The first thing you should know about me, is that I am special without measure.
I mean that, truly. I always have been. In my previous life I wanted for nothing. Not food, water, love, care, affection, knowledge, money, joy, peace. I was not exceedingly wealthy, I didn't need to be. I enjoyed my life and It enjoyed me as well. All you need to know is that, it is true.
It was true when I regained consciousness in the body of a toddler. It was true, as I performed my first bit magic in shock at seeing the horse faced woman I have the displeasure of calling my aunt. It was true, when I looked in the mirror and saw a face I did not recognise, along with a scar I would recognise anywhere, though it was less raw than described. It is true now, as accept the Hogwarts letter from Petunia's reluctant hands.
"I still wish you wouldn't go." Aunt Petunia murmurs, she's looking at me with those sad beady eyes of hers. She continues with a little more purpose this time. "You don't need to go that foul school with those freakish people. It's dangerous. You know what they did to my sister, to your mother. You don't have to have to throw your life away, you could be normal!" I interrupt before she can continue.
"But I'm not, you know this." I walk back towards the kitchen, petunia a few steps behind me.
The Dursley's kitchen is like everything in this house, my aunts deepest desires and unconscious insecurities brought to life, a perfect picture of normalcy.
Sequestered at the head of the table is Vernon Dursley. His body so layered in fat you'd have no way of knowing the former amateur boxer still retained some semblance of muscle. But trust me, the muscles were still there, even if rarely used these days. To his right sits his mini me, the prince in this kingdom of normalcy.
"But you could be! You could be so much more than a- a frea-" I look at her "fine! Magician. You could be so much better than them. Their world will ruin you! And I don't want to see that happen again." I sigh and go to sit down, before I can respond Vernon does so.
"Tuni, we've already talked about this. The boy's made up his mind. He wants to learn how to pull bunnys out of hats and other such nonsense. As is his right. We've done our job, more than, even." His tempo rises. "Kept him, fed him, cared for him, and so if he wants to throw his life away to become a stage act!? He's free to do so. If he dies, it'll be on them"
Dudley passes me some orange juice with little protest, devouring his meal takes up his full attention. The conversation is nothing in the face of his hunger, piles of bacon, eggs, sausages, toast and hash browns, stand ready to fufill their duty: Satiating Dudley Dursley.
Petunia's face saddens a little more and her voice lacks its previous strength, "I know" she says, beginning to pick at her meal.
I don't even need eye contact to know her thoughts, memories of her sister, with eyes just like mine, will be trying to swallow her. Their life before they met snape, before Hogwarts and 'That Potter boy', before she lost her baby sister.
It still amuses me that this woman, this family, that claims to love me like a second son, would have locked me up in the cupboard under the stairs. If I wasn't special, even amongst wizards, then I would have been subjected to conditions that'd make cps weep.
When I woke up all those years ago, with black blood dripping from my scar, I was in a body that both was and wasn't my own. I had 19 years of memories and another soul placed into this body. 3 souls cannot inhibit the same body, so something had to give. Being so weak and brittle in comparison, Voldemorts soul shard shattered and was evicted. Harry Potter's, the true Harry Potter, soul lost to my own (as it should, he was 3)so I took everything he had.
Having lived a life without it, magic was easy to feel and somewhat utilise. After dying(presumably) and waking up here, having my soul beat 2 magical souls to win ownership of this body, my sense of self had never been higher, and I had no doubt in my ability.
It was easy to will a toy to my hand, I wanted it. It was easy to conjour a ball of light in the darkness of my room at bed time, I didn't want to sleep and needed light to see. Basic magic was easy, so with a bit of effort, magic of the mind shouldn't have been impossible. It wasn't.
Having 19 years of memories dumped into a 3 year olds brain wasn't ideal, something should have went wrong. But this body was magical and now, so was my soul. The body's main goal is survival and keeping its self functioning. My theory is that magic had to rushed to my brain and mind to keep me alive. The concentration of magic used to protect me has made mind magic easier than it should be.
So I made tiny changes to the Dursleys, except for Dudley. I brought up petunias attachment of love and affection for her sister and attached it to the concept of me. Repeatedly, over the course of years. For Vernon instead of love, it was duty to his wife's parents to take care of their grandchild. I didn't attempt Dudley, he was a child who'd follow his parents example and I didn't want to risk breaking him.
I open the letter as the conversation of the table drones on around me.
Dear Mr Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1st of September. We await your owl by no later than the 31st of July.
It's exactly as expected and proves one thing for certain.
I am special without measure.
"Now just grab my arm and hold on tight Mr Potter."
Honestly, I'd not been expecting McGonagall to be the one taking me to Diagon Alley. I'd requested a teacher in my reply, I'd assumed Dumbledore would have just sent Hagrid and called it a day.
