Enchanting Melodies (HP SI)

[athassprkr]

[An SI Harry Potter Fanfiction]

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Summary:

Harry Potter was an odd boy, everyone knew it. His eyes were too aware, he was too calm, too intelligent for it to be natural. This remained a mystery, even to the boy himself, until one day he remembered the man he used to be. Alas, The magical world is far more treacherous than the one from his past life and he must either succumb or rise above them all. Will he rise to the challenge?

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This is a fanfiction where the MC is reincarnated as Harry Potter. I am prioritizing world building here, and this is my take on a semi-realistic fanfiction of that universe, and the magic system within it.
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I don't own pretty much anything in this Fanfic.

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I will be posting one chapter a day for the foreseeable future. I will update this post if the schedule changes or something. Chapters will be at least 2k words long.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 1: A Disappointing Childhood

13th March 1990, Privet Drive, Surrey

In the smallest bedroom of 4 Privet Drive, a boy with messy black hair, was sleeping peacefully on a rather small bed. The boy opened his eyes, revealing two emerald-green eyes. His name was Harry Potter, and he was without a doubt, the odd one out of this house.

Four people called this house that screamed of mundanity and neat freaks bordering on the psychotic, their home. Yet, any outside visitors would have thought that only three people lived there. The photos were of a thin tall woman, a rather obese man with a comical moustache, and a young boy that seemed to be on his way to matching his father in his weight. No one would have thought that there was another child in this place, no one would have believed that Harry Potter lived in 4 Privet Drive.

And yet, the young boy did. He looked nothing like his relatives. He was thin and rather lithe, as opposed to his cousin's rather large figure. He shared nearly no facial features with his aunt Petunia, which was his only living relative, outside her son, that is, but he didn't really count. As far as the world knew Harry Potter's parents died when he was eighteen months old, which is why he lives with his aunt and uncle.

Inwardly, Harry was glad that he looked nothing like his relatives. Vernon Dursley revelled in his career as a manager in a drill company, and his wife was the typical gossiping housewife with too much time on her hand. As for their son, he was barely more than an underachieving student that barely passed primary school and passed his time bullying his fellow students.

Years ago, Harry remembered craving his relatives' love and approval, hoping to be acknowledged one day as a member of this family, distasteful as it may be. The young boy had grown out of that ridiculous phase. The two elders Dursleys did their best at ignoring him, although for what seemed to be different reasons. Harry didn't understand why his aunt constantly looked at him with a pained expression of distaste and grief, it probably had something to do with his mother. He didn't understand why Vernon Dursley looked at him with fear and rage in his eyes. But one thing was for certain. The Dursleys have done their best to show Harry that he wasn't a part of their family and that he would never be.

It was devastating for a young child to realize that, but Harry was an oddly mature child. He simply accepted the fact and moved on in a way that was simply unnatural for a child his age.

While no one would ever deny that the Dursleys did not shirk their responsibility in providing him with his basic needs. He was always treated with this cold dismissal. As far as they were concerned, Harry did not deserve a single drop of warmth as far they were concerned. The young boy did not have any birthday parties, or expensive toys to play with. He was never hugged, nor congratulated on getting a good grade in school. They simply bought him his clothes and his amenities, paid for his basic needs and left him alone.

Of course, they also did their best in making sure that everything he had would be less than Dudley's. His clothes were always second hands while his cousin got fancy ones that he would grow too fat to wear in a few months. Dudley was allowed to have swimming lessons, expensive toys and trips, while Harry sulked in his room.

Still, things could have been worse. Harry knew for a fact that this was better than being sent to an orphanage. One of his classmates lived in one, and he told horror stories about the understaffed building, with too many hungry orphans running around, desperately hoping to be adopted into a family. Harry had a room for himself, stable food to grow, and all his basic needs catered for. After graduating from school, he would do his best to either go to university or just get a job to move out of Privet Drive forever, leaving behind the hateful beings that he calls his relatives.

As for now, Harry could live with his guardian's dismissal. In fact, after accepting that they don't care about him in any way, he thrived in it. He mowed lawns and did odd jobs in the neighbourhood to earn his pocket money. He got good grades in school and was known as the smartest boy in their grade. Not that the Dursleys cared, only celebrating their son's mediocre marks.

Harry's pondering was broken by the shrilly voice of his aunt Petunia, "BOY! You have two minutes to come down before we leave for school without you, and you'll walk to school."

Startled, the boy in question looked at the alarm clock that seemed to have frozen in the middle of the night. Seeing that he had almost overslept, he stiffened and immediately sat up.

Aunt Petunia wasn't bluffing; he learnt that the hard way. As so, the boy quickly replied, "I'm coming down Aunt Petunia."

He quickly put on whatever was around and ran down the stairs straight to the car. Uncle Vernon had already left, and as usual, there was no breakfast for him. If he wanted something, he had to make it for himself. As far as Harry was concerned, the only meal he was allowed to have, was Dinner. His Breakfast and his school lunch were his own responsibility to prepare.

He quickly ran to the garage and entered his aunt's car. She had bought it for the express reason of driving Dudley and him to school. Before Uncle Vernon's big promotion, things didn't look up financially, but that was years ago, and now the Dursleys had enough to splurge at their leisure. God, they even gave their son an obscene amount of gifts for Christmas and his birthday. Like honestly, Harry could understand spoiling your child by buying five or so gifts, but thirty was just too much.

Harry met his aunt's derisive frown with an impassive gaze, "You were almost late."

The boy shrugged, "The alarm broke. I'll need to replace it."

"I'm not paying for it. Either fix it yourself or buy a new one with your own money."

Harry nodded, not expecting anything else from the woman. Aunt Petunia sniffed and nodded to herself as if she had won something and started driving. He ignored his cousin's childish taunts and looked out the window.

Dudley for some reason absolutely hated Harry. Well, that was what Harry assumes at the very least. He seemed to understand his parents' distaste for his cousin and tried to do the same in the only way anyone his age could do, with violence.

Before he started primary school, the obese child was too young to put things together, but when he tried to do the same in school and Harry complained to the teachers, the Dursleys claimed that he was a compulsive liar or something, and both Dudley and Harry ended up getting a warning without any consequences.

The very next time, Harry made sure that a teacher was nearby whenever Dudley tried anything. After the obese boy was witnessed doing it multiple times, the teacher started to believe Harry almost all the time, and adding in Harry's signs of high intelligence, the teachers tended to back him up.

Speaking of his intelligence, Harry was called a genius by his teachers. And they might be right; Harry had an easier time learning new things than his peers. Some of it was genuine intelligence, but for some reason, almost everything felt familiar to him. It was more like relearning than anything else.

The boy knew that when he learnt French with prodigal speed, but Latin took ten times that time to learn. Even now, he hadn't mastered the language, at least compared to his almost fluent French. Oh, he was still impressively fast in learning the extinct language, but it wasn't on the same ridiculous level as him mastering the entire French language on his own in a few months. Truthfully, Harry kept at it, even if it was mostly useless to him because it was proof that he was still intelligent even with the whole weirdness about his rate of learning in most other subjects.

Harry had known about this for a while and hadn't told anyone. Because who can he trust to confess his fears, dreams, and sorrows? Harry Potter was alone, and that was a sad fact that isn't likely to change anytime soon. Oh, his teachers tried, but in the end, they were primary school teachers that were overworked and had to deal with dozens of brats every day.

Even Harry's classmates didn't like hanging out with him, or rather, he didn't make the effort to hang out with them. He was just too developed, so easily bored by their behaviour, that he would choose to spend his time in his own company, either with a book in hand or by learning a new skill. These brats really had too much energy, and Harry just didn't have it in him to run around playing a nonsensical game that he wouldn't enjoy. Sporting activities just weren't for him, and as far as he was concerned, a balanced diet would stop him from gaining too much weight. He didn't need to play sports to keep his figure. And it's not like the Dursleys would pay for any lessons, and even if he joined a club or another, he would probably end up walking home every day, which is not something he's looking forward to.

And all of this was without mentioning Harry's weirdness, or whatever Aunt Petunia refered to as freakishness. Oh, he had no idea what she was talking about, but considering that he was practically warned every day that he shouldn't do any freakishness or whatever, there had to be some substance to it.

And she was right, odd things tended to happen around Harry, impossible things. Aunt Marge's dog – which he actually forgot its name – somehow ended up completely bald and covered in warts when he tried to chase down Harry in the garden when his owner wanted him to demonstrate the effectiveness of her commands that she taught the damn thing. Harry would never deny the satisfied– and confused – smile at the little beasts sudden whimpering when it chased him down.

Similarly, Harry remembered the ground turning into a sponge when he fell down a tree he was climbing and could have hurt himself. He remembered how the stones that Dudley and his friends once tried to throw at him had somehow been sent back at his aggressors.

Harry theorized that this weirdness was to protect him somehow. But as many times this weirdness happened, there were ten occurrences where he was actually hurt. Harry didn't trust such a wild phenomenon for his protection. And to be honest, he could understand why his aunt was weary of it. It kinda freaked him out as well. Oh, he tried to control it by following a fiction book she read from the library. It's not like there was a manual called 'How to control superpowers' or something. Anyway, he found himself unable to do anything, and he wasn't willing to put himself in danger for the sake of trying to recreate the occurrence which seemed to be very random and chaotic. So, he left it alone. It would be better to learn the truth from Aunt Petunia one day than hurt himself by trying to experiment with something he didn't understand.

Oh, his aunt definitely knew about it, and for some reason, it was the thing that made her dislike him so much. Her constant warnings about his 'freakishness' were evidence of that. If he had to guess, Harry would say that his mother had it too, and his aunt was afraid of it. But that's a wild guess at best.

Harry noticed that they had arrived at their destination, and he left the car with his cousin to get to school. As usual, Harry walked to the building with gusto to get to class. He had math class, and he didn't want to be late for it. After all, this was a typical Tuesday at school. It's not like anything interesting would happen, wouldn't it?

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 2: The Incident

13th March 1990, Privet Drive, Surrey

Harry entered the math classroom with gusto and sat at his usual table. They were doing fractions now, and ten minutes in, he was bored out of his mind. It was so easy, so simple, and so logical. It was something that Harry had been using instinctively in his head. Even now that he was still in class, he didn't even need to think before answering Mrs Robinson's questions. He even found a small mistake, probably a typo, in one of his schoolbooks when he skimmed it.

That should be impossible. There's a difference between being a natural about something and actually knowing the mathematical rules of something he never studied before. It was another sign of his weirdness, and it freaked the young boy out.

The raven-haired boy looked out of the window, contemplating his situation. He didn't need this at all, another sign that Harry Potter wasn't normal. It was starting to happen more often, using words that he had never heard, knowing things that he hadn't learnt. It was like something was coming, and it was closing every second.

Well, Harry had a good lid on his emotions. He looked a calm person on the outside, even if he was inwardly very nervous. It was a skill that Harry developed instinctively. Living in a home that utterly dismissed your existence would do that to a person, but even then, it was too intensive, to normal, for him to be so detached from his emotions like this. His aunt even called him a sociopath behind his back. He read about it in the library, and he felt that it was a wrong diagnosis. Harry felt his emotions, and understood them, he simply didn't know how to express them properly. And it's not like living with loathsome people like the Dursleys would ever make him a mentally healthy person anyway.

It's not like Harry ever pretended to not be messed up. Oh, he was, but compared to the whiny, entitled, arrogant, violent, spoilt boy that Dudley was growing up to be, he was a far more adjusted person. Honestly, it baffled the young man how Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia didn't notice how much they were mistreating their child by giving him exactly whatever he wanted. Honestly, Harry had never seen them ever refuse him anything, and that was just wrong. It wouldn't be too surprising for the obese boy to end up caught committing a crime if he ever survives to that age considering the probable heart condition he would most likely develop.

It's not like Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were any better. Vernon Dursley was a bootlicker that acts like he was in line for the Throne of England. His wife had her head in the cloud and ignores everything that she doesn't like – which happens to mostly be her nephew – and pretends to be some sort of noble lady from the Middle Ages.

Alright, Harry had his issues with both of them, but he still appreciates what they have done for him. He had no illusions that the Dursleys' financial situation was very fragile before Uncle Vernon's promotion. Harry's unexpected addition to the household, and the expenses that come with him, made Vernon work like a bull to stay afloat. Of course, he ended up being rewarded years later for his dedication with a big promotion, but he could have easily just sent him to the orphanage, no matter what rumours might appear in the neighbourhood, and Harry appreciated this. It was why he tried his best not to make things more difficult for his relatives.

Harry's contemplation was broken by Mrs Robinson asking him a question, "Mr Potter, are you paying attention?"

"Of course, Mrs Robinson," the boy answered back, lying through his teeth.

"Then can you tell me what's the answer to this problem, young man?"

Harry immediately looked at the board and saw the basic problem, "The fraction can be simplified to two sevenths."

It was ridiculously easy, as was the most of mathematics that he had ever seen. It always came to him easier than anything else. It was a shame that the school library didn't have any schoolbooks past his year. It was a primary school, after all. And the public library was too far away to go regularly. So far, Harry spent most of the time bored out of his mind in class. So, it was easier to lose himself in his own thoughts, than pay attention to his painfully slow lessons.

