Harry Potter Fanfiction
This is my first time writing a book.

https://www.webnovel.com/book/14255426405774505/Reborn-in-Harry-Potter

THESNAKE-HAIREDLADIES WEREstarting to annoy Percy.
They should have died three days ago when he dropped a crate of bowling balls on them at the Napa Bargain Mart. They should have died two
days ago when he ran over them with a police car in Martinez. They definitely should have died this morning when he cut off their heads in Tilden
Park.
No matter how many times Percy killed them and watched them crumble to powder, they just kept re-forming like large evil dust bunnies. He
couldn’t even seem to outrun them.
He reached the top of the hill and caught his breath. How long since he’d last killed them? Maybe two hours. They never seemed to stay dead
longer than that.
The past few days, he’d hardly slept. He’d eaten whatever he could scrounge—vending machine gummi bears, stale bagels, even a Jack in the
Crack burrito, which was a new personal low. His clothes were torn, burned, and splattered with monster slime.
He’d only survived this long because the two snake-haired-ladies—gorgons, they called themselves—couldn’t seem to kill him either. Their
claws didn’t cut his skin. Their teeth broke whenever they tried to bite him. But Percy couldn’t keep going much longer. Soon he’d collapse from
exhaustion, and then—as hard as he was to kill, he was pretty sure the gorgons would find a way.
Where to run?
He scanned his surroundings. Under different circumstances, he might’ve enjoyed the view. To his left, golden hills rolled inland, dotted with
lakes, woods, and a few herds of cows. To his right, the flatlands of Berkeley and Oakland marched west—a vast checkerboard of neighborhoods,
with several million people who probably did not want their morning interrupted by two monsters and a filthy demigod.
Farther west, San Francisco Bay glittered under a silvery haze. Past that, a wall of fog had swallowed most of San Francisco, leaving just the
tops of skyscrapers and the towers of the GoldenGate Bridge.
A vague sadness weighed on Percy’s chest. Something told him he’d been to San Francisco before. The city had some connection to
Annabeth—the only person he could remember from his past. His memory of her was frustratingly dim. The wolf had promised he would see her
again and regain his memory—if he succeeded in his journey.
Should he try to cross the bay?
It was tempting. He could feel the power of the ocean just over the horizon. Water always revived him. Salt water was the best. He’d discovered
that two days ago when he had strangled a sea monster in the Carquinez Strait. If he could reach the bay, he might be able to make a last stand.
Maybe he could even drown the gorgons. But the shore was at least two miles away. He’d have to cross an entire city.
He hesitated for another reason. The she-wolf Lupa had taught him to sharpen his senses—to trust the instincts that had been guiding him
south. His homing radar was tingling like crazy now. The end of his journey was close—almost right under his feet. But how could that be? There
was nothing on the hilltop.
The wind changed. Percy caught the sour scent of reptile. A hundred yards down the slope, something rustled through the woods—snapping
branches, crunching leaves, hissing.
Gorgons.
For the millionth time, Percy wished their noses weren’t so good. They had always said they could smell him because he was a demigod—the
half-blood son of some old Roman god. Percy had tried rolling in mud, splashing through creeks, even keeping air-freshener sticks in his pockets
so he’d have that new car smell; but apparently demigod stink was hard to mask.
He scrambled to the west side of the summit. It was too steep to descend. The slope plummeted eighty feet, straight to the roof of an apartment
complex built into the hillside. Fifty feet below that, a highway emerged from the hill’s base and wound its way toward Berkeley.
Great. No other way off the hill.

Ricky's hands were sweating. He should have been this nervous to meet James, heck he hadn't even met Lily though she hadn't been hard to spot at the Gryffindor table. The thing was that they were all just kids, people a year younger than him. 

But Lily and James were Harry's parents and even if they weren't together at this moment , they were still a part of Harry Potter and even though they weren't his parents the young soul was exiled and nervous around them.

But for him it was meeting Fleamont and Euphemia Potter that unnerve him, they were not only Harry Potter's family but they were about to be the people who would decide Ricky's future.

He sat down in his chair, trying his best from visibly shaking, he didn't want to lie to them and he truly wanted them to like him. Maybe it was both the younger part of Voldemort and his younger self, whom got pounded by the system while growing up.

James and Ricky were waiting in McGonagall's office, thankfully Dumbledore wasn't there, leaving it to McGonagall to deal with the Potters.

The door opened, McGonagall leading Mr. and Mrs. Potter into the room. James stood to give his mother and father a hug.

Fleamont Potter was a little shorter than average with knobbly knees and a huge smile. His hair a sandy-brown with a few streaks of grey and like James his eyes were hazel.

Euphemia Potter was nothing short of magnificent. She had enchanting blue eyes that seemed to pierce into Ricky's heart. Her hair was a mass of black curls and she held herself very straight. 

When she walked into the room it was if she owned it and everyone else in that room were her honored guests. It wasn't until James hugged her that Ricky realized she was also very petite, smaller even than her husband.

Euphemia approached him, Fleamont at her side. "Hello Rickard," she said.

"Hi, and please call me Ricky" Replied Ricky smilling back.

"How was your first day at Hogwarts?" Fleamont asked with a warm smile.

"Er… it was, I met James and his friends."

"Quite the characters," Euphemia said with a rueful smile at her son, "aren't they?"

"Sirius is fun," Ricky said.

"Yes, he does have that quality. We were told you did extraordinarily well on your exams," Euphemia said. Her lilting voice put Ricky at ease so that he shifted, putting his hands on his knees.

McGonagall conjured two extra seats and everyone sat down, Mr. and Mrs. Potter sat closest to Ricky

"I heard you were able to cast Corporeal Patronus," Fleamont said.

"He did what!?" James exclaimed.

Ricky smiled, "A Corporeal Patronus. I thought they were cool and reading Fantastic Beasts kind of freaked me out. I never want to meet a dementor."

"What is it? I mean what animal is your Patronus?"

Harry's smile widened, "A panther, but it used to be a stag. I don't know what caused it to change recently though?"

"No way!" James almost yelled. "I don't believe it! That's what my a- er,  a stag is what my favorite animal is…" he finished rather lamely.

Fleamont gave him a peculiar look, "I thought your favorite animal was a Horntail?"

Fleamont gave him a peculiar look, "I thought your favorite animal was a Horntail?"

"Those are the worst," Ricky said emphatically. Once again the Harry part of his soul bled through. Then he caught himself with as little grace as James had. "They are the worst type of dragon, ever. Or so I read, you know, in Fantastic Beasts."

"Well stags are my favorite non-magical animals," James defended himself.

"Dragons and deer?" Euphemia asked, confused. "Your two favorite animals are fire breathing dragons and then the common deer?"

James not trusting himself to speak, merely nodded.

Euphemia narrowed her blue eyes at him but let it go, "Learn something new every day, I suppose."

Smilling Ricky threw his two cents in, causing Euphemia to smile.

"Hey at least they taste good but arecacpain to hunt, at least the muggle way that is.

James's face contorted and quickly looked  upon hearing this from Ricky.

"So Ricky," Fleamont redirected, "we were told you had nowhere else to go? Is that the complete truth? Aren't there any adults from the magical community or the muggle one who could vouch for you?"

"No, sir. I never met my father, so I can't tell you if he is alive or not but I saw… I remember my mother dying. I was taken in by a family who knew her but didn't like her. They never spoke of her or the choices she made in life. I was told my father was drunk but I don't really believe them. They kicked me out when I was eight, well if asked them they'd say I ran away. Luckily I was picked by a sellwand, she looked after me for a while but she died last year. And I came here on the off chance I might find some living family. I have nowhere else to go..." 

Except for an orphanage, but Ricky was more likely to find a job then go back under any muggle guardianship based on both Harry's and Voldemort's memories.

Fleamont and Euphemia exchanged looks.

Euphemia asked, "Do you know when your birthday is?"

They casted each other another glance.

McGonagall coughed, "Is it possible, Fleamont that Harry is your-"

"No, it is not possible," Euphemia said firmly.

"The resemblance between your father and Ricky is quite remarkable," Professor Mcgonagall said gently this time around.

Euphemia shook her head, not in denial, but in resolute faith that her husband would never want or dare to cheat on her.

"My father has been a widower for over twenty years, and he often goes by Harry," Fleamont said.

"I can go get Filius to cast an inheritance Charm," Professor Mcgonagall offered.

Ricky looked a little relieved but tried not to show it, "How does that work?"

McGonagall smiled at Ricky reassuringly before speaking 

"Just a drop of blood from the oldest family member in the room. Bronze chain of light for distant cousins, Silver chain of light between siblings, golden for child and parent."

Ricky didn't know that, he had assumed that would be heading to Gringotts in order to do it but this is also not too bad, after all the goblins might discover something else, and he wasn't entirely sure he would want that.

Fleamont nodded and Mcgonagall left the room and returned shortly thereafter with Professor Flitwick.