"Sure thing professor." I grab on and the odd feeling I've had around her is more pronounced. I guessing it's her magic? Soft but coarse at the same time, or is it one but always transforming into the other? At times it's like the fur of a regular house cat and others like that of a mountain lion. I'm getting mostly house cat vibes though, so I'm guessing she likes me.
She's tall for a woman, with a stern face and eyes that seem like they can see right through me. Whenever she looks at me, it's as if she's at war with her herself between experiencing great joy and deep aching pain.
Before i can glean anything else, another feeling envelopes me. Something surrounding me, grabbing every part of me. My first instinct is to resist but then I remember myself. Apparation. I let it happen. I'm squeezed through a tube 100 sizes too small to fit me. It's not exactly painful but in no way is it pleasant. Somehow I remember to keep a hold on the Transfiguration Mistress's arm.
We land with a sharp crack. I hunch over and fight the urge to hurl.
"My apologies Mr Potter, it is dreadful the first few go arounds." I hear a slight smile in her voice, I look up and it increases a fraction. I grumble and rise, "Surely, there are less unpleasant ways of travelling professor." She's looking ahead now, "You'd think so. Alas," she directs my attention to the bar across the street, "The leaky cauldron, your entrance to Diagon Alley, until you learn to apparate in your sixth year. Come along now Mr potter, we've got a lot to get through." She looks back me "Oh, you might want to cover the scar, I'll explain later."
"Of course Professor." I respond and we head across. The scar is faint but I cover it anyway, not because I hate fame or recognition, I just don't want us slowed down. I came here for one thing after all, my very own wand.
It's the last stop on our trip, 'save the best for last,' she said, her tone weary. I imagine she's had enough of children getting their wands and being distracted the rest of the trip. I understood, but that didn't mean I had to like it though. Still, …it was a magical shopping alley, there were worse ways of spending my time.
After crossing the bar and they gateway, we weaved through crowds of oddly dressed people, top hats, witches caps, robes and dresses of variety. With ranges of colour and scents I didn't even know existed. There was magic everywhere, in the people, the clothes, the pets licking at the heels of their owners, and the shops especially.
It was wild. Buildings of different shapes and sizes, skewed this way or that. Signs that sang, listing what could be found within, complementing leaving or approaching customers, insulting the competition and slandering their products.
Potions, cauldrons, brooms, enchanted beds, glasses that predicted the weather, unique pieces of magic on every side. Everything you could think of. We passed them all.
"Here we are then, Gringotts. The wizarding bank, it's run by goblins Mr Potter, do mind your manners." She says as we walk towards the guards.
The building is huge, white, slightly crooked and leaning like everything in this alley seems to be. The most secure place in the world, barring Hogwarts apparently. I don't yet sense the wards though, must just be on the inside. However none of this is what steals my attention or bring me to a standstill, it is the creatures that stand guard.
They are the ugliest things I have had the misfortune of seeing.
Bald headed, with numerous scars dotted about their faces. A pointed hooked nose, ears spiked and sharp as knives. Drooping wrinkled skin and piss yellow stained teeth. Their eyes were dark and slitted with no whites visible. What little magic I could sense from this distance felt like hatred and tar.
I stared for a moment too long, "Move Wizard!" The one to the right snarls, as the other raises its axe. Narrowly avoiding the spittle he sent flying, I resume walking, entering the bank and catching up to the professor. She looks pointedly at me.
"My bad professor," she hums.
I avoid looking at the rest of the goblins during the time that we are waiting to be served. I think of Flitwick, hoping he doesn't share in his ancestors appearance, for his sake and mine. The professor shows the goblin what I assume to be my vault key and we're on the move.
As we step past the banks auditorium and into an area lined with tracks and rail carts, it happens instantly.
Like the feeling of being submerged in a warm swimming pool or hot tub. My mind is telling me it should feel hard to move, like swimming in molasses but my body bites back and tells me otherwise, I move like normal. We enter the cart, I can't tell when it begins to move, I'm still somewhat distracted. I can still feel the effect as the cart travels with unnatural speed. Something changes, the goblin is talking, something about thievery and downfall, I'm not pay attention, it feels like I'm about to be struck by lightning, there's goosebumps on my arms, we're splashed with water and the feeling fades instantly. The water has special properties, the Hogwarts deputy tells me, pointing to our dry clothes as example and we continue onto the vault.
My riches are immense. Gold upon Gold upon Gold upon Gold. "All of this because of sleakeazy!?"I look to McGonagall incredulous, she seems amused.
She lets me take as much as I'd like, it's my money after all and we head back. As we exit the bank and put some steps between us and the gremlins, I ask a question that's been bugging me since I layed eyes on the little horrors.
"Professor, why would wizards ever trust goblins to hold all of their gold?"
She looks back at me, raises an eyebrow and answers, "Good question Mr Potter, though one without a simple answer. Fret not, the topic is touched upon in history of magic."
For some reason she finds the topic of goblins and history funny, I think of what I know of the subject, and …dear God. "Is the subject interesting professor?"