Speaking of the teacher, she pursed her lips in dissatisfaction and continued her lecture, ignoring Harry's answer completely. Mrs Robinson was a friend of Aunt Petunia and thus has learnt to dislike Harry on principle. The young boy didn't know what his aunt told her, but she was always trying to get him in trouble.

Harry returned back to his thoughts, ignoring the rest of the lesson, until the bell ran, signalling that it was lunchtime.

Since the green-eyed boy didn't have time to pack himself any lunch and didn't want to pay from his hard-earned money to eat food as horrible as the one in the cafeteria, he chose not to eat at all. He wasn't hungry anyway, distracted by what could be happening to him.

The so-called 'freakishness' alone was a problem. It was random, it was odd, and Harry could easily hurt anyone with it. Harry didn't really mind the idea of hurting someone who deserved it, but if anyone knew about it, they could end up destroying whatever potential future he might have. It would rob him of his greatest payback on the Dursleys, living well.

For all their dismissal of him, grumbling over his uselessness, Harry knew that he was worth far more than they could imagine. He would make something of himself if only to spite them. He had the potential to build something great, something that would dwarf their meaningless lives, and he would ignore them as they did him. After all, the best revenge for someone who wronged you is to simply live well. The Dursleys wanted to bring him down, but they failed. What better way is it to have revenge than to watch them from afar, having made himself a great life, while they wallow in their petty lives – which will probably be short considering Vernon's health – like the idiotic garden beauty competition the housewives had.

Honestly, out of the loathsome relatives Harry has, he dislikes his aunt the most. Petunia Dursley had never even tried to like him, let alone love him. The worst that ever happened was how useless she truly was to the world. She did absolutely nothing with her time outside cooking, gossiping with the neighbours and taking care of Dudley, who is eleven years old and could learn to have some independence at the very least. Now, considering that Vernon is unlikely to live past fifty, it would be very likely for Petunia to find herself widowed with no career prospects or actual work experience. The Dursleys tended to blow their money on luxurious items they did not need, like the honestly uselessly expensive gifts they give Dudley or the constant renovation of their house. That's not even mentioning buying a new car almost every year.

Yeah, things didn't look good for them if their income dropped suddenly. It was somewhat worrying for Harry to imagine what would happen to him if Vernon got fired or something. He wouldn't dismiss the idea of Dudley just eating him out of hunger.

Instead of staying inside, Harry chose to take a walk outside to clear his head. This was his last year of primary school and Harry will have to go elsewhere to continue his education. He didn't even know where he would be going. Vernon kept bragging about Dudley being accepted in Smeltings, his old private school. It was so pretentious, it stopped being funny. Who the hell gives teenagers walking canes anyway? As for Harry, for some reason, the Dursleys didn't apply him to any school. However, the young boy believes that he would probably end up going to a generic public school, which isn't all that surprising.

Although when Harry asked his aunt about it, she looked oddly stricken and told him that they had already arranged something for him, which didn't really reassure the young boy too much.

Harry's musing was again interrupted by the sickeningly familiar voice of his cousin, "Well, if it isn't the freak?"

The green-eyed boy raised an eyebrow, "What a clever name, Dudley, did you come up with it by yourself?"

As expected, the sarcasm went over the boy's head. Dear lord, Dudley was a different kind of stupid. Honestly, Harry wouldn't be surprised if Vernon and Petunia were somehow related to causing this much stupidity to be contained in a single body.

The boy in question was standing next to his little gang, Malcolm, Piers, Dennis and Gordon. These five menaces barely did anything with their time other than harassing and terrorizing the children they happen to encounter. They usually did their best trying to antagonize Harry, but the young boy was always close to a teacher, who stopped them from doing anything.

Speaking of the teacher, Harry looked towards the school entrance and saw them be suspiciously missing. Dudley followed his gaze and laughed, "There aren't any teachers to bail you out, freak."

Damn, this wouldn't have happened if Harry wasn't distracted by his weirdness. He should have noticed that there were no teachers and gone back to the cafeteria. He looked around and saw that he was surrounded. Damn, give him an intellectual debate and he would win with his eyes closed, but physical activity just wasn't his thing. Against five bigger boys, Harry didn't really have a chance at coming out of it unscathed.

Harry didn't know how to fight with fists, but he did know how to fight with words. He observed his five instigators. He needed to buy some time either for a teacher to find him, or to plan his escape.

He gave his confused attackers a smirk, "I have to say, Malcom, I'm surprised that you're still going to school here. I heard you were moving out because your parents are getting a divorce. Something about your father sleeping with Dennis' mother."

The boy blinked at him, "What are you talking about?"

"Well, it's just a rumour I heard. The word is he disliked you so much that he left his wife because of it. Maybe he just likes Dennis better."

Harry wasn't exactly lying. He had heard his aunt gossip about the scandal. However, they had no idea who the woman in question was. He just wanted to fan the flames for a bit. He definitely never expected that his Aunt Petunia's nonsensical gossip would be useful for anything.

Harry was proven right when Malcom ran at his friend and started hitting him. A fight had started out between the two of them, and Gordon went to stop them. The green-eyed boy tried to run away, only to be restrained by his furious cousin and Piers.

It seems that even with the three of them being distracted, his escape plan wasn't successful. Dudley grinned at his cousin, "I'm not going to let you run, freak."

At least he only needed to deal with two, with the rest being distracted in their little spat. Harry observed his opponents and saw that Piers was slightly limping on his right leg, meaning that his left one was injured somehow. Harry looked around and saw nothing more than sand. Oh, Harry had no idea how to fight, but he had learned the most painful places to hit someone from a book.

Dudley lunged towards Harry who ducked and grabbed a fistful of sad. Harry then threw his sand in his cousin's eyes and had enough to even hurt Piers. Unfortunately, Piers was still holding him tight, even if he had been blinded by the sand. But Harry kicked his injured leg and the boy let him go while screaming. He stepped out into the blind fist of Dudley who hit him in the stomach. Harry retaliated with a much weaker strike of his own which didn't seem to do any damage. After another punch, Harry fell down. He couldn't breathe, everything was going black. Until finally, the familiar feeling of his 'freakishness' came back, and Dudley was propelled away from him. Although the boy still managed to hit Harry in the head before being banished away.

Harry got up after Dudley was away, only to feel like his head was exploding. Had Dudley really hit him that hard? These were the last thoughts he had before he fell unconscious.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 3: Remembrance

13th March 1990, Privet Drive, Surrey

Harry got up after Dudley was away, only to feel like his head was exploding. Had Dudley really hit him that hard? These were the last thoughts he had before he fell unconscious.

As the teachers ran towards the unconscious boy, they thought that he had been knocked unconscious from a hit in the head. They quickly got the boy to the infirmary for the school nurse to take a look at him.

However, while from the outside the boy was completely still, his body unmoving, his mind was whirling in exertion choosing to keep up with his newfound knowledge. Because for the first time, Harry Potter remembered. The thing that was always on the tip of his tongue, in the corner of his eye, revealed itself, and he didn't know how to make heads and tails of it.

His name was Harrold Smith, and he was born in Manchester in a lower middle-class family. His father was an accountant at a small firm, and his mother was a secretary until she quit her job when his younger brother Nathan was born. Nathan was four years younger than him and was quite sickly ever since he was born, both physically and, as they later found out, mentally.

Nathan's birth was the beginning of the misery that befallen the Smith family, and yet Harrold could not hate him for it. He loved his brother and promised to protect him. When his father became distant, taking a second job to be able to provide for the household, Harrold understood the need for it. After all, with Nathan's health complications came medical bills, and then the constant counselling that he would need for the rest of his life.

When Harrold's mother started ignoring him in favour of taking care of his brother, he understood why that happened. He had missed his smiling mother doting on him, but his brother was sick, and that was more important than anything else he could selfishly want.

Because Harrold was an intelligent boy, perhaps not a super genius or something that ridiculous, but enough to see the world around him. He excelled in primary school, being ahead of all his peers. He excelled in secondary school and graduated as the best student in his school.

Even when Harry's father died in a car accident when he was thirteen, Harrold did his best to work his arse off trying to save money for university. His mother, unable to leave her sickly son whom she homeschooled, couldn't get a job and living off their savings. And when she ran out, she took permission from Harrold to use the money his father had set apart for his education to survive, and he accepted without a second's thought. After all, this money was his father's initially, and it was the right thing to do.

But even then, Harry decided that he would make something of himself. He taught himself how to write code online and worked every day to be proficient at it. He worked as an online freelancer from his own computer, and while it was slow at first, over years of work, he was able to save up to go to an average university to get a bachelor's degree. That was the agreement with his mother, he would give her his father's money, but anything he made by himself wouldn't be touched.

Of course, when Harrold graduated school with impressive grades and went to his planned university to study Mathematics, he expected his mother to practically stay out of his life for a while. The woman practically ignored him all his life in favour of his brother, and while he grew used to it, she slowly started to feel like a stranger to him.

The silver lining was the fact that he loved his brother more than life himself. He did his best to tutor him, to take care of him, but the boy would never have a normal life, and he knew it. It was hard to relate to him, but it didn't make Harrold love him any less.

Imagine his surprise to see his mother and sibling for his graduation. He had planned to pursue a master's degree, or even a Doctorate one day, being very passionate about the field of Mathematics. He had kept working odd jobs, including his freelancing programming job, and saved up enough to continue his education. Everything was looking well, even if he had to fight his way to get where he was, it was worth it.

All that hope was dashed immediately when his mother told him of the staggering amount of debt she had to pay for her expenses. He always wondered where she got the money to continue, but the worst part was the fact that she didn't even seem to care about it until it was too late. She bought expensive clothes, and bought a new car a couple of years back, without even thinking about the repercussions of her actions.

Harrold could understand being miserable doing nothing but taking care of her son day in and out, but that was just too much. She needed help to repay her debt and what could he do but help his mother and his brother? The young man abandoned his dreams and moved back home. He practically drained his bank account to pay his mother's debt and settled on taking a job from a friend of his, at a school, as a math teacher.

It was a nice job, cosy, with a few perks. He needed the flexibility to take care of his brother. Their mother had run away barely a month after begging for his help, and honestly, Harrold was just exhausted. Five years later, Nathan died in his sleep. He had too many health complications, and Harrold was alone in the world with practically no purpose.

He could have chosen to come back to university, but he simply didn't have the passion he once did. Oh, he was practically as well-read as your average university Professor, choosing to sharpen his mind during the previous few years. But he was grieving and had chosen to take his time to deal with it. He grew to love his school and love his students.

Outside of his job, Harrold didn't really have anything else to do. He didn't have any friends, and practically never had a girlfriend, since he was always too busy with Nathan to even entertain the thought. The problem with having two parents that practically ignored your existence was the fact that you simply never learn to develop any sort of social skills or emotional intelligence in any way. Oh, Harrold was an awkward child when he was younger, but he simply didn't know how to communicate with people. Even then, he was too busy, either taking care of his brother or working, to notice this glaring issue. It was at university that he noticed how lonely he truly was without being constantly busy. But he had no idea how to even make friends, and so his cycle of loneliness continued until his adulthood.

Harrold's only companions were his books. He felt alive when he was reading. He learnt of joy, loss, sadness, sorrow, anger, and love from his books. It was so easy to lose himself in a book, to give himself to the illusion of life, and yet forget to live. It was easier, and less painful, to lose himself in a fantasy instead of facing the fact that he had lived an empty life. In many ways, just because something was fake, it didn't make it any less true, any less beautiful and powerful.

And so, Harrold spent another few years as a teacher, living more in his tales and stories than outside, choosing not to be hurt like he had been when his brother died. Because to Harrold, Nathan was everything. He was his purpose. He sacrificed his childhood so that his brother would have one, he sacrificed his future just to take care of him. He never experienced his father's pride, nor his mother's life for his sake, and yet Nathan still died with a slight smile on his face, leaving Harrold alone in the world.

It was when Harrold was in his thirties that he was diagnosed with a brain tumour. It was inoperable, and he had months to live. He didn't want to live the rest of his remaining life strapped to a machine and had no one to live with. It was sad; Harrold's brain was his pride, the only thing he had left, and it was killing him. It was irony at its finest.

In another life, Harrold Smith could have changed the world, but it was not this world, and so he went gently into that goodnight. His passing wasn't noticed by a single human being, except his students that are. No one mourned his passing for more than a day. He was forgotten in the annals of history. His song has ended, and yet his melody lingered on.

Harry Potter sat up suddenly when he realized what just happened. He remembered the other man, the other life, the other Harry. Were they the same person at heart? Was he Harry Potter or Harrold Smith? Was there any difference, really? They had practically the same personality accentuated by the same emotional awkwardness. They were both scholars who were ignored by their families, and forced the grow up quickly and in solitude. Even their names were similar.

The only difference now was the fact that Harry now had more knowledge and information about the world. Oh, that and the magic thing that is.