In a complex series of wand motions and Fleamont passing over a smudge stick to Flitwick, there was light.

Gold light, like suspended electricity extended from Fleamont to James. And bright silver Fleamont to Ricky and a dim silver to James.

Scratching his head Flitwick supposed he must have made a mistake. He re-casted the spell, this time with a droplet of Euphemia's blood. Golden light from Euphemia to James and a dull bronze to Minerva McGonagall and to Ricky from Euphemia.

Flitwick dropped the spell and smiled, "It seems we  have our answer."

"Well," Euphemia said with a smile, "I guess I have another son, i always wanted to have twins but I suppose i can settle for this, and it seems that Ricky is related to both the Potter and Ross families."

"You're the last pureblood from the Ross family, Euphemia," McGonagall said.

"Yes, but family is always messier than titles," Euphemia said. "It doesn't matter in the end, Ricky is one of ours, he has nowhere to go, or at least nowhere that he would be welcome. I have always wanted more children. Whichever way the branches of the family tree may fall, Ricky is not responsible for his birth and will not be punished for it. He is a Potter and he is still in school. He is ours, end of discussion."

Ricky felt his heart swell and he wanted very much to hug her at that moment. Even the Voldemort part was awfully quiet at this moment.

"Very well," McGonagall said professionally, but Ricky could see the pride in her eyes.

"Rickard is officially enrolled in his classes and as he only has one years left we are willing to pay for his supplies-"

"Nonsense," Fleamont said, "It is our honor to provide for him."

She nodded, "Then everything is accounted for then. I'm sure James will want to ride back on the train with his friends in the morning, and he no doubt needs to pack but Ricky-"

"I don't have much and I left my bag in the hospital wing give me a few minutes and I will be right back." Ricky said before bolting out of the room like a bat out of hell.

While everyone was left baffled at his action, Ricky ran to the bathroom close to the hospital wing. There both of his simulacrum waited for him, the memories were quickly transferred to him before they disappeared.

On the floor laid a trunk, and according to his memories it was trunk with an undetected expansion charm, meaning it was bigger inside.

So the simulacrum separated everything before placing then inside, after opening the trunk he quickly went inside. Once there he loo kh ed at the neatly separated contents, on one side there was a pile of gold, next to it was oneof silver, what caught his eyes was an even bigger pile of bronze.

According to his memories the total amount turned out to be, fifty million galleons, thirty million sickles, and sixty eight million Knuts.

Looking away he caught sight of mountains of jewels, and other valuable items. A pile of wands, some broken other fully functional.

A pile of furniture bith broken others on their last legs, piles of brooms in the same state as well as a few other trunks.

Nodding his head he climbed out the trunk, shrunk it and walked into the still deserted hospital wing and took his travelling bag, before making his way back to professor Mcgonagall's office.

Upon walking in, he sat down and continued talking with the Potter's, then the professor asked a question.

 "So Mr. Potter did you leave your wizarding books in a muggle house when you were kicked out?"

"No," Ricky said. "My foster family burned them."

"Oh," McGonagall said, the surprise clear on her face, "did they happen to read them before they burned them?"

Ricky laughed, "Aside from the titles, no. The words magic, flying, and/or anything else abnormal was strictly forbidden."

Everyone in the room frowned at Ricky, but he saw understanding on McGonagall's face.

 "Your bouts of accidental magic must have been-"

"Rough," Ricky finished for her, "I mean I'm okay but I never, ever want to go back there."

"Unless you want to ride the train, Ricky," Fleamont began, "you can come home with Euphemia and me tonight. I will pick James up at the station tomorrow."

"I think I would like to go back with you tonight," Ricky said, relieved. "I think I have had enough of Hogwarts for the time being."

"Surely it wasn't that bad," Flitwick said lightly, "You were sorted into Ravenclaw after all."

James couldn't keep the grumpy expression off his face.

Euphemia smiled, "Ravenclaw, hear that sweety, a Ravenclaw."

Fleamont blinked but after a moment he laughed, "Oh my father is going to be perturbed and delighted. His wife, my mother was a Ravenclaw, you see, but typically any child who comes to Hogwarts with the last name Potter is guaranteed a spot in Gryffindor."

"The Sorting Hat said Gryffindor would be disastrous for me," Ricky said.

"Why?" James asked.

Ricky shrugged, but thought it might have something to do with the early stages of the war beginning with Slytherins versus Gryffindor.

"Oh Dad," James said suddenly, "Ricky was a hatstall."

"Really?" Fleamont asked, "That's rare."

Flitwick laughed, "It may be rare but almost half the number of people in this room were hatstalls."

McGonagall smiled, "I was almost sorted into Ravenclaw."

Flitwick smiled up at his much taller colleague, "And I was almost sorted into Gryffindor."

"Ricky?" James asked, "What house were you almost sorted into? Bet it was Ravenclaw because you read so much."

"Nope," Ricky said cheerfully, "the Sorting Hat was tempted to sort me into Slytherin, something about me being a Parselmouth."

Ricky wasn't sure that was the smartest thing to say but he thought it would be easier to keep his secrets about being from the future if he gave them flashy truths to obsess over instead.

Everyone in the room paled a bit.

Flitwick cleared her throat and asked nervously.

"You can talk to snakes?"

"Yep, Is that rare too?"

The adults were a little wary of this new development, each of them thinking that it best that the no one outside this room learns that in the shadow of the brewing war.

James looked like he was going to be sick.
"It is extremely rare," Flitwick said. "And usually hereditary but Herpo the Foul was born with it and he had no relation to Salazar Slytherin."

"Cool," Ricky said.

"Cool?" James repeated, "It isn't cool, Ricky, it is Dark Magic."

"Says who? Bring a me a book that says it is and I will recend, while we at it bring me a wizarding law book that says so to while we at it?." Shrugged Ricky

"Damn it Ricky it's dark magic everyone knows that" said Jane's nearly yelling.

"No, it isn't, James Fleamont Potter," Euphemia scolded. "It has a bad reputation but no, it is not a magick within the Dark Arts."

"But-"

"James, your mother is right," Fleamont said. "Now, it is getting quite late, I am sure you will be staying up late with your friends but I would like to get Rickyy settled at home before midnight."

After saying they're good byes they apparated, Ricky went side along with Fleamont to Potter Manor.

It wasn't huge but the grounds…Ricky felt the glamour barrier they walked through that would keep muggles away. 

They walked along a lantern lit path and most of the flowers were closed but others… Ricky had never been to the green houses at night and the night blooming flowers of the magical variety were breathtaking. Some of the flowers gave off their own light.

"Do you like them?" Euphemia asked him.

Ricky was a bit startled but smiled at her, "I love them. I've never seen plants like these."

Euphemia grinned, "They are all from my greenhouse. Pomona and I -Pomona Sprout, had a rivalry going when we were in school. We were in the same year, though I was in Ravenclaw, and we used to spend hours in the green houses after hours. Once we figured out how to breed them- well-"

Fleamont laughed, "Once they figured out how to breed plants they almost got themselves expelled on more than one occasion."

Ricky's eyes widened, "Why?"

"We created monster plants, invasive species, and," she laughed warmly, "and I think we will share some of my troublemaking years for another time."

Hedwig emerged from the shadows, swooping down to land on Ricky's shoulder.

"Hey there, Hedwig," Ricky greeted.

Fleamont gave the owl an odd look, "Did she know where you would be before you did? The flight from Hogwarts would take a few hours."

"Probably, Hedwig is the smartest avian you'll ever meet."

"She's lovely," Euphemia said.

Hedwig hooted her approval than took back off into the clear night sky, the large grounds and the gardens providing an excellent opportunity for prey.

The manor itself was old and small for what the term 'manor' usually implied. The ceilings were vaulted and windows took up most of the front of the house and the living room.

"Welcome home!" Fleamont holding the door opened wide for his wife and Ricky.

Ricky suddenly felt overwhelmed. Never in his life did he ever felt th his way, neither did Harry, nor Voldemort.

Home. the Harry side of him had given up hope on when Sirius had flown away on Buckbeak at the end of his third year.

And Voldemort had done so at the tender age of eight, after a particularly bad beating at the orphanage.

"There will be time to give you the grand tour when the sun is up, I think," Euphemia said, "but for now this way to your room."

His room.

They went up the steps and the manor had character and little wizard oddities such as railing that leaned into your touch, hallway lights that danced when someone walked under them, and a clock that told the time with a little sun moving over a map of Britain, casting real time shadows helping to show what time of day or night it wasn't as chaotic as the Weasley's house but not as 'civilized' as the Dursleys, but better than the Barack's. It was a place Ricky was hoping beyond hope that he could stay.

Ricky's room was a medium sized room with antique furniture, an empty bookshelf, and a queen sized bed. On the bed, there was a pair of pajamas.

"We can decorate the room however you like tomorrow and we will go to Diagon Alley to buy you clothes after we go pick up James," Fleamont said.

All Ricky could think to say was, "Thank you."

