R.O.B. 37

May 3, 1991 — Myrddin Manor, 10:02 a.m.

Breakfast at the manor was late, but not lazy. The sun had already crested over the eastern gardens, throwing long bands of gold across the stone floors as Joshua Myrddin stepped into the smaller dining room. The space was lived-in without being cluttered, warm wood and quiet enchantments working in tandem to create a place where tradition and comfort found common ground.

Josh wore dark denim jeans and a soft black t-shirt, the logo faded beyond recognition. A fitted grey vest hung over his shoulders, half-concealing the dagger clipped at the small of his back and the custom quick deploy wrist holster on his right arm. Practical magic, built into every layer. His espresso waited on the table, a rich civet-bean double shot topped with a layer of cold foam so precise it might have been wand-drawn. It hissed faintly as he picked it up and took his first sip.

Across from him, Percival Graves, great-grandfather by blood but just Percival in practice, wore dark slacks and a short-sleeved white button-down. A gold ring on one hand caught the light as he folded his morning paper. The old war watch on his wrist ticked steadily, a silent metronome to a life built on control and rhythm. He did not speak yet. He rarely did before coffee number two.

At the far end of the table, Jack Skeeter leaned back in his chair with the air of someone who had claimed breakfast as a sport. His plate was a battlefield of eggs, sausage, thick toast, and halved tomatoes. He forked another bite with the same precision he used when hexing or cross-referencing bloodlines.

The room smelled of herbed omelets, toasted sourdough, and enough black coffee to restart a stalled heart.

Josh leaned back, chewing on a bite of cheddar-laced eggs. "Morning," he said, still half-asleep. "Or what is left of it."

Jack raised his mug. "Still counts as breakfast if the sun has not passed the east tower."

"Arbitrary," Josh muttered, swallowing. "But fair."

Percival set his paper aside and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt. "Plans for today?"

Josh shrugged and reached for the toast. "Rechecking notes on the Sirius Black case. Might draft a letter to Bones about investigating things discreetly. She is one of the few people left in the Ministry whose spine is not decorative."

Jack gave a lazy grin. "Expecting fireworks?"

"Doubt it. Yesterday was a heavy drop. I figured Arcturus and Andromeda would need time to process. I still think it is ridiculous how unaware magical Britain seems to be, not only of the world around them but of their own laws and their own families."

Before anyone could answer, a sharp knock sounded at the window. A large tawny owl hovered just beyond the glass, wings beating steadily, an envelope clutched in its talons.

Josh, Percival, and Jack just blinked.

"What could this be?" Josh wondered aloud.

He crossed the room and unlatched the window. The owl dropped the letter into his hands and soared away without a sound. Jack watched it vanish over the hedgerow.

"Well," he said. "At least it was not one of the grudge-birds."

Josh opened the envelope. Heavy parchment. Black wax. Arcturus' seal.

To: Lord Percival L. Myrddin and Heir Joshua E. Myrddin

From: Arcturus O. Black, Head of House Black (Retired, not inert)

Percival, Joshua,

Assuming yesterday's revelations did not derail your schedules entirely, I would like to extend a private invitation to luncheon at Black Manor this afternoon. Floo access has been granted beginning at noon. You are welcome earlier, should you prefer a quieter conversation before others arrive.

Amelia Bones has agreed to attend at my request. I have also invited the Tonks family. If young Nymphadora has not made prior plans, she too will be present.

Bring honesty, not diplomacy. I am tired of polite lies and manufactured civility.

—Arcturus

P.S. I will see to the wine. You bring something that pairs well with hard truths.

Josh passed the letter across the table.

Percival read it, exhaled slowly, then set it down beside his plate. "Well. That was faster than I expected."

Josh raised an eyebrow. "Too fast?"

"Not necessarily. Just not like him to make the first move so quickly."

Jack raised his coffee. "So, am I warming up the car?"

Percival laughed. "Not this time. Floo travel. Jack, you will hold the fort. Try not to break anything while we are out."

Jack mock-saluted. "I will leave the chaos to professionals."

Josh tapped the edge of his mug and shrugged before laughing and throwing a playful wink. "Always happy to offer some pointers if you want to learn from a professional."

2 hours later

He looked toward the fireplace, already calculating what he needed to bring. Not documents, not yet. Not until Arcturus said his piece and discussed any potential plans.