Because Harrold Smith knew about Harry Potter, about the Chosen One, the young wizard that would sacrifice his life for the greater good to fight the man who killed his parents, the Dark Lord Voldemort. It was a children's tale in Smith's world, and yet it did explain all the oddness that surrounded young Harry. It explained the fear in the eyes of his aunt whenever he looked at him, it explained why he was called a freak by the magic hating muggles – and what an odd and slightly insulting word that was – that he called her relatives. But most of all, it could explain how he just banished Dudley away without touching him.

It was too good, it fit too perfectly for it to be anything else. Harry didn't know whether or not to be angry that his life was a children's book, which actually showed how difficult things were about to be for the young man. Possessed teachers, giant snakes that would kill with a gaze, and giant soul sucking demons sent warning bells to him.

And yet, Harry couldn't help but be excited by the prospect of going to Hogwarts and learning magic there. No matter what the dangers were, he was still a scholar at heart, reincarnation or not. As for Voldemort, he would be handled with caution, now that he understood the danger he presented. It would be daunting, playing the game between Dumbledore and Voldemort, where he was barely more than a pawn, but for the chance to learn something as exciting as magic, he would do it without complaining. Well, he might complain slightly. He might even make friends there, with another wizard or witch.

And if he was to be a wizard, Harry will damn well be the wizard the world had ever seen. His life as Harrold Smith was a disappointment, empty, having achieved nothing with his existence. No, Harry Potter will rise from Harrold Smith's ashes to achieve greatness. For he refused to be no one again.

Harry got up from the bed he was sleeping on, thoughts filled with purpose. He looked around and saw that he was in the infirmary. There was a mirror right next to him, and the young boy decided to see the extent of his injuries. There was a slight bruise on his left cheek, but it didn't look serious. It was then that he noticed the distinct lack of a scar on his forehead, and all his plans went to hell in a second.

The young boy couldn't help but mutter, "Oh, fuck."

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 4: Semblance of Magic

13th March 1991, Privet Drive, Surrey

There was a slight bruise in his left cheek, but it didn't look serious. It was then that he noticed the distinct lack of a scar on his forehead, and all his plans went to hell in a second.

The young boy couldn't help but mutter, "Oh, fuck."

Young Harry did not expect the admonishing voice coming from behind him, "Watch your language, Mr Potter."

Instinctively, answered back, "I'm sorry, Nurse Royce."

The school nurse turned up her nose and nodded to herself, satisfied with his apology. Harry didn't even notice the woman enter. He was too distracted by the clusterfuck that he just figured out. He was not marked. Of course, it made sense now he thought of it, but the moment he remembered Harrold Smith's life, he forgot the fact that he lacked a certain lightning bolt shaped scar that marked him as the child of the prophecy, as Voldemort's enemy.

Harry tried to remember and thought back to any noticeable scar he might have had and found nothing. He didn't have a scar, that was a fact, then the question was what happened to his parents.

James and Lily Potter were supposed to be the Gryffindor golden couple. The Head boy and Head girl – which had to be very biased since they're both in the same house – they're supposed to be members of Dumbledore's order of the phoenix and die protecting Harry from Tom Riddle's attack on that fateful night in their cottage in Godric's Hollows.

But how much of what he remembered was true, or what else is false? Perhaps Voldemort had chosen Neville and he was the child of the prophecy, while Harry's parents were tortured to insanity by the Lestranges and Crouch Jr.? Perhaps they even abandoned Harry for some reason – which wasn't likely since Petunia would have done her best to rub that in his face, and she said that her sister was dead.

Perhaps the prophecy was different than the stories and Harry didn't need to be marked to be the Chosen One, or even better, there wasn't any prophecy in the first place.

Or maybe Voldemort never existed in the first place. This little detail, this scar, showed Harry that the books, the stories were fallible. They were just that, stories, but Harry lived in the real world. He would use what he could from the stories, but until he meets the magical world, it would be foolish to even plan.

For the present moment, it would be better to assume that he wasn't the child of the prophecy and move on from there. It's the outcome he was hoping for, at least. Harry was uncomfortable at the idea of being famous in any way, especially for his parents dying for him in the first place. Even now, compared to the books, the Dursleys looked tame. Oh, they hated the young wizard for his magic and were completely fearful of his potential, but they were overly abusive. Sure, they were spiteful, but they never beat him, constantly insult him, or even lock him up in the fucking cupboard under the stairs of all places. They were not insane, just some mistrustful muggles that were fearful of magic.

Honestly, the Dursleys from the stories felt more like a caricature of the evil stepmother from the Cinderella story than real people. He couldn't imagine ever people being so obsessed with being normal that they would treat their nephew as a slave. That was especially stupid when that particular nephew would one day be a wizard that could kill them in seconds with barely more than a few waves of a wand, and even hide any evidence of the encounter.

It would be the height of recklessness to justify the pleasure of being cruel to a defenceless child who would turn into a wizard one day. Oh, they didn't pretend to like him, but ignorance was far better than physical abuse.

The young wizard's thoughts were interrupted by the nurse's voice, "Are you listening to me, young man."

"I'm sorry, Nurse Royce, I'm just a bit distracted. Would you mind repeating what you just said?"

The grumpy nurse huffed, "Fine. As I said, you only have a slight bruise on your cheek. There doesn't seem to be any fractures or serious injuries. Honestly, I wouldn't have expected you to have been in a fight at all, at least compared to the other boys."

Harry shrugged, "I'm not much of a fighter. They just cornered me, called me a freak, and started beating me. I did my best to avoid being hit and run away. I even turned them against each other, but I couldn't run away fast enough."

The boy could swear to see a slight smile on the face of the nurse, who sighed in exasperation, "You could have really hurt them, kiddo."

Outraged, Harry responded, "You do realize that there were five of them. And I barely even hit any of them. They mostly just hit each other. The only one I really hit was Piers and Dudley, and my cousin is too fat to feel anything these puny muscles could hit."

"Well, you better convince the Headmistress. The teachers broke the fight between the three boys and brought you all here. Their parents are all in her office, complaining away."

Harry took a deep breath, "Well, that's not good, is it?"

"Yes, things do not look good for you. Now, let's not keep the Headmistress waiting. She told me to bring you to her as soon as you wake up."

The nurse then turned and left the infirmary, with Harry hastily following after her. The young boy was even gasping exhaustion by the time they arrived in the Headmistress' office. He felt drained and he didn't know if it was because of the fight or because of the magic he used.

Still, he entered the room with all five of his aggressors and their parents staring down at him with furious expressions. The headmistress looked down at him with a severe expression, "Mr Potter, it's good to see you awake again. Well, now that you're here, we can begin. Can you tell us what happened, your side of things, at least?"

Harry shrugged, "Well, I decided to go on a walk for lunch since I forgot to pack myself any and didn't bring any money for the cafeteria. I was walking around when Dudley and his friends called me a freak and bragged that there were no teachers to defend me. They said they wanted me to teach me a lesson. I tried to talk them out of it, but it didn't work."

Petunia scoffed but was silenced by a glare from the headmistress. The woman then nodded to me to continue his story, "Since I'm not much of a physical fighter, I tried to turn them against one another. I said some very hurtful things that I'm not proud of to get them to focus on themselves. Malcom and Denis started fighting, and Gordon was trying to break them up."

All of the three mentioned parents glared at their children who looked down in shame and Harry stifled a smile of satisfaction at what was probably going to await them. "I then tried to run but Piers and Dudley held me up and still wanted to fight. When they hit me, I threw some dust in their eyes, and hit Piers in the leg, but then Dudley punch me in the face and I think I passed out. I don't remember anything else, sorry."

Petunia glared at her nephew, "Headmistress, you can't believe this nonsense, can you?"

The headmistress answered with a sarcastic tone, "As opposed to your son's story that he attacked them all for no reason whatsoever?"

Harry snorted in amusement and all of the adults looked at him with raised eyebrows, telling him to justify himself, "It's just that it's such a stupid story. So, I somehow went on a walk before them, and when they came out for no reason, chose to fight them. And that's your story, that an honour student who didn't go to a single detention in his schooling, decided to attack boys known for harassing their classmates, just for the fun of it. And most of all, you're saying that I, the short thin kid who can barely do a few laps in gym class, would physically fight not one, not two, but five people that are bigger and stronger than me at the same time. Are you seriously believing this?"

The headmistress must have had the same thought, "You have to admit that your son's story is far-fetched, Mrs Dursley. Look, we're all adults here, and we can admit that everyone here had their part to play in this mess. So, I'm giving you all two days of detention, and it will be up to you to add any additional punishment at home. As for now, it's almost the end of the classes, so take your children with you home."

Everyone seemed somewhat satisfied with the decision, even if Petunia was grumbling and the drive home was spent in silence. The punishment from Harry's aunt and uncle was relatively tame. They yelled at him for hurting their darling child and forbade him from leaving his room which wasn't really a big deal.

Dudley's grinning face, as they berated him, was annoying, but it didn't really anger him, not anymore. It's hard to imagine that he envied Dudley once. Now, he only just pitied him. His parents coddled him so much that they raised a dysfunctional boy that will not be able to live by himself when he grows up. He'll probably end up paying a small fortune in therapy to get over how they messed him up. And all because his parents wanted to show their superiority to their nephew.

Although, it really couldn't be out of spite, and they are just this much of horrible parents, as unlikely as that may be.

But Harry stopped caring about it, for now, Dudley wasn't important. Vernon and Petunia weren't important, because he had magic, now. He had real power, and in a few months, he would be invited to Hogwarts. It made sense because that's probably the arrangement Petunia was talking about when Harry mentioned secondary school.

As for now, Harry was confined to his own room until the end of the year, and while he would miss his trips to the library, he had enough time to experiment with magic properly.

The young wizard hadn't been successful in using it because he really didn't know what it was other than it was some kind of 'freakishness'. But now, Harry knew that it was just called accidental magic, a way for magic to express itself during childhood when they express powerful emotions.

It was often known to be chaotic and replicating it would be dangerous. It happened to Harry when he was scared or about to get hurt. It didn't really protect him, as much as it responded to his fear of something hurting him. Plus having control over the magic wasn't an impossible thing. Tom Riddle, as a child, had learnt to weaponize it to frighten his bullies in the orphanage. Hell, he even learnt how to telekinetically move objects by himself. Well, that's according to the stories, that is. If anything, Tom Riddle was an extremely intelligent child to figure this out on his own. He probably weaponized an emotion, most likely hate, and used it to channel his magic through it. It was as disturbing as it was brilliant, not to mention slightly frightening.

As for Harry, now that he understood the principal, he needed to use them slightly. He looked at the small sheet of paper on his bed and stared at it, as he had been for the last few hours.

Harry did his best to put the image in his mind, of Dudley trying to strike him in the face, he looked deep down, trying to channel it as much as possible. He almost felt like he was there, scared of being hurt, and with that emotion, he felt something stir inside him.

A small warmth spread all over his body, and the sheet of paper levitated a few inches in the air. Well, that was easier than he expected.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 5: The Letter

28th July 1991, Privet Drive, Surrey

He almost felt like he was there, scared of being hurt, and with that emotion, he felt something stir inside him.

A small warmth spread all over his body, and the sheet of paper levitated a few inches in the air. Well, that was easier than he expected.

Well, that was a fucking lie.

It didn't take long for Harry to figure out that his preconceptions about magic were completely false. For all his immediate success in moving things with his mind, his efforts stayed imprecise and relatively weak.

Calling it telekinesis would be a bit of a stretch, considering that the heaviest object he could lift with his magic was his English textbook. Anything heavier than this, and the magic would simply not work. As for the activity itself, it wasn't too strenuous. He didn't feel drained when he attempted something that was above his capabilities, but he did feel slightly sore when he was done as if he had somehow been exercising all day. Although Harry chose not to do anything drastic without the proper knowledge first, and so did not make theories about how magic truly worked. Older and more experienced wizards and witches have probably made their own research on how magic truly worked, and it wasn't like an eleven-year-old orphan who barely even knows that magic exists could come up with something they haven't.

As for the magic itself, Harry mostly focused on his telekinesis, deeming any additional magic to be too dangerous to try out without the proper instructions. Even a book on the subject would be better than trying out things blindly.

And the worst thing was how inconsistent accidental magic was. Oh, he could move his magic, mould it to fulfil his intent, but he was rarely able to replicate the same thing again. He tried to recreate the locking and unlocking charms, which are spells that a first year muggleborn should be able to cast a month into the term. Hermione Granger was an intelligent young girl in the books, but she was not a remarkably powerful witch, only a knowledgeable one, at least compared to the average wizard. Harry had no intention of being average at all.

When Harry tried to open or close the lock on his bedroom door, he was met with various results even when he replicates his exact actions, emotions, and intent. The results were just too chaotic every time. Sometimes the door would lock, sometimes it would open only the lock. Sometimes, it would unlock the door and open it. Sometimes, the lock just jammed, and the young wizard would keep sending more unlocking magic at it until would unjam.

The same happened when the young boy tried to replicate the Reparo charm. The spell was supposed to repair objects, and Harry had an abundance of Dudley's broken toys to experiment with. Similarly, to the unlocking charm, sometimes the toys would be fixed, and a few times it would be a partial thing – which tended to happen when the toys were complex. Magic was as wonderful as it was confusing.