"We want you to feel welcome here, Ricky," Euphemia said, looking for his a reaction.

He smiled at her, and said again, "Thank you."
She smiled and then took a hesitant step towards him, "Good night, Ricky."

Ricky even more hesitantly stepped closer and offered her a hug.

Her arms were the safest place Ricky had ever known. Fleamont from behind his wife hugged both of them.

Surely, this is what home must feel like t
right? gosh since when did he become such an emotional wreck?

Not my novel I only uploaded it here for the purpose of listening to it on the audiobook feature.

The author is a student currently attending Notre Dame university, Screen name is Fleeceem44. He is part of a private chat group consisting of ppl whom try to combine they're favorite fanfiction novels into one while tweaking then a bit.

The credit goes to the original authors of the novels used, for this particular remix I want to give credit to 

Jacobapples who wrote the novel 'Broken reflections'
https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12977048/2/

ORFgrunt who wrote the novel 'Till the gates of hell'
https://m.fanfiction.net/s/11327757/1/Till-the-gates-of-hell

Wand description 
Lenght- 14 inches 
Wood- Yew
Core- Dragon heartstring

Visual link: https://www.yourpatchstoreonline.com/Alchemy-The-Vault-Dragon-Wand-p/ac-v31.htm

Harry stepped into Dumbledore's office and was absolutely disgusted.
There was such a thing as professional upkeeping of one's office, and this had crossed the line.
With the man's various knickknacks and trinkets stood out as if they were there to keep the attention of whatever errant child had to enter into his office.
The only thing that was remotely acceptable was the multitude of books in his bookshelves, but even then, he didn't quite like having it all placed out in the open like this.
This wasn't the man's library, and the various titles he spotted in the bookcase were not those suitable for the Headmaster's Office.
But Harry was digressing.
The man's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles, and the headmaster tried to appear grandfatherly to poor little Harry Potter.
Make no mistake. Harry knew who had left him on his relative's doorstep that night, and he wasn't the forgiving sort.
It didn't matter what the man wanted now, because Harry would never be able to trust him, nor take him at face-value.
While he didn't have a terrible time at the Dursley's – on the contrary, it was quite pleasing in the past couple of years – that didn't mean that he had a great time there. Especially not before he discovered how to wield his power for himself.
"Hello, my boy," Dumbledore greeted.
"Headmaster," Harry greeted, lowering his head like the slightly meek Hufflepuff that he came across as. He didn't bother to let anything like admiration or awe leak into his expression, playing the muggle-raised Hufflepuff to perfection.
Inwardly was a different story altogether. He had to fight down the curl of disgust to his lips at the casual use of an endearment from the man, as if he would be that easy to sway.
It was utterly appalling.
When Harry entered the wizarding world, he'd expected to be wowed at every turn, but he found that people were still people in the end. And here, there was another person with delusions of grandeur.
Albus Dumbledore was a manipulator through and through, Harry could just tell. Good or bad, that didn't matter. No one controlled Harry Potter. No one.
Dumbledore relaxed at how malleable the boy seemed. He was the perfect picture of humbleness and goodwill like the muggleborns who stepped through Hogwarts' doors.
He was nothing like Tom Riddle, as he had suspected. 
While he heard about the various glowing reports from the professors under his employ – besides Severus, of course, but then again Severus would never say anything good about a student – and Dumbledore had been terrified that the boy would turn out like a carbon copy of Tom Riddle, but he was anything but.
He was the perfect Hufflepuff, and that should have sparked some sort of suspicion in Dumbledore's mind about the supposed beacon of light that Harry was supposed to be, but so ingrained he was in his delusions that the man never once suspected anything of the sort.
So lost the headmaster was in his grandfatherly façade that he never noticed the smirk on Harry's face.
While most of the portraits missed it, one of them did not. However, he did not call the boy out, instead looking at him appraisingly.
By the time Dumbledore finally let Harry go, the boy was this close to finding a way to spike the damn old man's lemon drops with poison to let him die slowly.
He was sure he'd be able to do it over a period of time without him realizing what was wrong with him.
With the way the wizard ate them every couple of minutes like he had an everlasting amount of them, whatever poison he willingly ingested would be a step closer to one less person annoying Harry.
He didn't know what the other man wanted, trying to portray himself as a grandfather to Harry. There had to be an ulterior motive, and he clearly wasn't calling others out to sink his hooks into… but what?
Harry's eyes glinted coldly.
It mattered not. If the man kept trying to control Harry, he would have no qualms about doing away with him.
After all, the man was rather old… it would be easy for almost everyone to believe that he'd passed away quietly in his sleep.
The man had been through so much, after all. Losing his loved ones, fighting in the war… surely it would all take its toll on the man?
Draco and Ron were waiting for Harry inside the Hufflepuff common room, slightly worried though they didn't know why.
Why was it that the headmaster had called Harry and only Harry to him?
If that didn't speak of an ulterior motive, then Draco's pureblood training to go into Slytherin had been useless.
Ron had been for the most part, oblivious until he saw how worried Draco was.
While he didn't think that it was anything as big as the other Hufflepuff made it out to be, he couldn't deny that the more time passed, the more he felt his worries creep up on him.
Draco hid his relief when he saw Harry enter the common room.
"Let's go up to our dorms."
Heading up, Draco started casting spells to prevent any eavesdroppers.
Ron's eyebrows shot up. "When'd you manage to learn all that? We've only been here for two days!"
Draco huffed. "Honestly, Weasley, it's like you've never practiced magic at home before you came to Hogwarts."
"You practiced magic before Hogwarts??"
Draco and Ron looked at each other with visible confusion, forgetting about the reason why they'd re-entered their dorm rooms in the first place.
Harry was all too happy to read his book while they communicated.
"Of course I've practiced magic before Hogwarts! What if you fall behind during classes? How else are you expected to maintain your grades?"
"How would I practice without a wand?" Ron asked, baffled. "Besides, don't wands have the trace on them? The Ministry would know!"
Draco made a disgusted sound. "Obviously, you use a wand that doesn't belong to you! Or to your parents! At the very least, you have to practice the pronunciation and wand movements, don't you?!"
Ron still looked gobsmacked. "But my parents told me that the Ministry would be able to know."
"Of course not!" Draco refuted heatedly, his face darkening when he thought about how behind the other boy be in his schoolwork. It was like he'd never cracked open his books before entering Hogwarts. "Since you live in a wizarding family, the ministry's wards register that there's magic going on, true, but they'd never be able to tell whether or not the person using magic was underage or not!"
Draco turned around with a fierce look on his face. "Harry, tell him!"
Harry looked up from his book. "Tell him what?"
Draco looked at him with exasperation. "Tell him how I'm right, obviously!"
Harry shut his book, looking at them calmly. "Draco, Ron, you may not know this, but I was raised by muggles."
Draco looked aghast, then he looked like he was about to faint. "Muggles!" he muttered under his breath.
Harry pretended he didn't hear him. "That means that there's still many things about the wizarding world that may seem like common sense to you but are new to me. Which is why I make it a point to read up, and why I'm always seen with a book in my hand."
Ron and Draco looked at the book that was conveniently in Harry's hand and nodded understandingly, their eyes filling with admiration.
Harry hid a smirk. So easy.
Ron eyed Harry's book contemplatively. "So… Can you help me learn?" he directed to both Draco and Harry. For the first time in a long time, his budding passion for learning started to be rekindled.
This time, Harry did smirk. "You only need ask," he said smoothly.
Draco sniffed. "So long as you read the material first before asking."
"Sweet," Ron said with a grin.
Draco turned to Harry. "Anyway, confess. Now," Draco demanded.
Harry's eyes darkened, and he stared directly into Draco's grey eyes. "First of all," Harry said silkily, "Do not ever demand things of me." Harry's magic started to rise and fill the room, and the feeling of it was so intense and overwhelming that the two other boys in the room all but choked on his magic, not used to it.
Draco paled, shivering. This was the first time that he'd felt such powerful and intensely concentrated magic coming from someone, and while it filled him with both terror and shock, there was a part of him that felt awe and worship.
Something in him purred at the feeling of Harry's magic against his own.
Ron, on the other hand, felt completely light-headed. He felt as if he was drowning under Harry's thick, overpowering magic. His magic core resisted against Harry's magic, leaving him feeling as if he couldn't breathe.
Unbeknownst to him, the light magic in his core was slowly flickering, being seduced over to the dark side.
Harry's brows raised when he realized what was happening to Ron's core, and something in him burned with curiosity about whether or not he would be able to convert someone to the dark side.
Then, as sudden as it appeared, it disappeared.
Ron and Draco collapsed to the floor, panting for different reasons.
Harry's magic was like a siren's call, and they were its unwitting thralls.
"Now, what is it that you want to know?" Harry said like nothing happened.
Ron let out a startled laugh. "Blood hell mate," he said, his tone disbelieving.
Draco righted himself, brushing off imaginary lint on his robes. "We just wanted to know whether or not that meddling old man did anything to you. If he did, there will be hell to pay."
Somehow, the blond felt himself feeling right at home here. Even though he had been technically threatened by what Harry just did, he didn't see anything wrong with it.
Ron, on the other hand, wasn't so accepting. "Are you really just going to let it pass like that-"
"Ron," Draco said sharply, silencing the redhead. "I've already chosen my loyalty, and it's to Harry. I even came into Hufflepuff with the two of you not because its expected of me, but because I chose to. I went against my father and everything I've been taught because I chose to do so."
Ron fell silent. The depths of Draco's loyalty to Harry was startling to him, but… he could see how Harry could inspire such loyalty within someone.
"Okay," Ron said. "Okay. Then, as long as you never betray me, I will never betray you," he swore.
Slowly, Harry's lips curled into a deep smile.
"Very well. I accept. The two of you belong to me."
Harry could hardly believe how well it worked out. They weren't even a week into school yet, but he'd already managed to acquire two people loyal to him. This was fantastic.
It seemed like his magic was more powerful than he thought. This bode well.
"Now, let's go for our flying lesson."

