Archive of Our Own

For the most part, as Klein sleeps he is unaware. His dreams are hazy, mundane times visiting family or nonsensical moments in time, but every once in a while, he feels a pull. A little flick against his spiritual intuition that toes the line of triggering his lucidity.

And for the first time, Klein's hazy, floaty mind feels anchored enough to pursue it.

It feels as if he’s been doused by a bucket of icy water, one moment so deep in sleep he can’t remember and the next, standing in front of a door with his fist raised.

What the…

“Come in,” a kindly voice calls, and for lack of direction, Klein opens the door and enters into the most eclectically decorated office he’s ever seen. Also confusing. The paintings move.

For all his experience as a beyonder, and a literal god, Klein is entirely lost for the duration of the conversation, barely holding it together enough to nod and hum at appropriate times. Then he’s given a set of instructions that he forgets not even a second later—thank the goddess for dream divination—an old brass key, and is sent on his merry way.

He nearly trips over a box after closing the door behind him, set unobtrusively to the side, though clearly not far enough. It’s unlabeled, but Klein’s intuition tells him that it’s his, so Klein picks it up and then relies solely on his divination to lead him through the… castle.

Despite this, Klein accepts that he’s horribly lost after the third rotating staircase.

Can’t I just go back to sleep? he grumbles inwardly, back drooping as he sets down his box and leans against the wall in misery. At this moment, a greasy-haired man with the worst resting bitch face Klein has ever seen rounds the corner, frown miraculously deepening when he notices Klein.

“And you are?” he drawls, a few feet away, robes billowing in an admittedly stylish manner as he comes to a halt. What, does he think he’s some aura farming villain? Klein lampoons, putting on a polite smile.

“My name is Klein Moretti, and your name, sir?” he asks, not bothering to conceal his identity. It is, after all, a dream. Or at the very least, detached from his own reality. Klein is only paid to stabilize his humanity and succeed against the Celestial Worthy. He has no overtime incentive to figure out the details of this place he’s fallen into in his sleep.

Still, as soon as his name is out in the air, the other man’s glare turns even harsher. “Ah,” he remarks scathingly, “The new divination professor.” Klein’s smile tightens. Don’t remind me… how did I even end up in this situation…

“Yes, that’s me,” he instead confirms pleasantly. The other man glowers at him for a solid few seconds, scorn dripping from his expression, before he finally announces, “Severus Snape, potions professor.”

Klein offers his hand, waiting only a moment before retracting it and leaning into a shallow bow with the words, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Snape.”

“Likewise…” Snape sneers, meaning the exact opposite. Klein can’t help but wonder if it’s a personal issue with him, or if the other man just gets extra grumpy during conversation. Frankly, he’d bet on both.

Unfortunately, as much as Klein would like to watch Snape’s retreating back and then never see him again, he apparently has things to do.

“Excuse me, Mr. Snape?” he interrupts lightly as the man begins to turn away.

“What?” Snape grits out. Klein’s very polite, very neutral, Clown controlled smile stays firmly in place.

“I’m a bit lost,” he confesses in the mild manner of an inexperienced young adult. “Could you point me in the direction of the divination uh… classroom?”

Snape rattles off another slew of incomprehensible directions, thankfully without rotating stairs or alternating passages this time, and Klein makes it to his destination without further issues.

The divination tower. Of course it would be a tower… It is only at this moment, unpacking the various divination paraphernalia that Klein has only seen in the Tingen divination club, and extra, that he finally comprehends where he is.

A magic school.

Is this some subconscious wish of mine? Surely not, or it wouldn’t be so troublesome thus far, he muses, hapless smile stuck on his face as he immerses himself in reorganizing his new teaching space. He might as well enjoy the dream, after all. Surely to pull him into lucidity, the dream must have some value.

Sorting through the divination tools provided, Klein comes to the quick conclusion that he is vastly unfamiliar with these methods. From his experience as a keyboard fortune teller, he can distantly recall the principles of each one, but lacks the interpretation knowledge.

Pulling up his coat sleeve and taking note of the topaz pendulum wrapped around his wrist, Klein wonders, shouldn’t I just teach them the methods I know? Aren’t they more useful than these, anyway?