Still, the owl's timing had been precise. The players were gathering. And wherever the old families met behind closed doors, there was bound to be more than tea on the table.

He drained the last of his coffee and stood, vest settling into place. Percival followed, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve. Jack began stacking plates, whistling off-key as he did.

Percival paused at the door and glanced back over his shoulder.

"Whatever happens today," he said, voice low, "we walk in calm. We leave the same way. No theatrics."

"Speak for yourself," Jack called after him. "I plan to be very theatrical while doing absolutely nothing."

Percival cracked a faint smile. "Let us go. Before the honesty cools."

They stepped toward the fireplace together. The first move had been made. Now it was time to play.

........

May 3, 1991 — Black Manor, 12:03 p.m.

The Floo deposited them onto dark stone tiles, the room cool and silent except for the soft hiss of flame behind them. Josh stepped forward first, brushing soot from his vest with practiced ease. His wand remained untouched in it's holster with his collapsed staff. His eyes swept the room with instinctive caution. The space was vast but focused. Black Manor felt old in a way that whispered, not crumbled. Power layered the stones, settled deep, and stayed sharp.

Looks nothing like the movie, so not 12 Grimmauld Place, but Black Manor. 

Behind him, Percival stepped out of the fireplace and straightened his sleeves with a faint shake of his head. "Always preferred apparition or driving to the floo."

Josh half-smiled. "Sadly, these old families wards deny the first, and the later might be too mundane for this crowd."

Before either of them could speak again, a shimmer of golden magic sparked just above Josh's left wrist. It curled, then unfolded silently into a small, floating piece of aged parchment. The edges glowed faintly, and the scent of old ink and citrus peel rose faintly from the script as lines began to form in a neat, serifed script.

Josh didn't flinch. He kept his arms relaxed at his sides, glancing down just long enough to read.

📜 System Notification — Quest Log Updated"Black Veil, Blacker Cell"Optional Quest: Legal Route — Status: Active

Progress Advanced: 32%Conditions Updated:Arcturus Black Invitation AcceptedAmelia Bones ExpectedTonks Family En Route

System Commentary:

"Slow and careful. Like a basilisk in a law library. Delicious."

Current Route: Legal ProceedingsProjected Completion Estimate: Mid-to-Late SummerFailure Chance: Decreasing

📘 "So You Got a Letter…"Optional Quest: Magical Orientation Guide

Completion: 100%Legal Review: Tonks & TonksPublishing: SecuredDistribution Channels: Ready

Reward Pending: Awaiting Initial Print Delivery• 3500 EXP• Author's Prestige Title [TBD]• Multiverse Stream Add-On [UNLOCKED]

Josh didn't blink as the magical parchment coiled neatly back into itself and vanished like smoke into the air.

New format, he noted internally. About time.

The System's reply was immediate, a ripple of thought in his head.

"Clean. Efficient. Localized. Less redundancy than hovering banners. Also prevents questions from nosey old men with sharp eyes."

Josh didn't grin, but his eyebrows twitched slightly in approval. He let the moment pass and turned back to his surroundings.

Percival looked at him sidelong but said nothing.

A quiet voice echoed from the stairwell.

"Percival. Joshua. Welcome."

They both turned.

Arcturus Black descended the grand staircase with measured grace. His robes were burgundy, cut precisely, edged in silver that caught the light like old spellfire. His hair was silver-white at the temples, his eyes keen and unblinking.

"I trust your journey was uneventful," he said.

"Thankfully," Percival replied, offering a firm nod.

Josh inclined his head slightly. "Thank you for having us."

"No thanks required. This meeting is long overdue." He gestured toward a receiving room just off the hall, wood-paneled with quiet runes humming in the corners. "The others have not yet arrived. We have a moment to speak without interruption."

Josh followed them into the space, taking in the portraits and old magical instruments arranged along one wall. His senses picked up the edges of active wards, carefully shaped. Everything here felt precise. Intentional.

He walked with confidence, but he didn't let down his guard.

This was still House Black.

The game had begun and it was time for the next piece to move.

...

May 3, 1991 — Black Manor, 12:05 p.m.

