A blind reversal

Chapter 1

He could feel a cold floor, and a chill wind blowing over him.

He lay there for an eternity, he knew instinctively everything had changed, was he still alive? Was this heaven?

'Not heaven, you could call this the stopping point' A neutral voice said from some far off place.

'A stopping point from where to where'? He asked the voice.

'Why, from where you were, to where you will go' the voice seemed amused.

'By that reasoning isn't everywhere a stopping place' His mind felt befuddled.

'Why no, what would make you think that. As the old adage goes: Time and tide wait for no man, or woman I suppose' The voice sounded even more amused 'but here it does, here all things cease to move'

'I'm dead then'?

'Not quite, you stand before the river, but the boatman has not yet arrived. Or to use more recent imagery the train has yet to depart. I am here to offer you a second chance. A chance to go back and change things, to undo your mistakes'.

He now opened his eyes. He was in a clean white room. Or to be more exact a train platform. He was lying on the platform. A tall man was sat on a bench to his right, he had white hair and grey eyes, which were set off by his light grey shirt.

'Muggle clothes'?

'Normally I spend my time with Muggles, your kind don't like me much' the man laughed outright now. A deep booming bass. There was nothing funny about that laugh, it made him think of crumbling nations, or mothers weeping on the breasts of sons, and fathers dying for daughters.

'So how do I get this second chance'?

'You take my hand'

…..

When he opened his eyes that morning it was a typical winter day in Britain. Windy, wet and cold. He could tell all this from the sounds of the house creaking, he'd learnt to listen to the sounds of the house when he was stuck for days at a time in his cupboard under the stairs.

This morning was different though. The dream last night had been different. It had felt more real than normal. He'd dreamt that he had grown up, that he had gone to a strange school of magic… It was fading fast now though.

He lay there in bed with his eyes closed, desperately trying to hold on to the dream.

'Boy! Boy!'

There it was, he'd lost it.

'Boy get out here and help me cook' His Aunt always ruined his day.

As the day went on he kept trying to remember that dream. As he walked to school, then in his morning classes. Then after school as his cousin played his favourite game, chasing Harry. He ran around a corner thinking about how he had been able to fly in his dream, then the next thing he knew he was on the roof.

That caused a lot of problems, and another week in the cupboard. He would have thought it was impossible for him to have made it happen, but that dream…?

….

While he was in the cupboard he spent the whole time thinking about the dream, every night he had flashes of it in his sleep, but never as complete as before. He could remember that life, living somewhere else, a castle? A magical castle where the stairs never led to the same places and the paintings talked. Could it be real? Was this not his real home, in his dreams that castle felt far more like home…

Even when he was let out the cupboard he kept thinking this way, and he would escape from his cousin then when he was alone he would keep trying to fly again. This resulted in lots of scrapes and bruises. They of course went unnoticed by his Aunt.

Over the next few weeks he started to make improvements though, but he did wonder if he could just jump further than before.

…

Alastor knew something was wrong the second his wards told him Albus was outside. Albus would never come in person unless there was a catastrophe.

'Come in Albus' Alastor barked, not impolitely.

He could see the old Archmage's worry clearly in the set of his shoulders. First he went through all the niceties of small talk and drink, Albus would tell him when he was ready.

A few hours a couple of bottles of Bourdieu and half a scotch whiskey later and Albus finely told him.

'Something is wrong with The Boys wards.' No need to say which boy. 'They are failing'

Alastor looked sharply at the Archmage 'Someone is sapping them?'

'No I fear it is, He doesn't feel at home in that house.' Albus stared at his whiskey for some time. 'I don't know who else I can trust Alastor, I know you have your official ministry work as well…' Albus trailed off. 'Could you find the time to go have a look and work how a way to fix the problem?'

'Consider it done'

…..

It was a morning in early spring when it happened. His uncle took his cousin to go to a theme park. He was just cleaning up in the kitchen when the bell rang. He couldn't hear much of the conversation but he knew something wrong when he heard his aunt shouting. At first he thought she must be angry, but then he heard her sobbing. Could she be upset? What could have happened?

