Published: 01/01/2019

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HARRY POTTER AND THE POWER OF MAGIC

I do not own Harry Potter, the world or its characters. They belong to J.K. Rowling.

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Chapter 1: Rebirth

He was still falling. Falling through magic. A never ending drop through the indescribable, otherworldly substance he had come to love.

He felt blessed. How many got the chance to touch raw, unadulterated magic, like he was doing right at this very moment? A fabric of supernatural ability, wrapped comfortably around his presence. Soothing him, making him feel safe and content.

His life had never been easy. From growing up parent-less, abused by the Dursleys, to being thrust into a completely new, magical world were everyone expected him to save them. To fix all of their problems.

He never knew how people could honestly believe that him, an untrained young boy, could possibly defeat the darkest Dark Lord in Britain's history. A fearless man who had accumulated over seventy years of unrestricted magical training, delving as far as anyone into the depths of the darkest arts there were. All of that knowledge, compared to his feeble six years of 'just average' magical education.

But now, everything was finally over. He had lost, and weirdly enough, it felt wonderful. The sense of calm and peace that permeated his every inch of existence filled him with satisfaction, even though he knew he had let everyone down, and inevitably failed his one and only task.

He had died. His soul ripped from his body, thrown into the space of in-between, on a journey to nowhere. And for once, as Mother Magic wrapped him in her protective arms, he felt truly alive. Hell, had he known what would wait him on the other side of life, he would have ended it a lot sooner.

Yet, as he drifted through nothingness and everything, he still felt like there was a part of him that never really got the chance to live, and he knew it all stemmed back to his upbringing.

He had never known his family, Voldemort had seen to that, and the family he had been placed with had never let him feel the love that should have come with it. And no matter how much he wanted out, no matter how much he had begged, Dumbledore had sent him back. Every. Single. Year.

He had been told that Lily's love for him was still alive through her sister, and would protect him while he stayed with her. He had been told that the power the Dark Lord knew not would be his power to love.

Ironic, really. His mother's protection had left him bruised, malnourished and abused, and how he supposedly possessed the power of love, when he himself had never felt the emotion, never loved and never been loved, he knew not.

Sure, he had learnt to know the hormonal urges that came with being a teenager, but familial love was something completely foreign to him. Only brought to life through his deepest desires, and distant dreams.

Familial love, he realised. That was what he craved. What he dreamt of. A mother and father who cared for him. Reassured him when things were difficult, helped him when things got tough, and complemented him for his achievements.

What he would do to feel like that, to have a family, to be loved. But he was dead. There was nothing he could do now. He was just another soul, lost in the depths of nothingness.

Drifting slowly away…

Forgotten by time…

…

He had been floating for what felt like forever, yet he was still unable to explain exactly the sensations that filled him at that moment.

He would never get tired of the mesmerising feeling, and he never wanted it to end, yet somehow, he knew it was just a question of time. He had for a fact been slowing down for some time now, and he desperately dreaded where it might lead.

He was so used to the perfect feeling, and could no longer imagine a life without it, yet somehow everything was fading away, and that harsh feeling that accompanied reality grew ever stronger.

He had felt so protected and at peace, but now it was all fading away, and as his last hope of staying here forever faded for good, he felt a tug on his body-less spirit, akin to Apparition, squeezing him through a tight tube, before popping him out the other end. And as he arrived where life, death or whatever holy being wanted him, he felt his mind connect with his body once more.

…

And his world lit on fire, as every nerve in his new body screamed in agony!

It truly was a spectacular sight, watching hundreds of owls taking flight at the same time, all eager to deliver their letters.

It was that time of year once again, when the Hogwarts Acceptance Letters, new book lists, as well as results for OWLs and NEWTs were to be delivered.

As the Deputy Headmistress, it was McGonagall's job to finalise the book lists for the upcoming year, and deliver it, together with the exam results, up to the Quill of Acceptance. Together with the Book of Admittance, the Quill would write out the different letters, which were then magically fastened to the Hogwarts Owls. Once all the letters were written and the owls were ready, they would take off together and deliver them to anxious students all over Magical Britain.

Dumbledore was watching the spectacle from the staircase leading up to the owlery, together with Professor McGonagall.

"Watching this never gets old," Dumbledore hummed appreciatively to the regal witch beside him.

She nodded her head briefly, before turning around and walking down the stairs towards the main castle. He knew that she had never truly appreciated such theatrics. She was an efficient woman, and preferred the company of her work. He had been like that too once in a time, but age had made him appreciate the little things. And one of those little things was watching the owls deliver their letters every year.