Honestly, if Harry could guess about Voldemort's circumstances, he would come to the conclusion that the heir of Slytherin was able to direct his intent – which tended to be malicious – and hoped for the best. He probably came to the same conclusion about the weak telekinesis and chose to channel his anger to cast primitive curses on his bullies.

Tom Riddle was, without a doubt, an exceptional wizard in the books, but unless his portrayal from the books was false, he was a terrible dark lord. Harry didn't know if it was because of the Horcruxes, or if the man was just mad, but he didn't seem to have a goal in the matter. He definitely didn't believe in pureblood supremacy, since he was living proof that it was a lie, and probably thought that it was the best cause to support in order to secure his rise to power.

His actual goals and motivations are a complete mystery because a man hungry for nothing but power without a clear purpose would be a complete fool. Tom Riddle did not strike me as a complete fool. But that's assuming that Lord Voldemort existed in the first place. Even if the dark lord did exist, should Harry be completely out of the chessboard that represented Dumbledore's spat with Voldemort, he would not put himself on it. Harry would learn magic and nothing else, as he had been trying to experiment for the last few months.

Oh, Harry had tried to discover if he had any hidden overpowered gift, or something similar and found absolutely nothing. He wasn't a metamorphmagus; for all his concentration and intent, his eyes remained green, his hair remained messy, and he didn't exhibit any signs of any other bloodline gifts. So, he dismissed the idea entirely, even if he was disappointed that he wasn't some sort of elemental that could shake the earth and create tsunamis without a wand. As far as he could tell, Harry Potter was simply an ordinary young wizard that isn't particularly special in any way.

Not that it would stay for long. Harry had led a life of mediocrity once. He had let the world lead his life instead of fighting for his own sake. Harrold Smith lacked ambition in a very fundamental matter. That was something he would refuse. In this world, where magic makes might, he would rise from the ashes and become someone that history would never forget.

He was a nobody, once. He will not be one again.

It was odd; a small part of him wanted to impress his parents, to preserve his legacy as a Potter and an Evans, not that Petunia made him inclined to use the name Evans. As far as he was concerned, the Evans family was dead to him, and he would do his best to forget about them as soon as he steps foot into Hogwarts.

The moment Harry had access to his vault – should there actually be a vault – he would leave the damn harpy of a woman and never return. It's a shame really, had the Dursleys acted like his family, he would have been more than happy to share whatever he inherited with his parents with them. Lucky for him, they didn't, and Harry didn't feel like he owed them anything.

The last few months were a testament to that, and Harry was starting to see the psychotic version of the Dursleys in them. They really did hate the fact that Harry had defended himself using magic, accidental as it may be. And they were furious that he had hurt Dudley with his 'freakishness'.

They kept following him everywhere. At first, they just forced him to stay in his room – when he wasn't at school that is – and locked him inside whenever he was home. They kept doing this for a month until one of the neighbours asked about him. Harry was known to take as many side jobs as possible to have any pocket money, and some of his usual customers had worried about him.

Harry didn't really mind being locked in his room. It allowed him to simply focus on his magic, and experiment as much as possible. Magic was just something new, something amazing that the young wizard wanted to figure out. It was such a curious feeling, one that reawakened the scholar in him. Harry was always a bit of an introvert, so spending some time alone wasn't really that big of a deal.

Alas, the neighbours were nosy, especially in Little Whinging, and so, Harry had been 'graciously allowed' to leave his home but was constantly watched by his aunt. He didn't know what that was supposed to achieve, really, since she knew that he would leave in a few months, but hey, Petunia Dursley was not known for her intelligence.

Now, with his birthday approaching, the woman seemed to start fidgeting even more. Petunia Dursley was the closest thing to a connection to the magical world he had, and he refused to let his feelings be tainted by the woman's bitterness. He would learn of the magical world as any normal Muggleborn would, and he would thrive in it.

However, before Harry could embark on his journey to greatness, there was one pressing matter he needed to address. All of his dreams of freedom the Dursleys were completely dependent on the idea that he would be getting a letter from Hogwarts. Oh, he knew for a fact that he was a wizard, but Hogwarts might work differently than it did in the books. He could be invited to Hogwarts when he was older, or Hogwarts might not even exist at all, and another school might take its place.

However, on this fateful day, as the month of July died, a letter appeared on the Dursleys' doorstep, signalling the momentous occasion that would change young Harry's life.

Harry had made it his mission to wake up before the Dursleys every day and sneak to the front porch to see if his letter arrived. It was summer vacation, he was still confined to his room when he wasn't working for the neighbours to keep up appearances, that it. The bastards even locked his door every night for some reason. It wasn't like he was a vampire that would drink their blood at night.

Every day since the month of July began, Harry would unlock his door using his magic and peek at the mail to see if his letter had arrived. And finally, the day arrived when a letter addressed to him, that didn't have any stamps, appeared on the Dursleys' doorstep.

Harry didn't know how much time he spent staring at the letter in question. It was proof that he didn't live a lie. That the magical world was true, and even if he knew for a fact there was still some doubt left.

Although the young wizard would admit that the scarily accurate address was unnerving, to say the least. The letter clearly said:

Mr H. Potter

The Smallest Bedroom

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope itself was thick and heavy and wasn't even made of paper, but some kind of yellowish parchment. Wizards really were old school. The letter was sealed with some red wax that had what Harry assumed to be the Hogwarts coat of arms, each of the animals representing the school houses surrounding the letter 'H'.

Harry sneakily took the letter to his room and locked the door as it should have been during the night. Finally, Harry Potter opened the envelope and started to read.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all the necessary books and equipment.

The term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

This was real. This was the final proof he needed that he wasn't insane, that the stories were true, at least partially. Hogwarts was real, Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster, and Minerva McGonagall was the deputy headmistress.

This was good, this was familiar territory. He could work with this. Harry wouldn't be thrust into a completely unknown world. Oh, there was probably a lot more to it than the story portrayed, but his stories were better than nothing after all.

Harry was so preoccupied with his dreams of studying magic that he didn't notice his aunt unlock his door and open it. He heard his aunt's horrified gasp at the sight of his letter and looked up at her pale face. Harry looked up at her, eyes expressionless, and asked her with a dead tone, "Good Morning, Aunt Petunia. I believe we have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 6: Wilted Flower

28th July 1991, Privet Drive, Surrey

Harry was so preoccupied with his dreams of studying magic that he didn't notice his aunt unlock his door and open it. He heard his aunt's horrified gasp at the sight of his letter and looked up at her pale face. Harry looked up at her, eyes expressionless, and asked her with a dead tone, "Good Morning, Aunt Petunia. I believe we have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

It took a long time and a lot of screaming for things to settle down in 4 Privet Drive. Petunia had completely freaked out at the letter in Harry's hand and started yelling at him just for opening it. After the woman finished ranting about freaks ruining her family, Harry stood there, completely immobile with a face that didn't even twitch at his aunt's temper tantrum.

After the woman was practically gasping in exertion, the young wizard raised an eyebrow, "Are you done?"

"I'm forbidding you from going to the freak school," Petunia screamed.

Her nephew did not scream back at her and instead spoke up with a very calm voice, "I don't really understand you, Aunt Petunia."

"What are you on about, boy?"

"You keep grumbling to yourself that I'm a waste of space, that I'm the reason you don't have a second child because you can't bear the expense, you don't even call me by my name, just 'boy' or 'freak' and yet when you have the opportunity to practically give me away and never see me again, you're forbidding me from leaving."

As Petunia started spluttering but her nephew didn't give her the opportunity to make a coherent sentence, "Because it's not about me, is it? It's about you, it was always about you. It's about how jealous you are that you're not like me, that you're not special. It wasn't enough for you to ignore me as you did, to pretend I don't exist, you hid my family's legacy from me ever since I was a child. I was never angry at you because I saw you as you always were, a jealous woman that would never amount to anything more than being a housewife, while I knew that even without my magic, I would rise far above you."

Petunia couldn't handle it and slapped her nephew in the face. The boy looked at her disbelievingly, "Are you seriously saying that what I said was untrue? Considering the way, you just reacted by hitting a child is proof enough of what your nature truly is. I am going to Hogwarts and that's final."

The elder woman glared at him, "I'm still not getting you to go to that school. Oh, my sister was just like you. She got her letter and disappeared, forgetting about us, about me, in favour of that freak boy. My parents were so proud to have a witch in the family, but I saw what she was, a freak. Then she met the Potter boy, got herself blown up, and we were saddled with you. And you were such a freak, even when you were a boy. Always too knowing, too smart, too freaky. The moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew that you were as much of a freak as your mother."

"So, all of this, was just because you were jealous of your sister? You knew that I was a wizard for so long, and you just thought that it would just disappear in time. You knew that this was coming, that my letter is coming, just like you know that I am leaving."

Petunia actually growled, "Like hell, I'm letting you."

"Well, it's not like I have to do anything. I have an idea that if I don't show up, the school will just send wizards to get me, adult ones that know what they're doing. Are you going to yell at them too?"

The woman paled in fear, realizing that she really wasn't going to get out of this, "But you can tell them that you refuse. You can tell them to go away."

"And why would I do that?"

"I'm your aunt, your guardian…"

Harry glared at her and raised his voice for the first time in this fight, "You are nothing to me, and you know it. Just like I am nothing to you. Oh, I would have taken your input if you so much as pretended to be slightly maternal towards me. But you're not, are you? You treated me like I was barely more than dirt, like an obligation, not a nephew. Is it that surprising that I am washing my hands of you the moment I could."

"I knew it," she bellowed, "I knew that the moment you would get your cursed letter, you would leave us behind as Lily left me behind."

"This has absolutely nothing to do with magic. Trust me, I've been planning on leaving the moment I could. I know when I'm unwanted in this house. This might be your home, but it was never mine. The moment it was legally possible, I would have left this place. This is just a way to leave earlier. Think of it this way, you will barely see me for a couple of months a year, and if I can arrange anything, you will never see me again. Wasn't that your deepest wish, aunt?"

Petunia's eyes were glistening, "You can't. You're Lily's child."

"And I would care if I knew the slightest detail about her. But never spoke a word of her and yelled at me when I asked. You can't hold her over me when you obviously don't care about it. Now, all I need from you are the details on how to enter the magical world, and I'll leave you be."

Yes, Harry needed as much detail about it as possible because the school was obviously under the illusion that he knew about magic, that he was a wizard. Considering how Muggleborns would have disregarded the letter as a prank, it would make sense that a professor would come to explain everything and at least demonstrate some magic to prove that Hogwarts was a real thing.

And yet, no one had come to see Harry. Everyone obviously thought that he didn't need an introduction, which should include a generic explanation as to where to get their shops. It was probably at Diagon Alley, but the boy had promised himself to not consider the stories as absolute facts. The lack of a scar on his forehead was enough proof that it wasn't infallible.

Petunia though didn't seem to be inclined to help him, "No, I'm not."

"Again, you don't do it, the wizards will be coming, and they won't be kind about it."

Harry's aunt glared at him, "You think you're so smart, aren't you?"

"I know I am smart, no matter how much you want to pretend I'm some simpleton like your oaf of a son. But this is the logical outcome, and you obviously know it. So, let's not pretend like it's about me and not about your unresolved feelings towards my dead mother, and get things going so that I leave. Just point me in the right direction and I'll be going in peace."

Petunia still didn't look like she was going to play ball and before Harry could even try to convince her, they both heard Vernon's voice and stiffened, "What's all this ruckus?"

The man entered the room, watched the letter in Harry's hand, and his crying wife and was consumed by a blind rage, "YOU LITTLE FREAK. I WILL NOT LET YOU GO TO THIS SCHOOL. I HAVE TOLERATED YOUR FREAKISHNESS, BUT THIS IS GOING TOO FAR…"

He didn't continue his rant because Harry raised his hand in panic and the obese man was telekinetically thrown at the wall and stayed frozen in the air, eyes filled with rage and fear.

Harry, not wanting to show that his uncle was by far the heaviest thing he ever telekinetically controlled, stared at him impassively, not wanting to show how much this was straining him, "I don't even know why you care about this, or even why Petunia told you if she wasn't going to even tell me about it. You're just going with the flow, accepting your wife's bitterness as a fact, and going with it. I don't care for your ignorance and brutality. Besides, Uncle, I thought you would be happy. After all, if you send me to this school, you will barely see me for more than two months a year. Isn't that what you always wanted?"

Oh, Harry had no intention of returning here, but he had no guarantee on how the wizarding world worked, so he kept it as a backup. With that said, Harry let go of Vernon and the man still glared at him but was far more subdued, "He's got a point, Petunia. We always complained about him. As long as I'm not paying for anything, I don't care what happens to the freak."

Well, that's one of them accepting. And Petunia was a very traditional housewife and would almost always submit to her husband's decision. It was disgusting to see while growing up, seeing her forcing herself to almost obey her husband just to conform to what she thinks is her ideal life of normality.

Harry was proven correct when Petunia sniffed and nodded, "Are you sure about this, Harry?"