He kept cleaning up just in case she was angry, he didn't want that anger turned on him. It was just as he was wiping down the table, he was just stood on a chair to reach the middle, when she walked back in the room. She was pure white, and tottering.

'What's wrong Aunt Petunia?'

She walked up to him, collapsed to her knees and did something she had never done before. She hugged him, and if that hadn't been enough of a shock she wept into his chest.

He later found out that His uncle and cousin had had an accident on a ride, they had both died instantly.

….

It was after that event that everything changed. His Aunt put all the love and affection she had previously held for His Uncle and Cousin onto him. She cooked him breakfast, she cleaned up. After a few weeks she moved him into his Cousins old second room.

Every night he could hear her crying, and he would slip into her room and she would hug him and cry into his chest. He knew he should resent her for the way she had always treated him before, but he couldn't stand to see another person in so much pain.

During this time with all the upheavals he forgot about the dreams and it was a few more months before he thought anything about them again.

One day his aunt sat him down and said she had something she had to tell him.

'Harry, I haven't always been honest with you' She took a deep breath breathe before continuing. 'Your parents didn't die in a car crash'.

Then she told him everything.

Then he realised the dreams might have been more true than he had even dared to believe.

…

After the revelation

The dreams started again. No more clear than before, but they were there every night. Every morning he woke up remembering that he had dreamt, though most days he couldn't remember more than an odd sensation. A sensation, unlike anything else.

The sensation must be of using magic, he didn't know how he knew this, but when he had the thought he was certain that it was correct. After this realisation he spent every day trying to recreate the feeling. Trying to use magic.

….

She didn't want to remember. Everything hurt too much. A deep, burning, welling, tearing, excruciating pain. As if someone had reached down her throat and ripped her heart out, only so, so much worse. If she stopped, even for an instant though, her mind would drift back to her little Diddum's. No. She couldn't, she couldn't go there.

Night after night she thought of doing the unthinkable. She lay there for hours considering what she could do. How she could do the deed, where, when…

Then she remembered what happened next. Hell. She didn't want to go to hell, to where Lily had gone.

She needed to find a reason to live, something to focus her energy on. What could she live for? A cause, that was laughable. Relieve world hunger or some such nonsense. A complete waste of time. No, it would have to be something more substantial. Harry.

She didn't know where that ludicrous thought came from. The freak. He was a child though, just an innocent child…

He was that Witches child though. Exodus 22. 18 Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. She had been happy when she died. The letter said he would be one as well. Devil spawn, not worth the bread she fed him.

He was all that was left in her life though. Everyone else was gone.

Her inner turmoil lasted a long time. Days, weeks, months, she lost all track of time in her grief. She had to attend to the legal matters, then arrange the funeral, contact family, friends, employees the list went on and on.

It was the day of the funeral it happened, how she didn't know. An old man attended the funeral, old a weathered with grey hair and facial scars, and an eye-patch! She managed to muster the strength to go and demand why he was there.

"I'm Vernon's uncle, different mother." He said with a deep, gruff voice. When she gave him an incredulous look.

"Different Mother, the family didn't like to talk about me. Sent off to the army young." He gestured to his Scars.

She was going to enquire further, but she got dragged away by a wailing Aunt Marge.

It was later she hear a snippet of a conversation between the strange man and the Vicar.

'Strange how they had that accident, I heard it happened out of nowhere, they were driving down the M1 when the car turned into a ball of fire.'

'Well strange things have always happened that Petunia's family, her sister died in a car accident as well I heard'

'I heard about that, and then she adopted her nephew. She bought him here to be christened. I remember her muttering about him being a Witches son… I thought it was strange form of grief at the time…'

'Two accidents of the same nature with her family though… Maybe she is the Witch, and we should remember what the good book says. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live'

'Well the correct translation is Thou shalt not suffer an evil Witch to live. The word used is m'khashepah which has different interpretations...'

She couldn't listen to more. That was a mistranslation?

….

The next day she told Harry the truth about his parents.

….

She could tell he wanted to learn magic so badly. He would stare at nothing for a long time, then suddenly shout bizarre words that reminded her of Latin at her grammar school. Grammar school where she and… no she couldn't go down that route.