However, for lack of confirmation that the student body will even be able to use Klein’s divination techniques, he finds his way to the school’s library a few days before the start of term.

As it’s winter break, there are still a handful of students to wonder at Klein’s presence, but if he were phased by the curious looks of children, Klein would never have made it as a beyonder. He picks out a few intro to divination books, helpfully sourced from the librarian as student reading material, and spends a few days familiarizing himself with the supposed curriculum he’s going to be teaching, very much feeling the time crunch. As the last day of winter break arrives, Klein can’t help but think, I did not choose to fight God so I could go back to school and cram study…

He then wonders is this is a ploy by the Celestial Worthy, trying to annoy him into submission. His expression twists right in time for Snape to lean over the table he’s reading at and sneer, “Are those introductory level divination books, Mr. Moretti? I know this school has a habit of hiring phony professors for that phony subject but please don’t tell me you’re this incompetent.” Something about the sadistic glee in his voice makes Klein believe that Snape very much does want him to be as he’s described.

To his credit, Snape isn’t exactly wrong…

But Klein is also a famed Seer! The true god of the seer pathway! A real divination expert! He can’t just let himself be trampled over in this regard!

Thinking fast, Klein looks up, flashing a sheepish smile and says, “I realized recently that I’ve been too immersed in more advanced techniques, and thought it would be for the best to brush up on the things I’ll be teaching.” Although this excuse still paints him as a bad professor, at least does good on his name as a seer!

Snape really doesn’t seem to care either way, as long as he gets to be rude entirely uncalled for, and leaves just as quickly. Klein sighs, noticing students quickly look away with gossiping whispers, and returns to his reading.

Klein arrives the next day—start of term—in the divination tower, after a quick but literally magical breakfast so as to give himself time to appear more professional. God knows he needs it.

Only thirty, short minutes later, students begin trickling into his classroom. With faint worry, Klein notes that not a single one of them looks happy to be there. At least there are no expectations to let down?

Right on the dot, Klein steps square in front of the classroom and looks out with a steady smile. “Hello everyone, my name is professor Moretti, the new divination professor.” Fuck! I said ‘professor’ too many times! And to think, I wanted to be a history professor once…

Curtesy of clown, Klein’s smile does not waver, and he gets to freely bask in the incredibly lukewarm response as he stands there like a curly-haired baboon. This is fine.

The lesson goes… more or less smoothly. He essentially summarizes the content he’s read over the past few days, then picks a less complicated method arbitrarily and walks the students through it, relying heavily on dream divination to get the details right.

From his research, Klein has learned that the divination taught here stems from something called the ‘True Eye’, and most wizards are inherently incapable of divining anything. Put plainly, this class is a free credit, because to grade based on success would be to fail everyone.

Unfortunately, although Klein has confirmed the existence of a spiritual world to an extent, he’s not yet had the opportunity to test how much magic can interact with it, and thus decided to temporarily shelve the idea of teaching beyonder divination.

Because of these two facts, the first lesson Klein teaches is fine. It’s boring, and meaningless, but he does nail the curriculum, so he’ll take the success.

Klein still does not return from this dream. He remains painfully lucid through a whole week of stumbling his way through a divination class he barely understands, with coworkers who he either rarely sees or hate his guts and actively seek him out, and by the time the next Monday rolls around, when normally Klein would be looking forward to a Tarot club meeting, he finally decides to just derail the train.

It's my dream anyway. Who says I have to be stuck teaching boring, pointless divination?

He rolls into class five minutes late with a slightly manic air to him, his inner Gehrman seeping out, and smiles at the class with genuine excitement. The students look at him, stricken little baby thirteen year olds terrified at the thought that their kind but boring professor has gone off the deep end.

“Alright class, we’re going off script today,” he introduces, then reaches into the historical void to pull out an armful of topaz pendulums which he begins to pass around. The students’ openly gawk at him and Klein realizes that, oh yeah, I never got a wand.

No problem! He’s just a super talented wizard who uses wandless magic. Never mind how quickly that would fall apart should anyone ask him to cast a basic anything, but until then he can… use his scribe powers, or something.