He continued watching the owls until they disappeared over the horizon, before turning around and following the stairs down, like McGonagall had done a few minutes earlier.

He too, had work to do.

With a slight spring in his step, he made his way inside the castle. He had many reasons to be happy. Normally the emptiness of the castle that came with the Summer Holidays would be what got him skipping about this place, but this time it was actually how close the next school year was that got him fired up.

He took a left towards the main staircase.

Iris Potter would be arriving at Hogwarts come September, and something told him that he was in for quite the year. She was a celebrity here in Wizarding Britain, and her legend even stretched as far as into some of their neighbouring European countries. With the amount of exposure she was getting, and at her age too, there were bound to be some controversies. After a few quiet years, he was ready for some action.

And there was the fact that the girl in question happened to be the daughter of one James Potter, known for his troublemaking abilities, and landing himself in sticky situations. His previous year had not exactly been uneventful, that with the Weasley twins finally showing their more humorous side, but he was certain that they would never quite reach up to that of the Marauders. Yes, he had high hopes that Iris Potter would liven up the atmosphere.

The Duelling Tournament would also be starting up again, after a few years hiatus. It was Frank Longbottom who had first brought up the topic for debate, as part of his quest to immortalise his only son and heir; Neville Longbottom.

He had originally cancelled the longstanding tradition just after James and Sirius finished school. They had been winning the tournament for Gryffindor almost every year they attended, and brought loads of good publicity to the right people. But with them gone he feared his side would be up for some tough losses. Letting the more conservative pure-bloods win and gain popularity would undermine years of his work. The tournament would also just have served to train his eventual opponents in the art of duelling, something he would rather prevent. No, cancelling the tournament at the time was a wise decision.

But now that the Light were coming up with another generation of witches and wizards, it was as good a time as any to start it up again. Not to mention that three of the children were son and daughters of Sirius, James and Frank. He was certain that they would develop into fierce duellers, just like their parents.

The Dark side would be fielding a powerful line-up in the tournament as well, but he had confidence that the experience and competitiveness of the Light would see them victorious in the end. He had it on good authority that Neville was already showing great things, far above his age.

Arriving at the Grand Staircase, he took two staircases leading down, before following another staircase leading up, leaving him at the main entrance to the corridor of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, on the third floor.

This year would be interesting for another reason as well, however. He had managed to convince the Flamels to borrow him the Philosophers Stone (for 'research purposes'), which he had 'accidentally' let slip were to be hidden at Hogwarts when he had asked Quirrell to take up the position as Defence against the Dark Arts, and he had now successfully managed to lure Voldemort into the castle.

He let his hand swish up through the air, wandlessly unlocking the door blocking his path, forcing it open. He was met with three low, angry growls as he stepped into the tiny room, but a quick spell from his wand froze the giant Cerberus, giving him access to the trap-door.

He had also designed an obstacle course for Iris and her friends for this upcoming year. Or rather, his Professors had designed obstacles that he had made a course out of. It all started here, with the three-headed dog, and continued on with more easy obstacles that he had made certain first years could complete.

A powerful light burst from his wand, allowing him easy passage past Sprout's Devil's Snare.

If everything went according to plan, Iris and Voldemort would meet somewhere along the way, giving her the needed exposure and experience against the Dark Lord, before he could come to full power again. He was certain that this would be important for their war later on. The children would also get to play detectives throughout the year, which could only do good as well, even if it was all rigged.

He wasn't foolish enough to believe that they would manage everything without help. He would guide them along the way, and if anything were to happen, would be able to help. But they didn't need to know that. In fact, it would be better if they didn't.

He had entered Flitwick's room. The Charms Professor had charmed thousands of keys to fly around the room, where only the one correct key would give access to the next chamber.

He did not fancy a broom ride at the moment, so instead brought out his wand, moving it around in a complicated pattern, tearing down the wards protecting the door. He would fix them on his way back.

The stone would be hidden at the end of the obstacle course. While the first obstacles were only there to server as an illusion of protection, and were rather easy, it was really only the last piece of the puzzle, that he had designed himself, that would provide the real protection.

He had moved into a room with a giant chess board, curtesy of Minerva. To move ahead to the next room one would have to beat it in a game of Wizard's Chess. The chess board had originally been designed to always play the best moves possible. While it was a fascinating piece of magic, it would be too hard an obstacle for Iris and her friends. Luckily, he had made some changes to Minerva's notes before installing it. The board would no longer try to make the absolute best moves, but instead try to find the best move, as long as that move would also put it in a worse position than the opponent. It would serve the illusion of a worthy opponent, but also one that couldn't not lose.

