Magical Creatures Will Get Me Killed (Again) by Anubis Enfield(Harry Potter)

Latest Update:COMPLETE

Summary: I'd spent seventeen years in my past life as a veterinarian and now, as they say, I was a wizard. Or, well, I would be if I could use magic without possibly dying. Oh, and let's not forget how my fondness of animals was about to get me into a load of trouble. "W-Why'd you just stand there!" "It was a three-headed dog." "He tried to eat us!" "...H-He was cute..."

Link: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13640390/1/Magical-Creatures-Will-Get-Me-Killed-Again

Word count:361k

Chapters:41

Chapter 1:

Getting reborn wasn't always what people made it sound like, especially when I could remember my past life. Then again, I don't remember actually dying so perhaps I wasn't "reborn" but just stuffed into a newborn's body? I had dreams though, nightmares of fire and smoke choking the air from my lungs as dogs barked loudly in my ears. The point is, I believe someone may have made a mistake when I was dropped back off into the land of the living.

I'd spent seventeen years in my past life as a veterinarian and lived only until I was forty before… well, this. And for my poor adult brain to be stuffed into the body of a screaming child, things were not going to end up well. A baby wasn't meant to have to handle all of that knowledge, and an adult wasn't meant to deal with all the struggles that came with learning to use one's body again.

It was frustrating for everyone involved. For my mother—who never did recover from the pregnancy and passed away not long after I was four—and my father, who hadn't the slightest idea how to handle a child, much less one that knew more than he should and had headaches that flared up far too often for his liking.

I'd figured it out though, why I had so many frequent headaches. This world I was in was hardly the same I'd left. Either that or I'd lived in this world in the future and never knew of this side of it. After all, this place had things that shouldn't rightly exist. Namely, the roaring creatures that were easily seen from my bedroom window, and the magic that flew from my father's wand.

This world had magic. And as impossible as it seemed to me at first, watching my father levitate objects towards him or cast a binding spell on the creatures under his care—if you could call it "care"—had me gapping in shock when I was younger. Now, it had become so commonplace that it didn't faze me anymore, but it was the magic that had been causing my head to throb in my early years.

Too much magic in one place or too many magic-wielding people in the same space would cause my head to pound, though it was better than before when I was first born, and everything seemed to radiate the headache-inducing magic. That wasn't the only problem though.

My father had always come off as a serious person with little care for anything, much less someone like myself, who started off frustrating him every hour of the day with my headaches and with his wife having died due to complications from my birth. He was the head of a sort of magical creature market, capturing and breeding various creatures for use and sale elsewhere. It fascinated me at first—having loved animals from the start and now seeing creatures from myths—but then came reality.

Father only had me, and someone would need to take over when he retired or died—via old age or the danger involved while handling creatures like dragons—so responsibility would land on me. This meant that I had to start working under him as soon as I was bodily able, and he wasn't kind when it came to work. Any mistake meant a heavy punishment, be that extra work, or something more physically demanding. In other words, my father was abusive in some of the worst possible ways.

No five-year-old should be working, much less with creatures more than capable of killing them with the smallest movement. If I didn't have my experience, I didn't doubt I'd be dead. With hippogriffs who could slice me open with their claws and beaks, to dragons who could burn me to death or crush my skull with a slight nudge, I'd gotten lucky enough to read the signs before danger reared its ugly head. Or, if I didn't, I was quick to learn.

I had dealt with large creatures before, back in my old life. I had owned horses and trained dogs on the side. I'd been good enough at my job to end up helping zoos with their own animals and had been quick to understand how to handle tigers and elephants and other larger beasts. So, I'd lucked out. While my father would only show me once how to handle the creatures—thank Merlin I didn't have a child's attention span—I understood what I should look out for. I'd only had two issues that made me worry that death was just around the corner.

One was with a wild hippogriff, who father hadn't warned me about before sending me to trim its feathers and talons. That earned me a large scar that ran from my bicep down to the back of my right palm—thank Merlin for healing spells or I'd have bled out after reaching father. The second was when I'd upset my father by letting a Phoenix loose when he wasn't looking. The poor thing had cried in its too-small cage as I'd stroked its chest in comfort, healing the bruises father had inflicted earlier.

By blatantly disobeying his rules about messing with creatures he hadn't instructed me to, he decided that a seven-year-old was old enough to do the egg collecting. Egg collecting of a dragon, mind. I hadn't quite made it back to safety, and the female Hungarian Horntail had knocked me aside with her spiked tail—ready to gore me with her claws should one of father's employees had not distracted her while father pulled me out.