Amortentia, the strongest love potion in the world.

It is said that children conceived under the effects of Amortentia are unable to feel love, but what wasn't known was that the degree of which it affected the child conceived depended on the amount of Amortentia administered over a given period of time to the party involved.

It was a little known fact that one James Potter started dousing his love with Amortentia when he was so sure that his love would never bear fruit, having been rebuffed time and time again.

It was an even less known fact that one Lily Evans started dousing James Potter with Amortentia before he even knew she existed.

Even when the two joined in marriage, and produced a child, they never stopped administering the deadly love potion to their partner up until the very end.

Harry J. Potter was the result of their shared infatuation, and his capacity for love was much, much lower than usual. So low, in fact, that when he started developing a little obsession of his own, he swore to obtain it at any cost...

A Harry/Tom Riddle story.

Several following days passed by rather peacefully and almost uneventfully, and Harry couldn't help it, but he felt his heart warming up towards snarky, but very inventive and surprisingly intelligent Slytherin. They still fought over even the trivial matters, such as Harry's supposed lack of taste in clothing or all Muggles being useful only as targets for practicing hexes and such, but all in all they tried to co-exist in a most normal way there could be, taking into account the circumstances given.
As for their magical connection, with it being already wonky and broken as it was, neither Tom (understandably) nor even Harry were ready to test its boundaries again, at least, not intentionally.
Accidents still happened, of course.
For example, Harry once tried to quickly go and grab the juice for them both from the kitchen, leaving Tom sitting on the stairs with a pile of books on his lap and immersed in yet another dusty tome. To Harry's excuse, his estimation of the distance was a bit off due to the lack of light in the corridor (as no one wanted to wake the portrait, of course).
Nevertheless, when Harry stepped into the kitchen, he heard lowly hissing behind him, interrupted by muffled intake of air. He turned to see Riddle trying to hold himself as if nothing was wrong, but failing, when trying to breathe some air through magically constricted throat. Harry rushed back immediately, lunging to hug the other boy, who, of course, was trying to dodge his nervously flailing hands. After several shaky intakes of air both boys have calmed down enough to return to whatever they were doing: Riddle scowling at his book and Harry trying to wish away his thirst, as he was waiting for someone to pass-by and help get the drinks for him and Riddle.
Another time it was Riddle who forgot about invisible restraints. On the very first day of Tom being here Dumbledore walked on them in the library and, like the meddling old coot he was, he has put froward the restrictions, after performing the spell, which was only slightly milder then the one being in place in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. Tom was furious, but, for some reason unknown to Tom, Harry agreed with Dumbledore, giving reasonable explanation of this being the summer holidays and "why would you need books if not for assignments? It's not like you definitely going to return in time for the beginning of the school year, or is it? Give it a rest, Riddle!"
Tom responded with a nasty comment about Harry's scar: he implied, that Harry's empty head cracked from the echo in there. After this Tom slammed the door behind him and went to brood in the next available room.
Harry stormed into this room about a quarter of an hour later, fed up with the feeling of constant yanking of his hand on the invisible leash (or his own conscious nagging at him, maybe, Tom hadn't decided, which it could be, yet). Tom tried to appear calm and almost regal-like while standing on his knees in front of the door, trembling from pain and struggling to breathe.
Harry, growling through his teeth, enveloped him in the reluctant hug, long enough for his pain to recede and breath to go even again, after which he released Tom and showed something in his hands.
"Here, you can read this, I don't need it anyway!" Harry grumbled.
"What..?" Tom's voice still was a bit rasp. "What's it?" for once he chose to speak in shorter and less complex sentences, due to his condition.
"Someone gave it to me as present. I don't need it at the moment, you can read it." Harry said. "And don't you dare throw away or damage it, smart-ass, you get it?!"
Tom just nodded: he could totally understand and respect the wish to cherish one's valued possessions, what's with Tom himself being in possession of a rather small amount of items bearing any value for him whatsoever. If this book was good enough, he even could relieve Harry of the pressure of it being in his hands, and instead get it for himself, Tom thought. Of course, with this ludicrous spell on them both, not allowing to part from each other enough to truly admire or at least thoroughly hide anything, it was rather challenging task—to expand one's collection, but it should do for now, Tom decided.
Alas! The book happened to be pretty boring, as its subject was Quidditch. Tom never really cared for the sport enough to seek books on this matter. The blasted game' times clashed with Tom's reading habits, of course. He was not going to admit to being scared out of his mind at the mere thought of flying high up in the air with only a stick with a bush at its end to rely upon.
Tom still remembered his one and only practical lesson on Flying: he'd got on the broom alright, hovered for the couple of minutes above the ground, stepped down upon the whistle of the instructor and never again had he returned there. It was too unpredictable and unreliable to put his trust on the stupid wooden stick and to put his life on the line just for the dubious fun (and where was fun in falling to the ground from several hundred feet high?!). Later on Tom tried with all his might to avoid the matter: he'd trade small favours for yet another favours, and finally got the Flying Instructor to mark him based on theory only.
And now he was back to Quidditch, or rather to the book in his hands, "Quidditch through the Ages". Scowling he decided to give it a try. Surely, Harry didn't expect him to play this cursed game, as they were still practically locked up in the house, and it should be quite hard to fly among staircases, old furniture and morbid decorations lining up the walls of the house.
Next day Tom had found out just how hard flying in there was: Harry managed to get his hands on the broom (and, thanks Merlin, it was only one broom!). First two times Tom hadn't managed to catch up on foot with Harry, who was flying on his broom, on time, which led to him fuming in the corner silently after yet another time of the Spell going off and the following hugging session, while Harry tried to talk him into sharing yet another thing—the broom.
"No, no and no!" Tom violently shook his head in refusal. "It's too risky!"
"Please-please-please! Pretty please!" Harry tried to whine, but Tom was unmoved.
"Too many objects around," as was usual of late, Tom resolved to shorter and simpler sentences, while waiting to his throat to soothe a bit and the trembling of his limbs to recede.
"Don't worry, I'm good on the broom!"
Tom shook his head again.
"Come on!"
And next moment Harry grabbed him by the arm and forced him on the broom behind himself. "It'll be fun, you'll see!"
Then they proceeded to fly along the corridor, gradually going higher and closer to the ceiling.
Tom tried to hold onto the broom with both of his hands, but there was little space between their bodies to do it properly.
Harry laughed.
"Hold onto me!"
Tom cursed under his breath and reluctantly grabbed Harry's waist, as at that moment the broom abruptly turned left. Another yank of the handle and they were turning again, Tom swore loudly and clutched Harry tighter.
Harry just continued to laugh happily.
They circled the second floor corridor and hovered just above the staircase. Tom squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the ground so far below him.
The broom swayed in the air. And swayed once more. Enough so, that Tom felt himself sliding sideways and desperately tried to melt into Harry's form in front of him, all the while cursing, mixing Wizarding and Muggle metaphors.
Harry laughed madder and louder at some phrase or the other, speeding and turning the broom. They knocked some ugly vase on their way, bumped on the door frame, clashed with a portrait, loudly crashed another painting, causing it to fall off its place on the wall. Then Harry at last lowered the broom enough for Tom to slide from it, with him landing in the ungraceful heap on the floor, hugging the ground and still swearing — cursing Harry, his possible relatives and flying instructors, this hole of a house and Tom's own luck, which had brought him here.
Harry managed another circle under the high ceiling, before landing beside him, laughing manically.
"Hey, you okay? Is it the Spell again?" calming somewhat, Harry asked, a bit worried.
"Leave me alone!" Tom spat. "Never again—"
"Eh?"
"Never again I'm going on that menace of a broom of yours!" Tom breathed.
Harry, giggling, poked him in the ribs with the broom' handle.
"That was fun, admit it!"
"Get lost!"
"Err— You didn't mean it, do you? Or do you have a death wish?"
"That's you who has it!"
"Wha—?"
"Death wish! Flying inside! And that portrait of a woman—!" Tom, annoyed to no end and fed up with everything, abruptly jumped on his feet and stormed downstairs to the loudly shrieking portrait, brandished his wand with some nasty curse almost on his lips—
And Harry knocked him over, not bothering to use the stairs proper, choosing to dive down on his broom instead.