The boy nodded, "Yes. It's time we go our separate ways. You all don't like me, and I don't like you. I am going to where I belong since you made it very clear that I didn't belong here."

Oh, Harry had an idea of why she was so conflicted. In her own narrative of her life, she made herself hate the magic that she was denied, but she still loved her sister, even after they lived different lives. Harry was proof of this paradox. She wanted nothing to do with the magic she still longed for, which Harry was born with. And yet she didn't want the only thing she had of her sister to leave her, hence why she didn't want Harry to go away.

That's all speculation, of course, and a mix of Harry's experience with the woman, and what he knows from the stories, but it made sense. Petunia Dursley's motivations were transparent. She hid in her own illusion of being the perfect housewife, in the perfect house, with the perfect neighbours. It was how she dealt with her lack of magic. And Harry was the bug in the system, so to speak.

Resigned, the elder woman nodded, "Fine, we'll both take you there today on the condition that you'll make arrangements for yourself until next summer."

Harry nodded, satisfied by their decision, "Thank you, Aunt Petunia."

The two adults left the room and Harry took a deep breath and relaxed. This came out of nowhere, but he got what he wanted from the Dursleys. It was now the time for his life to truly start, to join his true people, his true society, as a wizard.

This was the beginning of his journey, and he was excited. He was going to learn magic, actual wand waving magic. He was going to discover this world, unearth its secrets and rise to the top. He was going to start by finding out what happened to Voldemort and his parents. He needed to know what was different from the stories and this was a good way to start.

Although from what Petunia told him, his parents seemed to be dead in this life as well. He still didn't know for sure, and he sure as well wasn't going to ask the woman after their fight. Oh, he might have been harsh in their argument, but he wasn't really wrong about it. Petunia and Vernon had done their best to alienate and ignore him. They shouldn't be surprised that he wanted to get out of a house where even Dudley could tell Harry wasn't wanted. No matter what Petunia's relationship was with her sister, the way she treated him was wrong, and she had what she said coming.

It's not like it mattered now. Because this was the start of Harry's magical journey, and he couldn't wait for it to properly begin.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 7: The Alley

28th July 1991, Privet Drive, Surrey

No matter what Petunia's relationship was with her sister, the way she treated him was wrong, and she had what she said coming.

It's not like it mattered now. Because this was the start of Harry's magical journey, and he couldn't wait for it to properly begin.

For the first time in a while, Harry thought that luck seemed to be on his side. Petunia was free to give him a rise to Diagon alley. She revealed the name of the alley after he asked where he was supposed to get his school things. Vernon had to go to work, and luckily Dudley was invited to spend the day with his friend Piers, leaving Petunia able to drive him to London.

It was funny how Petunia still remembered the road to the Alley decades after she had last been there. If that wasn't proof that she was still secretly envious of magic, nothing was. Still, the letter was very vague on how to get there, which means that it was sent either to people who already know, or a professor was supposed to personally come and explain it to Muggleborn. Things didn't look good for him so far, but he would reserve his judgement until later.

For the hundredth time that day, the young wizard took a look at the second piece of parchment that held the required school supplies needed.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Uniform:

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.

Set Books:

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

Other Equipment:

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.

Harry hoped with all his heart that his parents left him enough money to buy all these supplies, even then, Hogwarts was supposed to have funds for people that can't afford schools. From the looks of it, he was going to need to go to a bookstore, a clothes store, a wand store, a potions store, and whatever the place was where they could buy a telescope. Maybe he could go to a pet store if he has enough money.

But first, he needed to get to the alley. Time flew on, and before too long, Harry found himself being driven by his aunt in London. They arrived in mid-day in front of some dirty pub which had the name, 'The Leaky Cauldron'. Huh, so that's accurate from the book too?

Before he could leave, he looked up at his aunt and spoke up, "Thank you, Aunt Petunia."

His aunt released a sob, "tell me, Harry. Have I been this horrible to you?"

The young man shook his head, "You could have done worse, been worse, but you never tried. Are you surprised that I'm leaping at a chance in this new world?"

Petunia shook her head, "No, I suppose I'm not. Your mother would have been proud of you Harry."

Harry responded with an awkward, "Thank you." He didn't know what else to say. He knew nothing about Lily Potter. Even in the stories, she was barely mentioned outside of her being a redhead and having green eyes, there's very little known about her at all. Petunia never mentioned her, and Harry had learnt that in this life, he would need to rely only on himself to survive. The Dursleys had taught him that.

Petunia was practically sobbing when she spoke up, "Goodbye, Harry."

"Goodbye," he answered softly.

Harry left the car and entered the pub. It didn't look like much from the outside, and the inside wasn't any better. It wasn't particularly clean or lively. Although, that's probably because it was a pub, and it was noon on a weekday. Honestly, everyone looked shady.

Harry was intimidated, and there was no shame in admitting it. He was lost in a world that was new to him, and so, he chose to do the simple thing and ask a question. In his last life, Harry understood the value of asking the right questions. And so, he walked to the bartender and asked, "Excuse me, Sir?"

Immediately, the man brightened up, "I assume you're here to get your Hogwarts supply?"

Harry nodded, "I'm sorry, but Professor McGonagall told me that this was the entrance to the alley. Can you tell me the way?"

The bartender gave him a warm smile, "Oh, don't worry about it. I get it dozens of times in the summer. It's practically a tradition now. I'm Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron."

Harry did his best to return the smile and followed the bartender as he motioned the back. With a practised motion, he tapped one of the bricks three times with his wand. Immediately, the wall started to morph into a large archway towards what seemed like a crowded street.

It was the first piece of magic Harry had ever seen that wasn't his own, and it was amazing. It was nice to have visual confirmation that none of this was in his head, that it wasn't some hopeful ideals that he made up in his head.

"Welcome," said Tom, "to Diagon Alley."

The man was visibly smiling at the awed look on his face, and Harry blushed in embarrassment, "Tom, can you tell me where the bank is? The professor told me to meet her there."

"Oh, that's no trouble. Gringotts is at the end of the road. Just keep walking straight and you'll see it. It's a big white building made of marble."

Harry thanked the bartender and started walking around the alley. From the looks of it, the currency was the same as the stories. The big gold coins were Galleons, the silver ones were Sickles, and the small bronze ones were Knuts.

Although he didn't have any money, Harry was still very curious as to what a magical shopping district looked like. It was surprisingly normal. Sure, the buildings just looked structurally wrong and were probably held up by magic, but the shops had windows demonstrating their products. There were salesmen all over the street advertising their shops and offers. There were floating advertisement pieces all over the street for one shop or another.

Harry looked down the street to find the shops that had his required supplies. He already found what was probably the potions store, the sign showed 'Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver, Self-Stirring, and Collapsible', in the store called the 'Brewery'. He also found the pet store called 'Eeylops Owl Emporium'.

He passed by the broom store and so many others. It was fascinating, to find such marvels on display. It must look so common for the people living there.

Harry didn't take long until Harry found himself staring at the giant white building. Where the alley was chaotic and disorganized, the building stood imposing. It was far larger than any shop and Tom hadn't wrong when he said that Harry wouldn't miss it.

The young wizard tried to discreetly observe the Goblin guards as he walked up the stairs to the entrance of the bank. It was his first time seeing a Goblin and Harry had to admit that they were very intimidating. They were shorter than wizards, with pointy ears, even pointier teeth, and long fingers.

Harry did his best not to stare and instead chose to focus on the inscription engraved on the bank door:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn,

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

Well, that's ominous. Harry had no plans on breaking into this bank, although it was funny how this was practically a written threat by the Goblins in the middle of a wizarding alley.

Harry did his best to repress a shudder as he entered the large hall. Hundreds of Goblins sat on high stools behind counters, either writing with their quills or examining gems or gold. There were no signs regarding where he should do, and none of the Goblins looked free. There wasn't even a line of wizards anywhere, which was curious. And so, Harry approached the nearest one, who happened to be examining a large ruby.

He stood waiting for a few minutes until the Goblin finished looking at the ruby, scribbled down a few details and looked down at him, "Yes?"

"Hello, I was told that my family had a vault here. They died when I was younger, and I was raised outside the magical world. I don't know what I'm supposed to do to access it."

"Did they leave you a key?" the goblin asked.

Harry shrugged, "Nothing, as far as I know. I was raised in the muggle world and just found out about it. I'm practically a Muggleborn."

"What did your professor tell you?"

"Nothing. No one came to tell me anything. I just got my Hogwarts letter and my aunt drove me to the alley, that's it."

The goblin asked, "And do you have a magical guardian?"

Harry shook his head, "I don't know what that is. I've only ever lived in the muggle world."

"So, you're a ward of the state. This is slightly complicated. Can you tell me your name, child?" The goblin asked.

"Harry Potter."

The goblin nodded and opened a book, "Ah, the Potters. They do have an account here. This is not my department, but I'll send you to the account management offices. They should help you."

The goblin then jumped down and motioned Harry to follow him. Choosing to follow the teller, they walked up to one of the stairs until they reached one of the offices. Harry couldn't read what was written on the plaque on it. And the Goblin teller knocked and walked in towards an older goblin wearing much distinguished clothing. They spoke in some weird language that sounded like a mixture of snorting and spitting than an actual language. But that was their culture and Harry wouldn't condemn it. It was just weird.

The young goblin then exited the room, leaving him with the older Goblin in the office, "Mr Potter, I assume."

Harry nodded, "Yes."

"My name is Bragkor, I am the goblin in charge of frozen accounts. Your case is quite peculiar, Mr Potter."

"How so?"

The Goblin grinned, "Well, even with the rise of orphans in the last decade because of the war with the dark lord, the ministry had done its best to redistribute them around across many families. It was a bid for peace, but you're the only one who had relatives only outside the magical world, while no magical family made a bid for your adoption. Since you were aware of the magical world and thus have no magical guardian, you are technically a ward of the ministry."

"So, I need to go to the ministry just to have access to my gold."

The Goblin's smile widened, "No, it seems that your parents named you their heir in the traditional way. It's a rather old-fashioned way to preserve an inheritance to their line by bringing their heir to Gringotts and naming him the heir by blood."

Bragkor then opened one of the folders and released a piece of parchment that had his name, Harry James Potter, on the top. He grabbed a dagger and pricked Harry's blood with it before he could even react. The moment a drop of blood touched the parchment, the paper glowed gold.

The Goblin gave him a bloodthirsty smile, "It seems like you are in fact, Harry Potter. That's good; now we can proceed."

---

Chapter 8: Shopping

28th July 1991, Diagon Alley

Harry was somewhat surprised when the goblin's somewhat hostile attitude disappeared seconds later. He looked at Bragkor with his eyes wide, "What do I need to do now?"

"You need to sign this," he gave him a stack of parchment, "it states that you have received your key. Your account will be unfrozen, and you will be able to enter your vault. Do not lose your key, its replacement will cost you 50 galleons."

After the young wizard signed the documents, he was then dismissed from the manager's office and given a small gold key. He was then escorted by a Goblin called Griphook to the depth of the Gringotts' tunnels.

The ride was informative. For all the goblin's tone was rude, he still answered Harry's question. It turns out that Gringotts did not involve themselves in wizarding affairs, so that means they don't do inheritance tests, they don't care about the Wizengamot, and they rarely even know what is inside the vaults they guard. They only have logs of the access to the vault, nothing less, nothing more. They didn't care about wizarding properties or dwellings. They only entered a vault and repossessed what's inside if it remained dormant for a century, so yeah, claiming ancient secret vaults filled with mountains of gold isn't really a thing.

As far as they are concerned, there are two types of vaults. Security measures aside, there is a monetary vault, which only contains Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. You couldn't add anything else aside from these coins, and you could even use bank drafts – which worked kinda like checks in the muggle world – to spend money, to avoid having a large amount of gold physically with you. These accounts were monitored by the Goblins in case of inconsistencies. This was the vault Harry had.

However, there was another account, an artefact vault, where the users can put anything inside, be it magical artefacts or just normal gold. They were far more expensive and were usually only used by very old families that hid artefacts down there.

Unfortunately for Harry, the monetary vault was the only thing he inherited. There was no family vault to be unlocked during his majority, there were no secret grimoires, no super artefacts. All he had left from his parents was a small pile of gold, around ten thousand galleons.

It was a rather generous sum, but from the sound of it, it didn't even come close to what some families had. Still, it was good enough for Harry who never had any money of his own to use. Although, when Harry asked Griphook about the conversion to pounds to get an idea of how much he was worth, the Goblin snarled in anger.

Apparently, it was a very sensitive topic for Goblins. The ministry of magic had controlled the price of wizarding currencies to muggle ones. While the average galleon was worth over a hundred pounds, the ministry forced the goblins to sell it for five. It was apparently to allow an easier integration for Muggleborn, who wouldn't be able to afford their school supplies otherwise. Thankfully, this rate was only available to students that are still attending Hogwarts and they were only allowed to exchange a hundred galleons a year, to stop people from abusing the system.

Still, Harry had around a million pounds in the bank, and that was secure enough for him to live on. He could now technically move out of the Dursleys without worrying too much about it.