Three large scars ran down my back because of his lack of care while getting me back, and I'd spent almost a week bedridden with fever until I could return to work properly.

I learned from all my experiences though, not once making the same mistake twice with any of the creatures. And by the time I was eight, father had deemed me worthy of doing chores without his supervision. So, while he wasn't looking, I began to make bonds as my understanding of the creatures grew. I knew all the personalities of the hippogriffs—which were stubborn, patient, easily annoyed, or angered. I understood where thestrals enjoyed being scratched—under their chin and chest. And the best of all, I made bonds with the largest creatures we had.

I'd found a book in my mother's library that I'd snuck out and studied like a bible. Newt Scamander's "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them." It said that dragons were untamable and the most dangerous creatures other than witches and wizards themselves. Yet, I'd found tricks. The Swedish Short Snout enjoyed a rather dangerous game of hide and seek—not actually harming me once it found out I was a willing player. The Norwegian Ridgeback enjoyed fresh fish over the beef typically offered for meals and would beg me for them and coo until I gave in.

Each one had a trick to get them to be slightly more tolerable towards me—some more than others—but despite this, no trick would work on the Hungarian Horntail who undoubtedly recognized me as the egg collector the one time I'd been sent. I still tried though and would persist until I figured it out, hoping that my father—as terrible as this sounds—would die and leave me the business so I could find a better place for all the creatures we dealt with.

I had no doubts that he was doing black market deals, after all. He'd occasionally take me out to a dark alleyway full of shady witches and wizards—and vampires apparently—and have me wait with him for business partners who were equally as shady. The place was familiar though, and when he did offer things—dragon heartstrings or hides or various other potion and supply ingredients—to the other businesses in the brighter part of town, I wish I'd be allowed to look around more than just a few seconds.

It wasn't until my eleventh birthday grew nearer that I realized my predicament. I'd been right in initially thinking this world wasn't mine. And proof of that literally flew in the window one evening while father and I were seated to eat before dealing with our evening tasks. A great horned owl stood on the back of the empty spare chair at the table and father grunted and took the letter clasped in its beak. I'd grown used to owls bringing the mail ages ago but eyed the bird uneasily as it seemed to glower down at me from its perch.

Father snorted at the letter, flinging it across the table at me and I hesitated before picking it up and reading that it was indeed for me. The seal on the back rang a bell in my mind, forcing me to mentally dust off the cobwebs as my older mentality struggled to remember why it was familiar. Then, I read the first line and nearly choked on my food.

H-Hogwarts? You've got to be joking. I mean, magic I understand but Harry Potter? The world of Harry Potter? I was cuffed harshly on the back of the head, wincing when my face nearly landed in my food as father snapped at me.

"We've got work to do. I'll take you to get your school things tomorrow. I've got business anyway." He then muttered under his breath, not low enough that I couldn't hear him though. "Idiots. The lot of them. Sending some squib to Hogwarts. Not even the slightest hint of magic in him. Useless brat."

He wasn't wrong. Other than my magic-caused headaches, I'd not had a single strange magical occurrence since I was born. Knowing I was in the world of Harry Potter though, had me a little concerned. I wasn't sure what year it was—one of the downsides of a father who didn't care and living in the middle of nowhere in rural Scotland—and had no idea where I could end up plot-wise. Not only that, but it's been decades since I read those books and even the movies are just a blur. I remember the gist of things, but I-I suppose I best avoid the main plot, right? That'd be smarter than screwing it all up trying to help… Then, came the issue of my lack of magic. The letter meant I had some magic, and I could only hope my lack of magical outbursts was because of the tight restraints I had on my emotions. Although, an outburst would've been nice the last time father was in a foul mood.

I thought of something then, while glancing at the list of required items and stopped my father—something I hadn't done in ages, out of fear of retribution.

"Could I bring Dubh?" (pronounced: "doo" or "do")

He glared at me from over his shoulder. "They only take owls, cats, or toads."

"But he's better than an owl a-and just as useful," I argued, flinching back when father scoffed, turning away.

"Do what you want. If they take him, good riddance."

I bristled, a bit annoyed with him, though I quickly stuffed the feeling back down. It wouldn't do to start a fight over the orphaned crow I'd nursed back to health after one of the thestrals broke its wing. Father had demanded it stay in my room or he'd get rid of it and seeing as it wasn't going to be able to return to the wild with its damaged beak as well. I did as he said. I better send an owl back just in case…

I'd received a letter the next morning allowing Dubh so long as he got on well with the other student's owls and didn't cause any trouble or messes while I stayed at Hogwarts, allowing me a sense of relief until the following morning.

