Chapter 1: The Transmigrator
The void was a symphony of nothing, a quiet so deep it hummed, pressing against Leo's disembodied consciousness like a cold, weightless shroud. He was no longer flesh, just a flicker of thought, the last echo of tires screeching on a rain-slicked highway, his Honda Civic crumpling into oblivion. I'm dead. Done. Game over. The realization stung, sharp as the memory of his dog's eager bark, the greasy tang of late-night pizza, or the click of an arcade joystick, all lost forever. His mind churned, a static-filled radio grasping at fragments of a life now gone, the weight of absence heavy as frost on his non-existent skin. This can't be it. There's gotta be more. A chipped arcade token, a ghost of his past, seemed to linger in his thoughts, its worn edges a tactile memory.
A voice, like a thousand books rustling their pages, boomed from the void's heart, each syllable dripping with mockery, as if the universe itself was smirking. It offered a choice: two worlds—one of magic schools and boy wizards, the other of gothic academies and a girl who danced with death. Two worlds? Why not throw in a zombie apocalypse for kicks? Leo's sarcasm, honed from years of gaming and late-night banter, surged like a reflex.
"Both?"
His voice echoed, defiant in the emptiness.
"Both? Greedy much? I mean, who gets to pick? It's like a cosmic buffet, and I'm the main course."
The air shimmered, and a sigil bloomed, intricate as a spider's web spun from starlight, its edges pulsing like a heartbeat. The voice laughed, sharp as cracking glass, calling it a "sarcastic gift." A glowing quill, plucked from some ancient scribe's desk, scribbled in the air, its ink trailing like comet tails. Leo's memories twisted, smudged ink on a soaked page. Voldemort's name burned clear—pale, snake-like, terrifying—but his defeat? A blur of wands and shadows. Crackstone's tyranny lingered, a grim figure in a pilgrim's hat, but the how of his fall? A foggy smear. Great. A cosmic prank with plot holes. Just my luck. The faint scent of old parchment filled the void, grounding his spiraling thoughts.
A vision slammed into him, brutal as a fist, tearing through the void's haze. Gothic shadows swirled, and distant roars shook his core. Crackstone, not dead but chanting, his voice a venomous hymn, stood over a hydra, its serpentine heads snapping, claws gleaming like obsidian. Nevermore's halls crumbled, students fleeing as Ministry aurors, not Hogwarts staff, sealed the gates, their faces carved with grim resolve, their wands glowing faintly in the chaos. The vision faded, replaced by glowing golden script—the BOOST System, flickering like a glitchy arcade screen.
[CONGRATS, KID. YOU'RE THE LAB RAT IN THE WORLD'S WEIRDEST EXPERIMENT. FUZZY MEMORIES? MY GIFT – DON'T THANK ME.]
The Entity's chuckle vibrated, a low rumble that pricked his non-existent skin. A cosmic troll. Perfect. The void smelled of musty books and distant hydra roars, a strange blend that tugged at his resolve. Am I pawn or player? This better be worth it.
"Great, a cosmic troll. This is just my luck. I survive being turned into a pancake on the freeway just to become some higher being's plaything. At least it's not boring."
[BOTH WORLDS? TWICE THE FUN, ZERO CONTEXT. ENJOY THE PLOT HOLES.]
"Thanks, troll."
Leo's retort was sharp, his voice now solid, no longer a thought.
"Fine. Let's roll."
His eyes—did he have eyes?—hardened with resolve. I'm no lab rat. I'm a survivor. A body formed around him, gravity yanking him back to reality, the sensation like plunging into icy water. His new skin prickled, the borrowed robes of Benedict Crowe scratching against it, their seams frayed from use. Cold air stung his face, sharp with the scent of damp earth, as the quill signed off with a flourish, its ink fading into the void's black.
The fall was brief, the landing shockingly soft, not on stone or dirt but a tangle of thick ivy, its leaves slick with dew, smelling of moss and magic. The October chill bit through Benedict's lanky frame, his borrowed heart pounding like a war drum. Hogwarts loomed, its spires clawing at a twilight sky streaked with purple and gold, the stones weathered and heavy with history. This is real. I'm here. Leo untangled himself, his boots sinking into the soft earth, a chipped stone gargoyle leering nearby, its eyes glinting as if it knew his secret. A frayed vine caught his sleeve, tugging like an impatient child, its damp texture grounding him. Okay, universe, I'm in. Now what? Dumbledore approached, his robes sweeping the grass, the hem damp from evening dew, his beard catching the fading light like silver thread.
"My, my."
The Headmaster's eyes twinkled behind half-moon spectacles.
"A rather… dramatic arrival, Mr. Crowe. We were expecting you by train."
"Yeah, trains are overrated."
Leo quipped, brushing dirt from his knees, the ivy's damp scent clinging to his robes. Dumbledore. Actual Dumbledore. Don't freak out. His pulse raced, but he forced a grin, masking the disorientation that churned like a storm in his gut. The Headmaster led him across the grounds, past whispering willows whose branches swayed like mourners, their leaves rustling softly, and a creaking gate that groaned like an old man's complaint. Iago Tower rose ahead, its stones darker, draped in gothic vines that pulsed faintly, as if breathing, their tips curling like cautious fingers. A cracked cobblestone underfoot caught his boot, a mundane reminder of the world's weight. Inside, the common room was a clash of worlds—Hogwarts' polished oak tables and Nevermore's shadowy arches, a cracked mirror reflecting torchlight in jagged shards, its frame chipped and worn. Enid Sinclair's pink hair glowed like a neon sign, her wave frantic, her smile bright as a summer day.