“What I’m going to be teaching you today is a type of divination I’ve been experimenting with. I can’t guarantee it will work for you all, but let’s at least try it. Wrap the pendulum like this… It’s a divination that’s channeled through you, so making divinations related to yourself will have the most success. Hmm… Perhaps try putting your magic into the pendulum?” As Klein explains and offers various suggestions, a lost looking student raises her hand.

“Professor? Could you please demonstrate what’s supposed to be happening?”

“Of course,” Klein agrees quickly, cutting off a strip of parchment and placing it on his desk. “I will divine whether or not this class will be dangerous,” he announces, marking down his statement with a quill before holding his hand over it and repeating the mantra.

“Today, this class will be dangerous… today, this class will be dangerous…” The pendulum spins counterclockwise slowly, indicating no danger. Klein raises his head, explaining the result.

As if on cue, a student’s bag explodes with brightly colored fireworks, tearing it to shreds, and setting fire to a patch of carpet. The students scream in alarm, a moment of pandemonium overtaking the class until a fast thinking student douses the flames with some water spell and the class calms once more. Someone’s ink pot is shattered, staining their arm with ink and cuts. Another student has minor burns. They all look at Klein, unimpressed.

“Ah… yes, this is a good lesson in divination,” Klein awkwardly excuses. “Divination is not all powerful. ‘No danger’ was in reference to myself, and because I was at no risk, the divination did not sense this incident, hence, I let my guard down...”

For some reason, the students do not look placated. Miss Justice, the World needs you!

Despite the gossip surrounding the incident, it turns out that the combustion rate of items within a magical school is disproportionally elevated, and so Klein does not lose his job. He’s still unsure whether this is a good or bad outcome, but what he does know is that Snape’s opinion of him continues to lower, while the other professors look at Klein with a pitying frown.

But, as a mere visitor in this world, Klein carries on with the happy mindset that nothing he does affects him much, and so he continues to attempt to teach the kids how to divine like real Seers.

It proves to be a pointless endeavor, until one day it isn’t, and a scraggly little third year gets his pendulum to rotate in response to, “dinner will be tasty.” It is also around this point that Klein realizes his students had been trying to divine things far out of their league up until now, and didn’t have much chance of success regardless of experience.

From here on, divination class becomes more rigorous, and the reputation slowly reverses itself. Snape even pays Klein a visit, strolling in with his billowing robes—and Klein pretends he isn’t imagining how the man would’ve looked climbing the ladder.

“Divine something for me,” he orders contemptuously, clearly intending to test Klein. Klein affixes the polite smile he’s become well familiar with lately and shifts slightly in his chair, folding his hands neatly across his desk.

“Mr. Snape, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Divine whether I will ever be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” Snape repeats, not playing along with Klein’s pleasantries.

Klein lets out a quiet sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, but without reason to refuse, he writes up a divination statement, pushes up his sleeve, and lets his pendulum fall loose. He chants under his breath, ignoring the glare of Snape all the while, and finally watches the pendulum spin a slow affirmation.

“You will,” he says shortly, earning a raised brow from Snape.

“But?” the other man prompts, surprisingly analytical to notice that Klein had read more from his divination. Klein hums softly, tapping his fingers gently along his desk in a manner not dissimilar to The Fool.

“But it likely either won’t be soon, or won’t be for long,” he concludes, meeting Snape’s harsh glare with a mild expression of his own. Snape glowers, pissed at the results, the supposed legitimacy of the divination, or Klein in general.

I’d love to introduce him to Anderson, Klein thinks mirthfully, rewrapping his pendulum. “Is that all, Mr. Snape?” Snape nods, and makes to leave, when his stare catches on something on Klein’s desk.

“What,” he grits out, “is that?” Klein blinks in confusion, looking over his desk with mild alarm. Clocking his confusion, Snape elaborates, “What is your wand doing in there?”

My wand? I don’t have a wand? Klein wonders, following Snape’s glare to a wire cup holding various writing tools. In particular, there is a plain wooden stick looking odd amongst the pens. Klein had put it there when he was first unpacking, for lack of a better idea.

Don’t tell me…

Klein looks up at Snape with a strained smile. “Ah… is that an issue?” he asks, following the well taught ‘fake it till you make it’ strategy. Snape’s face looks stuck somewhere between horror and anger.