The receiving room beyond the foyer was a study in well-aged elegance, refined with intention. Dark-paneled walls shimmered faintly with preservation spells, while the fireplace at the far end exhaled low, even heat. Wards hummed behind the walls, neither oppressive nor passive. Everything here had been built to last.

Arcturus Black gestured them inside without fanfare. "Have a seat. The others are not due for several more minutes."

Josh stepped forward, eyes sweeping the room. The furniture was deep wood and aged leather, framed by shelves lined with alchemical tomes and carved glass artifacts. A set of enchanted, green-tinted windows filtered the sunlight, casting long golden shadows across a low table at the room's center.

Percival gave the space a once-over and nodded. "Same bloody chairs from fifty years ago."

"They have held up better than some of our colleagues," Arcturus said with a slight smile.

Josh took the nearest armchair without comment, nodding to Percival as the older man unpacked the pouch. Percival followed suit and reached into the inner lining of his vest. His hand disappeared into a space that did not quite follow the rules of physics. A moment later, he withdrew a small collection of items and began setting them out on the table with quiet satisfaction.

One bottle of Ogden's Finest Reserve Firewhiskey, old enough to be considered antique, the glass frosted over in elegant runework. Five crystal tumblers followed, arranged in a gentle semicircle. A small wooden case appeared next, its surface lightly enchanted for chill retention. Percival opened it with a flick of his thumb to reveal four bottles of iced butterbeer, resting against smooth shards of frostglass. Lastly, he withdrew a linen-wrapped parcel containing smoked sausages and a wedge of cheddar so sharp Josh figured it could double as a weapon in a pinch.

Arcturus raised an eyebrow. "You brought cheese too? Bloody Irish wizards. Always overpreparing for battle and breakfast."

Percival lifted the bottle and uncorked it with a practiced hand. "You asked us to bring something to match hard truths. I brought five. Blame the Irish in me."

Arcturus chuckled. "Bloody Irish wizards. Always bringing whiskey to a duel and sausages to a summit."

"Never said we weren't efficient," Percival replied with a roguish grin. He poured a precise finger of Firewhiskey into two tumblers and offered one to Arcturus before handing Josh a chilled butterbeer. "Still a bit early for you," he added, with only the faintest suggestion of a smirk.

Josh nodded in thanks and twisted the cap free with the same ease he drew his wand. Practiced. Casual. His time would come.

Arcturus raised his glass. "To the fools who thought we were out of the game."

Percival touched his glass to Arcturus'. Josh raised his bottle with a grin, "And to those entering it."

The Firewhiskey glinted amber in the light, leaving a sharp, clean heat behind. No burn, just truth.

For a few moments, the room was quiet. Arcturus set his glass down and leaned back slightly, eyes fixed on the bottle. "We should have spoken sooner. I intended to. But the war made old roads difficult to retrace."

Percival nodded slowly. "We were both busy. By the time I resurfaced, it felt like everyone had chosen their own corners to defend. I assumed your hands were full."

"They were," Arcturus said. "Still are. But that is no excuse."

Josh glanced between them, letting the silence do what it needed to. He understood. Duty fractured more friendships than betrayal ever could.

A few minutes passed, marked only by the quiet clink of glass and the soft crackle of the fire. When the time felt right, Arcturus leaned forward again, folding his hands.

"Now then. I understand you are here about more than whisky and regrets."

Josh nodded. "We believe Sirius Black never received a trial."

Arcturus nodded, the flicker in his eyes urging Josh to continue.

Josh obliged, voice even. "We reviewed the case. Percival verified with Gringotts. There's no documentation. No hearing. No sentencing record. Just a signed incarceration order and his placement in Azkaban within twenty-four hours of the event."

Arcturus' eyes narrowed. "That should not be possible. Even under emergency provisions, a trial is required."

"We thought the same," Josh said. "But the deeper we looked, the more clear it became. It wasn't just a rushed process. It was intentional."

Arcturus sat back. "This may require more than legal inquiry."

"We're hoping to avoid direct confrontation, if it can be helped," Percival added. "But we're not naïve. We brought this to you first for a reason."

May 3, 1991 — Black Manor, 12:10 p.m.

Arcturus studied Josh with a thoughtful expression, his tone measured and curious.

"You mentioned an injustice. But what led you to uncover it? Most students entering their fourth year are not investigating legal inconsistencies or questioning power structures."