Alas, all things came to an end, and Harry's journey to the depth of Gringotts was finished. The young wizard just grabbed around fifty galleons and brought them in one of the complementary expanded pouches made by Gringotts and left the bank with a smile on his face.

Now that he had money, it was time to search for his school supplies.

First things first, he needed a school trunk to put all his shopping inside. Harry sure as hell wasn't going to walk around with countless bags around him. He ended up buying a nice trunk that was slightly expanded and had the standard security enchantments, which was the standard for Hogwarts students. It was nice to see that he didn't really need to ask about it much, just buying the normal Hogwarts supplies since he had no idea what he would need.

If he was honest, Harry was tempted to buy a multi compartment trunk, which was worth forty galleons. But it was ludicrously expensive for a first purchase in the magical world.

In the end, Harry simply paid the five galleons for the trunk and left. His next destination was Flourish and Blotts, a bookstore. There were already bundles of books, one for every year at Hogwarts. Harry picked up the first-year bundle and the introduction to the magical world bundle. He ignored the sneering looks he got when he bought the latter. It was a clear sign that he was new to the magical world.

He didn't care for it, Harry was an academic at heart, and he would not be ashamed of what he was and where he came from. Still, he would return to explore the books later.

What did make him pause was the fact that there was an entire section of children's books dedicated to the 'Adventures of Neville Longbottom'.

Browsing the books, Harry could say with absolute certainty that not a single thing could happen. Neville Longbottom was a child, and even Merlin as a child would not have been able to kill a dragon singlehandedly. What was interesting was the fact that Neville Longbottom was the boy who lived. It seems that Voldemort chose to attack Samhain in 1981. He killed Alice and Frank Longbottom and tried to kill young Neville, but to no avail. The boy was raised by his grandmother and was rarely seen in public. There were no mentions of Harry's parents in any of the articles.

Speaking of Voldemort, the stories really understated how close the Dark Lord was to invade magical Britain. The war had caused the death of over ten per cent of the entire wizarding population in Britain, and he was stopped by a magical fluke. If he hadn't attacked the Longbottoms, he would have won in a couple of years.

Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. He wasn't the chosen one, the child of the prophecy. He didn't have a dark lord gunning for him, he wouldn't have the life-threatening adventures from the stories. He would just learn magic and live his life without too much trouble.

Things were already starting well. A smiling Harry just put the books in his trunk and left the store. He then followed in by going to the potions shop and bought a cauldron, a set of crystal phials, and a set of brass scales. He wasn't required to buy any ingredients which made sense since he had no idea how to store them, nor how much damage they could cause.

He then managed to buy a telescope from one of the astronomy stores. It looked like an antique, but there were a lot of enchantments layered on top of it, making it superior to any muggle made telescope.

Finally, Harry only had to buy his clothes and his wand. He walked around the alley until he found Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Harry was welcomed by an old witch was smiled at him pleasantly, "Hogwarts, dear?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, Madam."

"Good. I have the basic templates ready. Wait there until I take your measurements. There's another young man being fitted right now."

Harry nodded, showing his understanding, and walked to the back of the shop. In there, a boy with a pale, pointed face, and a ludicrous amount of hair gel, was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes.

If that wasn't Draco Malfoy, Harry would eat his hat. The boy brightened when he saw Harry, "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Well, Maybe-Draco was obviously a spoilt brat that was trying to brag about his parents. Harry could see the seamstress repressing rolling her eyes at his behaviour.

Draco, then looked at Harry questioningly, "Do you have a broom of your own?"

"No, I don't," Harry replied.

"Do you play Quidditch?" the boy tried to ask again. Harry could see in his eyes that he was trying to make a friend but didn't know how to. Honestly, the boy chose the wrong person to try, since he barely has the social skills of a tin man.

Choosing to humour the boy, "Not really. I don't really like the sport."

The boy gasped in outrage as if Harry had insulted his entire family line, "How can you not like Quidditch? It's the best thing in the whole world!"

Harry shrugged, "Just don't understand the appeal, I suppose. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind flying, but I just don't like the sport."

Still looking outraged by my statement, the boy replied, "You're all mad, that's all I'll say about it. What about houses, where are you hoping to get to, really."

"My parents were both Gryffindors," Harry said, "but I don't really care where I end up, to be honest."

"Really? You don't care which house to go to? You'll spend seven years of your life with your housemates. It's a big commitment. My family was always in Slytherin so that's where I'll be going. Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I'd ask my father to transfer me to Durmstrung. He's friends with the headmaster there."

Harry snorted at the boy's attitude, "Hufflepuff is a perfectly good house. Loyalty and hard work are admirable qualities that are valued everywhere."

Before the boy could reply, the seamstress looked at the blonde and asked, "That's you done, my dear."

The boy turned and left the store while telling Harry that he would see him at Hogwarts. Harry sighed in exasperation and murmured to himself, "And I thought Dudley was spoilt."

Madam Malkin must have heard him because she snorted in laughter, "You'll see far more of his kind at Hogwarts."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Harry muttered back.

It didn't take long for the seamstress to take his measures. With a wave of her wand, Harry was accosted by flying tapes and measures, and in a couple of minutes later, the witch returned with his school uniform with her.

Harry was pleasantly surprised by the uniform. He expected it to be a black sheet with sleeves for him to wear. But no, there was a uniform with trousers, a shirt, a vest, and a black cloak that looked kinda cool when he walked while wearing it.

As for the hat, the seamstress had explained to him that it's the most traditional and only ever used during feasts or formal occasions. Even the winter cloak actually looked cool, made of very smooth fur that had warming charms on it.

In the end, Harry left the store happy with his purchase and put the uniforms in his trunk. With that done, he only had to get his wand and maybe even a pet. Magical animals were very smart in the stories, perhaps one of them would be a suitable companion.

But that was for later, Harry decided to first get his wand, which meant that had to go to Ollivanders.

---

AN: I decided to upload two chapters a day instead of just one from now on.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 9: The Wand

28th July 1991, Diagon Alley

In the end, Harry left the store happy with his purchase and put the uniforms in his trunk. With that done, he only had to get his wand and maybe even a pet. Magical animals were very smart in the stories, perhaps one of them would be a suitable companion.

But that was for later, Harry decided to first get his wand, which meant that had to go to Ollivanders.

To be honest, Harry was looking forwards to getting his wand. The promise of casting actual spells, not just the weak wandless magic that he's been using. The moment he gets his wand, his identity as a wizard would be confirmed, for him and for everyone.

Unfortunately, Harry hadn't seen any wand shops walking around the alley so far, so, he asked one of the store clerks, "Hello, I'm looking for the wand shop. Do you know where it is, please?"

Harry had to say that giving them puppy eyes was more than enough to get the woman he asked to soften her eyes and immediately tell him the directions to Ollivanders.

Walking around, the young wizard noticed that there were no wand shops except for Ollivanders. Harry hadn't even mentioned going to Ollivanders, only that he was going to buy a wand, but the woman had immediately assumed that she was going to this store. This meant that either Ollivanders ran them out of business, or the store's quality of wands was so much higher that they never even tried.

Because it didn't make sense in any other case. Wands were everyday objects used by every single wizard or witch in the nation, and yet there wasn't any competition for Ollivanders. The store had a complete monopoly on one of the most vital resources in the country.

The shop itself didn't look particularly luxurious, especially considering its status as the only wand shop in the continent. It was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

Honestly, Harry didn't really care about the state of the shop. It seemed to be something characteristic of the wizarding world. The Leaky Cauldron was the first impression Muggleborns had on the wizarding world, and yet it looked like a dingy dirty pub. This was weird because cleaning enchantments and repairing charms seemed to be taught to all students at Hogwarts.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as he stepped inside. It was a very tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair which he certainly didn't want to sit on to wait. Harry had thousands of questions in his head but chose to stare at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling.

It was odd and hard to describe, but Harry was able to feel them. It was like every box – which probably contained a wand – had a heartbeat. And yet each one was slightly different than the other, like having a different melody. There were a few distinct ones, one that was very loud and fast, resembling more like a drum than a heartbeat. Another had a soothing and somewhat whimsical melody that made Harry relax without even noticing.

Harry stood there, staring at the symphony of wands. He always felt a little pull whenever he was close to any magical item. But it was mostly characterized by goosebumps, not whatever this was.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. He had been so lost in what he was feeling to notice the man sneak behind him. He turned reflexively and saw an old man standing before him. His wide, pale eyes shone like silvery moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, and made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr Ollivander moved closer to Harry and continued, "Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and is excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it, it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Dear God that man was creepy. Harry found it hard to believe that this man interacted with all eleven years old wizards in the country when getting a wand. He should know not to act like a creep.

Still, this man was the only person who recognized Harry and even spoke about his parents, and he was curious as to what happened to them, "Did you know my parents?"

"Briefly. Every single wizard and witch going to Hogwarts comes to this shop eventually. Even those who foolishly use legacy wands eventually learn to come here to get one of their own."

"Do you know what happened to them?" Harry asked.

The wand maker stiffened and answered, "What happened on that fateful day was a mystery for everyone. It was a few days after the defeat of He-who-must-not-be-named, and the entire nation was celebrating his downfall. However, a few of his loyal servants decided to attack Godric's Hollows to find their master. Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Rabastan Lestrange gathered a fighting force of over two hundred dark wizards and creatures and attacked your parents. No one knows what happened afterwards, only that all that remained of Godric's Hollows was a field of flames. There were no traces of James and Lily Potter, no traces of the Lestranges, only a small babe in the middle of a ruined cottage, you. Godric's Hollows is a historically significant place for our civilization. It's the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor, the home of countless magical families over the centuries. On that day, it's not just your parents that perished, but it was the lives of thousands of people, wizards, witches or muggles, that lived in this village. It's one of biggest tragedies in recent times, one that very few wish to remember."

By the end of it, Mr Ollivander was staring far behind Harry, as if he was lost in a distant memory.

Harry, though, was flabbergasted by the story. He expected his parents to be dead, that was a given, but to be the only survivor of an attack that destroyed an entire village was not something that he ever thought about.

It made sense why people chose not to adopt him in the wizarding world, and that the ministry left him at his aunt's doorstep. They thought that he was a dark omen, a sign of future misfortune, and Harry couldn't truly blame them. Perhaps he would have ended up in the hands of someone who would have released their frustration on him, cursing him for the loss they experienced. Harry would need to read more about it later. But Mr Ollivander gave him a place to start from.

Finally, Mr Ollivander shook his head and said, "Let's not speak more of such a painful subject and focus on you. Let's see, which is your wand arm?"

Assuming that the wandmaker was speaking about which hand he write with, Harry raised his right hand. Mr Ollivander just grabbed his arms and started measuring Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. It was so fucking weird.

As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand is primarily made of a wood that has been alchemically altered, and a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We commonly use unicorn hairs, phoenix feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons, since they are usually the elements that are the more suited for wizards to cast wands. However, sometimes, people provide their own cores with which they share an intimate connection. Magic remembers, Mr Potter, make sure you do not forget that. But those cases are usually curse breakers that need new wands and have killed various magical beasts along the way."

"Are certain wands better than others?" Harry asked, curious.

"No. The process is the same. Bonding with a wand means that the two of you are compatible magically. It will never be perfect, but slowly as you start using it, the wand will attune to your magic until it allows you to perfectly control it. If a wizard uses a wand that is unsuited to his magic, his spells will simply be weaker. In the end, a wizard's strength depends entirely on the combination between their magic and their wand, not the wand itself. You could use Merlin's wand, and it would be nothing more than a stick in your hand if it's not compatible with your magic. Although, when a wizard defeats a magical beast, their magic bonds with the body, which makes any wand made with its remains already connected to the wizard, which almost always guarantees that it would be a match and that the acclimation period would be extremely small for the wand and wizard to synchronize. In the end, the magic comes from the wizard, not the wand."

Well, that was proof that Ollivander knew what he was talking about and guaranteed that Harry would not seek out another more 'powerful' wand. After finishing his impromptu lecture, the wandmaker stopped measuring Harry's nostril and went to grab a box, "Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Cedar and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

Harry grabbed the wand and felt its melody. It was loud and somewhat volatile, it seemed upbeat but very consistent, and very loyal. Immediately, Harry knew that it wasn't his wand. He didn't have anyone to be loyal to, no matter how much he wished he had.

As commanded, Harry swished his wand and a glass vase shattered into pieces. The wandmaker snatched the wand from the young wizard and gave him another one, "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try…"

Again, Harry felt its song, and it was too upbeat, too extroverted. It was hard to put it into words and the moment he touched the wand various shelves exploded. Yes, Harry was an introvert, in both of his lives, but this was not his wand.

He tilted his head and looked at the wandmaker, "This wand is too extroverted, do you have something that's a little less so?"

Garrick Ollivander blinked, "How did you know that?"

Harry shrugged, "It's hard to explain. It's like every wand has a song. It's very beautiful."

The young boy wasn't even lying, the melodies were amazing. They were like personalities given form, and when they synergized with other wands, they made some beautiful songs.

"Such sensitivity to magic, at a young age no less," the wandmaker murmured. He then spoke up, "See me after you graduate, my boy, and I will see if you have what it takes to be a wand maker."