My father had been quick to abandon me with a small pouch of money, slipping away to Knockturn Alley to settle his business and leaving me behind in the crowded streets just outside the pub we had Floo-ed into. I half expected as much but was grateful to even have money. I hadn't even seen more than a glimpse of coins while with my father and it was definitely a change to not have him hovering over my shoulder too.

I looked around and began making my way through the crowd towards the shops I needed, grateful for the bigger-on-the-inside pack father had left me for my purchases. The books were easy enough, with the owner having only needed to know that I was a Hogwarts student before handing over a bundle of them. Same with the potion ingredients and cauldron. The robes were a bit of a longer task, testing my patience with the chatterbox student getting fitted beside me rambling about houses and pets and Quidditch.

I didn't bother with the gloves—owning my own pair back home due to the creatures we handled. The brass telescope was an interesting purchase and with it soon tucked away with my phials, there was only one more thing I needed.

I looked up at Ollivander's in hesitation. From what I remember, he's too insightful for his own good. I ran a hand through my messy brown hair and begrudgingly stepped into the shop only to pause. I could tell I was intruding and winced when I recognized the looming half-giant hovering near the boy and Ollivander himself.

"Sorry," I muttered, reaching back for the door behind me. "Didn't mean to… interrupt."

"Nonsense," Ollivander waved off. "Another Hogwarts student, eh? Hm?"

I nearly banged my head on the door behind me when the older man pressed in close.

"Ah! Young Mr. Sterling! I should have known you'd be here about this time as well. Come. Take a seat while I get Mr. Potter settled with his wand."

I shuffled in uncertainty and ever-growing worry. I wanted to stay away from Harry. Not bump into him while shopping. Ollivander didn't seem the type to just let me leave though, so I begrudgingly sat beside Hagrid as Harry eyed me in curiosity.

"Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave," Ollivander said, placing a wooden stick in Harry's hand and he waved it around a bit only for Ollivander to snatch it away.

This went on for a few wands—the shop giving me a headache to begin with that only grew worse with every failed wand wave—before Ollivander took his wand and turned to me.

"Mr. Sterling. How about we try a few for you as well?"

"All right," I murmured, moving up beside Harry and accepting a wand from Ollivander, only to grimace at the feeling of it.

The magic held within was slimy almost, making the wand feel as though it were covered in oil despite the fact that there was no physical sign of anything. Ollivander snatched it from me with a shake of his head.

"Not quite like your father then. Let's try something else. Something more… unique to your situation."

What situation? There's no way he could know that I'm… Could he? I took the next wand he handed me and immediately dropped it back into the box he held under my hands. That wand having felt like flames licking at my fingers and immediately setting off warnings in my head as the brief scent of smoke filled my nostrils. By the time I'd pushed past the old memory, another wand rested between my fingers.

This wand was cool to the touch and didn't immediately show me any cause to worry. I looked over the simple brown stick, twisting it and—at Ollivander's gentle prodding—gave it a flick. A candle on the desk lit up and Ollivander hummed pleased.

"How curious. Yew wood, fourteen inches with a thestral hair core. A very rare core that can only be mastered by those willing to face death or who have already faced it."

Oh, I hate that look he's giving me, I mused, lightly placing the wand into its sleek black box and desperately ignoring the sympathetic looks from Harry and Hagrid.

"I don't normally make wands with that core, but it was the twin to another wand that I made as a favor to a friend. I do hope it will serve you well, young Sterling," Ollivander mused before something must have clicked in his head. "I wonder… Yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple," he said, handing Harry a wand and even I could feel the connection between them.

Harry gave the wand a wave, releasing a shower of red and gold sparks. How very Gryffindor of him, I thought as Hagrid clapped and Ollivander muttered softly as he packed away the wand.

"Curious… curious."

"Sorry," said Harry, voice far softer than I expected from someone I remembered to be very outspoken in the movies. "But what's curious?"

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave another feather—just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you that scar," Ollivander said, and I watched Harry pale as the man lightly tapped the scar on his forehead. "Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things—terrible, yes, but great."

"But," I interjected, catching Harry's attention and hating that I couldn't ignore his bright green eyes full of innocence. "It's not the wand that makes the wizard. Anyone is capable of great or terrible things… just depends on how they choose to use magic."

Ollivander smiled, nodding. "Absolutely correct, Mr. Sterling. You certainly are wise beyond your years."

Oh, he so knows. I shuffled my feet a bit before hastily fishing out the seven Galleons I needed and handing them over before stepping out. Harry and Hagrid followed, and Harry wrung his hands for a second before speaking.

