Chapter Text
Mummers erupted in the great hall as the object Umbridge used shimmered to life. Many of the students' faces wore an expression of pure shock at the fact a professor would use such an object in such a way on a student, let alone publicly. Not only was the spell placed on him it would cause irreversible harm if someone tried to undo it.
Luke sighed, he should have expected this. Clearly the gods still were attempting to make his life more difficult in an act of revenge, a way to tempt him to show his true colors, to challenge him as if he’d betray them again. Everyone already knew that the famed Harry Potter was a reincarnation. In the wizarding world, while reincarnation is rare, those born with scars remaining from their past life were a dead giveaway. Unfortunately for him the giant scar that marred his face from his eye down to his cheek made it obvious. While it was typical for reincarnated wizards to remember bits and pieces from their former lives, Luke was different. He remembered everything.
Over the years many of his classmates tried to figure out what exactly he remembered. While annoying at first, like a true son of Hermes he turned it into one giant prank over the years. He dropped an insane truth from his life as a demigod, or a random lie at times and the school rumor mill did the rest. By the end of his first year he was seen as somewhat of a cryptid by his classmates.
Speaking of Hermes,his father was one thing that hadn’t changed in between his lives. While he was still the son of James and Lily Potter, he was born as the result of his father granting a child as blessing to the couple, making him a demigod in this life as well. During his time as a toddler he faintly remembers seeing his fathers face with a sad, knowing look upon his face watching him from a distance. At the time he didn’t know how to feel. He was still bitter, but above everything else, he was just tired. He was tired of being angry at the world, placing blame on everyone, yet none on himself. He and his father had talked a few years later, admittedly with lots of tears and shouting, but they came to an understanding over the years and rekindled their relationship. His father still visits on occasion and they keep in touch as much as possible, mostly through dreams and the occasional visit.
Back to the issue at hand, the wizards don’t know about his past and he truly intended to keep it that way. But with the dark object glimmering in the great hall, his past is about to be broadcast for everyone to see. He can feel Hecate laughing at him, at how her blessed race are ruining his day. Umbridge saw how his face paled.
“What the matter Mr. Potter, do you perhaps have something to hide?” She had a smug smile on her face. You could hear a pin drop in the room despite the shuffling of students in the great hall. Umbridge was about to have a field day and for once will have actual proof to villanize me rather than just attempting to smear my name into the mud. I felt my blood boil. She had no right to show everyone this.
I stood up from the table and looked her in the eyes. Everyone's eyes in the room followed my movements. “Of course I do, everyone does. You will realize you are playing with powers beyond your control,” I sneered. Everyone's eyes were on me, and the tension in the room was so thick a sword would be needed to cut it. I sat back down resigned that this was happening whether I wanted it to or not.
Her smile grew wider, “Is that a threat Mr. Potter?”
“No. It’s a promise. And you will see exactly what I mean. You may find what you want to villainize me, but the price you will pay will come tenfold.”
The screen stopped shimmering and materialized into light drawing everyone's eyes to it as it settled into resembling a screen.
The Life of Luke Castillian, Hero of The Great Prophecy.
“Hero of the great prophecy? What does that even mean? I mean divination is a useless subject. I doubt a great prophecy is even thing,” Hermonie stated from where she sat across from me. Lavender and the Patil sisters immediately started protesting, defending their favorite professor. Unfortunately this caught the attention of everyone in the room as all heads turned to me waiting for an explanation, as realistically I was the only one with the answer. Even Dumbledore and the other professors looked at me in interest. I sigh and begin to explain. “While many of you may brush off prophecy due to the magical subject, it is very real and controlled by forces you can not begin to comprehend.” I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. “In my past life my fate was sealed at a young age to be a part of a great prophecy. A great prophecy is the title for a prophecy that decides the fate of the world and the existence of humanity.”
I heard Draco Malfoy scoff, “Like Potter saved the world, that’s ridiculous.” Some students murmured in agreement while others appeared doubtful. Before I could reply the screen started to change.
A young Luke was shown sitting in the kitchen watching his pace maniacally around the room muttering under her death. Her face snapped towards him, eyes flashing as green smoke poured out of her eyes. Luke shoved himself back out of his chair, the legs screeching as he stood. His mother approached him and grabbed his shoulders, her nails and in hysterics she screeched “You are dying! You will not remain on this plane!” His mother scared him, and in that moment he wished for someone to rescue him.
Neville gave him a weak smile in understanding, while his other housemates looked at him in pity. He hated it. Umbridge tutted with a pleased smile on her face, “It seems insanity runs in the family doesn’t it Mr. Potter?” He clenched his fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms trying not to give in to the bait.
“My mother was cursed,” He stated coldly, voice echoing throughout the hall. Students turned to him in surprise.
“Cursed how?” Hermoine asked with a hint of hesitance in her voice.
I took a deep breath. “I didn’t know as a child, but when I was an infant my mother was to take on the role of being a vessel for a spirit, hence becoming an oracle.” I paused, unsure of how to explain without mentioning the complexity of the gods. “Instead of hosting the spirit, she was cursed to see my future.” I ducked my head in shame. “It drove her to insanity, she wasn’t the same after. My father vanished shortly after, before I was old enough to remember him.”
