Hogwarts Infirmary – Morning After
Sylvia woke to the smell of antiseptic and old stone.
The Hogwarts infirmary was quieter in the morning. Sunlight slanted through tall windows, painting golden rectangles on the floor. Madam Pomfrey was already moving between beds, adjusting pillows, checking potion vials.
"You're awake," Pomfrey said without looking up. "Good. How do you feel?"
Sylvia took stock.
Her head still ached, but the sharp, splitting pain had faded to a dull throb. Her body felt stronger than yesterday—Pomfrey's potions were working.
"I feel... better," Sylvia said cautiously.
Pomfrey turned and fixed her with a sharp look. "Better is relative. You survived the Killing Curse, young lady. Do you understand how rare that is?"
Sylvia shook her head.
"People who face the Killing Curse end up dead," Pomfrey said bluntly. "Every time. Without exception. Until you and Mr potter." She pulled out a quill and parchment and began writing notes. "Your magical core is unstable because of the emotional trauma of facing death head-on. The curse didn't just hit your body—it hit your soul. Your emotions are in chaos, and that chaos is affecting your magic."
Sylvia filed that information away. Unstable core. Emotional trauma. Good cover story.
"I've been having trouble with my memories," Sylvia said. Her voice was soft, uncertain—the voice of a damaged young woman, not the survivor who had been eaten alive. "Some memories are clear. Some are... haywire. Jumbled. I know I'm an Auror. But I can't remember all my spells."
Pomfrey's expression softened. "Amnesia is a known side effect of surviving dark magic attacks. The mind protects itself. I'll note it in your file."
She scribbled something on her parchment.
Amnesia. Unstable core. Forgetfulness.
Sylvia smiled internally. Perfect. A medical excuse for everything.
One Week Later – Pomfrey's Daily Checks
Pomfrey checked on her every morning.
Each day, she ran diagnostic spells, monitored Sylvia's magical core, and adjusted her potions.
"Your vitality is improving," Pomfrey said on day three. "But slowly. The Killing Curse damaged more than your memories. It damaged your body's ability to heal itself."
She pressed a warm vial into Sylvia's hands.
"Drink this."
Sylvia drank.
[VITALITY: 12/100 → 18/100]
Day Seven
"You're a medical miracle," Pomfrey said quietly, reading from her notes. "A witch who survived the Killing Curse. The Ministry will want to study you. The press will want to interview you. But I've recommended complete rest and privacy."
"Thank you," Sylvia said.
Pomfrey patted her hand. "Just focus on healing. The spells will come back. The memories will return. Give it time."
Day Fourteen
[VITALITY: 18/100 → 30/100]
Sylvia could walk without dizziness now. She could eat without nausea. Her body was mending.
But her magic was still fragmented.
She tried to cast Lumos in private. Nothing. Reparo. Fizzled. Wingardium Leviosa. The feather didn't move.
Forty percent magic is fine for her age, she thought. Untrained. Memory fragmentation. I need to relearn everything.
Day Twenty-One
[VITALITY: 30/100 → 42/100]
Pomfrey smiled for the first time. "You're past the danger zone. Another week and I'll discharge you."
Sylvia nodded. "What happens then?"
"Light duties only. Professor Sprout has agreed to let you assist her in the greenhouses. It will give you time to heal in a peaceful environment."
Assist in a greenhouse, Sylvia thought. Babysitting.
But she nodded. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."
Day Twenty-Eight – Discharge Day
[VITALITY: 42/100 → 50/100]
"You're stable," Pomfrey announced. "Not fully healed—your core is still unstable, and your memories may continue to be jumbled. But you're well enough to leave the infirmary."
Sylvia sat up. "Thank you for everything."
Pomfrey handed her a small bag of potions. "Take these daily. If you feel weak, come back immediately. And Tonks—" She hesitated. "Be careful. You're rare. A witch who survived the Killing Curse. There are people who would want to study you. Or use you."
I know, Sylvia thought. I've been used my whole life.
"I'll be careful," she said.
Tonk's Quarters – That Evening
For the first time in nearly a month, Sylvia was alone in her own room.