She had spent the last few days trying to remember everything she could about the Wit-Lily's School, but she had blanked most of it out. So she substituted by going to the local book store and buying Harry books on the Occult. Harry had been so surprised and pleased when he had received them. A few minutes later though, he came up to her with the smallest of the books and a dictionary.

'Aunt Petunia.' He looked nervous 'could you explain to me what this means?'

She quickly realised just how much She and… She had neglected his schooling before. At first she tried to help him through the books, but then she realised that he needed to start at a lower level. So she started back with his basic schooling. Quickly though she decided he needed expert help to catch him up.

She hired a private tutor for him.

…..

Harry learnt at an incredible rate under expert tutelage. The tutor said it was 'as if he was remembering a lesson from a past life'. What startled the tutor even more was when she performed the aptitude tests. While he scored high on most tests, he didn't score high enough to warrant his extreme ability to learn.

Learn he did though, it was only a few months before he could understand the Occult books she had bought him, and then he started to absorb more and more on such areas. None of it worked for him though. During this time he had advanced so far he was well ahead of his schooling. She debated removing him and having him wholly home tutored. The pastor advised against it though saying:

'The most important part of any childhood is learning how to make friends, and love one another.'

It was Harry who asked her to enroll him a school in the end, and he even knew which one he wanted to attend.

…

His personal tutor had taken him to the British Museum for the day. Teaching him all about colonial history, not his favourite topic. His tutor had told him to look around by himself for a little while.

He was wandering aimlessly looking at the statues when he felt a tingle. The tingle felt like one of those dreams. Concentrating he followed the sensation, walking down corridors and stairs, ducking under a rope to stop his way he kept walking down. The sensation became firmer the further he went.

Turning a corner he started hearing chanting. He couldn't understand the words, but he could tell the feeling. Power. There was power, no magic, gathering over there.

He crept down the passage, and put his ear to the door he found at the end. The chanting was much more distinct. Latin maybe. He was scared now. So close to real magic. What would happen when he pushed the door open?

He stood there indecisive for a few minutes, listening to the chanting continue. Feeling the flow of the power, feeling it pulse and change with the chant, against the chant. As the chant started to crescendo it was no longer just a feeling, he could taste the magic, hear the magic, and see the magic even though there was a door in the way. He lost himself to the flow.

Without realizing what he was doing he walked into the room. He was swept up by the cadence, and it was all he could do to stay in his own body.

He felt empty when the chanting stopped. Then he realized where he was, and everyone was staring at him and muttering to one another.

'Who is the boy' said a feminine voice.

'I don't know who he is, but could you feel the power he was emanating' an older man's voice this time. 'So child, you have talent, and what brings you here?'

Harry started realizing this one was directed at him.

'I, I don't know. I could just feel… Something. It was amazing, what was that?' Harry had always had the feeling he should hide his dreams.

'Magic.' Said the old man's voice, tersely.

'Can you teach me?'

…..

The headmaster came to talk to her, telling her how Harry had found them in the Museum practicing.

'Normally we don't take students who can be wand wizards.' Said Max, the headmaster. 'Most children of that age aren't so in touch with their magic, and once they start learning to use a wand… well they are no longer interested in our style of magic.'

'Your style of Magic? What do you mean?' She said.

'You don't know? Harry said your sister was a wand witch?' He smoothed his mustache.

'I'm not though, and what do you mean by wand witch?' She rebutted.

'Well, there are different style of magic, Hierarchies might be a better way of thinking of it. Wand magic being the top, the most powerful and versatile, with the lowest being fairground psychics and martial artists.'

She couldn't help but fixate on his hands playing with his silly mustache the whole time.

'So what will you teach Harry then' She said.

'Well let's go back a few steps, I won't be Harry's teacher, I administrate the school, but my own talents are… somewhat inadequate. We have a much more capable teacher for Harry.' Max raised a hand to stop her interrupting 'also not all the school learns magic, in any given year we have no more than a handful of students in the whole school who can learn.'

…

It was his first day. He was so excited. He was going to learn magic at last.