"Thanks, um… for what you said."

I shrugged, mentally scolding myself for acting friendly when the last thing I honestly wanted was to get involved in all the Voldemort insanity. But I got caught by the sad puppy eyes. This was why I became a vet. Can't stand seeing an animal in pain. I winced then, when a heavy hand smacked the back of my head, making me stumble.

"Let's go. Now."

I resisted the urge to snap at my father—who'd obviously got cheated on his deal, judging by his temper—and started to follow, giving Harry a small nod.

"See you at Hogwarts, Harry," I murmured, cringing when my father grabbed my upper arm in a bruising grip and jerked me forward. Sooner I'm out of that hell hole of a house, the better, even if it means I get stuck in Gryffindor with Harry.

I groaned, cringing at the pain that followed every movement as I carefully heaved myself and my luggage through the London train station. Dubh cawed from his perch on my shoulder and I sighed softly as I pulled to a stop between platforms nine and ten, needing to take a moment to rest. Father had worked me to the bone ever since I'd gotten the letter from Hogwarts, knowing I'd be gone until the holidays when I could—still not sure if I would—return home. As such, what little time I didn't spend shoveling shit or wrestling hippogriffs into harnesses or feeding the occamies was spent either passing out on my bed or reading my schoolbooks.

Magic was just a very interesting thing to someone who'd spent a whole other life without it, and who currently spent their current life relying on others who knew how to do it. I considered trying my wand but immediately rejected the idea. Father wouldn't help me if I screwed up in some way and may scold me should I cause damage playing around. And I was pretty sure there was a rule about not using magic outside school, though I couldn't be sure with how little I remembered about Harry Potter. Which reminds me, I'm going to be stuck at Hogwarts during the shitshow that happens between him and Voldemort. Joy.

I sighed again, wincing when Dubh plucked at my ear and I shot him an annoyed look but pushed off the wall and continued to haul my luggage towards the wall I'd have to pass through. I hate that it looks like just another wall. There's no way I'm running, though. I started to walk towards it and cringed in preparation for pain should the wall decide I wasn't worthy to pass through. Instead, the noise level grew, and I opened my eyes with a sigh of relief at the bundle of bustling witches and wizards escorting their kids to the scarlet Hogwarts train.

I made my way onto the train, heaving my trunk after me, and was quick to find an empty compartment near the back. Once settled with my trunk put away, I leaned back and stared out the window to watch the kids getting ready to board and wishing their families goodbye. Makes me miss my brother… Dubh cawed and I snorted, scratching his chest before settling in, hoping to get some decent sleep before anyone interrupted.

Harry fidgeted uneasily, eyeing the bird that stared back at him with beady black eyes, standing just to the side of a sleeping young boy with messy brown hair. He had hoped to find an empty compartment in the back, but this was as good as he was going to get. The boy was a sound sleeper too. He'd dropped his trunk twice before two red-headed twins had helped and made a commotion about who he was. A part of him was thrilled people were excited about him, but he was mostly hoping they'd not come back. He still wasn't entirely sure what to make of his new-found fame.

The boy shifted with a furrow of his brow, but the raven beside him plucked at some of the brown strands of hair and his expression slipped back to one of peaceful sleep. Harry could only hope he'd sleep through the whole trip, yet a part of him wondered if this boy knew him too or would be willing to befriend him. He seemed a bit like him, after all. Something about his clothes being tattered and a size too large made him wonder. And he looks like the boy from the wand shop. When he left, he didn't seem happy. His father was… mean.

The door to the compartment opened again, and the younger redhead he'd met on the platform stepped in.

"Anyone sitting there? The other compartments are full," Ron asked, eyeing the sleeping boy and his bird for a second before looking back to Harry.

Three would fill up this compartment, but Harry wasn't about to shoo off someone who was willing to help him. So, with a shake of his head, Ron joined the group.

"Who's he?"

Harry shrugged. "He was already here, sleeping."

"Huh. Must have traveled a bit or something."

"Hey, Ron."

The twins were back.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train—Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbled Ron.

"Harry, did we introduce ourselves?" One of the twins asked. "Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then."

"Bye," the two mumbled, ensuring the other boy was still asleep as the twins left.

"Real deep sleeper, huh?" Ron commented before looking at Harry. "Are you really Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded, flinching when the raven in the corner flapped its wings and settled on the seat beside him. When the corvid didn't do anything other than grooming, he relaxed again. Ron too had been a little startled but continued right on.

"I thought it was another one of Fred and George's jokes," he explained. "And do you really have…"

Harry parted his bangs, revealing the lightning-shaped scar etched into his forehead.