But as much as he enjoyed Wizard's chess, he preferred getting this over with quickly. So instead, he played the worst moves he could think of. Moves that would make him lose as quickly as possible, but that would also force the magical board to lose even faster. A few moves later, and the match was over.

And as he moved on, his thoughts went back to the stone. He knew he was tempting fate here with this little experiment. Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel were fiercely protective of their stone, and if anything were to happen to it they would be absolutely livid. Which was understandable, considering it was the only thing that tethered them to life. But with their centuries worth of magical knowledge, they were not someone he wanted to cross. And while he was probably more powerful than the both of them combined, they would undoubtedly surprise him with some obscure, powerful magic lost to time, that he would have no idea how to counter.

A foul stench filled his nose, which could only really mean one thing. He had arrived at Quirrell's room, and in front of him stood a massive mountain troll, guarding the door to the next room. With a quick tap on the head with his wand, he became invisible, never stopping his brisk pace.

He had no intention for Iris and her friends to fight the mountain troll. He was banking on Voldemort taking it down for them. There was no way Voldemort would sneak past the troll like he was doing just now, when he also had the option to bestow his superiority on the massive beast.

By the time the troll could smell him, he was already past, and well into the next room. Severus had designed a quick riddle that would have to be solved to move on. Had Voldemort not ruined riddles for him, he would have enjoyed reading through, and solving it. But not anymore. With another two quick taps on the top of his head, he became visible once more, and a protective barrier rippled down to cover his body. The magical fire could do nothing more than tickle him as he walked through.

He had reached the final chamber. Long pillars adjourned the walls, giving the room a darker, more ominous vibe. In the centre of the room stood the Mirror of Erised, the last obstacle, and the one who would truly protect the stone.

The mirror was a powerful and dangerous artefact. The mirror was designed to reflect nothing but your deepest desires. And the more one desired that thing, the stronger the magic of the mirror became. He had made a lot of mistakes in his life. Mistakes that he still regretted to this day, and that had cost him dearly. His regrets only served to fuel his desires.

He took a deep breath, and steeled his Occlumency shields. When he had first found the mirror in the Room of Requirements, he had been caught flat-footed; bewitched by the visions it created and the memories it brought forth. It would not do for him to lose himself to the mirror once again. Not now, especially considering how he was about to perform advanced magic on a very volatile object, where everything other than perfect precision and concentration would see the stone and mirror combust into a powerful magical explosion, levelling the room and taking everything inside with it.

He stepped down the remainder of the long staircase, coming level with the mirror. It was old, with intricate carvings all along its frame. At the top stood the words, 'erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.' Which would, when read backwards, and moved the spaces around a little, reveal the ornate mirror's true purpose.

After another deep breath, he looked into the mirror. The last time he had looked into the mirror, he had seen his family. His sister, mother and father was not dead, and his brother didn't hate him. They were just a normal, happy family. Reflected back at him now, however, was only his plain old self, just as he stood before the mirror, his Occlumency shields actively blocking his emotions and desires from the mirror. For all the mirror knew now, he was the happiest man on earth.

Satisfied with his self-control, he withdrew his wand, preparing himself for what he was about to do.

He had thought long and hard about the problem at hand. He had to design a protection for the stone so simple an eleven-year-old could get past it without blinking, but that was also so advanced that Voldemort, a prodigy at magic, and one of the most powerful wizards since Merlin himself, would be left scratching his bald head.

He was proud of the solution he had come up with. One of his better ones if he had to say so himself.

Only a person who wanted to find the Stone - find it, but not use it - would be able to get it.

But it was one thing to think up a scenario, it was a whole nother thing to design the magical protection. He was not called the most powerful, and knowledgable wizard alive for anything though, and in the end he had settled on a modified Intent Ward and a simple Expansion Charm, that he could weave neatly into the mirror.

Because the intent being measured and evaluated by the ward was so specific, a standard Intent Ward would not cut it. He could probably have let his own magic improvise when creating the ward, and the result would most likely be adequate in any other scenario, but in the case that Voldemort didn't want to play his clever little games, all he would have to do was overpower the ward, which would then implode on itself. It would also be easier to take apart the arithmancy and deconstruct his defence in an unstable ward. An improvised ward, while easy and time-effective to set up, tended to be far too volatile for precision work such as this. He needed something far more stable when up against the powerful wizard.