Petunia had explained to him how it was different to the magic his mum had used. That didn't matter though. It was Magic. Real Magic.

'Now Harry, behave yourself' Said Petunia, hugging him and giving him a kiss on the cheek, adjusting the tie of his new uniform, black trousers with a scarlet blaser.

He kept looking around at the students who walked past them trying to guess which ones could use magic. Petunia knocked on the headmaster's door. Opening it and leading them in when he indicated.

'So Harry, we meet again.' He played with the edge of his mustache.

'Yes Headmaster,' and after a nudge from his Aunt 'Thank you for accepting me.'

'Well, well, more polite this time, I can take him from hear Petunia.' And so the rest of Harry's life began.

He followed the mustache down the corridor, down another flight of stairs. The old man talked the whole time, explaining the school, its history, various rooms and functions.

'This will be your class Harry, the others aren't magical so don't talk about it to them' the headmaster knocked on the door 'Mr. Adams, you're new student'

'So you are Harry' This new man was tall and lean, with closely cropped white hair, and piercing blue eyes that looked like they could see your soul. 'There is an empty desk for you over there.'

He gestured to the far end of the room, next to a window. Harry walked past the other students desks, all lined up facing the blackboard in the front of the room.

The other students kept glancing at him as the teacher introduced him and then started the day's lessons. The headmaster had given Harry a timetable as they had come to the classroom. In this school he was with the same class for every lesson. Then at the end of the day he had an extra-curricular marked down- Talent awakening, was that the magic lesson then.

In the break he chatted to the boy in front of him, and at lunch he got to know the other boys in the class. He couldn't give them his whole attention though, all he could concentrate on was the idea of the class at the end of the day. Finally Magic.

Finally the end of the day came. A girl put her head around the corner 'Harry could you come with me?'

'Hi Harry, my names Becca!' Said the girl enthusiastically. She talked all the way up to the clubroom. 'Well this is it!'

Harry walked in, he noticed around 5 other students and Mr. Adams in the room.

Mr. Adams set Becca a task, then turned to talk to Harry.

'Everyone learns Magic at a different pace, so I will give you exercises to practice. Learning Magic is a slow process, you will become impatient, you will try and run before you can walk, when this happens you will trip and fall. Now come here. Take this ball, hold it at arm's length and walk around the room until I tell you to stop.'

Harry did what he was told, he was shocked though. How could this be magic? He kept walking until his arms ached, until he could barely hold them up.

'Concentrate on your breathing child' Mr. Adams barked.

So Harry concentrated on his breathing. He found he could walk longer, and he could feel his muscle shifting in his arms, feel how the way his moved his legs and held his back affected it. He tried changing the way he moved and it helped, then as he continued, as his muscles were so sore he could barely move, he started to feel something. He lost it though as his muscles spasmed and he dropped the ball.

'Impressive' Mr. Adams said.

Looking up at Mr. Adams he noticed everyone else had already gone. 'How can that teach me Magic Sir?' Asked Harry.

Mr. Adams gave him a dismissive glance 'The easiest magic to use is inner energy, after this the rest comes easier'

Mr. Adams made him stretch then sent him downstairs to his Aunt, with instructions to stare at a candle and try to stop thinking about anything for as long as he could that night.

….

The next couple of years passed with Harry learning under Mr. Adams tutelage. Studying the inner flow of energy, with every day the feeling came easier. Then there were the mental exercises, meditation, abstract reasoning. Mr. Adams explanation was that 'Expression of inner energy is gained by use of body and mind, this is the first level of Magic.'

Mr. Adams gave Harry books to read, on Magic theory, and on the graphic language of magic, commonly called runes, which was the precursor to Hebrew.

This continued until the day there was a knock on the door.

...

Author's note.

This story is meant to be a rewrite with a twist. The story will contain some original characters, lots of original ideas and insertions, as well as rewriting of old character personalities. While it is a rewrite, the next chapter should cover book 1 and 2 and then the story will be almost completely non-cannon.

I will try and finish the second chapter in the next week or so, but I am in the middle of applying for jobs so there are no promises.

Also I will probably rewrite sections of this chapter as I write the next chapter, sorry about that.