"So, that's where You-Know-Who…"

"Yes, but I can't remember it."

The two discussed a bit more about that and about Ron, his family, and his pet rat—whom he took out only for the raven to screech at it and hastily retreat back to the window. The two winced, waiting for the boy to snap awake, but there was still no sign of life from the boy other than the subtle rise and fall of his chest.

"Blimey. I don't know how he can sleep like that with his bird being all noisy," Ron huffed, earning a huff from the raven as it puffed up its feathers.

"M-Maybe he's used to it?" Harry offered unhelpfully, shrugging as Ron shifted further away from the boy and his bird—Harry deciding to turn back to their previous discussion about magic. "The thing is… I've got so much to learn. I bet I'll be the worst in class."

Ron shook his head. "Nah. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough."

Harry felt a bit reassured from that, just as their door slid open and a woman smiled from the hall, cart being pushed in front of her.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?"

Ron sheepishly held up some sandwiches his mother had packed—having no money to purchase any sweets—but Harry scrambled up to get an armful for himself—having never even heard of most of the sweets. And as Ron gaped, moving to sit beside Harry, both boys stiffened when their third passenger finally moved. The boy moved slowly, like a drowsy lion—his eyes holding something in them that made their spines quiver in uncertainty—and he stopped the woman in the hall from continuing to get something for himself.

He returned with a couple of licorice wands and some lemonade drink, before holding out a hand to Ron, who eyed him in confusion.

"Give me your sandwiches."

"Huh? What for?"

"You're obviously not gonna eat it. Dubh can't have sweets, so I'll split it with him."

Ron shrugged, grateful to get rid of the things and dove into the candy trove with Harry, eyeing the boy as his bird plucked at one of his sandwiches and he ate the other.

"You sure you don't want any?" Harry offered, but he waved him off, grimacing at the Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans.

"No, thanks. I'm not big on sweets."

"Mad, you are," Ron scoffed, stuffing some down himself and groaning as he spat one out. "Grass."

"These aren't real frogs, are they?" Harry asked, holding up a small box.

"It's just a spell. Besides, it's the cards you want. I've got about five hundred, but I'm missing a few. See what you've got."

Harry opened the box and a chocolate frog jumped out, landing on the window before Dubh went after it.

"No, Dubh! Spit it out!" The boy scolded the crow, who begrudgingly opened his cracked beak and dropped the frog into his hand. He then shot Harry a look. "At least try to keep them in the box."

"Sorry."

The bird cawed again, moving back to the boy's shoulder while Harry gaped at the card where Dumbledore had disappeared.

"He's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day, can you?" Ron scoffed through a mouthful of sweets, before the rat on his lap squeaked—its head vanishing amongst a box of candy. "This is Scabbers, by the way. Pathetic, isn't he?"

"You shouldn't let him eat sweets," the boy across from him muttered. "It's not good for him... or any animals, really."

"What? Are you an expert or something?"

The boy didn't rise to the bait, simply grunting and looking away. "He'll choke on sticky foods, probably vomit, have a seizure, and die if he eats too much of the rest."

Ron didn't exactly care if Scabbers died, but the thought of watching it happen made him begrudgingly tug the rat's head out of the box of sweets and put him down on the other side of his lap, away from the candy.

"Well, he is getting a bit fat," he tried to brush off, looking back to Harry. "My brothers gave me a spell to try and turn him yellow. You wanna see?"

"Yeah!" Harry nodded happily, eager to see magic happen and Ron pulled out a wand that looked rather tattered and bent.

Ron cleared his throat, ready to start, only for a girl to hurry into the doorway and stop him.

"Has anyone seen a toad?" She asked. "A boy named Neville's lost one."

"No," Ron said before she caught sight of his wand out.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then," she declared, chin raised and expecting something good.

Ron cleared his throat. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

The rat squeaked, but nothing happened, and Ron shrugged as the girl snorted.

"Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me." She stepped into the compartment and plopped down beside the boy and his crow, who eyed her bushy hair curiously while the boy himself just released another yawn. "For example." She pointed her wand at the crook of Harry's nose, where his broken glasses sat. "Oculus reparo."

The tape vanished and Harry gasped as he pulled off his glasses to find them fixed, even Ron looking a little surprised. The third boy hummed though.

"Oculus for the eyes and reparo as in the mending charm from our spell book, yeah?"

The girl nodded; eyes wide in surprise that he'd understood. The boy was only interested for a second though, before looking out the window, muttering about brushing up on his Latin. She then noticed Harry's scar as he moved his bangs and replaced his glasses.