He had instead decoded the standard Intent Ward into its core arithmetic values, and together with the arithmetic values of the 'intent' that he wanted to imbue on the ward, he had derived an arithmetic equation for a new ward that would allow his configuration. Doing it like this provided him with a stable and easy to cast ward, that would do exactly what he wanted it to.

Before he could set up the ward however, he would have to perform the Expansion Charm, and put the Stone into the mirror. It was a relatively simple charm for someone of his calibre. Slowly tracing his wand through the air, while clearly visualising the result in his head, he let his magic flow, imbuing his intent on the mirror.

Nothing about the mirror had changed visually, but he could feel the magic of the charm on the mirror. Reaching into one of the bottomless pockets on his robe, he wandlessly summoned the stone into his hand.

He moved even closer to the mirror.

Sheathing his wand, he pushed his now empty hand against the glass of the mirror. His touch sent ripples along the glass, but it did not prevent him from moving even further. Satisfied, he withdrew his wand, while moving his other hand slowly through the glass, carefully placing the stone inside the mirror.

Taking a step back, he brought out his wand again, carefully following the path and incantation for the Intent Ward he had derived earlier. He felt his magic surge through his arm and wand, letting him know that something was happening at least.

Flicking his wand one more time, he quickly checked the arithmetic values of the actual ward he had just performed, and compared them to his theoretical values. Satisfied with that result as well, he connected the Intent Ward to the Expansion Charm. The mirror would now only open itself to those with pure intentions.

Lastly, he created a Pool of Magic, a hidden magical storage to power the ward, merged the mirror with the floor, in case anyone tried to levitate it out, and set up some quick detection charms to alert him if anyone came into the room. If anyone tried to overpower the ward to break it, the pool would just eat the excess magic and charge itself up. At least until it reached its capacity. If anyone tried to collapse the ward by draining it of magic, they would now have to drain the pool as well. Voldemort would most likely try to dismantle the ward by undoing the arithmancy however, but the perfect arithmancy and spell casting would give him enough time to make his way down before Voldemort was done.

No ward was infallible, and considering the ward was designed to interact with the one trying to break it down, it was as good as it was going to get.

Satisfied, he made his way back through the obstacle course, and up to his office.

His last few days had been an absolute nightmare. Ripped from his peace and silence in his life after death, he had arrived in this room to waves of pain and hurt. The pain had not stopped, like he had first hoped. He had tried to move, but moving hurt. He had stopped moving, but standing still hurt. In the end, he had fallen down and cried. Cried to his hearts content. But crying hurt.

His eyes fluttered up to the windows once again, catching his own reflection. Before him stood a ruined boy, with arms and legs no thicker than twigs, with eyes of the dullest green… It was hard to estimate the boy's age. He had the size of a five-year-old, yet looked like a shrivelled eight-year-old. For all he knew, he might be even older. A life of neglect and malnourishment had ruined the young boy.

Him, he had to remind himself. He was looking at a younger version of himself, as hard as that was to believe. The scar was still there, and his hair and eyes were recognisable too. It pained him to see what he had become.

But was it truly him, if he had no memories from this body? If his entire life had been lived in another? Had he replaced someone else? Someone who's only wish it was to move on in life?

Had fate deemed him to a life of pain after he had failed the Wizarding World?

He had spent the first night crying. Begging every God he knew for forgiveness. But no matter how much he begged, no God came to answer his prayers, and he had only stopped crying when sleep took him in the morning.

It was first after waking up again close to midnight, that he truly began taking in his surroundings. He was in a small room, with a bed, wardrobe and table all crammed into it. It was just not any old room however; it looked eerily like a room he had seen before. If he was not totally mistaken, this was an Orphanage. The same Orphanage that Tom Riddle had grown up in as a child, before he became Lord Voldemort. The walls were the same mushy green, and the wardrobe looked exactly like the one Dumbledore had set on fire during his visit.

Harry had never felt much sympathy for Voldemort. The man had done unforgivable things. He had murdered thousands, including his mother and father, which had in turn ruined his own life. But he had never stopped to ask himself how he became the merciless murderer in the first place. Had it all started here, at this very place, through neglect and abuse? A small boy, scared of death, performing accidental magic to protect himself. It was easier to understand when put like that.

What scared him though, was that he was currently in the exact same situation. The same orphanage, treated poorly, and his only way out would be his magic.

To add to that, no-one had come to look for him yesterday. Not even to make sure that he was still alive. He could hear voices on the other side of the room, but nobody thought to check on him. Or maybe nobody wanted to? He was thin and fragile, neglected and malnourished. Alone. Had he not known better, he would have given up immediately.