Josh rested his butterbeer on the table. "It started the day after I received my Hogwarts letter. July thirty-first, nineteen eighty-eight. Percival took me to Gringotts to see if I was eligible to inherit the Myrddin legacy. What we got was more than either of us expected."

Percival remained silent, though he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.

"The goblins ran a full inheritance test. I was eligible to succeed not just the Myrddin name, but several others. Some dormant, some contested. Gryffindor, Sayre, Peverell, Evans, Bones, Black, even Pendragon to name a few. I had no idea what any of it meant at the time. I barely knew magic was real. But once I was brought in, I began to learn."

Josh leaned back slightly. "Percival started my training that week. Politics. Bloodlines. Strategy. Occlumency. Magical History. And I did my own research too. I dug into my family ties, the names on that parchment, and who was still around."

He hesitated, then continued. "That is when I noticed something strange. Three of my closest blood relatives were out of reach. Sirius Black, Harry Potter, and Nymphadora Tonks. All three significant. All positioned just out of reach."

Arcturus's expression remained composed, but his eyes sharpened.

"So I kept looking. Past Hogwarts. Past family trees. Into how Magical Britain works. What I saw looked less like a functioning society and more like a held breath. Entire departments that barely function. Laws that never touch the powerful, yet always land hardest on first- and second-generation magicals. Political sides that claim opposition but never change anything. It felt unnatural. Like the system had been designed not to move."

Josh's voice stayed calm, but there was an edge beneath it. "In the States, both magical and No-Maj worlds are messy, but they move. There is tension, conflict, innovation. Here, things are frozen. For a long time, I thought it was just incompetence. But the longer I watched, the more it looked intentional."

He met Arcturus's gaze. "False balance. Both sides of the magical political world kept locked in place. The Light and the Dark stuck in a cold war that no one truly wins, no matter how many die. And underneath that? Silence. No questions. No action. Like someone benefits from keeping the game in check."

Arcturus considered that for a moment. "You believe someone has actively engineered this paralysis?"

Josh nodded. "Yes. And not just to keep the magical world from changing. There is a larger threat. On the No-Maj side, I have seen signs of massive technological growth. Advancements that will make it impossible to hide magic much longer. And yet, the magical world does nothing. It clings to the illusion of isolation while the world outside barrels forward. It is like someone wants the magical world to be caught off guard. Maybe even erased. A war."

Silence followed, deeper this time.

Arcturus finally spoke. "Tradition exists for a reason. Not simply for identity or memory. Magic binds itself to old paths. The ancient rites, the seasonal turnings, the festivals of Samhain and Yule. These are not just superstitions. They are currents of power. The old families remember because it is through remembrance that magic listens."

Josh gave a slow nod. "I agree. I am not calling for a break from tradition. I am pointing out the danger of allowing it to become chains. If we only ever look backward, we forget to prepare for what is ahead. If we preserve the rituals but not the purpose, we weaken both."

Arcturus studied him again. "You have seen much for someone so young."

Josh gave a half-smile. "Sometimes not seeing clearly is more dangerous than seeing too much."

The moment stretched between them, quiet and unfinished.

A soft chime echoed from the front corridor. A second later, the doors to the main hall shifted open with a smooth pull of magic.

Percival glanced toward the entry. "That will be the Tonks family."

Arcturus stood with graceful precision. "Let us see what kind of allies today brings."

Josh rose beside him, adjusting the fall of his vest as he moved. The firelight glinted briefly off the quick-deploy holster at his side, silent and prepared.

The conversation would wait. For now, it was time to meet the next players.

The house had been still. Now it was stirring.

.........................................................

Hunter's Journey's through the omniverse Omake

Omake: Ride of the Blunt King

The sky was black with smoke, ash falling like snow over the Pelennor Fields.

Hunter adjusted his sunglasses.

Yes, sunglasses. At dawn. During a siege. Because fashion was eternal, and so was his lack of shame.

The horns of Rohan had just begun to sound when he cracked his knuckles, flexed his shoulders, and

casually flipped the system prompt hovering in his vision.

[Primary Objective: Save King Théoden from Death]

[Optional Objectives: Steal the One Ring. Kidnap Arwen the Elf. Take Gandalf's Pipe. Leave the World with

All Loot.]

The system added, "Try not to break the narrative *too* badly."