For a long, tense moment, Snape looks at Klein as if he’s blasphemed every god imaginable, and Klein tries not to look like he’s got a hand in the cookie jar. Finaly, with a deep exhale, Snape bites out, “You would do well to respect your magical properties,” and leaves.

Klein very tentatively pulls out what is apparently his wand. It’s dark in color, smooth but marked with polished down branch knots, and tapers slightly to a point. Overall, thinner than most of the wands he’s seen, and lacking any sort of handle, but when he activates spirit vision, Klein notices the distinct aura of a magical core—passive, permeating, and unique.

He gives it an experimental wave, getting a feel for it in his hand. Then, he runs through a few low level incantations he’s picked up, alongside their gestures, mildly disappointed when nothing happens.

Well, it’s not like I need magic when I’m already God.

His inner child does not seem to agree, and Klein takes to carrying the wand tucked into his robes. For appearances, of course.

As a new staff member, Klein isn’t overly close with any of his fellow professors, and only the very small number of divination students interact with him in a teaching capacity. Still, during meals, Klein sits at the high table, generally around Flitwick and Sprout. They make small talk about academics, ask him about his class, and make sure he’s integrating well into the school.

Other than these two, Klein hasn’t had extended conversations with the other staff, so he’s rather surprised when he sits down for dinner and shortly after, McGonagall takes a seat beside him.

“Mr. Moretti,” she greets him warmly, a slight inquisitive note in her voice. Flitwick clears his throat lightly and turns to the side, giving them a modicum of privacy.

“Madam McGonogall!” Klein says, surprise coloring his tone. “I don’t believe we’ve spoken properly yet. It’s a pleasure to be acquainted.” The prim woman flashes a restrained smile, nodding approvingly to Klein before taking a small sip of wine.

“I’ve heard many things about you,” she opens vaguely. “You are experimenting with new divination styles?”

Klein nods, washing down a mouthful of meat pie as he tells her, “Yes, though it’s nothing worth discussing in length, really. Just a few methods I’ve found that can channel divination easier.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Moretti!” McGonagall refutes, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, “I heard that even Severus was intrigued by you?”

“Well… yes, I suppose,” Klein admits, inwardly apologizing to his forefathers whose credit he’s stealing.

McGonagall chuckles, shaking her head with mutterings about ‘humble youngsters’. Then, to Klein’s horror, she adds, “Someday when we have more time, you ought to tell me more about your research. I’m quite curious about what led you to discover such a divination method. Honestly, Mr. Moretti, I haven’t seen a divination class with this much success in the history of Hogwarts!”

Madam, that’s really not necessary! Klein panics while flashing a controlled smile. “Haha, indeed. When we’re both not so busy,” he agrees, subtly emphasizing his desire to stall. Thankfully, his senior professor doesn’t push, and Klein is able to spend an enjoyable dinner getting acquainted with more colleagues, even learning some interesting gossip about the atrociously dressed pink monster near the head seat.

Despite the burgeoning success of Klein’s divination class, he sits down one day, locking himself in his office, and glares intently at the plain stick of wood that is his wand. He’s decided to give magic another try, as it wouldn’t do to fail at even the most basic spells should he be pressed at any point in the future. Besides, last time, Klein only tried at magic once per spell. Surely he’ll get it with a few more attempts.

“Lumos,” he says clearly, with intention, holding the wand at an angle in front of him. Nothing happens. Klein tries again, changing the intonation ever so slightly, and again, in another way. He does this a few times, then testing out different flicking motions despite the spell not needing one. With a sigh, Klein activates spirit vision and tries again.

Although he can’t see the magic itself, Klein does notice an ever so slight change in the aura around the wand. He observes this aura, running his attempts back and narrowing in on the most significant changes. Light flick forward, incantation said gently but not quiet.

It feels like an audible pop when the air distinctly shifts, and the tip of his wand begins to glow.

And then… keep glowing, stronger and stronger until Klein has to toss his wand across the room to keep from flash banging himself.

“What was that…” he grumbles to himself, in contrary to his inner child which urges him to pump his fist in glee. He does not, but he does pick his wand back up and try again, this time doing his best to control the glow.