Before anyone could ask more questions, another scene began to show.
He was nine years old watching his mother cling to the mail man begging him not to leave again. “Please,” She cried, “Please don’t leave me.” She was sobbing on the poor man with her arms wrapped around his waist, clinging to him like a small child would to their parents. I watched the scene with embarrassment. The man looked around frantically before landing on me, his eyes glanced down at my mom before looking back up at me begging for help. He must have been new because all the local mailmen knew not to knock on our door at this point. I had to pry her arms from the man, shoving her back into the house and out of the doorway so I could close the door. As the door shut she collapsed to the ground, inconsolable. When she got tired of crying her ire turned to me.
My mother always perked up when a mail man or delivery driver arrived. She always expected my father to be the one at the door. Apparently he was either a mailman or delivery driver of sorts. Which one I had no clue, since my mother was rarely coherent. The few moments she was I cherished. It was rare that she was truly present. I yearned for my mom back, the one who told me stories about my father and her life before me.
“His name is Hermes,” she smiled wistfully, looking at an even younger version of Luke, the one who still had brightness in his eyes.
“Heremes? Like the guy in the story you told me?” He questioned curiously.
“Exactly, like the story.”
As I grew older her sanity seemed to slip more and more. Those small glimpses of my mom pretty much disappeared by the time I was seven. Our house was practically taken over by statues of Hermes, the guy from the stories she told me. She cared for them obsessively, and sometimes I felt as if their eyes were piercing through me. I was bitter. A story that once brought us both joy, was shadowed by her obsessive nature. It was like every moment we shared was doomed to vanish in madness. It was as if she was absolutely convinced Hermes was real and that he was who she fell in love with. She acted as if he was watching through the figures and would appear if she begged enough.
“Hermes, like the guy from Greek mythology?” a girl from ravenclaw asked. “If so, was your father named after him or something?”
“Kinda,” I said.
“What do you mean kinda, like- hey! ow, stop!” They were cut off as the student next to them elbowed them in the ribs.
A young girl from huffelpuff spoke softly. “Were you raised as a muggle? I haven't seen any magic being used, and you guys have a tv and other electronics?” She shrunk in her seat as many of the students' heads snapped to her at the realization.
“Dont be stupid how could his mom be cursed in that manner if she was a muggle.” Another student argued loudly.
Many of the students looked to him, begging for an answer. I sighed, “Yes, my mother was a muggle. In fact I wasn’t a wizard at all in my previous life.”
Many of the students gasped at the revelation. None of them could have imagined the boy who lived to be a muggle. Hermione also looked startled at the revelation as if realizing something others hadn’t. “How were you a hero of a prophecy if you weren't a wizard?”
“Let’s just say my dads side of the family is a bit crazy, which is honestly an understatement.”
He was nine years old now, and objects ranging from weird stuffed animals to shiny beads hanging from the ceiling. His mother was visibly disheveled with patches of hair missing from her head and dirt on her dress. She threw items across the room at him screaming “You're dead! Bring back my son!" He tried to run but tripped over an object that had been thrown. His mom approached him with a glass shard in her hand, green smoke billowing out of her eyes. He was scared, his heart was beating a thousand times per minute. The face above him resembled an image of a monster. He couldn't see a glimpse of the person he called his mom.
A harsh knock that rattled the front door interrupted her focus on me. She dropped everything and ran to the door, likely thinking that my deadbeat dad came back. I took my chance to get away from her. I ran to my room and packed the majority of my belongings in a backpack. Today made it clear, my mom was going to kill me one day if I stayed. I braced myself and creeped down the stairs. To my surprise, she was just sitting at the table smiling with no trace of anger or grief leftover from her episode moments prior. “Mom, I'm going to the park. I’ll be back for lunch ok?” I called over my shoulder.
She just smiled and nodded, just as I was leaving she called out to me. “Invite your father in for lunch on your way out.” I swallowed down the grief in my chest preparing myself for what I was about to do. I opened the door giving my mom one last smile, leaving with plans never to come back.
I snorted as I took a sip of my drink, “funny how that worked out for me.”
“What did you chicken out and go home Potter? Not very Gryffindor of you.” Blaze commented lightheartedly. Unknown to most we had somewhat of a mutual understanding with each other and could maybe even be called friends. Hermoine opened her mouth to retort, but I shook my head.
“No, I actually only went back because I needed to, once when I was 14 and the other time at 22. Both times I did, it wasn’t exactly a choice I made lightly.”
“Twenty-two! That’s so old!” a first year shouted from down the table.I laughed, because for a demigod that is very true, adulthood was rare for us.
“Then you will be surprised to discover I died at the old age of 23,” I joked. Many of the students looked shocked at the fact I died so young. I don’t know what they expected, considering any “chosen hero” tends to die young.
The professors seemed downcast, many of them looking at me with pity. Professor Dumbledore looked at me, and in a rare moment the twinkle was missing from his eyes. “To die so young, it is truly tragic. You are barely able to begin experiencing life at that age.”
“Maybe so. Though I would say I experienced enough. I was never meant to live a normal life anyways.” Many people in the room looked taken back at the acceptance of the fact, but it was true. Even if I wasn’t a part of the prophecy, it was unlikely I would have ever been able to settle down and live a normal life.