I first regained my memories when I was three years old, playing in the park. No, that wasn't correct. I only regained parts of my memory when I was three years old. I remembered information, I remembered having a past life, but I do not remember anything about the past life. My name, my age, my gender. . . I had forgotten it all. However, if I had to guess, I would say that when I died, I had been relatively young because the first words out of my mouth when the memories resurfaced were "Fucking hell, where the actual fuck am I?"

Needless to say, the old lady sitting on the bench next to me was scandalized beyond all belief. But in a way, it didn't matter. After all, my name had already been bad-mouthed and smeared into oblivion by my dear family, so seeing me cuss out loud wasn't too much of a surprise. It didn't stop her from informing my aunt gleefully though.

And now I stand in the living room, being yelled at by my aunt and awaiting for my uncle to return home so he could inflict punishment onto me.

Oh. I should mention. My name is Harry Potter.

XxX

"How dare you embarrass us like that?!" Petunia screeched in an annoyingly high pitch. I winced, partly because I can't stand irritating noises - I may have been a musician in my past life - and partly because I was still coming to terms with the fact that my name was Harry Potter.

Harry Potter's memories, the actual three-year-old's, had merged with my own. Fortunately, his personality and overall mental age didn't merge; otherwise, I would be nowhere near as eloquent as I am now. It also had the added bonus of allowing me to not instantly burst into tears at Petunia's tirade.

"I mean, really! We give you food, we give you clothes, we give you a roof over your head, and this is how you repay us?!"

I frowned in confusion. Was she still talking to me? I mean, she should've clearly seen that I had stopped bothering to pay attention to her about three seconds into her righteous rant.

At any rate, I was somewhat nervous for Vernon's entrance. From what I knew of Harry Potter, he was abused by his family. I dearly hoped that Vernon wouldn't be one of. . . those abusers, if you know what I mean. I can handle having the shit beaten out of me; I cannot handle having the shit beaten back into me.

But honestly, I wasn't very scared. After all, I knew that I was a wizard. I had magic. And, more importantly, I had knowledge.

XxX

"Petunia dear? What's wrong?" Vernon asked as he walked into the living room, a frown on his face.

Petunia finally took a breath and I silently breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps I truly had been a musician in my past life because her voice physically pained me. "Vernon, you won't believe what the freak did!"

I blinked. Did she just call me a freak? I distinctly recalled her begging to be let in Hogwarts. I chuckled humorlessly. What a hypocrite.

Unfortunately, they heard. "What's so funny, boy?" Vernon growled.

I tilted my head. "Nothing, nothing. It's just that - well." and I chuckled once more for dramatic effect. "Considering how she literally begged the Headmaster to be let into the school of freaks, I thought it was pretty hilarious."

Petunia paled. "H-how did you know about that?"

I shrugged. "My godfather, Sirius Black told me."

Her eyes bulged out. "What?"

I smirked. "Recognize the name? Sirius Black, the heir to the House of the Ancient and Noble Black, the Morning Star, the Final Solution. Also a wizard, a prankster, and a sex god - in orders of increasing importance, of course. Although you may know him for another reason: he's also a mass murderer who killed hundreds of people while serving the Dark Lord Voldemort."

. . . yeah, I was just bullshitting with all my might at this point. I had a reason for it though; you see, in a battle, it's good to always keep the opposition destabilized. Once you break their mentals, then you win the war. It's as simple as that. And being as magic-phobic as the Dursleys were, I knew that this would unsettle them a lot.

"You. . . you know what you are?" Petunia breathed in horror.

I inclined my head. "Of course. I'm a wizard."

Vernon snarled. "No you're not."

"I. . . am."

"You're not."

"Denying reality wouldn't make it any less true."

A dark look appeared in Vernon's eyes. "You are not a wizard, because I will beat it out of you."

He advanced towards me, unbuckling his belt. My eyes grew impossibly wide at that action. "WAIT!"

Vernon paused. "What is it, freak?"

"Are you going to use that belt to beat the everliving shit out of me?" Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.

Vernon nodded. "Of course."

False alarm, we're good, we're good.

"So I guess you're just going to ignore the fact that if you lay a single finger on me, my godfather will quite literally curse you to be in massive pain for the rest of your short and miserable life?" I didn't even blink as I bluffed. Damn, I was good.

Vernon froze. "Ah. That."

I nodded. "Yes. That. Now, if you wish to remain a bipedal creature, I suggest you leave me the hell alone. I'm leaving."

"What?" Petunia spoke up.

"You heard me." I turned around and headed for the cupboards to gather up some food. Bread, water, some apples - "Holy shit, don't you have any real food in here? Where the hell is the sushi, or bacon, or instant ramen packets?"

Petunia ignored that. "What do you mean you're leaving?"

"Are you mentally damaged?" I grabbed a bottle of water and a single apple then headed for the door. "It's not a hard concept to understand. I'm going to leave you, like how you left intelligence and sanity the moment you decided to set down the knife and not end your worthless life."

Don't worry, I am self-aware enough to know just how toxic I sounded at the moment. Remember, however, that I was simply trying to destabilize them and keep them confused and angry and irrational - although they didn't really need any help in doing that.