"Are you mad?" Harry barked, pinning Tom to the floor with his body and wrestling his wand out of his hand. "No magic!" he all but shrieked, deafening even the portrait above them, surprising it enough to successfully shut it off.
"Potter, get off me," Tom drawled, trying to throw the other teen off with no luck.
"You were warned, I think, of not using magic, while in here!"
"I am fed up with this ugly place, this disgusting woman and with not using magic!"
"You will get us both in trouble!"
"And I'm fed up with you, too!" Tom finally managed to throw Harry off, stood up, turned on the heels and stomped up the stairs.
"Argh—!" Harry quickly followed, not ready for "healing hugs" while they were arguing.
Yet another accident occurred shortly afterwards, and, again, it was Tom, who was to blame. He was bored out of his mind and was going through the books in small part of the library, which they were allowed to use. Harry was sitting in a chair beside the window, reading what looked like yet another useless textbook on Quidditch tactics. Tom, glancing over that corner suspiciously, took out his wand, discreetly hiding it up his sleeve, and pointed towards the far end of the bookshelf: he noticed some interesting old book there, but that shelf was out of the boundaries, which Dumbledore's set up earlier.
"No magic!" Harry all but barked from his corner. "Or I'll take your wand!"
Tom huffed annoyed, but put his wand away reluctantly, not ready for yet another pointless fight between himself and Harry after the recent confrontation. And who knows, the brat might just take him up on the broom again, if only to prevent him from doing anything outside the swearing and holding broom or Harry's scrawny form tightly, so he won't fall off.
Returning to the shelves in front of him, Tom scanned the titles briefly, but none of them piqued his interest – he'd read most of these already, some of them even several times, either in his own time-frame or when being already here.
Still undecided, Tom went to the next line of shelves, but here, too, none of the books attracted his attention for more then half a minute necessary to read their titles. Tom went to the next row of bookshelves and began searching here, only to stumble in the middle of the row. It seemed, that was the boundary of the Spell, as he felt slight tugging in the direction to where Harry was. Ignoring the slowly building up pain, he stubbornly went further along the aisle, trying to find a good reading material.
Again these titles were mostly either old, or useless, but something caught his eye, at last. The book at the end of this row seemed as if it was pulled out recently and not placed back properly, the layer of dust there was almost absent.
Tom made another couple of steps forward, but was forced to grab the nearest shelf for support, as, finally, the Spell caught up with him proper, magic-infused pain shooting through his system abrupt enough, that his knees gave way under him. He took in a breath of air with some difficulty, as always refusing to acknowledge the need for help or to return back inside the boundary of the Spell. He even managed to get to the end of the shelf, but, when tried to reach for the book (it being on the shelf slightly above his height), the hand, with which he supported himself upright, slipped. He still tried to remain on his feet and get to the book, but fell only a moment later, with a loud crash bringing half the books on the shelf down with him and his temple colliding with some corner with so much force, that his vision gone black and he slipped into unconsciousness.
Tom came to his senses some time unbeknownst to him later to find himself in the bed, half-naked (with only his underpants on) and feeling someone's warmth beside him. Tom could make a good guess as to whom it might be. Harry. Of course, it would be Harry, as no-one else had the audacity to sleep naked under the same blanket as Tom "just for healing purposes", as Harry put it once.
His head pounded with dull ache, probably from his collision with the book-shelf, or from the lack of oxygen during the Spell in action. He brought up one of his hands to the wounded temple and felt something akin to bruise there, half-covered with the thick layer of bandages, which someone (probably, Harry again) had put around his injured head. Also he felt a stab of pain in his other hand, the one, with which he tried to grab the blasted book. Raising this hand had proved rather difficult, as the wrist was heavily (and not very accurately) bandaged with some clean cloth, layer upon layer of which made it look like there was a small ball underneath. He snorted and looked sideways at the sleeping form near him. Harry stirred in his sleep and whimpered lowly, probably seeing another one of his nightmares. Tom frowned at that. Not that he cared, but - 
Not really understanding his own reasoning, Tom hummed quiet melody, calming his neighbour. Harry mumbled something illegible, but clearly his sleep became more peaceful after this.
Still frowning, Tom left the bed in favour of his favourite spot near the window, looking around on his way towards it in search for his clothes. Strangely enough, he could not see either of their robes. And, if left unattended, Harry had the tendency to create a makeshift carpet out of his discarded clothes, evenly covering all the floor in their room with them. Again snorting, Tom turned his attention towards the landscape behind the window, ignoring the slight chill along his spine. He'd been used to the cold long, before Harry has got it to his head, that they need as much skin to skin contact as possible, while reversing the effects of the Spell by the means of long hug-sessions or by sleeping naked under the same blanket. They had already had this conversation at least three times, though Tom still had his hopes. One way or the other he would convince Harry that all of this wasn't necessary. Or, probably, Dumbledore would, at last, release them from the humiliation of being bonded to each other.
Although, Tom was curious as to where his clothes could have vanished and, more importantly, exactly how that happened, as Harry was so insistent on not doing any magic. Never mind the quite disturbing thought (or rather image in his mind-eye) of Harry carefully stripping Tom's helpless and unconscious form (and why would he need that, exactly?) and appraising his body, while Tom was out cold.
He shivered at the alarming thought, scowling and trying to wish the image away from his mind, before it started haunting him proper.
"Hey, you alright?" came the mumbled call from the bed, yanking him to reality.
Tom turned around abruptly.
"Mind explaining, what possessed you to vanish my clothes?" Tom demanded harshly, choosing to ignore for the moment the awkwardness of being so exposed under other's intent (worried?) stare, as well as small part of his consciousness reminding him about carefully put bandages and "healing skin-ship" session, despite Harry himself being quite disturbed by his (or male in general) touches.
"I asked a house-elf to wash them, while we're sleeping," Harry replied calmly, shrugging. "It's not like you need them under blanket, no?"
Tom scowled.
"Nobody asked - "
"Look, if you have a death wish still, it's your problem, not mine! You crashed half the library, spilling blood everywhere! - How's your head, by the way? - So you should at least be thankful, that I am not forcing you to wash your bloody rags by hand! - How's it feeling, eh? - If you don't have the decency to be thankful for the help, just shut up and come to bed! - It's freezing, is it not?"
"Err – You do realise, you're rambling, Harry?" Tom felt his head spinning, while he tried to catch at least half of Harry's heated speech. "And it's seems there are two Harrys speaking," he snorted, although just a second earlier he was ready to punch the brat for stealing his – only! - clothes.
For a moment there, he really felt, like there were two persons speaking, with Harry's emotions juggling between annoyance at one second and compassion at another, and all these - in one flow of breath, almost in one long word.
Harry blinked owlishly, abruptly cutting off his ranting.
"Wha - "
A house-elf chose that moment to pop in with two piles of their clothing in his hands. He dropped them, snarling nastily, and was gone without a word, only sending another grimly glare to Harry.
That successfully interrupted any potential fight, as Tom quickly grabbed his things and began putting them on, clumsily moving his injured hand, but, stubborn as always in his refusal to ask for help. Harry silently stood up and, too, started on his clothes. When Tom got to the task of tying the shoelaces, muttering curses under his breath, as his injured hand did not want to work properly, the laces slipping from his cramped fingers, and his head began to spin from him leaning too far down, Harry (already finished, as both his hands and his head were fine and healthy) still silently get on a knee and, batting away Tom's hands, began tying the laces for him. This brought on even more curses from the latter, though after short struggle he allowed the help.
"Breakfast?" Harry offered peacefully, standing up. Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the question and just silently followed Harry out of the room, inwardly cringing from his own obedience.

Two time-travels, pretty much mirroring each other: sixteen year-old Tom Riddle accidentally appears in Harry Potter's timeline, during Harry's summer after 5th year; and Harry of same timeline falls through to the 1940-s, when future Dark Lord is still in his sixth year at Hogwarts.

I don't know why I can't post this as a Fanfic so it has been posted as a novel. This is my first story ever. It was originally posted on FFN but decided to post on here as well.

A soldier dies in battle and wakes up to find out he has been Transmigrated into the body of Harry Potter after the events of The Philosopher's Stone.

Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling and WB. I only own the OC.

