Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter Universe. All recognizable characters, plots, and settings are the exclusive property of Joanne Kathleen Rowling.

I make no claims to ownership nor am I making any profit.

Type: Self-Insert OC Fanfic

Pairings: Not decided yet.

Author's Note: I'll be taking a lot of liberty with some of the canon knowledge of events and certain facts have been liberally changed to better facilitate the plot of the story.

Special thanks to Calamity, AJAvenger01, and Madness Immortality & Magic for being the betas for the chapter.

Also, special thanks to 1Valor1 for his considerate help in verifying the facts of the story along with the members of the entire Valor Book Club Discord Server. Their efforts are highly appreciated.

I give my credits to the author of A Broken Victory for the inspirations for the chapter. It's a Tom Riddle-centric story and one of the best fics I've ever read.

Sortes Qui Facit

by

Ares Alexander Potter

Year1: Rising Powers and Sorcerer's Stone

Prologue

The Real World

Unknown Location

Circa 2021

-Diary Entry-

I don't feel like I've much left in myself. As I faithfully bare myself open in the pages of this diary, I know with certainty that it won't ever betray what it holds within itself. I've no trust left in humanity anymore.

"It's consistently the very hubris that is so deeply ingrained inside our conscience that it will lead to our downfall."

I knew from the beginning that I was unique. It's not amazing when I express that life was never that kind to me. My childhood was not that awful, all things considered. However, we regularly dread what we can't comprehend so it's nothing unexpected that I grew up hating people. Nobody to trust and nobody to go to. The weight of things stored inside me growing each day, gradually pushing me towards my damnation.

My strings of belief and morality shreds with the same certainty as to the rising of the sun in the sky.

So many facades, so many faces, but then again, I don't have a clue anymore regarding what my genuine self resembles.

Hope and prayers left unanswered, abandoned, while anger and rage have made me stronger.

I do ponder about Gods some of the time. What, you don't?

An identity, a supernatural force, a salvation, or simply an idea created by people to create significantly more sheep. I do ponder whether divine beings have made us or whether we are their founders. All things considered, names do have power, and belief in something quite often prompts it to occur. Regardless, I am not revealing to you my perspectives concerning religion. Everybody is entitled to have their opinions as long as we don't impose them on others.

So these are the things that I have left nowadays to confide in. A little piece of black leather, a pen that faithfully transforms my emotions into words, and some worn pages smeared with ink.

My smears, my words, my thoughts, my voice, my story, my life before me.

What does it hold?

A version of the story of my life. An account faithfully kept inside me for such a long time. However, it is not more genuine than the memories themselves. Truth can become more factual with age when emotions ease and a distant perspective takes hold.

Maybe I look for madness, or is it simply an honest perspective? Nonetheless, its harsh intensity will falter even the most stable of gazes. I'll never deny anyone to have a look - curiosity is a sin and some sins need to be sated.

What is my ultimate purpose? I know not.

Notwithstanding, I realize my thoughts are not something that everybody can digest so I'll ask you to proceed with caution.

There are my thoughts, and I'll stand by them forever.

My thoughts, my truths, my ideals, my perspective, my pain, and my rage.

Death terrifies me like nothing ever has; It's the inexplicable, the inescapable.I once did possess a sliver of hope that it would never come to this. But I've been carrying these burdens inside me for far too long.

Perhaps my life was destined to end this way. Dying all alone, friendless and miserable with no one to shed a single tear on my grave. Just another forgotten person in the vast pages of history.

Maybe I'll discover some comfort and acceptance in Death's domain. Yet, it might just be the last wishes of a broken person.

So I do hope to find something on the other side.

A noisy gunfire, blood splattered on the white marble floor and everything was finished.

All that was left was a puppet, with its string cut yet a peaceful grin plastered over his face.

Sometimes, the end is the only option we can embrace.

But it's not the end that matters, We can often find new beginnings arising from the ashes of endings.

Provided that my situation was an anomaly, It matters not. What matters is the journey, the rise, the rebirth.

"It's our choices that define what we truly are, far more than our abilities" -Albus Dumbledore.

Stories may be set in fictional worlds and we often desire to make them our reality.

What happens when a fictional world replaces the real world for someone. Despite knowing the endings, we sometimes truly want to change them entirely.

I, as an author, am not a very optimistic person. I consider myself human. I know we all have our best and worst within us. It's what we choose to embrace.

Good and Evil debate has been passed through eons and will be passed through eons.

However, we're not here to discuss morality.

We all can often be cruel. Words are no less powerful than magic wands. They can work as an Episkey, a Crucio, an Imperio, or even an Avada Kedavra.

My only message is to read this fic with an open mind. One of the very few things I pride myself on is being open-minded and I urge you to do the same.

A Self-Insert Reincarnation fanfiction from the viewpoint of an OC.

I gave you my story above, but perhaps we should dive into the action now.

And if you don't like it, feel free to flame me. I'll make sure to burn the whole world down with it.