There's no smile on her lips, but I hear it in her voice and there's mirth in eyes, "Oh, it's simply to die for."
Perhaps if I were in her position, it would've been funny.
I am not.
So as we continue to make our way through the witches and wizards, all I can do is hope to find a book on exorcism in Flourish and Blotts.
————————Chosen One———————
We did not. Nothing of particular note occurred at the rest of the shops, but I wasn't expecting anything from them anyway.
This is what I came for, Ollivanders.
In contrast to the other buildings, this one is dull. No peacocking whatsoever but given what is within, it is hardly necessary.
As soon as we enter, I am assaulted with noise. Whispers and murmurs mostly, however there is some screaming and out right begging to be noticed. Voices of different flavours and textures, ages and genders, each one wanting… I come to realise that there is no one here but me and the deputy headmistress, so those voices I must be hearing ar—
"Curious, how very curious."
I turn and he is there, with pale eyes and wispy white hair. As I look at him and sense his magic, I feel it draped around him but there a countless little tendrils of it linking him to the boxes on the shelf. He feels like a willow tree and the wands' are his branches.
"What's curious?" I ask In return, he's peering at me like I'm some sort of puzzle he knows he cannot solve, "You, my dear boy," he turns his head slightly to McGonagall, she interrupts, knowing what he was about to say.
"Must you do this every time Garrick?" She gives a sigh of long suffering, her shoulders drop, like an immense weight is bearing her down.
I now understand why she wanted to come here last. Ollivander continues as if it was just the wind, I almost burst out laughing.
"Minerva, lovely seeing you again. Fir, dragon heartstring, 9 and 1/2 inches, stiff suited to transfiguration. Giving you no issues I hope, why it feels just like yester—"
"I was here yesterday." I burst and the laughter escapes me
"--day that I was checking up on it."
McGonagall continues to sigh and the wand maker looks back to me, "Your wand arm, Mr Potter?"
I lift my right hand and before I know it, I am a sculpture. Still. As flying pieces measure the width of my nose, the distance between my fingers, my thumb length, my eyebrows, the distance between them…is that really necessary!?
It continues on but before I can pluck them from the sky, Ollivander is placing wood in my hand and telling me its specifications but I'm paying him no mind.
The wand in my hand is not my wand, I can tell. It whispers, a bit hard to discipher but I get the gist. It wants to be chosen, to go with me but it doesn't think it would do a good job. I don't disagree, mind you, I'd be a great wizard with any wand but… no, this is not my wand. I look up into ollivanders expecting eyes and say, "No." he smiles.
We continue on in that same vane for I don't know how long, some wands are too nervous, some don't care at all, some throw themselves away in fear before they even reach my fingers. A few submit, but that's not what we're looking for. 'Submission, servitude, slavery… these are not the same as partnership Mr Potter' he had said at the time. He walks back to me, I sense something different this time.
"Holly, Phoenix tail feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
I grab on and… it's not quite right. It's a match, it's voice is calm, we are of similar minds but as soon as we touch, we are both left a little confused and saddened. Trying to describe the feeling… it was like…, it was like a poor orgasm. Technically still an orgasm, it might even have felt good but… some part of you knows it should have been better.
I look to the wand maker, his eyes are sad, tears? "Surely, theres still some left to try?" I say, still feeling out of it, to my own ears my voice sounds choked.
I let go of the wand, dropping it into his hands, looking at it now, it looks withered, its voice loses strength. It goes silent. Ollivander looks at me, sad, but not upset with me it seems, he's sad for me, sad that I had to go through that.
"There is one I that might… yes that might work" he scurries away, the deputy headmistress looks to me, confused.
"What happened Mr Potter?"
To her it must have just looked like I picked up the wand, it give a splutter of golden sparks, and then we began to tear up.
"We expected it to work between us, but…"
Ollivander returns and presents me the wooden box. I open it.
The wand is red. That's the first thing I notice, from it's tip to the shaft, down to the handle which black and gold. It speaks clearly but without hurrying, not caring if it is heard, it'll speak anyway. When it talks, it says that It is one of a kind, I know it's not lying, it has no need to and so I know it is mine. We are of one mind and soon will be of one body.
"Redwood," Ollivander starts, I look to him and decide to let him finish before I touch it, "is said to bring good fortune to its wielders, and for that reason it is in high demand even though it is in short supply. Most do not realise that the truth is the opposite. Redwood wands are attracted to those who can fall on their feet, those who snatch victory from the jaws of defeat."
He's looking at me, at the scar, there's something in his eyes I cannot decipher.
"Phoenix tail feather, the rarest cores to come by, independence, rebirth, initiative. Traits of both the cores and their users.14 and 1/2 inches, quite bendy. I expect great things from you, Harry Potter."
I grab the wand and I am whole again.