*** One day in Harry's school library, when Harry is 8.
Harry closed the lid on his latest book, another one from the fantasy genre. It was reasonably well written but the protagonist of the book made it through the entire story entirely on his good luck and a bunch of flukes.
From his own experience, Harry knew that luck had never been on his side. At that moment he decided that he wouldn't rely on luck to solve his problems but then came across the next dilemma.
How would he solve his problems?
The Dursleys' malnourishment of him meant that he wouldn't be becoming particularly strong anytime in the near future.
He had to become smart, beyond the norm and talk his way through life.
That would be the only way he could survive.
*** Privet Drive, when harry is 11
"Fetch the mail, boy." Vernon ordered Harry.
Harry silently went and retrieved the mail, flicking through all of the letters quickly, while walking back to the dining room.
He stopped dead in his tracks at the last letter.
Mr. Harry J Potter
Cupboard under the stairs, Privet Drive, Surrey
There was a letter for him! He had never received a letter before, and he knew that Vernon would never let him read it if he ever saw the letter.
On his way to the dining room, Harry slid the letter into his cupboard before reaching the breakfast table and giving the mail to Vernon and silently moving to clear the plates, which Vernon and Dudley had demolished, including the one piece of toast that Harry had.
Harry didn't bother protesting.
Vernon put down the mail with a satisfied grunt, "What took you so long, boy?"
"I slipped and dropped the mail." Harry lied with a straight face that showed regret.
Vernon sneered, "Shoulda expected it of a freak like you."
Harry nodded quickly and almost sprinted to his cupboard. When he was inside, he eagerly opened his letter.
Dear Mr. Potter,
You have been admitted into the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, please send you acceptance by owl, no later than the 30th of August this year. The first day of school will be on the 1st of September,
Yours,
Assistant Headmistress McGonagall
Below the letter was a list of ridiculous sounding books and things to buy.
Harry's heart sunk a bit, but he held some hope. He didn't know what an owl was, so he nicked a pound from Dudley and stole a sheet of a4 paper from Vernon and mailed an acceptance letter to 'Hogwarts'.
He had little hope that it was actually going to work, but sending a letter wouldn't hurt right?
In his letter he had included that he needed proof that magic existed.
*** Next Day
The Dursleys heard three sharp raps on their door, just after dinner.
"Open the door, boy."
Harry nodded and went to open the door, and saw an old woman standing outside in extremely old fashioned clothing.
"Hello, I'm Harry, who might you be?" Harry asked politely.
Minerva nodded, "I'm Professor McGonagall, Harry, it's my job to introduce muggle-borns and muggle-raised to the wizarding world."
At this she frowned, "Though it was expected that your aunt and uncle would already have explained the wizarding world to you."
Harry snorted inwardly and was about to answer when Vernon bellowed from the dining room.
"BOY, WHO'S AT THE DOOR!"
Minerva's lips thinned a bit at the derogatory tone in Vernon's voice.
Harry had to think fast, he couldn't lie because McGonagall would become suspicious, but telling the truth would risk the Dursleys throwing McGonagall out of the house altogether.
In the end he decided to tell the truth, "Somebody from a place named Hogwarts." Harry said softly, hoping for the best.
Vernon stormed into the room.
"Look here, I won't be paying for some fool to teach the freak magic tricks." Vernon snapped at McGonagall.
McGonagall's lips thinned some more.
"Mr. Potter will be attending Hogwarts no matter what a muggle like you thinks of it." She said back before ignoring Vernon completely.
McGonagall pointed her wand at a chair in the corner of the drawing room and levitated the chair.
"At Hogwarts, you will learn several branches of magic, including Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Defence against the Dark Arts among others…"
McGonagall took a breath, "Let me also warn you that due to events that took place while you were a baby, you've become a somewhat famous personality in the wizarding world. Would it be convenient if I took you to Diagon Alley tomorrow?"
Harry smiled politely, "If you give me the directions and the money, I'm sure I could find my way myself."
McGonagall shook her head. "I'm afraid that muggle-raised are to be escorted to Diagon Alley on their first visit."
Harry cursed inwardly but smiled outwardly. "Then sure, we can go tomorrow afternoon, it is a Saturday."
As soon as McGonagall left, Harry was shouted at, kicked in the ribs and thrown into his cupboard in Vernon's fit of anger.
*** Next afternoon
McGonagall picked up Harry when she was supposed to, noticing but not commenting on Harry's very well hidden wince as he walked.
She gave him a cap to wear before they reached a dirty looking pub that everybody else in the vicinity seemed to ignore.
McGonagall led him through the pub, exchanging a few words with the bartender, Tom, before she took him out the back.
"To get into Diagon Alley, you need to swipe your wand, when you get it, along the bricks like this." McGonagall demonstrated and the wall moved aside to let them through into the bustling magical alley.
Harry stared around in barely concealed wonder. McGonagall hid a smile at his reaction.
"Our first stop will be the Wizarding Bank, Gringotts. Your parents left you their sizeable fortune. We will be making a withdrawal from your trust vault."
They walked up to the teller.
McGonagall nodded respectfully.
"What may I do for you?" the teller asked coolly.
"Mr. Potter would like to make a withdrawal from his trust vault."
The goblin nodded, "Key, please."
McGonagall provided the key, pulling it out of her purse.
The teller, 'Griphook', led them to a cart and belted them in, and sat at the front, as the cart took off at high speeds, falling and rising rather like a roller coaster.
Harry thought that it was designed that way to disorient passengers so that potential thieves couldn't find their way around the underground tunnels of Gringotts.
With a screeching halt they reached Harry's vault.
"You will have to wait outside, Professor." Griphook stated.
McGonagall nodded and waited in the cart.
Harry went inside the vault with the goblin and filled the pouch that McGonagall had given him to the brim with golden galleons, taking as much money as possible.
"McGonagall said this was a trust vault. Does that mean that I have a family vault too?" Harry asked, while filling his pouch with money.
"You do have the Potter family vault but you may not access it till you are 17 or emancipated by the ministry." Griphook stated emotionlessly.
Harry nodded and went back out with his pouch of galleons.
"That's more money than you will need." McGonagall stated.
Harry flashed her an innocent smile. "This way I don't have to come back to get my money for Christmas presents."
McGonagall nodded her acceptance. "Just don't waste it all on candy or anything like that."
"Yes Professor." Harry said.
The first place that McGonagall took Harry too was Madam Malkins, the clothing shop.
Harry inwardly wrinkled his nose at how impractical wizarding robes were but smiled politely and stood completely still while Malkin measured him and the boy standing next to him.
"Hogwarts too?" the blonde next to him asked.
"Yes." Harry said.
The Blonde extended a hand.
"Draco Malfoy."
"Harry."
"Named after the whole 'Potter craze' were you?" Draco asked.
Harry smiled sheepishly, "Yes."
'Potter craze? Am I that famous!?' Harry thought.
"What house do you think you'll be in?" Draco asked.
Harry hadn't heard about the houses yet, so he answered vaguely.
"Don't know yet, do we." Harry said, making his question sound rhetorical but still there, in case he was supposed to know.
"No, I suppose we don't, but I know I'll be in Slytherin." The blonde puffed out his chest self-importantly.
Draco finished first and his father walked into the store to pick him up.
Nobility, Harry noted, while Draco and his father walked off.
After the clothing shop, Harry was taken to the bookstore.
Harry smiled widely.
"I'll pick up your potions ingredients and you can pick up the books on your list." McGonagall said, before taking two galleons from him and bustling off as if she had done it a million times before.
Harry quickly picked up his school books before picking up a few on customs and traditions, some on Runes and Arithmancy and a few other texts he thought would be useful to keep himself ahead of the class. He also picked up some books that claimed to be about him.
McGonagall came to pick him up and muttered 'Ravenclaw' when she saw the pile of books that Harry had picked up.
Next, McGonagall took Harry to Ollivanders wand shop.
Harry didn't let himself look rattled by Ollivander's speech which left the creepy old man looking somewhat disappointed.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, I've been expecting you. I'm sorry to say that I sold the wand that did that."
Ollivander reached out a hand and touched Harry's scar. Harry had to work hard to not flinch at Ollivander's touch.
After a long line of wands, Harry finally found one that responded to him.
"Aah! SO curious, very curious." Ollivander commented.
"What is?" Harry asked.
"The phoenix that gave the feather for this wand also gave the feather for the wand of you-know-who!"
Harry looked slightly confused. "Who?"
"The man who killed your parents," McGonagall whispered.
"Oh." Harry didn't know how to respond.
He numbly paid the 7 galleons, thinking about this you-know-who fellow.
McGonagall handed him a cage.
"Here, I bought you something for your birthday."
It was a snowy owl.
"Thank you!" Harry responded.
McGonagall almost smiled. "What will you name it?"
"Hedwig."
*** Hogwarts Express
McGonagall had explained how to get to the Hogwarts Express, Harry managed to wheedle Vernon to take him to Kings Cross at the threat of the 'freaks' showing up again.
He had arrived early and picked an empty cabin.
A red-headed boy opened the door to his cabin.
"Can I sit here, everywhere else is full."
"Sure." Harry smiled back.
"Hi, I'm Ron, Ron Weasley."
"Harry."
"Blimey! Are you Harry Potter!"
Seeing no way out other than outright lying, Harry nodded, already taking a dislike to the redhead.
"Yes."
"Are you really!"
"That is what I just said."
"Do you remember that night!?" Ron asked excitedly, irritating Harry some more.
He had read the book about what had happened. Apparently, the dark wizard Voldemort had shot a killing curse at him but it had been reflected back onto Voldemort and killed him instead, and Harry had been hailed as the savior of the wizarding world, personally, Harry found the story laughable. Obviously, it had been his parents who had done something. With his extremely rudimentary knowledge of runes, he knew that it was very easily possible to reflect the killing curse as long as there was an equal powering source, in this case, the taking of one soul, which considering both his parents died before him was quite possible yet all of the rune experts of the wizarding world were clueless about the possibility. Harry had vowed to do more research into runes and such.
Harry politely said that he didn't remember anything as he was but a baby at the time and the awkward silence returned.
A bushy-haired girl burst into their cabin, interrupting Harry's musing.
"Have you seen a toad, Neville's lost one." She said in a rush.
"No, but you could ask one of the older students to summon the toad," Harry suggested.
Harry had practiced a lot of spells but the summoning spell was 4th year, and quite a bit further than he had tried, though he knew the incantation.
"Oh, I didn't think of that, thanks!" the girl said and left.
"Mental, that one," Ron said rudely.
"She was only helping this Neville fellow," Harry defended her, lightly.
"Probably Neville Longbottom, the squib." Ron snorted unattractively.
Harry frowned slightly, "If Neville were a squib, he wouldn't be on the Express going to a school of Wizardry."
Ron rolled his eyes.
Harry found himself quite disliking Ron and his rude tendency to talk shit about people he didn't know.
Harry pulled out his book and started reading.
"Why're you reading?" Ron asked incredulously.
Harry looked over his book.
"To gain knowledge," Harry said, politely.
"But! But! You're Harry Potter, you can't be bookish!" Ron almost shouted.
Harry's expression hardened a bit and he looked back at his book.
He really didn't like the redhead's attitude toward books.
*** Hogwarts
With the rest of the students, Harry took the boats to Hogwarts.
He nodded politely at McGonagall while she was giving her 'House is family' speech.
He ignored Ron's exclamation that they would have to fight a troll.
He clapped after the hat's song and waited his turn, not showing any of the nervousness he was feeling about the sorting.
"Potter, Harry." Called out McGonagall.
Harry stepped forward confidently and walked up to the podium, ignoring Draco's 'you didn't tell me you were the Harry Potter!'
Harry sat on the stool and let the hat be put on his head, feeling nervous. He really disliked the idea of the hat being able to see all his memories.
"Oh ho, what do we have here! You'd be an amazing Slytherin…" the hat spoke in his head.
Harry agreed, personally, but he couldn't let himself be perceived as a 'filthy snake' by the rest of the school.
"You do know that that is even more reason to put you in Slytherin." The Hat sounded amused.
"I will be in Gryffindor." Harry thought back.
"Very well…" The hat sighed, "If you must, then, GRYFFINDOR!" the last word was shouted out.
Harry took off the hat and headed to the table which was dressed up in red and had two more red-heads shouting about how they got Potter and noted that Draco was looking disappointed at his sorted and a little disgusted.
Harry sat down next to Hermione, the bushy-haired girl from the train, who started rattling off what the books said about Harry.
Harry smiled lightly. "The books about me are all false."
Hermione looked almost comically enraged. "But books are always right!" she shouted.
Harry smiled. "Who was there to witness what actually happened that night."
Hermione frowned and fell into the trap, "You and Voldemort."
Harry inwardly laughed at all the flinches that people gave at the Dark Lord's name.
"I can assure you that I've never given an interview and Voldemort is dead, so where does your book get its facts from?"
Hermione looked extremely stunned.
"I-I…"
Harry smiled lightly at her, "Just something to think about."
*** Next Day
Harry woke up early at 5 am, and had a quick bath before returning and reading some more, practicing some late 1st year spells till 6:30-ish when some other boys in the dorm started to stir.
Harry headed down to breakfast early and had a quick and light breakfast before taking out his book on an art known as Occlumency and started reading.
He received his timetable, along with incredulous books from Ron, for reading a book and he went to his first class, Transfiguration with McGonagall.
He got to class, barely on time and waited for McGonagall to arrive before noticing a cat next to McGonagall's table and remembered that she was a cat animagus.
Harry winked at the cat, who stared at Harry.
Ron and another boy from Harry's dorm, Seamus, landed up late for class.
McGonagall transformed from the cat into herself and got a few screams and surprised looks.
She lectured them for a while before giving them a matchstick and telling them the incantation to turn it into a needle.
Harry took and deep breath and performed the transfiguration, pushing his magic into his wand, magnifying it and saying the incantation and imagining the needle he wanted, intricate and silver.
It took a long second, but the matchstick turned into a needle with a soft pop.
McGonagall swept over to Harry.
"5 points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, amazing needle, first try too! 5 more points because of the intricacy."
McGonagall just got back to the front of the class, as Hermione managed to finish her transfiguration.
"Ms. Granger's done it too! 5 more points to Gryffindor." McGonagall said pleased that 2 people had completed the complex transfiguration in such quick succession.
Harry worked on trying to make his transfiguration more intricate. He tried to engrave a pattern into his needle and managed, though he began to start sweating.
McGonagall picked up the engraved needle, admiring the pretty if simple pattern on the small needle.
"Good job, Mr. Potter, but remember not to exhaust yourself."

