Harry thoughtfully traced his finger over the deep cut that ran down the length of his bicep. He could see the way the knife had sliced cleanly through flesh and muscle just as he could see the continuous flow of deep crimson blood trickling out of the wound. However, he couldn't feel it.

He decided that PK-12 was a success.

He absentmindedly tapped his wand on the wound, not bothering to watch as his flesh rapidly knit back together, instead waving his wand causing the massive amounts of blood that had coated his arm to disappear. He then reached out and opened a small black leather box.

The box was roughly the size of a necklace box but was marginally longer and wider. The corners of the box were capped in silver casing, and the initials H.J.P were engraved in flowing silver script in the middle of the case. Around the initials, there were small engraved runes that were barely visible. These were preservation runes, advanced notice-me-not runes and many other complex runes interweaved together to form an impenetrable box.

Inside the box, nestled in the black velvet lining, was rows upon rows of small vials, holding a wide array of coloured liquids. Due to how the vials were placed, around forty could fit in the case.

Harry took out a vial, uncorked it and swallowed it as quickly as possible. He grimaced. He had never liked the taste of the blood replenishing potion.

He closed the potions case and instead picked up a small black leather journal. It had a similar design to the potions case, with silver casing on the corner, his initials in the middle and the barely visible runes. The pages of the journal were made of thick parchment like paper and were seemingly empty.

Harry touched his wand to the first page and black elegant script spread out across the page. It was a contents page and he touched the line that said 'Potions Journal'. The next page started to fill up, listing all of the potions he had edited and created. He tapped on the line that read 'Pain Killer'.

Pages upon pages started to fill up, some in neat writing and others in messy scrawl. He flipped to the next blank page and started writing in elegant flowing handwriting.

Test number 12 of PK is an apparent success. The potion successfully blocks all pain receptors, and instead provides a sort of pressure to indicate if you have been injured. There are no obvious side effects and the potion should wear off in 1 hour...

He continued writing. Finally finished with hid entry, he flipped back to the contents page, tapped the line that read 'Inventions' and opened to a new page. He then started to write a detailed description of the potion and what it did. Continuing on from this, he then listed the ingredients and exact measurements as well as a painstakingly detailed method on precisely how to make the potion.

He liked to be thorough.

By the time he had finished, the sun had already started to set and considering that he started writing at around mid-day, well, it had taken him a long time. He packed away his journal and potions case into his black leather satchel and the proceeded to head downstairs to the kitchen.

It was time to make dinner. Oh joy.

He brushed past Petunia as she made her way upstairs, not perturbed by her disgusted glance in the slightest. He had let go of such silly feelings long ago. He didn't actually feel much of anything anymore to be honest. He didn't mind though, he never particularly liked feeling emotions, they were so fickle.

When he arrived in the kitchen, he started cooking right away not needing to think about his actions, it being ingrained into him since he was a child. His mind wandered.

His holidays were almost over and he was about to go into his fifth year at Hogwarts soon. His holidays had been slightly productive, he had started sketching out some new ideas for new potions and spells and had even finished a few. He had read ahead in many of his subjects and some. Of course, he didn't bother going into divination since it wasn't a skill you could learn, it was something you were born with, and he was not born with it.

He found divination to be an annoyance. A necessary annoyance, but an annoyance all the same. He would have preferred to take ancient runes or arithmancy instead (not that he couldn't learn on his own), but he knew that he was expected to laze about and have fun instead of focusing on studying.

He liked to humour them.

His 'Boy-Who-Lived' charade was probably his favourite to date. Not to say he didn't have others that amused him, but this one was his favourite to act out. He has had many different 'faces', as he liked to call them, over the years. His first formed when Vernon expected him to be quiet and obedient as he beat him. He assumed a submissive behaviour and started acting like the perfect little boy. Even though he wanted nothing more than make Vernon hurt like he himself was hurting.

It had continued on from there, with more and more faces being created. Many would assume that these facades were just shields for him to hide behind, using them to bury any negative emotions. This wasn't true though.

He had realised early on that everyone had expectations of him, how he would look, how he would act and how he would behave. He found it amusing. The glint of satisfaction in their eyes, the slight way they squared their shoulders and the upwards tilt of the chin, all displaying the arrogance they felt when they assumed that they were right. Of course, they weren't, but he wasn't going to tell them that.