"You're Harry Potter," she declared, before introducing herself. "I'm Hermione Granger. And… you are?" She asked Ron begrudgingly.

"I'm… Ron Weasley," he muttered through a mouthful of chocolate.

"What about you?" Hermione asked, whipping around to the other boy and noticing his bird. "And how can you have a crow? Those aren't allowed, you know. Only owls, cats, and toads."

"I wrote for permission," he hummed, scratching the corvid under the chin. "Couldn't risk leaving him at home." His vibrant blue eyes shifted to hers. "Nox Sterling, by the way. This is Dubh."

The bird cawed at Hermione, who nodded.

"Pleasure. You best be changing into your robes though. We should be nearly there." She got up and began to leave, before backing up and looking to Ron as she touched her nose. "You've got dirt, by the way. Just there."

Ron frowned, rubbing at his nose as she left, and the train whistled. Nox stood up, hauling down the trunks of the other two boys for them to get their robes, before getting his own. He paused though, hesitating as Harry pulled off his outer shirt.

"Something wrong, Nox?"

Nox shook his head. "No. Just… try not to ask questions."

"About what?"

Nox didn't answer, but they discovered what he meant soon enough. Harry winced as Ron gapped in shock at the scars marring Nox's body. Large bruises and jagged raised pink scars littered his back and Harry resisted a shiver at the thought of what could have caused the three long ones that dragged down his shoulder and spine.

"What—"

Harry smacked Ron's arm, reminding him that Nox asked not to be questioned, but the boy sighed as he slipped on the robes.

"My father runs a… business with magical creatures. Most are from them."

Harry had a suspicion that the rest of the marks were from his father but said nothing as he and Ron pulled on their own robes.

"My brother went to work with dragons in Romania," Ron announced once they settled back into their seats, hoping to ease the tense atmosphere a little.

"We have dragons too," Nox hummed. "Swedish Short Snouts, Welsh Greens, and we've got a Hungarian Horntail."

Ron's mouth dropped open in stunned amazement. "No way! They're like the most dangerous of dragons!"

"I know…" Nox muttered, touching where they could see burns peeking out of bandages up his left arm. "I've done egg-collecting."

"Blimey. Aren't you worried?"

Nox's expression shifted minutely, and he ignored the question. "We've got hippogriffs and thestrals too. I've learned tricks to dealing with them, but each one's different. Don't always work."

"Still, that's wicked." Ron beamed as Harry hesitantly spoke.

"What's a hippogriff? A-And a thestral?"

For the first time since their trip, the two boys saw Nox's eyes light up and he pulled out a rugged book from a tattered brown pack he had tucked under his seat.

"There's some information on them in the textbook we needed by Newt Scamander, but the pictures are a bit… meh. Here."

Harry accepted the book and his eyes widened at the well-detailed drawings of the half eagle, half-horse creatures known as hippogriffs.

"Whoa," he breathed as Ron stared in surprise.

"Did you draw these?"

Nox nodded, rubbing the back of his neck as his messy hair covered his eyes, nearly hiding the red in his cheeks.

Harry turned the page and pointed at the skeleton horses on the next one. "And these are thestrals?"

"Ah, well, kind of."

Ron frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Thestrals are technically invisible," Nox informed them, seeming to become even more nervous the longer they discussed.

"Then, how do you know what they look like?"

"Thestrals are… visible only to people who… who have witnessed death."

Their eyes went wide.

"So, you—"

"Ron," Harry hissed, but Nox just took his book back and tucked it away, shaking his head.

"It's okay. My… My mother died when I was little, is all. It's why father began to get them. They sell—" Nox cut himself off, wincing as though he hadn't meant to say that.

Thankfully, the train whistled, slowing down and the group of boys prepared to get off—leaving their luggage behind with the only exception being Dubh on Nox's shoulder.

"C'mon, firs' years! Firs' years over here!" A bellowing voice called out and I slowly joined the rest of the crowd, sticking beside Ron and Harry for now.

Despite not wanting to get dragged into the Harry Potter plot—the more I thought about it, the more I realized I'd probably get sucked in anyway. With my fondness for animals, I'll be sticking around Hagrid mostly and… well, they're a few of the only decent people around. Not counting unknown people from other houses, of course. I rubbed at my bandaged arm awkwardly. Suppose I better just get over it then. We got on well enough on the train, even despite my nervousness and Dubh.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hi, Hagrid," Harry greeted the half-giant who's coal-black eyes shifted to me.

"What you got there then?"