"From his own experience, Harry knew that luck had never been on his side. At that moment he decided that he wouldn't rely on luck to solve his problems, he had to become smart, beyond the norm and talk his way through life. That's the only way he could survive." 

Originally posted on FanFiction.Net (by ME)

Support me and my writing at: patreon.com/pxfive

"I'll not be giving you any of my gold coins," I angrily bit out. Not allowing the little shit to talk, I snatch my Septim back and drop three more gold bars on the counter.








The resounding thump of the bars landing on the wood counter draws several eyes.








Despite these little thieves attempting to screw me over on my Septims, I still need Galleons. The price per gold bar does sound fair. I thought about selling the gold coins in the muggle market, but trying to find a buyer for over thirty thousand gold coins will draw unwanted attention. 

I don't want to get rid of all my Septims, you never know when non-magical gold coins could come in handy. I'll find a forge to melt down the Septims into gold bars.








Selling all four of my gold bars to the goblins, I end up with a hefty sum. Even after converting two thousand Galleons into British pounds, I still have slightly over 38,000 Galleons.



I purchased an enchanted money purse, called a mokeskin-pouch, from the short little crooks.



The mokeskin-pouch can only be accessed by me, preventing others from stealing the money I have stored in it. The magical wallet was a necessity. My pile of Galleons takes up an area larger than the amount of free space I have in my subspace.


Luckily, there was no issue with storing the filled mokeskin-pouch in my subspace. I can think of several ways to exploit this. I still have to test if time affects the things I have stored in my subspace.



Too bad I don't have a sweetroll.



Walking out of Gringotts, it's time to do some shopping. The first thing on my list is a new wardrobe. My current armor is enchanted to Oblivion and back, but it draws too much attention.




I want to blend in, but I don't know an Illusion spell to change the appearance of my cloths. Yet.




As I'm looking for Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, I start to think about my armor's enchantments. Enchantments are another worry.




I only have twenty-seven filled soul gems and twenty empty ones. I don't know if I'll be able to fill the empty soul gems in this world, so I may be limited to only twenty-seven enchantments. I'll have to be selective about what I use them on until I confirm if I can fill the other twenty.


I do wonder if I can learn new enchantments from magical items here, cause I can think of a few I want. I also wonder if I'm restricted to only two enchantments per item?



Making a small enchanter's table won't be hard. I should be able to get everything right here in Diagon Alley.


 
I'm starting to regret having most of my character's items stored in his villa. Or I should say my villa. So many things that would have been useful, lost to me now.


Finally, finding the clothing shop, I hurriedly step inside the doorway. I was getting tired of all the people openly staring.



A squat, middle-aged woman wearing a fashionable mauve dress, quickly moved to greet me. With a warm smile, Madam Malkin cheerfully said, "Oh, come on in dear. What can I get you? We have a wide selection to pick from."


The next hour is a whirl of being measured and picking out fabric and colors. Despite Madam Malkin's customer service, I lost all desire for clothes shopping after the first fifteen minutes. 

Regardless of my lack of enthusiasm, I was able to walk out with several full sets of muggle and wizard attire. I even purchased an over-sized hooded robe, one that will fit over my armor.



It seems the wizarding fashion is roughly a century behind the muggle world. The muggle clothing leaned more towards the Gothic Victorian era three-piece suits than casual wear. The clothes remind me of what Lucius Malfoy wore in the moves. It's not a total loss. I was able to replace my loincloth and wool socks.



While I am not fond of the idea of shedding my armor, it's my jewelry that has the Health and Magicka enchantments.