The young Potter nodded, "Thank you, Mr Ollivander."

The wandmaker waved him off and kept on giving him wands. A lot of explosions later, Ollivanders gave Harry a beautiful wand with a cloaked handle and spiralled shaft. The wand was light, almost white, and Harry knew that it was special, "Pine and Phoenix feather, a rather unusual combination."

The wand's song was so familiar to Harry. It was a song of loneliness, of creativity, it simply to understand, to know what was underneath the underneath. It was a wand seeking discovery and creation, and Harry was a scholar at heart. Before he could even touch it, Harry knew that it was his. It was just too familiar to his own existence. Harry never thought that there would be a song that could describe his entire personality this perfectly, and yet he was surprised by the accuracy of the song.

When the young wizard touched his wand – because it was his wand - he felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of blue and green sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.

Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."

This didn't sound good, "Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. And yet, this is the first time I ever sold a wand I did not make. My grandfather made that wand, centuries ago, and I remember my father saying that he was quite obsessed with finding its wielder. I just find it curious that after so long, after hundreds of thousands of tries, this stubborn wand finally found a companion."

Harry let out a smile and nodded. He paid the seven Galleons for his wand and left pondering. He didn't care too much about it because he had his wand now. He could feel it thrum in his hand and couldn't be happier for it. Because Harry Potter was a wizard, and he was certain that he would surpass all who came before him.

---

Chapter 10: Hogwarts Preparation

1st September 1991, Diagon Alley

Harry woke up in his room in the Leaky cauldron, excited for what would have been his first year at magic school. He simply had to get to the Hogwarts Express in King's Cross in a couple of hours and he would be off to Hogwarts.

After getting his wand, Harry made his way to a potion shop and bought a complete set of ageing potions, and some adult clothes from a secondhand shop – he pretended it was a gift for his elder brother. He took a sip of his ageing potion, reading the label very carefully, and was able to rent a room in the Leaky Cauldron without too many questions, where he left his trunk and all his shopping.

The young wizard had decided to read the introduction manuals for Muggleborns before continuing his shopping and exploration of the alley. He thought it was better to at least know enough about the magical world to pretend like he belonged than be treated like an outsider for asking dumb questions.

He was proven right, of course, when he realized how much things could have gone wrong when he bought his potions. The young Potter was lucky that ageing potions were not that restricted since adolescent wizards tended to use them to sneak into pubs to drink alcohol. Their use was technically restricted, but no one followed them because minors would end up brewing it themselves, which can seriously hurt them.

So, these potions were standardized and were often bought in bulk. They were perfected so there wouldn't be any side effects, but things could have gone wrong. Each potion master almost always has a twist on a potion. Sometimes, they can trade in their efficiency for partial use, sometimes you would need to drink the entire dose for them to work. It was very delicate, and Harry could have hurt himself if he tried to use certain types of potions, thinking them harmless.

As for the government, according to the books, it was surprisingly modern. Apparently, there was no such thing as Lords and Ladies in modern magical Britain, and whoever does that was often mocked. Sure, a few wizards were ennobled after remarkable service and given lands, but that was before the statute of secrecy, where the two worlds were almost entirely separated. The Muggle Kings and Queens have no words for what happens in magical Britain, and the wizarding nobility gave up their lands and titles for the sake of peace. In exchange, every former noble was given a seat in the Wizengamot to their family. However, if after a generation no one claimed a seat, the ministry would take it and a representative would be elected every seven years.

Even now, from the 49 total seats, only 22 were inherited ones. 13 were given to the heads of the most important departments in the ministry, one was given to the minister and his undersecretary, and finally the rest were elected by the population. Harry didn't see any mentions of the Potter family, so he assumed that they were ennobled, to begin with.

However, while there weren't any houses and so on, there was still a certain prestige in being from an old family. These families tend to have rules of their own, many secrets and magic. The books didn't specify how they worked but did mention something about 'Family Magic' which they only asked as a warning not to ask about them, as it can be considered to be very impolite and could easily be considered a slight. Harry would research on the matter in Hogwarts which should have the biggest library in the country.

Speaking of Hogwarts, it had a somewhat ambiguous title. There were no tuition fees to encourage Muggleborns to enter, and so it was paid almost entirely by the ministry, which increased the taxes. Apparently, this was decided after the Statute of secrecy was set up to stop any Muggleborn from accidentally revealing the magical world.

Not that the statute wasn't powerful. Muggles just one day decide that magic wasn't real. There was no explanation on how the statute was created, only that it worked like a notice-me-not charm towards muggles. It wasn't that powerful, but it was very wide and strong enough to stop accidental magic from being noticed. Nevertheless, the strength of the Statute had some downsides, which as the severity of the punishments for breaking it. If a wizard or witch uses magic in front of a muggle and is being noticed they could be arrested and fined heavily, but if their intentions were malicious in nature, and they wanted to purposefully break the statute, then they could even be executed. It was a harsh law, but it was still a reality. Magic was strong, absurdly so, but revealing its existence to muggles will only lead to war and death.

With his reading done and enough understanding of the wizarding world, Harry chose to explore the castle. He had forgotten to buy his writing supplies the last time and so he bought a lot of parchment, and various binders to keep things together. It turns out that wizards like using antiquated things because they weren't as processed, which means that they could be more easily enchanted. Parchment could hold spells, like making writing neat or correcting mistakes, and quills could actually write on their own if they could be enchanted. The less modified an item was, the more layers of spells it could handle, which is why no one ever bothers to enchant transfigured or transmuted elements, because they are very liable to fail. Magic remembers, after all.

Harry simply bought a few self-inking quills, and he was ready for the year. However, he chose to pass by Eeylops Owl Emporium and get himself an owl. To be perfectly honest, Harry was a dog person so he wouldn't get a cat on principle, and he definitely had no interest in buying a toad. An owl was far more practical and useful, which is why he went there.

The store was absurdly dark because owls were nocturnal in nature, but in the end, Harry exited with a nice snowy owl that he named Hedwig. Oh, he tried other names, but she seemed to prefer that one. Perhaps it was fate, but the owl was very intelligent, and Harry often found himself talking to her as if she could understand him. He really needed a friend, didn't he? It's not that he didn't like Hedwig, it just wasn't the same as talking with someone who can, well, talk. Still, Hedwig was beautiful and intelligent, and he quickly grew to love her. He rarely ever put her in the cage, and he even saved her a piece of bacon every day for breakfast.

As for Harry, he chose to spoil himself somewhat. He bought himself an entire wardrobe of clothes, not wanting to wear the secondhand ones that the Dursleys had given him. He didn't buy it all at once, of course, instead, he would visit a clothing store every few days and pick out one or two outfits. He didn't want to make a scene by making an absurdly large purchase for a child. Even then, Harry didn't leave Diagon Alley to buy his clothes, choosing to stick with wizarding fashion to not stand out too much – not that it was too different from the muggle ones.

Harry spent his days exploring the Alley, seeing what the wizarding world had to offer. It was surprising that Fortescue Ice-Cream Parlour ended up being his most fruitful one. Well, the food was delicious, of course, but Florean Fortescue was by far a wealth of information on the current state of magical Britain. He had welcomed the young wizard with open arms, who had confessed to having been raised in the muggle world.

Well, it turned out that the shop owner was actually a history buff and knew quite a bit about magical families. Apparently, the Potter family wasn't all that old, barely eight centuries old, and had started from a famous potions master that had invented many remedies. They mostly took to themselves and didn't involve themselves in politics, choosing to sell their potions. That was, until Charlus Potter, Harry's grandfather, had chosen to join the army to fight against Grindelwald. He was quite the commander until he and his wife died from Dragon Pox a few years before Harry himself was born. Harry's father, James Potter, had been an Auror in the ministry and had made quite the name for himself before his death. Sadly, Florean had no stories about him or his mother, but it was better than nothing.

Outside of this, Harry did spend a lot of time in the library, skimming the books. As expected, there were no books on wizarding traditions. In the same way, there aren't step by step guides to act like an English muggle. Since there weren't any huge red flags in the Muggleborn introduction books, they should not be very difficult to learn.

The past summer was the best Harry had ever had, and the young wizard was looking forward to learning magic. Oh, he had read all of his schoolbooks but chose not to buy any more, as to not waste money considering there's a large library waiting for him at Hogwarts. Although, the young Potter did not attempt to cast any magic, in case of an accident.

Yeah, Harry discovered that the Trace was active the moment a wizard or witch got their wands, but the reason why they are only triggered in the muggle world was that magical parents were expected to take care of their children at home, and so could reverse any magical accident that might occur. Muggleborns did not have such luxury which was why casting magic was prohibited. A magical accident in a muggle neighbourhood could be very serious, after all.

Harry simply chose to not cast any magic because he was a beginner and could seriously cause an accident. Don't get him wrong, the moment he enters Hogwarts, he would cast magic like a loon, but until then, he would stay away from dangerous magic.

Alas, this was not the time to wallow back. Harry had to get to the Hogwarts Express. And so, he walked out of his room after putting Hedwig in her cage, went to the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace, bought a pinch of floo powder for a sickle and bellowed out, "King's Cross Station!" and disappeared in a green flame.

The young wizard appeared in a designated floo station in King's Cross and walked towards platform number nine, and slowly walked through the hidden entrance between it and platform number ten. He was then met with a large red and gold train that had the words 'Hogwarts Express' written on it.

Realizing that he was over an hour early, Harry simply chose to enter the train and wait in a compartment, which he decided to lock with his wandless magic, his introvertive nature winning out slightly. Plus, he didn't really want to make friends with people in different houses than the ones he would end up in, considering the rumoured animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin, it was better to not be invested in a friendship that could turn sour very quickly.

And so, the young wizard released his lovely owl, which stood on the seat next to him, and pulled up a fiction book that he had bought from Flourish and Blotts. He was curious as to how magical literature held up against the classics, and it was funny how a fiction novel ended up teaching him more about the everyday wizarding world than all of the Muggleborn introduction books combined. Still, Harry felt he was ready to officially enter the magical world, and he immersed himself in the book about the adventures of a young curse breaker in an old Egyptian ruin.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 11: Ride on the Express

1st September 1991, Hogwarts Express

Harry was curious as to how magical literature held up against the classics, and it was funny how a fiction novel ended up teaching him more about the everyday wizarding world than all of the Muggleborn introduction books combined. Still, Harry felt he was ready to officially enter the magical world, and he immersed himself in the book about the adventures of a young curse breaker in an old Egyptian ruin.

Fifteen minutes before the train's supposed departure, the station was almost full of people, mostly parents and siblings saying their goodbyes to students. Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness and envy. The idea that someone would actually miss him while he was away, was one of the few things that he envied about other children. He only hoped that one day he would have someone like that, someone that would love him enough to miss him.

Things had gotten a lot messier when Neville Longbottom had been seen in the station. Dozens of reporters were leaping towards the eleven-year-old boy, and it was only the threatening looks of what he assumed to be the Longbottom matriarch, that they backed off. Harry didn't see the boy who lived but he didn't particularly care about it, even if he was slightly curious as to how the boy would compare to the Neville Longbottom from the stories.

Still, it was only when the train departed that someone knocked on his compartment, trying to get in. Harry looked up and saw a dark-skinned boy his age. Assuming that the boy wanted to get inside, he stood up and discretely unlocked his compartment.

The boy had dismissed him with a glance, "You do know that locking the compartments is against the rules, don't you?"

Harry didn't verbally answer and just shrugged. The boy bristled at his reaction and asked, "Do you mind if I sit here?"

"Sure," the young Potter responded.

The boy nodded politely and sat down in the seat next to him with obviously practised grace. Harry rolled his eyes at his pretentious attitude and continued his book. While Harry really wasn't the most social of creatures, he was going to invest time and effort in a friendship when they would end up in a different house, which would make it a lot harder to maintain any friendships.

It's not that it would be impossible, just that from what he had read, the competition between houses is a real one, and things could go very sour, especially considering how childish eleven-year-olds tend to be.

A few minutes in, another boy entered the compartment. Harry recognized him as Draco Malfoy who had actual goons backing him up. The two other kids were standing behind him, trying their best to look intimidating. It was one of the funniest things Harry had ever seen in his life.

They were eleven. Kids that age just weren't intimidating. Seriously, what the hell were these kids taught at home? Honestly, they resembled children trying to pretend to be mafia bosses.

Malfoy, though, didn't seem to notice the ridiculousness of the situation, "Hey, Zabini. I'm looking for Longbottom, did you see him anywhere?"

The boy shook his head, "I'm afraid not."

The blonde then looked at the Potter scion, "What about you?"

Harry just shook his head and went back to reading. The boy though wasn't satisfied, "Are you a mute or something?"

Again, Harry turned to the blonde and raised an eyebrow, "I can talk just fine."

"Then why didn't you answer me properly?"

The green-eyed boy looked at him in the eyes, "Did you understand my denial?"

"Yes, but…"

"Then, what is the problem?" Harry questioned.

The boy huffed in frustration, "It's rude…"

"Did shaking my head offend you? Do I need to worry about you being near every time I move my head?"

"No, it's not that?"