He preferred to let it grow. He liked to let their arrogance build and build as they grew to 'know' him, as they grew to expect certain behaviours of him. He never let them see him without the masks, never let them see the boy who could do controlled wandless magic years before even knowing of witches and wizards, never let them see the boy who would prefer to stay away from any social interactions, never let them see the boy who was smart enough to remove the trace on his wand by his second year at Hogwarts, never let them see the boy who simply did not give a shit about any of them or their lives.

So yes, Harry liked to pretend. But really, he couldn't find any problem with that, the way he lived his life wasn't relevant to them, no matter how much they claimed otherwise. Just as their lives weren't relevant to him. After all, they were just ants under his boots.

The next day, Harry was bored. So far during the holiday he had been working on his potion, but since he had finished it the previous day, he had been spending his time counting the cracks in the ceiling. Something that was irrelevant and pointless since he still remembered how many there were from the last time he had counted them when he was nine. There were 42 cracks, and sadly, it didn't change however many times he counted it.

Harry sighed and stood up from his bed in his tiny room. Maybe he should go wreck some havoc today. That might keep him entertained, at least for a while. But what kind of havoc could he wreck? Should he mess with the wizarding or the muggle world?

The wizarding world did always provide him with that extra bit of challenge and he supposed that he needed a challenge to properly stimulate himself today.

Wizarding world it was.

He apparated to the entrance to Diagon Alley. Thankfully, no one was there to see The Harry Potter use an illegal travelling method for anyone underage. He then proceeded to alter his appearance, a capability nobody thought Harry Potter had the ability to do.

Harry was, surprisingly, a metamorphmagus. Although it made sense really. After checking the Potter family tree, he realised that his grandmother, Dorea, was actually a Black. Dorea was one of three children, having two brothers. One being Orion Black, Sirius's father, and the other being Cygnus Black, the father of Andromeda Tonks, Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy. After reading through the Black journals, written by Blacks from hundreds of years ago, he had realised that every Black used to possess the ability to metamorph. However, as time went on many Blacks started breeding with cousins and second cousins and the metamorphmagus ability slowly started fade. Nymphadora Tonks, the daughter of Andromeda Tonks, was the first Black with the Metamorphmagus ability to be born in hundreds of years. Harry was the second and what they both had in common was the fact that one of their parents was a muggleborn. He theorised that with new blood being bought into the bloodline, it was able to renew the power enough that it was accessible to both them.

Granted, Harry's capabilities had a much larger range. While Nymphadora could change a few bodily structures, she couldn't alter her appearance into something completely different to her original form, such as turning into Hagrid. Harry could.

Harry felt his body shift slightly back into his original form. His original form had only a few differences from his 'Harry Potter' appearance, however these slight differences made him look like a completely different person. His hair grew to a bit below shoulder length, taking on a slight wave, with the front framing his face. His skin paled slightly and any blemishes, such as freckles, disappeared. His lips filled out and turned a darker shade of red and his face lost all of its baby fat becoming more chiselled. His height stayed the same, at around 165cm (5'6"), however, instead of the emancipated form he previously had, it filled out becoming lithe and toned, while still appearing delicate and fragile.

He took off his glasses to reveal his vivid Avada Kedavra coloured eyes, framed in long dark lashes, casting a sinister shadow over his face. He had had his eyes fixed back before he started his first year and had been wearing fake glasses ever since.

Of course, he never told anyone about this, because the Saviour was an exact replica of his father, besides his eyes which he got from his mother, and his father was widely known for his dorky glasses.

Overall, Harry was now the embodiment of an aristocrat pureblood.

He flicked his wand silently and the disillusionment over his clothes disappeared to show finely tailored wizarding robes, which framed his small figure. They were black, lined with silver. They had a high collar which met to form the upper part of the robes which were attached until the waist and hugged his torso. Below the waist was a black belt, which then led to the robes parting to show his tight black pants and leather dress shoes. The back of his robes ended longer than the front. Underneath his robes hid a black satchel holding the things he made sure to always have with him such as his potions case and his journal.

Satisfied with his appearance, he took out his wand and tapped on various bricks in sequence.

The doorway was opened, ready for him to create chaos.

i am aware that Dorea and Charlus are not his real grandparents, however for the sake of my story, I'm going to keep it that way. Hope you liked my first chapter :)