Small. Simple. A bed, a desk, a wardrobe, a mirror.
She stood in front of the mirror and studied her reflection.
Tonks' body. Pink hair. Average face. Average curves.
No longer.
She focused inward, reaching for the Metamorphmagus power that lived in Tonks' blood.
Her pink hair shifted—deep black, falling in waves past her shoulders. Her face changed—sharper cheekbones, fuller lips, eyes that seemed to hold secrets. Her body shifted—breasts fuller, waist narrower, hips wider. Not dramatic. Just enough.
She opened the wardrobe. Tonks' Auror uniforms hung on one side. But there were civilian clothes too—leftovers from before the tournament.
She chose carefully.
Tight black jeans that hugged her new curves. A thin white blouse, low-cut, with no bra underneath—her reshaped nipples pressed visibly against the fabric. A leather jacket. Heeled boots.
She looked in the mirror again.
Fashionable. Noticeable. Memorable.
She smiled.
Let the games begin.
The Greenhouse – First Day as Sprout's Assistant
Sylvia walked into the greenhouse wearing her new look.
Professor Sprout looked up from a row of young Mandrakes. Her round face broke into a wide smile.
"Tonks! My dear girl—" Sprout stopped. Her eyes widened. "Good heavens. Look at you."
Sylvia tilted her head. "Is something wrong, Professor?"
"Wrong? No, no." Sprout laughed, wiping dirt off her hands. "I remember you, you know. Before you became an Auror. You were in my Hufflepuff house. A mischievous one. Always changing your hair color in the middle of class. Turning your nose into a beak when Professor Snape wasn't looking."
Tonks' memories supplied the images. A younger version of this body, laughing, causing harmless chaos.
Sylvia smiled—a real smile, surprising herself. "I was hoping you'd forgotten that."
"Never." Sprout's eyes glistened. "You were one of my favorites. A bit reckless, but a good heart. When I heard you were hit by the Killing Curse..." She shook her head. "Well. You're here now. That's what matters."
Sylvia felt something twist in her chest.
Kindness, she thought. Real kindness. Not a trap.
She pushed the feeling down.
"I need to relearn everything," Sylvia said. "My memories are... jumbled. Spells I should know feel like fog."
Sprout nodded slowly. "Pomfrey told me. Amnesia. Unstable core. You're lucky to be alive."
Lucky, Sylvia thought. There's that word again.
"We'll start from the beginning," Sprout said. "No shame in it. First year magic. Can you cast Lumos?"
Sylvia raised her borrowed wand.
"Lumos."
Nothing happened.
Sprout's face fell. Then she smiled—a little too brightly. "Well! That's quite alright. We'll try again tomorrow. For now, help me repot these Mandrakes. Wear your earmuffs."
Sylvia nodded, keeping her face neutral.
Inside, she was smiling.
Perfect. They think I'm broken. No one will suspect me now.
The Library – Nights
When the castle slept, Sylvia snuck into the library.
She had learned the patrol schedules from Tonks' memories. Filch was predictable. Mrs. Norris was avoidable. The library itself was vast—endless shelves of books that smelled of old paper and secrets.
She read everything.
A Guide to Advanced Charms. The Dark Arts: A Legal Perspective. Magical Theory and You.
She cross-referenced everything with her variant compendiums.
The Harry Potter variant—the one where Harry was never born—showed her what could go wrong. She learned about Horcruxes. About the Death Eaters. About the Order of the Phoenix. About a prophecy she didn't fully understand.
The Marvel variant—the CancerVerse—showed her something worse. Heroes who failed. Worlds that ended. A universe where hope was a lie.
This world is a mix, she realized. Wizards and superheroes. Two sets of dangers. Two sets of possible apocalypses.
She needed power.
But power required Lust Points.
And Lust Points required men's lustful desires which she got high experience from previous life in apocalypse.
Sylvia closed her books and looked out the library window.
The Durmstrang ship sat on the Great Lake, dark and mysterious.
Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow I start earning points.
She didn't know how yet. But she would figure it out.
She always did.