Hunter smirked. "Narrative's already got cracks, babe. Let's widen 'em."

He stepped through the portal, landing on a crumbling rampart just above the fray. Orcs howled. Men

screamed. The sky was filled with fell beasts and the sound of imminent despair.

"God, I love fantasy Tuesdays."

He cracked open a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon-the only American beer he'd tolerate-and jumped.

Landing directly on an orc with a sound like dropped meat, he rolled to his feet and drew twin blades made

from repurposed celestial bronze and mithril.

System-forged. Lore-breaking. Fan-theory-approved.

He carved his way through a half-dozen Uruks like they were butter sculptures, angling for the ridge where

Théoden fought.

Above, the Witch-king was descending.

[Critical Alert: King's Timeline Reaching Collapse.]

"Oh, bite me."

With a flick of his wrist, he activated the "Rider's Gambit" skill-an ability he'd stolen from a fate-bound horse

lord in another world. It summoned the nearest steed and imbued it with plot immunity.

Snowmane came thundering up beneath him, gleaming like a demigod.

Hunter landed in the saddle and grinned. "Hey, buddy. Let's change a death flag."

The Witch-king's blade came down.

Hunter was faster.

He threw a dagger-not just any dagger, but one he'd snatched from a cursed chest in an Egyptian tomb,

soaked in the ichor of a godling.

It struck the Nazgûl's mount in the eye.

The beast screeched and spiraled out of control.

Théoden, still stunned from the earlier impact, coughed-and *lived*.

[Objective Complete: Save King Théoden. Timeline Shift Registered.]

Hunter wheeled Snowmane around and saluted Eowyn as she stepped up to face the Witch-king.

"You got this, girl."

He rode off with cinematic timing and no sense of shame.

---

Half an hour and three warbands later, he found himself at the foot of Minas Tirith's upper levels, breathless

but exhilarated.

[New Target: Arwen Undómiel. Location: Rivendell.]

"Portal time."

With a flick of the Rick-tech portal gun slung at his side, he punched open a rift lined with elvish script and

sarcasm.

The valley of Rivendell opened like a watercolor dream. He walked in with all the grace of a drunken bard

crashing a royal wedding.

Elrond wasn't home.

Even better.

He found Arwen in the high library, surrounded by scrolls, moonlight, and enough tragic foreshadowing to kill

a lesser man.

"Excuse me, Lady Undómiel?"

She turned. Eyes like starlight. Voice like winter.

"Yes?"

"I'm here to kidnap you."

A long pause.

Then: "Are you the idiot from the Dos Equis timeline?"

He blinked. "...Maybe?"

She sighed. "Fine. But I'm packing my own sword."

[Optional Complete: Arwen Kidnapped. Willing Participant. Future Complication Likely.]

"Cool, cool. You wanna help me rob a wizard next?"

She smirked. "Depends. Pipeweed or secrets?"

"Both."

---

Back on the battlefield, he ducked behind a half-collapsed siege tower. Arwen kept watch while he crept into

Gandalf's tent.

The wizard was off saving the world.

Which was just dandy.

Hunter looted the place like a raccoon in a campsite.

[Optional Complete: Gandalf's Pipe Acquired. Smells of starfire and disappointment.]

[Optional: One Ring - In Proximity]

Hunter's eyes narrowed.

He found Frodo passed out on a cot, muttering about lava and trust issues.

He picked up the chain.

The Ring glinted.

The system buzzed.

[WARNING: Timeline Stability at 3%]

Hunter squinted at it.

Then looked at the camera-because of course there was a metaphysical camera-and muttered:

"Nah. That's too much paperwork."

He dropped the Ring back on Frodo's chest.

[Timeline Stability Restored to 37%]

He turned to Arwen.

"Let's bounce."

She rolled her eyes and flicked her sword over her shoulder.

"Next time, I'm picking the world."

"Deal."

The portal closed behind them, a swirl of golden light and sarcasm.

Behind them, the war raged.

But the king lived.

The pipe was gone.

And somewhere, in a world that didn't yet know what hit it, Arwen Undómiel was learning how to hack a

motorcycle.

[QUEST COMPLETE]

[REWARDS GRANTED: +4000 EXP, +"Pipe Thief" Title, +Elvish Companion Unlocked]

[System Note: You are an idiot. But an effective one.]