"Dubh," I replied, before realizing that wouldn't really mean much to him. "I got permission to have him, sir, and I'd leave him with my luggage except he doesn't do well in a cage or… well, away from me."

"Well, so long as you got permission then." Hagrid wiggled a finger at Dubh who cawed at it and bounced from foot-to-foot on my shoulder in uncertainty. "Hello, Dubh. Hope I won't catch you pluckin' from my garden."

I was quick to shake my head. "No, sir. I feed him proper and he's not good at flying."

Hagrid nodded. "Let me know if he be needing any mending and I'll have a look."

I wasn't about to mention my own skills at mending animals and just nodded, beginning to feel a bit sheepish as I realized we were sort of holding everyone up.

"Right then! This way to the boats. Follow me," Hagrid said, leading the way as I frowned a bit.

I forgot first years don't get to see the thestrals… I ended up in a boat shared by Ron, Harry, and Neville, unable to help looking up at Hogwarts in just as much awe as everyone else. It's amazing… I've never been to a castle before—past life or current. Maybe I'll sneak off and check some out next holiday. We were brought inside and led up numerous staircases until a woman in green stopped us and spoke in greeting. McGonagall then. Her class will be interesting. I'll have to remember to look into Animagi or ask her about it since it seems more than handy.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Now while you're here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you house points. Any rule-breaking, and you will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup," she explained.

I resisted a yawn—still exhausted and sore now that we'd had to climb numerous stairs to get to the Great Hall. I swear McGonagall still glared at me though before she stepped out to get the Sorting Hat situated.

"It's true then, what they're saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts," a snobby blonde boy said, flanked by two others.

Ah, I was wondering when he'd show up.

"This is Crabbe and Goyle. And I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," Draco said with an air of pride, but Ron snorted. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask yours. Red hair, and a hand-me-down robe? You must be a Weasley. Well, you'll soon find that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. Don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

Draco extended a hand, but Harry just eyed it before facing the boy confidently.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."

Draco scowled, about to say something before McGonagall was back and drew his attention back forwards. Dubh on my shoulder huffed and I scratched his chest feathers that had puffed up when Draco had started his tirade. Relax, Dubh. If we're lucky, we won't have to deal with him… Never mind. We're probably one of the unluckiest people here. Other than Harry, of course.

We lined up then and stepped into the room where everyone was waiting. I glanced up at the ceiling, enjoying the way it looked like the night sky, but was quick to return my gaze back in front of me when Hermione spoke.

"It's not real, the ceiling," she informed me. "It's just bewitched to look like the night sky. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."

I hummed, having assumed as much but enjoying the little tidbit nonetheless just as Dumbledore stood up at the table for the professors, silencing the room without effort.

"I have a few start of term notices I wish to announce. The first years please note that the dark forest is strictly forbidden to all students," he warned. "Also, our caretaker, Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death. Thank you."

I snorted, turning with the other first years as though someone behind me had done it in order to not face the wrath that was McGonagall. I forgot he's such an odd one. It was all his fault Harry had to deal with his aunt and uncle though, not to mention having to die in order to kill Voldemort… Hold on. Didn't he cause Harry quite a bit of emotional trauma? I remember liking his silliness, but I'm pretty sure he's responsible for a lot of the shit that happens.

A few familiar faces were soon sorted into their houses and then Harry's name was called. A part of me went out to the boy who had fame thrust upon him and now had to stand before an audience that knew more about him than he himself. Wonder what would have happened if he ended up in Slytherin, I mused as Gryffindor was announced for him and he bolted for the table of cheering red and gold students.

"Nox Sterling."

I stepped forward, passing the students in front of me and ignoring the murmurs of people questioning Dubh. Said bird fluttered down to my hand so the Sorting Hat could be placed over my head, sinking down over my eyes.

"Well, aren't you a surprise?" The hat hummed in my head and I mentally sighed.

The only thing to know who I really am, and it's a hat.

"You are free to tell others, you know, but I'm sure I don't have to tell you how knowledge comes at a price."

I don't plan on being a big part of this, you know. The only reason I'm even here is it's an escape from father and magic sounds interesting.

"An intellectual. Ravenclaw would be fitting."

Wherever you think is suitable. Any of the houses are appeasing, except Slytherin.

"Yes. I don't find you prideful enough to belong to that house. Your loyalty though might make a badger of you yet."

I'll… take that as a compliment, I suppose. Though, could you hurry up? Dubh is getting antsy.

"Very well. Yes. I think I've figured which will serve you best. Gryffindor!"