But as it so happened, he had lived through years of neglect and abuse at his Uncle and Aunt in a previous life. And he had seen how everything had changed after he had received his letter from Hogwarts and entered the wizarding world, and he was certain that it would do so here again.

By his estimations from looking at his own reflections in the window however, it would still be a few more years until he was eleven, when his Hogwarts Acceptance Letter would arrive. But there was nothing stopping him from returning to the magical world earlier.

And thus a plan begun to form. From Dumbledore's memories of Wool's Orphanage, he knew exactly where it lay compared to the Leaky Cauldron. If he could only make his way there, get some money from his vault at Gringotts, and then bunker up at the pub until his letter would arrive. He would be set for money, food and a place to live, and could start treating his damaged body.

But there was only one rather big snag to that plan; there was no way he would be able to make the journey to the Leaky Cauldron in his current state. He could barely move without sustaining insurmountable pain, let alone travel around in the big city.

He knew of no way that he could contact the wizarding world without his wand, and while staying here. He would have to get to the Leaky Cauldron one way or another, and he would most likely have to walk there.

Either way, he would have to improve his body before then. And to do that, he would have to start eating again, It looked like it had been a while since the last time he had received any food.

And that had been his routine for the last few days. He would first wait until he was sure that everyone was asleep and the hallways were empty, before he quietly opened the door and tip-toed his way out of the room, careful not to make a single sound. Dumbledore's memory ensure he knew the layout of the building, and so making his way towards the kitchen was easy enough. Searching around in shelves, drawers, cupboards and the refrigerator, he managed to scrape together enough food to start his rebuilding process, while also not so much that it would be noticeable. Loading the provisions into his t-shirt, he would tip-toe his way back to his room and start on his meal.

His first few trips had been painful, but he quickly learned to ignore the screaming of his aching muscles. The only way to stop it was by treating his body to actual food, it would be stupid to stop because of the pain.

He had quickly realised that although he had to eat a lot to start growing again, his body was not accustomed to eating, and he had barely managed not throwing up the first day. Luckily though, he had found that his body was quickly improving, and after just a few days he could now eat considerably more than when he had first begun.

He had also started doing small exercises, like moving his arms and legs around in circles, or sitting down on the floor and getting up again. They were by no means anything heavy by normal standards, but in his new body they would hurt after few repetitions. But to be able to make it all the way to the magical pub, he would at least have to be able to move his joints around. The sooner he got there the better.

He turned back to his reflection in the window, catching the young boy's eyes. Appearance wise, he still looked like the same, five-year-old boy as he did when he had begun a few days ago. But on the inside, he felt a lot better. The pain had started to ebb, and he could think slightly clearer than when on an empty stomach.

He took a deep breath, centring his mind and focus. Things were looking up. It would not be long until he returned to the wizarding world, and now that he first though about it, he would actually have a massive advantage this time around. He had already gone through the first through sixth year at Hogwarts in his previous life, and would know loads more magic than his peers. And if everything went to plan, he would even have a few years to study magic on his own, in his room at the Leaky Cauldron. Even a few years to truly rebuild his body, maybe even build a bit of muscle.

He would even get another shot at the girls. Cho. Ginny… Hermione. There were loads of other pretty girls at Hogwarts too, now that he thought about it. Almost too many, in fact. He knew that many of the women used make-up charms, and probably had something special for their hair and perfume as well, making sure they always looked their best. He had even heard of a few who had turned to transfiguration to permanently enhance their appearance. Just another perk of the magical world, really.

But it also meant fiercer competition from his fellow male students. Was this how Cedric had turned so devilishly handsome all of a sudden? Or how Malfoy kept his hair perfectly sleek? Should he be doing that too? There were so many thoughts running through his head. He knew he had never really worked to keep himself presentable, or in shape for that matter.

But it had all started with his bad first impression. He had turned up small and skinny, and although it was not really his fault, it was not doing much to lament his magical superiority or public image as the Boy-Who-Lived either. Couple that with not actually doing too well magically in his classes, and walking around in Dudley's too-big rags on weekdays, and it was no wonder that the women were looking elsewhere. It had probably also something to do with his inability to pick up on their visual cues.

But this time he would be better. He had a lot more experience with both life and women this time around, and would not make the same mistakes as last time. He would work harder in his classes and broaden his social circles. But least of all, he would defeat Voldemort when the time finally came.

And so, with thoughts of pretty women and a brighter future, Harry fell asleep. Yes, things were really looking up for Harry Potter now.