It takes some trial and error, but eventually Klein gets the hang of Lumos and no longer blinds himself with each attempt. The trick comes down to his spirituality, which seems closely related to magic in a fundamental way, and being innate to Klein, rather than casting spells with magic, he does it with his spirituality.

A bit harder to do at first, but now… Klein’s wand lights up without a word from him. Smiling broadly, Klein concentrates on his wand and watches the light blink in and out like a strobe before moving onto the next magic, and the next.

He spends his whole afternoon in this manner, running through the beginner level spells, taking painstaking understand and master them, all for the sake not getting caught with his pants down.

As cool as this is, it’s not like being good at magic effects my power level in any way, he lampoons with a sigh, comparing Incendio with his magician’s flames.

Halfway through the semester, Klein receives an unexpected visit.

“Excuse me, sir?” The voice is small, timid, and comes from a messy looking boy standing shyly at the corner of Klein’s desk.

Klein doesn’t recognize him as one of his students, but with his growing reputation, it’s not entirely out of the blue to receive drop-ins. He smiles warmly and asks, “Hm, yes? Did you have a question for me?” The boy nods, shifting over to stand more directly in front of Klein, who clears a bit of clutter from the desk space between them and prompts, “What’s your name?”

“Harry Potter, sir,” the boy mutters, a smidgen awkward and another part bitter.

Klein’s brows crease ever so slightly, feeling as if he’s heard the name before—perhaps in the corridors?—but unable to place it. Oh well. “Klein Moretti,” he offers his hand, trying to seem welcoming to the kid, whose wariness slowly melts into confusion at Klein’s reaction—or lack thereof, not that Klein knows.

Harry takes the blessing for what it is, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly, and gains a bit of confidence as he pulls a chair over to sit. “Sir, I was wondering if you could make a prophecy for me,” he says boldly and the smallest bit jittery.

Klein frowns. A prophecy, not a divination? That was never an area of mysticism he’d done extensive research on, but he’s peripherally familiar with them thanks to the prophecy of the apocalypse, and having a partial authority in this area, Klein has some instinctive knowledge as well.

Most strangely, his spiritual intuition goes off at Harry’s request for a prophecy, telling Klein all he needs to know.

Smiling like a charlatan, Klein pulls two teacups from the historical void—he’s seen other wixen float tea around, but as Klein cannot do that, he does the next best thing—and, taking a refreshing sip, tells Harry, “I cannot make a prophecy for you, but I could divine something about the one that exists?”

Harry’s eyes widen and he flinches, taking a moment before he nervously grips his teacup, slowly sips from it, and shakily sets it back before daring to look at Klein again.

“How did you know about that?”

Klein’s charlatan smile grows as he waves vaguely at the air. “Well, I am a Seer, after all.”

Harry’s eyes narrow, studying Klein for a long while before finally saying, “You’re a lot different than our last divination professor.”

“Oh?”

Harry nods, sipping from his tea. “Professor Trelawney. She made a prophecy about me a long time ago, but most of the time she’s uh… not very accurate,” he says, eyes flicking away from Klein’s face as if afraid to offend him. Of course, being on the other end if divination, Klein can only agree with Harry. Even if Ms. Trelawney was receiving accurate divinations, being able to interpret them is another matter entirely. He says as much to Harry, who nods in understanding.

“Anyway,” the boy continues, “I don’t exactly know the contents of the prophecy, so I was hoping…”

Klein nods, pulling a coin from the historical void and rolling it across his fingers a few times for style points, then flicks it high, catching it neatly enclosed in his fist. Harry looks at him, bewildered, so Klein chuckles and opens his hand to show that the coin has once again disappeared. He stands, walking around his desk to pat Harry’s shoulder.

“Rest assured, things will be okay in the end,” he says, keeping his explanation of the images he’d just seen vague, not wanting to derail fate. In this time, Klein also takes the opportunity to dispel the teacups, furthering Harry’s awe. A true magician puts on a show!

Klein walks Harry to the entrance, bidding him goodbye with a sly wink, then teleports out of the castle after a moment. With a pleased smile, Klein takes a stroll around the school grounds, taking a break from his office to breathe in the crisp air.

When Harry turns back into the divination classroom to ask Klein a last minute question about Umbridge, he’s shocked to find it empty.