The sun went off behind my eyelids. There was warmth like underneath the blankets on a snowy day, there was ice cold water in the burning sun of the Sahara, I was kissed and I kiss back, I love and I am loved back, my heart felt like it would explode yet this is the calmest I have ever felt. The wand and I are of one mind and one body, and We/I/It knew that We/I/It could do Anything.
"Ho- How." I took a breath and then another, the euphoria was slowly fading but it knew it would be there, not as much, not as vast but ever present. "How much sir?"
I look up at him, there's warmth on his face, the sadness from earlier is gone. He responds.
And I buy life and death for 7 Galleons.
Vernon had said little, expressing pride, then patting me on my shoulder and turning to get back to the car. Dudley punched my arm lightly with a smile and scampered off to join his father.
Petunia… her eyes were growing moist with the beginning of tears. I flexed my thumb and 14 and 1/2 inches of power dropped from the holster on my forearm.
Warmth. Love. Bliss.
Even after a month, it was still surreal. I drew on my magic, wrapped myself in its flames, took flight with wings of crimson and gold, and fell towards the water of Petunia Dursley's mind. Easier and faster? Must be the wand…Just before I hit, I made sure to change form.
I knew her mind like the back of my hand, so after all these years it was easy to take the correct form, cloaking myself in water that was indistinguishable to hers to allow me to sink right in. In my first attempt, what seems like so long ago now, I crashed into the water without even attempting subtlety or changing form. I hadn't poured all of my might into that attempt, lest I accidentally make her into a vegetable, but still, my lack of skill and my brute force had resulted in two days of headaches for dear old Aunt Petunia.
The current, thinking I was one of its own, tried to take me back to her surface thoughts which I had already passed by. Pain, longing, love, sadness, Fear. I went against it and was met with no resistance, I was no intruder here after all. Even if I was, she was a muggle, with little will, there was no resistance she could put up.
I fell into her depths, emotions and memories moved by, mostly sadness, resentment and fear. I avoided them and then… There you are. A little girl, no older than thirteen. Lying alone on a hill, tears streaming down her face. I fell upon her, wrapping her in warmth and focused my intent.
Ice cream on a summer day, a late night drive with a loved one, progress at work, success: everything I could think of that brought someone joy. And once I had grabbed a hold of that emotion in myself, I amplified it with my magic and poured it into her. I did the same with the emotions of love, peace, acceptance and pride. As I poured into her, she poured into our surroundings and the emotions therein changed. A kiss on the forehead, filled with manufactured love and I pulled away.
I was back in the physical, seconds had barely passed and Petunia's eyes shined now with love. She took me in a hug, whispering affections in my ear, I kissed her cheek and left her behind.
The platform was unnaturally clean, with barely anyone else present and those few who were, I could tell from their lack of garish robes, were mostly muggles and their muggleborn offspring.
My footsteps echoed on the sparkling floor as I made my way to the train, I moved unencumbered, with no snowy white owl on top of my trunk to draw glances and whispers, dressed in a hoodie, some jeans and sneakers, I was perfectly ordinary.
I step aboard the magical train, and have my choice of any compartment. I walk for a few carriages, moving closer to the back and slip into a compartment on my right and set down my trunk behind the door. A flex and warmth rushes through me again, as I turn to face the door, I think of hidden secrets that I want no one to access, that I can not let anyone access, behind lock and key until my say so. I tap the carriage door with my wand, it clicks shut and locks.
A few hours left until we set off, I pull out my copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, to picked up where I left off.
"It should be noted that while food cannot be outright created from nothing, it can be multiplied if one already has some food to multiply, it can be enlarged or the food can be summoned if one knows the approximate location and is fairly sure the food will still be there. In addition, while "good food" cannot be conjured, consumable things such as sauces, wine, and potable water can be, as they are not particularly nutritious substances."
That still makes no sense. Who came up with these with these rules? Why? You could conjour animals but not food!? What was the difference? Symbolism?… I could create a rooster but not chicken breasts? Hmm, I was missing something. This book was made for 11 year olds in mind, I wasn't going to let it crack me. This specific passage was sounding suspiciously like Magical drafts and Potions.
With a focus on symbolism, I could see the jump between potions and ritualism, with each potion being a completed story, its components as the beginning, middle and end. But the symbolism in this case… felt backwards. Surely, it should be harder to conjure something that is "alive" rather tha-
There's a knock on the door, bringing me from my thoughts, a voice follows.
"Hey! The train is setting off, you can't have locking charms on the doors. The prefects are about to do checks." I bring my wand up and twirl it in a clockwise pattern facing the door, a thought of Alohamora, and it unlocks.
His top half enters the compartment, blond hair, green eyes and his outer robes are trimmed with yellow. Hufflepuff. He looks around 13. I don't recognise him.
"Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't know that was a thing." He's looking at me queerly, why would he be confus-"You're a first year? That was a pretty damn good locking charm."