The door opened before I could get there and a small boy stepped. Dudley. "Hey freak, where are you going?"

I smiled brightly. "It's people like you who make me regret Hitler lost the war." I turned around to face them one last time. "Good bye."

And I left with nothing but the clothes on my back, a bottle of water, and an apple.

XxX

Perhaps I should've stayed. Accepted their punishment. But I couldn't bear to do that because it would've been a constant reminder of how weak I was. I needed to get strong. Really damn strong. Staying with a bunch of magic-phobic idiots would only hinder me in that.

I suppose I sound rather illogical. But see, here's the thing. I already died once. I have no intentions of dying again - ever. Until the sun explodes or something, but let's not focus on semantics. With Voldemort and his Death Eaters after me, I couldn't afford to stay weak and helpless. But more importantly, I wanted to be at the top. I wanted to have an overwhelming power that would allow me to defeat my enemies with a simple wave of my hand - or wand.

And I would do anything to attain it.

But before all that, I needed a place to sleep. I was essentially homeless, and it would be pretty embarrassing to be picked up by the police and dropped back at the Dursleys. But what could I do? Where could I go?

Diagon Alley. The name appeared in my mind in a flash, and I instantly knew that was where I needed to be. There, I could get my money. With money, I could do anything.

But how was I supposed to get there? I couldn't exactly hitchhike - I was only three years old, after all. I bit my lip as I thought it over before shrugging. It's time for some old-fashioned breaking and entering.

XxX

Easy. It was too easy. The door hadn't even been locked. To call it breaking and entering would be an insult to actual thieves and burglars.

I ambled into Arabella Figg's house, wrinkling my nose at the odor. The woman was asleep - she had to be. It was about two in the morning. I made my way to her fireplace and smirked. I was correct. She had green powder in a can. Floo powder.

I spotted a box of matches on a table and within seconds, there was a flame roaring in the fireplace. I could hear the woman stirring from her sleep, so I wasted no time tossing in a handful of Floo powder, stepping into the green flames, and shouting, "Diagon Alley!"

The sensation was decidedly unpleasant. I exited, spinning and attempting to keep myself from landing sprawled out on the ground. With some difficulty, I regained my balance and looked around me. Only a few stores were still open. One of them was Gringotts. I grinned.

I made my way over and entered the imposing building. Inside, it was still brightly lit, albeit completely empty.

I approached a teller with a smile on my face. "Good evening, sir."

He scowled. "Kid, what do you want?"

"Money," I replied simply. "My name's Harry Potter, and I want access to my Gringott's account."

He snorted. "Yeah, right. Who're you trying to fool? Go back to your parents. . ." he trailed off slowly as I lifted my hair and showed him my scar. "Apologies, Mr. Potter. Someone will be with you right away."

I blinked in shock. That was enough for a positive ID? What sort of bank was this? I paused. A bank that had a complete monopoly over the money supply of the entire European Wizarding World and by extension the economy itself. Needless to say, with that much power, they probably didn't care if a single wizard lost a few hundred Galleons in identity theft.

I idly wondered if the wizards even knew how powerful the goblins were. Probably not; I doubted any of them had even heard of Keynesian or Austrian economics.

Although would it even apply? The Wizarding World didn't really operate like a normal economy; the majority of jobs were Ministry workers, with a relatively small percentage being shop owners. There weren't any factory workers or farmers or anything like that.

At any rate, a goblin soon came up to me. "You're Harry Potter?"

I nodded. "And you are?"

He looked surprised. "You care?"

I shrugged. "Of course, sir." I didn't care, of course, but being polite never hurt anyone.

His eyes widened. "Yo guys!" He shouted. "Change of plans! This might actually be Harry Potter!"

A bunch of goblins groaned and I caught a few of them discreetly putting some things away, presumably weapons.

I blinked. "What?"

He grinned. "Apologies, but there have been people who disguised themselves and attempted to rob the Potters before. Fortunately, those people aren't exactly the intelligent sort - which is why they tried to rob Gringotts, I suppose. The fact that you appear coherent and well-spoken means that you're probably not attempting to rob Gringotts."

"And me being polite was enough to convince you that I'm truly Harry Potter?" I asked incredulously.

His eyebrows rose up. "Would a thief be polite?"

A good one would, I mentally thought. A good one would use his charisma and charm to talk his way in and then leave without anyone suspecting him. But on the surface, I simply nodded. "I see."

"My name is Gorsuck. I presume you don't have your key with you?"

"No," I admitted. "You see, I had been living with muggles all this time."

At this, Gorsuck frowned confusedly but didn't say anything.

"I only recently left them," I continued, "And I am in dire need of funds."

He tilted his head. "Then too bad. Without your key, I can't let you into the vault."

"What? Don't you have some blood potion test or something to confirm my identity?"

Gorsuck chuckled. "Do you realize just how much those cost and how difficult it is to make one? At Gringotts, we like to keep it simple. You either have a key, or you get the hell out."

I nodded slowly. "Fine. How much?"

His eyes glinted. "Now we're talking. For five Galleons, I can get you to your vault."

"Deal."

