4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.
Rain was coming down in sheets, and the thunder boomed so loudly it sounded like a troop of trolls tap-dancing on the roof.
Ivan Potter was curled up in the cupboard under the stairs, clutching a makeshift "wand" he'd cobbled together from an old umbrella rib and some copper wire. He was currently pointing it at a passing cockroach, muttering under his breath.
"Avada... no, wait. Expelliarmus? Never mind. Scourgify."
There was no flash of green light, nor red. The cockroach, thoroughly spooked, fluttered its wings and took off—pausing just long enough to leave a nasty dark speck on his battered, second-hand copy of Intermediate Potion Making.
"Damn it." Ivan snapped the book shut, his expression blank.
He wasn't originally from this world. Years ago, he and Harry Potter had been left on the Dursleys' doorstep on the very same night. But because the lightning had been blindingly bright that evening, Vernon Dursley had only scooped up the baby with the lightning bolt scar—the famous "Savior."
Ivan, lacking any obvious magical markings, was dismissed as dead weight—a Squib—and unceremoniously shoved into the cupboard under the stairs.
That was ten years ago.
"Ivan! You lazy good-for-nothing! If you don't finish mowing that lawn, don't expect even a crust of moldy bread for dinner!" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice pierced through the thick wooden door.
"Coming, Aunt Petunia." Ivan skillfully tucked his homemade wand away. A cold, calculating glint flashed deep within his blue eyes.
Only he knew the truth: He was no Squib.
Just yesterday, a cold, mechanical voice had chimed in his head:
> [Ding! "The Ultimate Dark Lord Ascension System" has been activated.]
> [Main Quest: Trigger the emotion "Shock" in Severus Snape within one month (0/1).]
> [Reward: Occlumency Lv. 5, One Random Legendary Wand.]
"The lawnmower..." Ivan looked at the rusty manual push-mower in the corner and sighed.
Just then, a heavy pounding shook the front door. The noise was deafening, as if someone were trying to demolish the sturdy red-brick house with a sledgehammer.
"Who on earth goes out in this weather?" Petunia grumbled as she went to answer it.
The door swung open.
A man standing in the doorway looked like he was made of mountains. He wore a ragged, oversized coat, and rain dripped freely from his wild, tangled beard and hair. But the most striking thing was the cage in his hand, which held a snowy white owl.
"Haven't seen you since you was a tyke, Harry," the giant's booming voice filled the living room. "You've grown a bit, haven't yeh?"
Ivan's heart skipped a beat.
Hagrid. Rubeus Hagrid.
Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. The man who brings Harry into the wizarding world.
Which meant, according to the timeline... today was Harry Potter's eleventh birthday.
"I forbid you to say that name!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, her face turning pale. "Get out immediately! You... you freak!"
"Oh, dry up, Dursley, yeh great prune," Hagrid grunted, squeezing his massive frame through the door. He looked around the room, his eyes scanning past the terrified Dursleys.
His gaze briefly landed on Dudley, but he frowned and kept looking, until his eyes stopped on the cupboard door, which was slightly ajar.
Ivan was standing there in the shadows, holding the potion book the cockroach had defiled. His expression was far too calm for a ten-year-old child.
Hagrid paused.
As a half-giant, he had a natural sensitivity to magic. The fat boy in the living room had no spark whatsoever. But this dark-haired boy standing in the gloom... he gave off a magical resonance that made Hagrid's skin prickle—a feeling deep and heavy, like looking into an abyss.
"Who're you, then?" Hagrid asked instinctively.
Petunia's face twisted in panic. She rushed forward like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, trying to block Hagrid's view. "He's a freak! A useless waste of space! Ignore him! The one you want is Harry—he's upstairs, second bedroom on the left!"
Hagrid gave Ivan one last suspicious look, but allowed himself to be ushered toward the stairs by Petunia.
Ivan watched Hagrid's massive back retreating up the stairs, the corner of his mouth twitching into a barely noticeable smirk.
"Emotion Value Detector: On."
On the invisible interface in his mind, the avatar representing Hagrid began to flash.
> [Target: Rubeus Hagrid]
> [Current Emotion: Confusion (5%), Dismissal (95%)]
> [Estimated Point Yield: Low]
"Still judging books by their covers, I see," Ivan muttered, looking down at his grime-stained fingers. "No matter. Professor Snape... I'll be seeing you soon enough."
From upstairs came the sound of Dudley crying and Harry sounding thoroughly confused.
Ivan didn't go up to join the circus. He knew exactly how the script went: Hagrid would give Harry a squashed cake, tell him "You're a wizard, Harry," and take him to Diagon Alley tomorrow.
And Ivan?
He turned back into the pitch-black cupboard. He reached under the bed, prying up a loose floorboard to reveal a rusty tin box.
Inside, there wasn't a stash of coins. Instead, it was filled with a thick stack of parchment covered in dense, intricate writing.
These were his life's work from the last ten years. Compiled from scraps of newspapers scavenged from trash bins and lectures eavesdropped from outside library windows, these were his self-derived "Advanced Ancient Rune Modification Formulas."
It was the culmination of ten years of work, pieced together from discarded newspapers scavenged from trash cans and fragments of lectures overheard through the local library window—his self-derived "Modified Ancient Rune Formulas."
"No owl? No letter? Fine. I'll make my own way."
Ivan picked up a quill. On a blank piece of parchment, he wrote a single line. The handwriting was elegant and sharp, possessing a cold, aristocratic edge that screamed Slytherin:
> "To Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts: I know where the Philosopher's Stone is, and I know Nicolas Flamel's little secret. If I don't receive an acceptance letter, I am selling the story to the Daily Prophet."
He rolled up the parchment and tied it to the leg of a grey rat that had just scurried through the window to escape the rain—
Of course, that was just a joke.
In reality, he walked to the window and gazed out toward the distant London skyline. Even through the torrential storm, he could just make out the faint, looming silhouette of a tall chimney in the distance.
"Knockturn Alley. Borgin and Burkes."
A cold blue light flickered briefly in Ivan's eyes.
"Since you people won't come to collect me, I suppose I'll have to make my own 'pilgrimage'."
> [System Alert: Host has generated an "Extremely Dangerous" thought.]
> [Advance Payment of Emotion Value from (Future) Severus Snape: +50!]
Ivan raised an eyebrow.
"Only 50? Professor Snape, we are just getting started."
Outside, a bolt of lightning tore through the night sky, illuminating his pale, handsome features. In that fleeting flash, he looked nothing like the Cinderella living under the stairs, but rather a sleeping dragon, finally opening its eyes.
---