Ah, I smile at him, "Thanks, oh and thanks for the heads up aswell."
An impish grin spread across his face and he turns to depart, "No problem, ickle firstie." I resist the urge to smite him.
I'm thinking on ways I would have done the deed when I'm intruded upon once again. There's a knock and the door slides open,
Red hair and hand me down robes, blue eyes, freckles splattered randomly across his face. There's heat rising to his cheeks and I know the words before they leave his lips.
"Excuse me. Do you mind? Everywhere else is full."
I see through the lie instantly, though it isn't a malicious one. I see a nervous boy, looking for company but not from the higher years. I peer at him, sensing his magic, I hear the barking of a dog in the wind, …playful but willing to do anything for a friend. I look into his eyes and draw my magic up, I fall in.
No lake, but a garden? I see a house that should not exist in the distance, slanted and leaning in impossible ways… the burrow. Memories and thoughts are before me, moving through the air on some magical wind, as I move the winds try to slow me down but they are too weak. There's no effort put into it. The winds shallow here but they are denser towards the house. It'll be harder to move the closer I get to the it. This is not Occulamency, just his magic and mind naturally trying to resist. I could shatter it if I put in effort.I turn to a memory as it try's to whiz by. I pluck it gently from the air with a flaming talon.
I see two boys, redheads, twins, and black boy behind them as well, with compartment walls on either side, laughing and a spider moving in front of me. No, in-front of Ron. He felt that one deeply. I remember his fear of spiders. I see, they pranked him on the train. I pull back. All that in less than a second.
I decide to brighten his day.
"I don't mind mate," I help him with his trunk and as he sits down, "I'm Harry Potter, what's your name?"
"You're having me on." I show him the scar, his jaw drops and his eyes widen.
"E-erm, Ron. Ron Weasley." He's staring.
"Nice to meet you, Ron Ron Weasley." He doesn't seem to have heard what I've said.
"You're Harry Potter!" The excitement in his voice is palpable, wonder lances through his eyes.
"I am." I'm laughing as I say it, looking at the joy in him now, he really is a child.
"Wicked!"
———————-Chosen One————————
We talk until the trolly lady shows up, I get us the lot. I'm refreshed on my memory of Ron Weasley and his family. There's love as he talks about each of them. I remember what I had before, before…
I'm happy for him.
Something has been gnawing at me though. Whenever I look at the rat, Peter, it's hard not to hurl. His magic is repulsive, the sound of lots of scurrying little steps, the smell of sewage and the feeling sludge dripping down my spine.
I plan to capture him and then report him, but Voldemort is at the school, so I have to be discreet. There can be no chance of his master making a way for his escape. I've had a lot of time to think these past eight years. I came up with the perfect plan. I call it: The kickass plan to do whatever the hell I want(Trademark pending). The order is interchangeable for whatever is easiest at the time.
-Kill Querell(Somehow? Did I still have the protection? I should right… shhiittt. But the house! The blood wards! Dumbledore would have noticed something?… right? Fuck. Eh, no use worrying about it, I'll be fine. Faith wills it so)
-Destroy the diadem( wait will Querellmort feel it if I do it whilst he's at Hogwarts? Unsure. Maybe don't risk it. Ok kill Querell first.)
-Capture the rat.
-Make use of the room of requirement.
-Take the Philosophers stone for study(it's probably a fake. Doesn't matter, as long as noseless doesn't get it. I'll probably be able to make my own eventually anyway.)
-Steal the diary from Ginny and destroy it. (Or from Lucius if he grows a brain and decides it's not a good idea to give his lords,soul, prize possession to a school girl.)
-Take every elective in my third year, and keep them so I can abuse the time turner up until I sit my NEWTS in my seventh year.(Study it and figure out how to make a hyperbolic time chamber and don't die to causality.)
-Destroy the rest of Voldemort and be worshipped by the wizarding world.
-Profit and do whatever the fuck I want(True Freedom).
Personally, I see no way I can fail.
I'm brought from my rumination as the door slides open and a young girls voice flits through the compartment. "Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville has lost one."
She could do with some sleakeazy… was my first thought upon laying eyes on Hermione Granger. Her magic felt unironically like books. Lots and lots of books, stacked so high you were in danger of toppling them over and killing yourself if you didn't pay attention to the them. What a strange girl…
"Do you have any clue what this toad looks like?" I ask in reply, looking at her, she looks the most like her actor than anyone I've seen thus far. She's already in full robes, I'm not surprised. A voice cracks and stammers out from behind her hair.
"He-he's brown, and erm, black eyes, w-with bumps on his nose." Neville describes the average toad as he comes out to stand beside Hermione, but I'm sure it'll be good enough, magic works on intent after all.
"Alright then," I say looking past them, my wand is already in my hand, its comforting warmth adding to my strength. I think of the need to have something, it has to come to me, like I need food to come to my stomach, like I need oxygen to come to my lungs, need. I speak. "Accio Trevor, Neville's toad." I know it'll work even before it does, and why wouldn't it? It was a toad and I was me.