Oh, you cheeky son of a—The hat was pulled off and I frowned at it before I helped Dubh back to his perch on my shoulder and sat in a space across from Harry and Ron, choosing to ignore them for now as I yawned. As thrilling as this all was, I was too tired to be able to enjoy all the little details. I just want to eat and sleep. God, when did I last have a proper meal? Last night? No. I was egg collecting and skipped dinner to keep from throwing it up out of nervousness. So… breakfast then. What a—

My thoughts were cut off as the table suddenly filled with all manner of food and drink. Tears welled up in my eyes at the sight and I was soon gathering attention from others as I gorged myself on ham, potatoes, eggs, rice, and beans. God, if only I were of age. A nice drink would have completed this, but instead, I'm stuck with—I grimaced at the taste of the pumpkin juice, forcing it down before shoving the mug away. Note to self: hunt down the chefs and get something else to drink.

"Are… you okay?"

I lifted my eyes to Harry, pushing back the urge to coo at his expression of concern. What can I say? I'm a sucker for kids and animals. "Just hungry. Haven't eaten since yesterday morning." My eyes snapped to Dubh as he eyed the sweets. "Dubh, you know better."

I pushed a bowl of fruits and nuts towards his position on the table and he huffed before working the shell off a peanut. I reached for a chicken leg the same time Ron did only for a head to pop out the bowl, startling Ron.

"Hello," the ghost chirped. "How are you? Welcome to Gryffindor."

Other ghosts joined the feast, startling some of the first years but I simply blinked as Nearly-Headless Nick floated a little higher before being greeted by Percy beside Harry.

"Hello, Sir Nicholas. Have a nice summer?"

"Dismal," the ghost huffed. "Once again, my request to join the headless hunt has been denied."

"Shame," I commented. "Why don't you just make your own club? People with nearly-missing body parts?"

He looked at me as I gazed up from my chicken leg, and for a second, I wondered if he could tell I was different from the other kids. Then, he smiled.

"That sounds like an excellent idea!"

"So, you're Nearly-Headless Nick! I've heard about you!" Ron smiled.

"I prefer to be called Sir Nicholas if you don't mind."

Hermione made a face from beside me. "Nearly-headless? How can you be nearly-headless?"

"Like this." He grabbed his head and tugged it to the side, leaning forward to show off his neck as Ron yelped.

"You shouldn't be rude and ask ghosts about their death," I commented, earning a sheepish look from Hermione as she apologized to the ghost and I went on eating my chicken—something Ron had abandoned upon seeing the gore.

I blinked though, chicken paused in front of my face as Nick floated through the table and settled mere centimeters in front of me.

"Well, aren't you a curious one?" He commented, smiling. "I hope to be seeing you around Gryffindor, sir."

"Nox," I introduced. "Nox Sterling."

"Nox then," he nodded, before floating off to join the other ghosts as I frowned lightly.

Oh, he definitely knows something's up. By tomorrow morning, I'm sure all the ghosts will be following me. "Fun," I murmured under my breath, returning to my meal until it was time to head to our rooms.

I was full-on dragging my feet at this point, weariness, and the satisfaction of a full stomach demanding I fall into a bed within the next few moments. I could hardly take in the sheer beauty of the moving staircases—I was sure to get lost a billion times—or the pictures that greeted us. I don't even remember what the portrait password was and, knowing I could just badger someone tomorrow, I was quick to simply head up to my room and collapsed on my bed. And with Dubh guarding over me from his perch on the chair beside me, I settled in hoping for the first decent rest in a while. That being said, I woke up a few hours later with a sharp intake of breath, grateful Dubh had pulled the drapes around my bed shut and no one saw.

Damn. Even when he's not here, he's still haunting me. I let out a sigh, considering moving down to the common room to sleep in one of the chairs instead, but simply pulled aside the drapes to wash my face off in the bathroom. The second my bare foot hit the floor though, I stiffened, then relaxed. Harry was sitting on the floor near the window with Hedwig, who cooed softly at his touch. I approached with Dubh crawling up my pajamas to my shoulder and eyed him.

"Can't sleep?" I asked, grateful he didn't jump and upset Hedwig as I crouched down and offered a hand to the bird.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

I shook my head, giving his bird a scratch as Dubh shuffled down to greet her as well. Hedwig didn't know what to make of him at first but allowed him to approach and start grooming her feathers.

"I don't sleep well, typically," I gave as an answer to his question, scooping up Dubh and standing to head for the bathroom. "Don't stay up too late. Classes start tomorrow."

He nodded with a small smile and by the time I returned he was asleep, making me shake my head and attempt to sleep once more.

Link: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13640390/1/Magical-Creatures-Will-Get-Me-Killed-Again