At slightly over four-hundred Galleons, I now have my new wardrobe. Madam Malkin allows me to use one of her dressing rooms to change. I slip on a pair of black slacks and roll the sleeves of my dark dress shirt for a more modern look. My armor and new clothes take up the rest of the room in my subspace.



Stepping out of the chic clothing store, I'm now ready to find out what kind of crossover world this is. I quickly make my way back to The Leaky Cauldron. Before leaving the pub, I reserve a room for the night from Tom.



Once back on Charing Cross Road, I move next door to Quinto Bookshop & Francis Edward. There was a smell of old furniture about the place. The left side of the entrance was filled with antique furniture. On the right are several rows of short bookcases.




It doesn't take me long to find the section for non-fiction and biographies. Picking up a dense book on World War Two, I begin to scan for anything different from what I know from my previous life.




Less than a third of the way into the book, I freeze. Taking up half the page is a picture of a young Hugo Weaving in a Nazi uniform. The picture caption reads, 'Hydra leader, Johann Schmidt.'


Hydra?!

Holy shit, this is Marvel! Not just Marvel, but possibly the MCU! I'm in a Harry Potter and MCU crossover world!



Before my excitement gets too high, I start combing the shelves for more books. I am specifically looking for books on American history. Looking at American history will be easiest for me to compare what I know from my world, to this new one.




While things seem to be more in line with the books of Harry Potter, I want to confirm what kind of Marvel world this is. Is it the MCU or the comics or an alternate? Are there mutants in this world or any of the lesser-known comic heroes? Judging by the picture in the book being spot-on for Hugo Weaving, it's very likely to be the MCU. 

I continue scanning through the history book. Everything I read seems to match up with the Marvel movies. From a Chris Evans looking Captain American and the Howling Commandos, to Howard Stark's war contributions.




A sudden thought stops my search. While it's been years since I read the Harry Potter books, I've seen all the Marvel movies multiple times. Several only a few weeks before I was sent to this world!


Infinity Stones. The Ancient One. Wakanda. The Super-Soldier Serum. The list goes on and on. The only problem, the MCU doesn't have many events in the '90s. There is Captain Marvel in a few years, but other than that...


Wait. This is the summer of 1991! 

The Winter Soldier kills Howard Stark and his wife at the end of this year. He also steals five samples of Howard Stark's version of the Super Soldier Serum. A serum that gives the recipient more strength and agility than The Winter Soldier. 

The increased anger is a bit of an issue.


Standing in the middle of an old book shop, I begin to form a rough outline for a plan. Even in the MCU, magic is a fearsome weapon. The Ancient One defeated Hulk with one move.



However, one thing I learned from watching Hela in Thor Ragnarok, is one needs mobility and durability to gain the most from magic. Hell, Thanos might have avoided an ax to the chest if he attempted to dodge at the last second. Instead, he tried to throw magic against a weapon that was built to absorb it.

Plus, I need to become powerful enough to prevent Other Me from interfering with my life. His constant threats to destroy my soul, is a hell of an incentive to look into Soul Magic.

I might not be able to beat him, ever, but I might be able to prevent him from carrying out his threat to destroy my soul. 




With the making of a plan in place, I purchase several history books from the bookshop. 

Carrying my books in a plastic bag, I make my way back to The Leaky Cauldron. I throw the books in my room and put on a black robe.




Walking down Diagon Alley, I begin my search for a luggage shop. I found Stowe & Packers Magical Bags in Carkitt Market, a side street of Diagon Alley.



While the shop was packed with every kind of bag imaginable, their trunks were quite limited. I didn't ask, but I suspect the Ministry of Magic limits the amount of space an item can be expanded to. 

I settled on five large traveling trunks, each one has an interior space expanded to four times its size. The largest interior space available for sale. 

I opted not to have any additional spells added to the magical trunks. There really isn't any need for additional protections.



The trunks will fill up most of my subspace but will allow me to quadruple the amount I can store in it. A negative to using the trunks in my subspace, I have to remove the entire trunk, to extract its contents. For now, this is more than acceptable.




Once I learn the Undetectable Expansion Charm, I'll make my own trunks. Hopefully, ones with enough space to fit everything I could possibly want.



I had to ask the shop owner to check on a specialty trunk in the back of his store so he would stop following me. While he was gone, I quickly emptied my subspace into two of the trunks. It was amusing to see the confused look on his face when he returned to see the five trunks gone. I left the shop with five hundred fewer Galleons and five new expanded trunks in my subspace.




My next stop is only a few shops away from Gringotts. Flourish and Blotts. I intend to get every single textbook for Hogwarts, years one through seven. If possible, I'll purchase everything they have on advance magics as well. I need to learn these spells and see how they differ from the spells I know from Skyrim.




If I wanted to, I could cast every single spell from Skyrim without a wand or incantation. They seem to be deeply ingrained into my head. I might be able to learn the Harry Potter spells the same way I learned magic in High Rock and Skyrim.


Or it will be a completely different type of magic that requires a wand. Hopefully, I won't need to acquire a wand to initially learn each spell, and then slowly advance to chantless and wandless.


With any luck, my 'prodigious' magical ability will allow me to master the Hogwarts spells in very little time. Regardless, I still have a massive amount of studying to do if I plan to succeed.



As I step into Flourish and Blotts, I'm completely stunned. This place is ridiculous! The entire store is crammed pack with bookcases that stretch all the way to the ceiling. Many of the bookcases are curved or warped, making the aisles awkward to walk down.


There's only enough room between each aisle for a single person to squeeze through. From what I can see of the second level, it's just as cramped as the first floor.



Carefully shuffling around the wobbly stacks of books on the floor, I try to get a feel for the layout of the bookstore. It doesn't take me long to figure out I'll have to spend the rest of the day searching for the books I want. 

Forget that!


I move to a cleared area with a small cashier station. Behind the counter is a bored-looking young man wearing a brown vest with Flourish and Blotts embroidered on the chest.


Spotting me approaching, the young assistant puts on a fake smile and says, "Good afternoon and welcome to Flourish and Blotts. My name is George, how may I help you?"


Returning the fake smile, I say, "I'm a bit of a hurry. So, I'll pay you fifty Galleons if you can quickly gather my order." The fake smile drops from George's face, and greed quickly fills his eyes.



Playing on George's desire, I tell him, "I need a copy of every single Hogwarts textbook and the corresponding reference books. I'm even willing to pay an additional tip for more advanced fields. Such as occlumency, legilimens, apparition, dueling, and soul magic. I would be most appreciative of books not kept out on display."


The look of building greed suddenly halts at that last line. George appears to be hesitant as he does a quick glance towards the back of the store. Based on that look, I'm willing to bet there is something in the storage area not meant for public view.


To help sway his decision, I pull out a Galleon and rolling it across my knuckles. "Most appreciative," I tell the greedy assistant.


Vigorously nodding his head, George says, "I think we have a few books that will interest you, sir. Just give me a few minutes to gather everything up."


Without waiting for my reply, George is quickly moving around the store, waving his wand as he goes. With each wave of his wand, a new book flies off a shelf and lands on the counter.


I can't help but wonder about the spell George is casting. It appears to be a spell that levitates an object to a predetermined destination. I quickly lose interest in the spell and look towards the counter.

Looking at the forming towers of books, they appear to be the standard textbooks for Hogwarts. Every so often, a uniquely titled book will appear in the stack. '1001 Common Household Spells', 'Protection Charm Your Mind: A Practical Guide to Counter Legilimensy,' and several more.


It takes George less than fifteen minutes before several tall stacks of books are formed up on the counter. Briefly popping out from behind a bookcase, George calls out to me, "Let me just check something in the back. I'll be right back."


George returns, looking rather excited. In his hands are four dense books. "These are some of the books... The ministry frowns upon."


Taking the books from the excited young man, I scan the titles. 'The Power of Blood', 'Fundamental Rites', 'Pagan Rituals', and 'Apex'.


Three rituals books and a book on dueling... Perfect!

"These will do nicely," I tell the store clerk. I take out one-hundred Galleons and slide them across the counter to George. With a swipe of his hand, the small pile of Galleons disappear.


Turning to the stack of books on the counter, George begins to total my purchase with a satisfied smile on his face.



After adding all the books, the total rings upon the antique cash register. George stares at the number for a moment before he quietly stutters out, "Your total comes to 583 Galleons 4 Sickles and 2 Knuts."


I deposit six-hundred Galleons on the counter, and say, "Keep the change."


Withdrawing an empty trunk from my subspace, I use the Grand Telekinesis spell to send my purchase into the trunk. Placing the trunk back in my subspace, I head to The Leaky Cauldron. I have some reading to do.

A man pulled into the multiverse by a cosmic being, and made into the physical form of his Skyrim character.

Sent into a crossover universe of Harry Potter and the MCU, follow along as the newly formed Breton tries to gain the power to break free of the cosmic being.

*Disclaimer*
I do not own the rights to MCU, Harry Potter, or Skyrim. I own nothing.

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