There's a whistling sound and loud croak and then the toad soars over Neville and Hermione's heads and lands into my waiting left hand.
"How did you do that!? That's a fourth year spell!"
"Trevor!"
"Wicked!"
The shock on all three of their faces as they cry out at the same time almost makes me laugh. I smile and answer with the simplest truth.
"I am Harry Potter."
————————Chosen One————————
Hermione and Neville join us for the rest of the ride and time flys by. I show them some spells, Hermione asks interesting questions and we play some games. We get off the train and are hailed over by the booming voice of Rubius Hagrid.
I knew his height already. I knew he was ment to be tall. But seriously… what the fuck? He was 8 feet tall, and that wasn't even half of the average giant height.
His mother was the giant I believe… she had to be the giant. But to think a regular man managed to impregnate one… Respect.
We get closer to the castle, it's breathtaking, beautiful even, and the pictures in no way do it justice. But I cannot fully admire it as i feel the weight of the wards settle upon me. Instead of molasses like at Gringotts, it feels like heavy gravity to my mind except my body knows otherwise. They aren't even on attack mode.
Throughout our journey to the castle on the boats, the walk up to it, McGonagall's conversation with Hagrid and her following speech, I am present but I am not there.
I'm only managing to fully settle myself when I hear the tale end of, "-is it true? Are you Harry Potter?" His tone of voice was careless, cocksure. Draco Malfoy.
As I look him in the eye, I go to respond, whilst at the same time gathering my magic up around myself. I hear my voice saying, "Yes, I am Harry Pott-", as I launch myself into his mind for no real reason whatsoever. I do it for the same reason I do most things. Because I can. Plus it's Draco Malfoy.
I ensure the probe is light and subtle, wizards have a slightly higher natural resistance to mind magic than muggles, as I saw with Ron and I have no clue if mummy and daddy dearest taught their little dragon Occulamency.
Some part of me hopes they did, I'd like to test my skill.
I fall in, and bear witness the mind of Draco Malfoy. I'm in a deep valley, luscious green grass, shrubbery and beautiful plants at all sides. My attention is pulled to the statues, hundreds, thousands… countless statues. I draw closer, peering at their visage and though I have never met him, I know immediately who they depict. The similarities between him and his son are uncanny. Lucius Malfoy's face is everywhere, and as I draw closer, the statue fades slightly at the edges and I see a memory play out through it. Draco speaks with his father, he is told he is of the great Pure Blood house of Malfoy, he must succeed. Draco nods, listening intently, like every word from Lucius is wisdom from the Buddha. Malfoy yearns for his father's love and approval, all he does is for him. I do not let his emotions affect me. He is told to befriend me, though it is not a necessity, Lucius final words to his son, 'Make me proud.', are said with no care for the effect they may have on him.
I have seen enough.
As I pull back, I see the statues are getting a little agitated but no actual Occulamency it seems, just his magic resisting and rejecting mine. I could calm them but choose not. They'll calm when I depart. I'm back in the physical.
Barely a moment has passed.
"Good. Name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." He looks from me, to Neville then as his gaze travels to Ron and Hermione, a sneer develops on his face and ruins his aristocratic features. "A good start with Longbottom but Weasley's a blood traitor who might not be able to afford school supplies next year." Draco drawls, Ron looks like he's about to swing. He continues on, looking back to me after giving Hermione a suspicious look, "and I've got no clue about the bushy haired one. Some wizarding family's are better than others potter," he sticks his hand out, "I can help you there."
I could spit on his offering, it is Malfoy after all.
But if I accept, I lose nothing, with the possibility of me having a way to get to the Malfoy house and snag the diary if Lucius decides not to be an idiot.
I take his hand, his face is lifting up in a smile, I decide to stop it in its tracks. "Thanks for the offer Malfoy, I think I'm good but if I need help, I know who to go to." I pat him on the shoulder and by the look of his face, he doesn't know whether to be happy or annoyed.
As I arrive back with the others, Ron is giving Draco a stinkeye, "He's a prat!" he whispers. "You can't trust him."
"I don't mate." I reply, just as McGonagall returns to lead us into the hall.
I look to the head table first of all as we enter. Dumbledore in purple robes, looking calm with a grandfatherly smile on his face. I look to the seat two down from him on the left and spot Flitwick. He doesn't share his ancestors inherent ugliness and vile disposition. I'm glad, nobody deserves that. I spend my time moving from teacher to as the sorting begins and goes on, my eyes find Snape and I avoid eye contact. His nose is hooked and hair oily, younger than I expected yet there's still similarities between him and Alan rickman. Without even looking at his eyes I can feel the contempt. As I look to Quirell, I feel a dull phantom ache in my skull but it vanishes as soon as it arises. My name is called and there's a hush about the hall.