The young Potter stifled a smile, "Then, how were you offended?"

The blonde blushed in embarrassment, "I have better things to do than to bicker with an uncultured swine."

He then turned and left, taking his bodyguards with him. When he left, Harry couldn't help but snort in amusement. Annoying spoilt kids was always fun.

The Zabini boy just looked at him, flabbergasted, "How did you do that?"

"Do what exactly?"

"He never goes away, and he likes to throw his father's name around. I thought he would have told Crabbe and Goyle to beat you up or something."

Harry simply shrugged, "He does it to get a reaction, when he realized that I wasn't going to provide him one, he left. I just annoyed him into not wanting to stay there."

"Well, whatever this was, it was brilliant. I'm Zabini, by the way. Blaise Zabini of the Italian Zabinis."

Harry nodded, "Harry Potter."

He then chose to return to his book. It was far better than continuing whatever conversation the boy was trying to start. Blaise seemed to have understood that he didn't want to talk and left his devices.

Everything seemed to go quietly until a smiling, portly, woman opened the compartment, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Realizing that he was quite hungry, Harry bought a couple of sandwiches and a chocolate frog for dessert. The Potter scion had tried out a few of the sweets the wizarding world had to offer. He had quite the sweet tooth and he was always down to try out new desserts. Only that wizards seemed to interpret the idea of sweets differently. Whoever came up with Bernie Botts's Every-Flavor Beans was insane, and so were the people who actually bought it. Why would anyone make a spoilt milk-flavoured jellybean baffled Harry to the extreme. Even chocolate frogs weirded him, but their chocolate was too good for it to be an issue.

Harry slowly ate his sandwiches while still reading his book. He didn't really care about staining it, since it was just a fiction book that he probably wouldn't read again.

Again, someone chose to enter their compartment. It was a bushy haired girl with large front teeth. She practically barged into the compartment and asked, "Have any of you seen a toad? A girl called Sally Anne lost hers."

Zabini just snorted and refused to answer her. It was very rude, and the girl looked like she was about to rant at the boy, and so, Harry answered her, "I haven't. You know, you could just ask the prefects to help you instead of going through every compartment. I think they have a special room at the front of the train. They should help your friend."

The girl nodded, "I hadn't thought of that, thank you."

The witch then left as abruptly as she entered. Zabini though spoke up, "I hope I'm not in the same house as her."

Harry shrugged, "that's not for you to decide."

"Who still has frogs as pets?"

"It's probably for the frog choir," Harry explained, "I don't see any other reason to have one if this Sally-Anne wasn't planning on joining. I hear it's headed by the charms professor, who was a duelling champion when he was younger."

Harry was very surprised when he found out that toads actually had a purpose in the magical world. It wasn't a glamorous one, but the amphibians can be trained like sentient instruments to produce beautiful music there. The Hogwarts frog choir is centuries old, and seventh year student members of that club were often offered positions in the music industry.

Blaise didn't seem satisfied with my refusal to mock the girl – she must have enough self-esteem issues and Harry didn't want to pile onto them – and decided to change the subjects entirely, "So, which house are you aiming for? I'm guessing Ravenclaw."

"I don't really have a preference. What about you?"

"Slytherin. It should help me make connections when I'm older."

Harry couldn't help but snort in amusement, but Blaise seemed to take offence to that, "What's so funny?"

"It's just that you're eleven. You're not going to make political connections, and no one is going to take you seriously if you say something like that. You'll only start to benefit from it when you're older when schoolhouses won't be that much of a deal then."

The Zabini boy seemed unconcerned, "But all of the Pureblood families end up in Slytherin…"

"Then it's a tradition you're following. You're not doing it to make connections, you're doing it to fit it. Do you think that when you're older, you will just ignore three fourth of the population just because they were in different houses?"

The boy looked down and mumbled, "No."

"Then in the long term, your house really doesn't make a difference. If you want to fit in, just admit it to yourself and do it. There's nothing embarrassing about it, but don't lie to yourself by using words and terms that you won't appreciate. You're too young to 'make connections' and you know it. You're better off enjoying your youth instead of wasting it on long term plans that will never work."

"You're as old as me," Zabini protested.

"I am, but that doesn't mean that I'm wrong. I am not talking to you out of some weird political and financial interest. You're eleven and so am I. We'll have to worry about homework and exams, not political moves."

Before he could say anything, a loud voice echoed through the train, "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

The voice had woken up the sleeping Hedwig who was napping on the ceiling. The white owl squawked and screeched in indignation. Blaise had jumped at the sound, "What in Merlin's name was that?"

"This is Hedwig, and she wants you to apologize." Harry drawled back.

He was right, of course, the owl was very much glaring at the dark-skinned young man. "I am not apologizing to a bloody owl!" the boy exclaimed.

Hedwig's glare just seemed to get even more intense until the boy relented, "Fine, I'm sorry, alright?"

The owl's glare lessened and Hedwig just released a threatening bark and looked away ignoring Harry's companion.

"That's some intense owl," Blaise muttered.

Harry smirked, "She's a special one, my Hedwig. We need to change before we get to the station."

Blaise nodded and the both of them started to change into their uniforms. Harry opened his trunk and put his book inside, as well as the chocolate frog that he had forgotten to eat. After he was done changing, he even put on the ridiculous pointy hat he was forced to buy and waited for the train to stop moving.

As the train stopped, Harry noticed that Blaise was somewhat pale, and he felt guilty enough to comfort the boy, "What's wrong?"

"I'm just worried about the sorting?"

"Why would you be worried?" Harry questioned, confused.

"How can you not be? My mother didn't tell me how we're sorted, only that it's some kind of test."

Harry snorted, "Don't worry about it. You'll be fine…"

The young Potter had forgotten that other people didn't know about the sorting hat. Curiously, the hat was mentioned in most books regarding the school, but young students were very unlikely to read them. From the likes of it, parents choose not to inform their children as some sort of tradition, and Harry wasn't about to ruin it.

"You know what it is, don't you?" Blaise asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about, mate," Harry responded.

Harry didn't wait for the boy to answer and exited the compartment with Hedwig standing proudly on his shoulder. He ignored his companion yelling out, "Potter! Come back here!" and left the train.

As soon as they left, he caressed his faithful owl, "I think it's better for you to go ahead. I'll need to do this alone."

Hedwig gently nipped his earlobe and flew away. Before Harry could even ask himself where he was supposed to go, he heard a loud voice, "Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!"

He turned and saw a giant man holding a lantern, and Harry smiled to himself. It was time for his magical adventure to truly begin.

---

Chapter 12: Magical Welcome

1st September 1991, Hogwarts

The man had a large beard and was far larger than it should be possible, meaning that he probably had some kind of magical ancestry. Harry simply assumed that this was the infamous Hagrid. The stories underestimated how large the man really was. He was at least twice as tall as the average adult man, and the young Potter had to admit that he was slightly intimidated.

He kept calling out for the first years to join him, "C'mon, follow me – any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'-years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, the first years followed the giant man down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much, although everyone looked slightly apprehensive as to what going to happen to them.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," called the maybe-Hagrid over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

Harry heard other first years gasping and exclaiming in wonder as they took their first look of Hogwarts. It was breathtaking. By the end of the path stood a large lake that was reflecting the moonlight and the stars. On the other side of the lake stood a beautiful castle with many turrets and towers.

But what was the most breathtaking was the sounds that came into the back of his mind. It was just like the wand shop only thousands of times more intense. There seemed to be infinite heartbeats with different tempos. Some were intense and loud, others seemed kind and smooth, a few seemed strict and calculated, and finally, there were the hidden ones that were only noticeable when you actively look for them. Together, they made a complex yet beautiful symphony, like warmth in musical form, and yet Harry knew that there was no sound. He didn't use his ears to hear, but he also knew that the songs were real.

He didn't know how long he just stood there, revelling in the warmth the music gave him until he stiffened when someone tapped his shoulder. It was Blaise and he looked concerned, "Are you alright?"

He shrugged, "Yes. I was just distracted by the castle."

"Well, we're the last ones without a boat. I guess it'll just be the two of us," Blaise remarked.

Harry nodded and tried to put the symphony to the back of his head. It was still there, in the background, but he wasn't distracted by it anymore. For the first time, Harry noticed the small boats and sat on the last one with Blaise.

"Everyone in?" shouted maybe-Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then – FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" Yelled their guide as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which revealed a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, Oak front door.

"Everyone here?" the giant asked loudly.

Seeing that no one said anything, he raised his gigantic fists and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this woman was a professional. Harry remembered his memories as a teacher and understood the reason for the woman's rigidity. First impressions are very important, especially for young students. Trying to look friendly will mean that you will not be respected, and you won't be able to manage them at all. When students are older, it's alright to be friendly with them, since they understand the dynamic properly. The woman in front of him was without a doubt been a teacher for a long time.

Immediately, Harry assumed that this was Professor McGonagall, and he was proven correct when their guide spoke up, "The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall."

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

Harry was happy that he had guessed the identity of the giant man correctly.

The woman pulled the door, revealing the enormous entrance hall. It really was unreasonable bog considering that it's only the entrance to the castle. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was way too high to figure out its height, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

The students followed the stern woman until they arrived in an empty chamber, and they looked around nervously trying to reassure themselves.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room."

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly." And left the chamber.

Well, the whole honour thing was not really the reason the house cup was a big deal. No, the big deal was the fact that the winning house tend to enjoy special privileges the following year. Things like extra time in the library, easy access to the Quidditch pitch, private lessons in certain subjects, and even extra Hogsmeade visits. The fifth and seventh years also end up with access to the restricted section of the library.

It was a big deal for those affected, and while the seventh years didn't care about the point system, the fourth and sixth years would benefit greatly from these perks, which is why they tend to pressure the younger ones to not lose too many points. It was technically peer pressure but for good behaviour, enforced by the older students. Harry had to admit that the system was very effective considering the small staff to student ratio.

The moment the transfiguration professor left the room the young students started to murmur nervously while looking around. Blaise gave him a nervous look and said, "Please tell me how we're getting sorted. The Weasley boy said his brothers told him something about fighting a troll."

Harry snorted in amusement, "You're worrying about nothing, really. I'm not going to spoil it out of respect for the school, but it's not a test of knowledge and they certainly wouldn't make you fight anything in front of anyone."

"As if you know anything!" a redhead boy spoke up.

Blaise seemed to rise to his defence, "Shove off Weasley!"

Assuming that this guy really was Ron Weasley, Harry chose not to escalate the situation, "I don't need to prove anything to you. Whether I am right or simply lying about knowing, you will still go through the sorting ceremony. If you don't believe me, then don't. It changes nothing for me, nor should it matter to you."

The boy just looked confused. Harry forgot that most eleven-year-old children don't really speak as he does. The Malfoy boy ended up answering for him with a condescending tone, "You're an idiot, Weasley."

The boy blushed and turned red. He looked like he wanted to fight Malfoy but was held back by another boy, "Don't let him get a rise out of you, Ron."

Draco sniffed angrily, "Still, hanging out with scum, Longbottom?"

"He's a better friend than a hundred of you!" the boy exclaimed.

Finally, Harry could see the boy who lived for the first time, and he definitely looked different than he thought he would. Oh, he was round and had an arrogant smile on his face, but what was surprising was the scar on his face. It wasn't just some random zig-zag shaped scar, not it only looked up from the root. However, the end of the scar continued down his face in a more random pattern than the straight line that made up the top.

While the highest part of the scar looked red and raw, the lower part seemed slightly healed. Honestly, anyone that looked at him would recognize who he was. The rest of the students murmured in admiration as they noticed the presence of the national icon among them.

Before Malfoy could reply, floating white beings just streamed through the wall. They were slightly transparent and glided across the room, not even noticing their presence. It was only when the fat monk noticed their presence that the other ghosts looked up to see them, "Oh, you must be the new students. Hope to see you in Hufflepuff, it was my old house, you know."

The first years stood frozen with pale faces. Harry, though, wasn't really scared as much as he was slightly fascinated. He had forgotten about the existence of ghosts in Hogwarts, and they fascinated him. They weren't really memories given form, considering the fact that they were able to make new ones, and yet, they couldn't be alive.

Were they souls, or more like magical paintings? He'll need to look it up later.

Harry noticed that the professor had returned and spoke up, "Move along now; the sorting ceremony is about the begin. Now, form a line a follow me."

Harry just stood in line and walked out of the chamber with the rest of the students. He did his best not to gape like his future classmates. The great hall was lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air above four long tables that made up almost the entire length of the hall. On the other side of the hall, the professors sat at a table of their own. Even the ghosts were floating high above looking at them.

The ceiling itself was almost transparent offering him a view of the cloudy sky. Harry ignored the bushy haired girl that kept muttering to herself about Hogwarts, a history, and just admired the view. He ignored the change in the melody in his head. It was still very similar, only had a few extra layers on top. It was very hard to describe, but it was not the time for him to get lost in songs.

When they arrived on the other side of the hall, they stopped in front of a stool. On top was a traditional hat, although it looked far older than his own and somewhat rackety. All new students looked at the hat in confusion, that is until it moved and started to sing.