One morning in the divination tower, Klein is in the process of walking his students through astrolabe divination since he learned they would be doing a star charting for astronomy, when a certain woman covered head to toe in pink waddles in.

“Hem hem,” she coughs quietly in the corner. Klein ignores her. “Hem hem, hem hem,” she repeats, slightly louder. Klein pretends to be really engrossed in his lesson as he speaks louder and gesticulates more energetically. The students look at him with a mixture of fear and awe.

Umbridge finally loses patience, wandering further into in classroom and giving him a sickeningly sweet smile. “Mr. Moretti,” she begins, holding her handbag daintily in front of her, as if trying to project the image of kind femininity to all. It doesn’t really work though, because when she smiles, her eyes look ready to dissect a person for the sheer sadistic glee.

Klein finally turns, widening his eyes in mock surprise. “Oh, Miss Umbridge, I didn’t see you there!” he greets her, tone lacking any genuine warmth. He’s overheard enough to hate the woman with a passion.

Umbridge’s smile widens painfully as she interjects, “Ahem, Madam Umbridge.”

Klein pretends not to have heard her, continuing, “Miss, what brings you all the way up here? It’s quite the hike, especially for someone like… ah… anyway, how can I help you?”

“Excuse me, I go for walks quite regularly,” she can’t help but refute, smile slipping ever so slightly. Again, Klein feigns ignorance.

“Hmm? Miss, did you come all the way up here to invite me for a walk?” he chuckles.

“Ahem, Madam,” Umbridge emphasizes once more. “Actually, in my authority as the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, I’m here to evaluate your performance. You see, the last professor in the role was rather fraudulent, and I need to make sure you’re doing your job adequately. Yes, it wouldn’t do for the poor students to have an incompetent professor hindering their learning journey,” she simpers, blinking up at Klein innocently. Klein blinks back.

“Miss, as you can see, I’m in the middle of a lesson. Please come back another time.”

“Oh, no, no, no Mr. Moretti! Good heavens no! I need to carefully observe your lesson to make sure you’re acting within your duty as a professor, and nothing more!”

Klein’s eyes narrow, his patience rapidly waning. “I see. Then, Miss, can I direct you to my office for a brief chat before we continue the lesson?” The stout woman nods and Klein ushers her in, closing the door behind them with an ominous click.

“Now then, Miss, let me make something very clear…”

The students hear nothing. In fact, the world seems to go very still, very quiet for a moment. When finally that moment passes, the students who had been fearing for Professor Moretti’s position quickly become fearful of something else.

Professor Moretti appears at the door, holding it open with a genial smile and then out stumbles Madam Umbridge, pale as a sheet and sweating bullets through her clothes. Her knees wobble and she doesn’t dare so much as glance in the young Professor’s direction.

The students say nothing. Klein says nothing. Umbridge most certainly says nothing, and from that day forth, she avoids the divination professor like the plague, going so far as to take her meals in her office.

Klein already knew something was off with the happenings of the school, but especially since Harry’s visit, he’s been paying more attention to the lurking dangers. Ultimately, however, he does not involve himself. He knows very well from the river of fate that this world will sort itself out, and Klein is just a visitor in a dream. He has no right to meddle in the affairs of things he does not understand.

Still, he teaches the little thirteen year olds in his care how to divine and interpret matters related to their safety. He directs Harry to someone else regarding his dreams—they are not prophetic, they are telepathic. He may or may not have some vaguely threatening words (plus or minus eldritch tentacles) to a certain pink monster which keeps her out of his classroom for the duration of the semester.

In this dream of his, Klein becomes the rather beloved Professor Moretti, and even Snape’s glare no longer looks like he’s scorning every part of Klein’s existence. Not even the divination part.

But every dream has to end. The happenings with the school which initially pulled at Klein’s subconscious have passed, and by the end of the year the pink monster is locked up and Klein bows in deference to Madam Trelawney.

The students are sad to see him go. The rest of the staff, too. Klein gives them a charlatan’s smile and lifts his box of items. “If fate allows it, then we can meet again,” he tells them, and walks down the front steps of the school, feeling his lucidity fade with each one. He doesn’t know what happens to that body afterward. He sleeps once again.