I step towards the stool next to McGonagall, she graces me with a minuscule smile, the words of our last conversation at Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour echo in my head. 'You are the Boy Who Lived.' I look up to the head table and find the headmaster, he nods his head up at me, as if telling me, "Go on my boy." So I do.
I turn and sit down and the ragged old hat is placed on my head.
'My, my… what do we have here?' I hear him but not with my ears, it's the first time someone else has been in my mind. I don't quite like it. 'Few do,' he sounds like he's concentrating, 'You are immense. …Yes, I see it clearly.'
'So you know where to put me then, yes?' I ask in reply.
'Of course, with your ambition and your ability. Is it not obvious? You could be great in Slyth-,' I step in before he can continue to prattle on.
'I would be great everywhere. So no. Not Slytherin. You're in my mind, you know where I need to go, are you a fool?' I ask, Genuinely puzzled.
'I know where you want to go but-'
'Listen you ragged oaf, if you do not put me in Gryffindor, I will unravel whatever enchantments have been holding you together for the last one thousand years and leave you as ash in the wind.' And I meant every word.
'You insolent brat! You wouldn't dare desecrate an artefact as priceless as I.' …What reason have I to lie to piece of head wear?
'You are in my head. Look. Truly, look. And then, tell me I am lying.' There is silence for a few seconds and then…
'You are sick.' He sounds horrified, 'Why on earth would you piss on me!?'
I could say it's to put out the flames before I throw his ashes into the wind, but instead I say, 'I am Harry Potter.' And that answer is enough in and of itself.
'Fineee. For the sheer bravery, or shall I say idiocy, of threatening a thousand year old mind reading magical artefact, who can tell all your secrets to anyone he chooses to-' Because I trust you know what will happen if you make that mistake.
"Better be, GRYFFINDOR!!"
My first days at Hogwarts flew by with speed I didn't think possible. Between lessons, exploring the castle and magical practice whenever I could get a moment alone, I seem to have lost track of time a little.
Most subjects were exactly as I thought it would be, but that wasn't always a good thing.
Herbology for instance was basically gardening. There was little, if any magic involved. I didn't much care for the subject except for needing to recognise the flora that might be useful in potions later on. For Neville, however, it was love at first potting. That was to be expected though.
His magic felt like a planting, if you cared for it, nurtured it and gave it the right nutrients, it would grow into a vibrant healthy tree. Unfortunately at the moment his planting was wilting at the edges.
I knew the cause for the issue, I didn't even have to look into his mind either. His lack of self belief and "his" wand. It wasn't his and unfortunately, it would never be. It wanted to work for it's friend's son. Truly it did. But… sometimes, some people just aren't meant for each other. Hmm I should probably do something about that soon…
Transfiguration, I had been looking forward to and was not disappointed. Professor McGonagall did her little routine, transforming from cat to woman seamlessly.
"Transfiguration is one of the most complex and dangerous branches of magic. If performed foolishly and without focus it can lead to disaster" she gave us a severe look, her face remaining stern, she continued, jabbing her wand at an ink pot which sat on her desk. "But it can also be the most beautiful." It churned in on itself transforming into a rat with golden fur. It scurried off the table, jumping into the air and taking flight, splitting apart into countless blue butterflies. They circled the room and as they arrived back to the front, they became one once again, leaving only the ink pot behind.
She went through the theory, I was already aware of most of it and the one question I had I would save for after class. We were given the goal of turning a matchstick, into a steel needle.
I watched over my peers as they struggled, and tried in a various number of ways to get the matchstick to change. Incantations first, then again but with shouts in the hopes that a change would occur, then threatening and finally pleading.
The only one who had made an ounce of progress was Hermione Granger. Hers had remained a matchstick, though it did gain a noticeable silver ting with a shine at the edges.
This was to be my first attempt at transfiguration, so I decided to use the incantation. "Lignoverto." I said, my voice calm, as I tapped the matchstick with my wand.
It shimmered from where it was connected to my wand up to the far side, turning shiny and metallic in shade but still retaining the shape of a matchstick.
Where did I go wrong?
"A good first attempt, Mr Potter." A voice, McGonagall, says from beside me. "Five points to Gryffindor. You should remember that a once-living thing, such as wood, will resist attempts to transfigure. Not as much that which is currently living but you will still need a strong will and mental image."
As if a piece of wood of resist me.
Almost as if she could hear my thoughts, she graces me with a small smile and gives me a new matchstick.
"Try again, Mr Potter." I do as she says. The matchstick shivers, sharpens and shimmers a brilliant silver, becoming a smooth steel needle.
The transfiguration is flawless.
I ask my question after class, about the seeming contradiction in conjuring water and fluids like wine but not food.
