have to cast it.

With but a few seconds of logical thinking, one would realize he cast the unforgivable multiple times in his spare time. That woman loved him like her own, but even she wouldn't condone such behavior.

He didn't blame her, if his own children did the same one day he would be more than a little disappointed.

The kind of disgust the green beam of death brought to its caster was only surpassed by the addictive surge of power that come with it, a mix of self-loathing and pleasure; very few unions were this dangerous.

'No wonder Riddle lost it.'

Would the same happen to him if he wasn't careful? Was it too arrogant to believe himself strong enough to withstand the appeal of power when he hungered so desperately for more of it?

With thoughts of emerald lights and mad wizards, he bid farewell to his mentor only to stop when a stray idea struck him.

The kind of persistent, sometimes great but often useless bouts of inspiration he could either explore or let it dwell rent-free in his already crowded mind.

He turned around, looking at McGonagall would've just sat on her chair. One look at it reminded him that it was him who conjured it so long ago, flooding it with so much magic it should last months

'That woman…she reapplied the spell to keep it longer.' He felt warm when he noticed it, the few sparks of his magic left in the transfigured wood were held together by her own.

"Do you need something?" She asked, wincing as she nursed her sore back, perhaps he should ask Poppy for something to relieve her of it?

He added a detour to visit the school nurse in his schedule, it would cut into his Luna time but he should be able to drag her along for it.

"Yes, I was wondering about something." He said, and she perked up right away. "Is there a way to avoid the constant Arithmantic calculations required to make complex transfigured animations?"

The woman frowned, rubbing her hand as she often did when she tried to figure out his goals.

"Not without compromising the precision and structural integrity of your creation." She shook her head, "You never had a problem with transfiguration formulas before…"

There was an obvious unasked question in her words: what in Morgana's perky behind do you have in mind, you sly boy?

Alright, maybe not in these words, but Magnus found it very funny when he imagined her saying this with her usual business-like voice.

"Just an idea, it would be terribly useful to be able to both cast spells and animate some transfigured matter at the same time." He waved it off.

"That's some very high-level casting you're talking about, extremely tricky for the best of us. Unless you somehow learn to use two wands, but I wouldn't recommend that." She said, laughing drily at the second part.

A Black using the style of the world's most feared dark lord would be very bad, indeed.

He was about to leave when he was once more stopped, however, this time it wasn't him who had a sudden idea but his overly familiar teacher instead. (He wasn't complaining.)

"You should try asking Professor Flitwick, he'd know more about the practical application of the animation charms." She said, before burying her nose in the parchments of her Owl-level students, scrunching her nose when she found a particularly poorly written one.

Her idea had merit, the man was a former dueling champion.

'He's also technically my head of house, how weird is it that I spend more time near the Gryffindor tower than our own.' He thought, amused.

Yes, asking Flitwick sounded like a good option.

The idea was still troubling his mind, along with hundreds of other more and less pressing issues.

"Magnus." The cat lady called out, sounding disturbed.

"Hm?" He turned around for the third time in a row.

"Is that a dragon on your head?" She asked, looking at the miniature Welsh Green Fleur had given him.

"Yes, is there a problem?" He tilted his head, troubling the absurdly cute (In his opinion) creature nestled in his long hair.

"…No, have a nice day."

The woman knew him well enough to realize that trying to deal with his crazy bullshit was a lost cause, it was better for her to ignore it and do something productive.

"Who's the cute girl? Who's the cute girl?" She heard him coo at the fire-breathing lizard "Yes, you are."

Crazy bullshit was an apt description indeed.

"What should we call you? I still couldn't find a proper name." Magnus asked the golem, who tilted its head in the most adorable fashion.

Adorable for the replica of a deadly magical predator known to burn down villages on a whim, that is.

And off to see Flitwick he went.

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Author Note:

Hey guys! It's Uncle Sheo!

As promised, we got some good old Magnus doing what he does best. Practicing some casting while driving people nuts, he's making my domain stronger with each passing day!

Now we have to address a very important question, so pay attention.

What should we call the miniature Welsh Green? Answer in the comments, you may go wild my dear readers.

Peace and Cheese!