"You're… different, Benedict—cute!"
She blurted, cheeks flaming as she fiddled with a loose bracelet, its beads clinking softly. Leo's borrowed heart skipped, his fingers fumbling with his robe's frayed hem, the fabric rough against his skin. Cute? Okay, play it cool.
Wednesday Addams stood nearby, her pigtails stark against the stone, her gaze dissecting him like a scalpel. Agnes twirled a wand like a baton, her mischievous grin flashing, while Lila's sharp eyes sized him up, her arms crossed over a worn leather satchel, its strap frayed at the edges.
"Prove you're not useless."
Lila's voice cut like a blade.
"The last Benedict was a waste of space."
The words stung, a slap of doubt, but Enid's smile softened them. Friends. Maybe. Slytherins jeered from a corridor, Draco's voice a venomous drawl.
"Look at the half-breeds. Their own tower now. Probably for our safety."
Leo's fists clenched, the air heavy with prejudice, the stone floor cold under his boots, its cracks catching dirt. Wednesday's voice was a flat blade.
"Anomaly detected."
Agnes nudged him, her elbow sharp.
"New you? Amnesia suits you. Did you finally grow a spine?"
They're testing me. I'll show them. The barrier between the dorms hummed, a faint shimmer separating east and west, its magic buzzing like a distant swarm, reflecting in Enid's hopeful eyes. A chipped goblet on a nearby table gleamed faintly, its rim dented, a mundane anchor to the tower's lived-in weight.
A rat—tiny, whiskered—scampered across the stone floor, its claws clicking like a typewriter on the worn tiles. Leo knelt, instinct guiding him, the torchlight casting his shadow long and wavering, the air thick with the scent of wax and dust.
"Hey, little dude."
He whispered, his voice soft as the flicker of flames. The rat paused, whiskers twitching, as if it understood. Pixel. You're Pixel. Its tiny eyes gleamed, a spark of trust in the gloom. Wednesday raised an eyebrow.
"It's a pest, not a pet—though it matches your vibe."
Enid giggled.
"Vibe match!"
Her laugh was a lifeline, pulling him from the weight of suspicion. [WARNING: 37% OF 'FRIENDS' HIDE SOMETHING. BETS ON LILA?] The BOOST message flickered, gold against the gloom, and Leo glanced at Lila, her smirk unreadable, her fingers tapping her satchel's frayed strap. Noted, System. The gargoyles outside whispered, "Accident… closure…" The words hung, heavy as the castle's stones, stirring a chill that wasn't just the October air. Something's wrong here. I need to know what. A scuff on the floor, worn by countless steps, grounded him in the moment.
The Great Hall dazzled, its enchanted ceiling swirling with stars, candles floating like fireflies above tables laden with steaming dishes—roast beef, buttery rolls, and pumpkin juice in heavy goblets. The air tasted sharp and sweet, the murmur of students a low hum, undercut by the clink of silverware and the rustle of robes. Leo stood at the front, the Sorting Hat's patched leather creaking as it was placed on his head, its weight heavy with judgment, its frayed stitches brushing his scalp. Please, not Hufflepuff. I'm no sidekick. His hands trembled, the metallic tang of juice lingering on his tongue. What if this is a joke? What if I'm just the Entity's punchline?
"Hmm."
The Hat mused, its voice a gravelly whisper in his mind.
"A mind… full of both beast and sharp wit. A knack for strategy, a love of mysteries. Not Slytherin… not Gryffindor… a mind hungry for knowledge… and a heart that understands the strange and misunderstood. A Ravenclaw."
The hall gasped, Draco sneering from the Slytherin table.
"Freak in blue robes."
Leo stood, his legs shaky, the stool's worn wood creaking under him, and shot back.
"Jealous much, blondie?"
Laughter rippled, Ravenclaws snickering, Gryffindors chuckling, the sound a fragile shield against the hostility, the air warm with the scent of wax and bread.
[BOOST: AFFINITY HIGHLIGHTED. RAVEN'S CAW BOOSTED BY 20%.]
A raven swooped from the rafters, its caw echoing as it landed near Leo, feathers gleaming like polished jet, its talons scratching the table's worn wood. Okay, that's cool. Enid cheered from the Hufflepuff table, her wink sparking a blush that warmed his neck, the goblet in his hand cold and slick with condensation. Hermione Granger, scribbling at the Gryffindor table, met his gaze, her eyes alight with curiosity, her quill's scratch a steady rhythm against her parchment's frayed edge. An ally, maybe. Leo sat at the Ravenclaw table, the wood smooth from generations, the scent of roast beef mingling with wax, a chipped plate nearby reflecting candlelight.
[RAVENCLAW? BOLD. LET'S SEE IF YOU'RE SMARTER THAN A TROLL.]
"Challenge accepted."
He muttered, smirking, the goblet's chill grounding him. This world's weird, but I'm ready. The hall's warmth wrapped around him, a fragile promise of belonging, but the gargoyles' whispers—accident, closure—lingered, urging him toward a mystery he couldn't yet name. Time to play the game. A stray crumb on the table, overlooked by the house-elves, caught his eye, a mundane reminder of the world's quiet pulse.