"You've heard of the muggle concept of homeopathy?" She begins, seated behind her desk, "It's an idea originating from the Wizarding world. The idea that an object carries a certain resonance from other objects it has been in contact with. Thus, a cauldron that has always been used to produce a particular potion will be much better for producing that type of potion in the future, even with poorer ingredients. It's why potions masters, such as Professor Snape, have so many.
So, with a certain amount of skill, a chalice that recently had wine in it may be filled with aether, and the aether may be transmuted into more wine. The reason that it is commonly stated that one may not "conjure" food is because it's rather dangerous. An empty kitchen may have any number of things in it that are not food. If you bring forth aetherial matter, it will take the form of whatever it comes into contact with; be that food, or drink, or dirt, or mold, or bits of the cook's fingernail."
As she's talking, she waves her wand, conjuring a chalice and then wine, another chalice and this time water, and then a plate into which she conjures roast chicken, potatoes and gravy with greens on the side. It smells divine.
"Magic, being the inexact science that it is, it is difficult to teach everyone that food can be conjured out of nothing, but it's not safe. So instead, we teach that you just can't do it. If a wizard is really interested in learning to do it, they can put in the effort to learn it. It's advanced stuff, beyond what we teach at Hogwarts, and one must be very careful. Is that answer to your liking, Mr Potter?"
It is.
———————-Chosen One————————
History of magic I had no words for. Binns didn't even know who was in the class or what year he was teaching. I decided I'd use that time for self study or napping. It was a toss up. Hermione was in disagreement with that attitude. After her complaints about my "disrespectful" behaviour has resulted in a blank stare and a murmured "silencio" for her troubles, she gave up trying to get me to pay attention. I removed the charm at the end of the lesson but she refused to say a word to me the rest of the day.
That seemed needlessly petty to me.
Charms proved interesting though not just because it was a wanded subject but because it was obvious that Flitwick loved to teach.
"To cast magic, you have to actually know what it is you are doing and what you want to achieve." He says enthusiastically, walking atop of his desk, he's too little for the floor, we'd lose sight of him down there.
He looks about the room, making sure we're all paying attention and then continues on, "Your wand movements could be perfect, pronunciation extraordinary, but if your head is empty, if your focus drifts, if your intent is lacklustre, try all you might, you will perform nothing."
He hops back atop his chair and turns round to face us. His wand, proportional to his size, is now aimed at the engorged feather on his desk.
"Intent is the key factor. Wingardium Leviosa." And of course, the feather is lifted up.
The diminutive professor would go onto to explain the necessity of wand motions and incantations, which acted as stabilisers and pathways to help strengthen and shape our intent in order to bring what we wanted into reality. I decided to ask a question.
"Professor, does that then mean that with a strong enough intent, you could bypass the need for wand movements and incantations? Could you also use an incantation that only you know the meaning of?" I already knew the answer to the first, but he had no way of knowing that.
He gives a happy clap and I received 10 points to Gryffindor and an affirmative for the former. As he answered the latter, his voice took on a contemplative tone.
"I suppose you could yes, but you'd have to ensure you maintained the correct symbolism. Take water for instance, Mr Potter. When we're performing magic, we don't just think of literal water. Water is a symbol for something, and whatever part of that symbol you focus on will dictate the result of the spell." He looks to me now, smiling.
"Does that answer your question Mr Potter?" I give him a smile in return.
"Yes professor, it does."
When it comes time to perform the charm for ourselves, most people can get their feathers to shiver and lift a few inches into the air, with Hermione being the front runner, hers rising high above the classroom. If I wasn't present, she would have been the best performer in this classroom of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.
But I am, and the gap in skill between us is severe.
I perform the spell with the incantation but without wand movement and the quill rises to the ceiling. I perform it again without either movement or incantation to the same result.
Awe quickly spreads from the Gryffindors closest to me, to the puffs on the other side of the room, gaining the charms Professor's attention.
He asked me to perform the spell again in the hush of the classroom, I do so. Again, without incantation or wand movement, making the feather do loops around the classroom, tickling students as it passed by for the hell of it, to exclamation and laughter from the half goblin.
"Well done, Mr Potter! Haha! Well done indeed. Dare I say, that was without a doubt the best spell casting I've ever seen from a first year." He looks at me with pride. "100 points! 100 points to Gryffindor!" The Gryffindors of the classroom erupt and are jubilant for the rest of the session, my back beginning to ache from all the pats.
I spend the rest of the lesson flying my feather until spot I her looking at me.
Hermione smiles slightly at me once I notice her. It doesn't reach her eyes. There's a sadness to her and the beginning of tears. A part of me of me feels bad, but what am I to do?
Fake mediocrity so a little girl doesn't feel insure in her own ability?…No. I wouldn't limit myself for such a reason. Life wasn't fair.
But still, she was a child and for that reason alone, I felt pity.
I knew of her experience in primary school. I knew of the bullying, the ostracisation, the loneliness…
I decided then.
At my side, she would never feel lonely again.