XxX

Eighty-seven Galleons. That was the amount that it took me to get to the Potter vault - or rather, the trust vault. Gorsuck charged me for everything - opening the vault, directing the roller coaster, getting off the cart, hell, he even charged me for breathing the underground air. I wasn't allowed to enter the main vault, and when I asked why, Gorsuck only gave me a funny look and didn't elaborate further.

There was enough money in my trust to pay off Gorsuck, with a little extra. "Y'know, you're a hard-working goblin. Here, take these as a token of my appreciation." It never hurt to keep a goblin happy - especially if you're currently in their territory with no witnesses around.

He pocketed the extra Galleons with a smile on his face. "I knew I liked you."

"Really?"

"No."

XxX

I exited Gringotts a richer man and made my way over to the Leaky Cauldron. I paused at the brick door. I didn't have a wand. I did, however, have my fists, and began pounding loudly on the wall.

After a few seconds, the brick wall opened to reveal an annoyed bartender. "What are you - " he was cut off when he didn't see anything.

"Down here," I sighed. Being a kid was slightly annoying.

He lowered his gaze. "Kid, what are you doing out there?"

"I'm not a kid," I rolled my eyes. "Spell gone wrong, and I lost my wand. I need a place to stay." I held up a Galleon. "You got a room for me? One without any talking items, preferably?"

"Ah, I see. Man that sucks," he walked over to the behind the bar and got a key. I entered the Leaky Cauldron. Even at this late hour, there were a few people drinking. "Here's your key. Room number 304. There aren't any talking mirrors or dressers in that room. Have a nice night, sir."

"Thank you."

XxX

In my room all by myself, I finally allowed myself to relax. I had money. I had food. I had shelter. Everything was good.

. . .

Holy fuck I am Harry Potter!

What the actual fuck happened? How the hell am I in the body of a fictional character?! Is this a hallucination? Am I insane?

But then again, even if I was insane, who cares? What even is reality anyways? It's all subjective. This may not be the real world, but right now, I'm living in it anyways, so I'll treat it as real.

Holy fuck I have magic.

The realization slammed into me fully right there. I had magic.

Hmm. . . I raised my hand and tried to summon light to my palm. Nothing happened. I narrowed my eyes. "Lumos." Nothing happened.

I sighed. Apparently, I'm not a prodigy in wandless magic.. My eyes snapped open. Unless. . .

XxX

I would assume that I'm not a normal human by any means. Not only because I was reincarnated as a wizard, but also because my personality was. . . distorted, to put in a lack of better terms. My entire being is driven forward by a single goal: get stronger. I might have once enjoyed playing the piano or painting a picture, but right now, the only thing that brought me any semblance of happiness was the thought of being the strongest.

My sense of what is right and wrong, my sense of morality altogether seems to have vanished. Quite frankly, if I was physically able enough, I may very well have stabbed Vernon and Petunia with a kitchen knife.

Similarly, as I lay lying on the bed staring at my bare stomach, I felt no revulsion or fear whatsoever as I held a knife to my skin, prepared to drive it through. A normal human would have their instincts and intuition screaming at them to put the knife away. For me, however, every instinct in my body was telling me to do it.

I'm not insane though, I promise. For you see, I am already well aware that a person can be extremely powerful by trying to suppress their magical energy due to pain and suffering, such as in the case of Arianna Dumbledore. By repressing her magic, her magic grew infinitely more powerful - but in the process, she also lost control.

If consciously trying to repress magic due to pain and suffering would lead to a person gaining massive magical strength, then conversely, the opposite must also be true. Trying to force out magic with pain and suffering should also lead to the person growing stronger.

Of course, this had a chance of backfiring and causing me to lose control of my magic forever, but. . . well, I confess, I am rather impatient. Waiting eight years to go to Hogwarts would probably kill me, and if I went to any wizarding family, not only would they not teach me but they'd probably send me to Dumbledore who would then send me right back to the Dursleys.

However, for added effectiveness. . . I angled the knife so it would cut several vital arteries. If my magic fails to react or do anything, then I will die, slowly bleeding out. Humans have a tendency to act in the extreme when they're in mortal peril, and I'm counting on the fact that magic would rise up and do something.

It was an all-or-nothing type of deal. Would I die? Perhaps. But it's a risk I'm willing to take.

I shut my eyes and tried to seek out my magic within me. I felt nothing. So instead, I mentally visualised a core within me, filled to the brim with magic and waiting to be unleashed. My eyes were closed as the magic slowly built up against the walls of the core, the pressure growing until it cracked and I tried with all the mental willpower I had to summon my magic -

And I drove the knife into my stomach, twisting it for a good measure.

Immediately, I knew I had made a mistake. It hurt. It hurt so damn bad. But the thought of being weak, of someone being better than me, hurt even worse and so I endured it. I idly wondered what a psychologist would think of me. Clinically insane, probably, with a dash of superiority complex.

Throughout it all, I called upon my magic. I envisioned that there was a dragon inside of me - a little cliche, perhaps, but a dragon was the first magical thing I thought of - ready to be unleashed. Every ounce of will, every bit of determination and tenacity was focused on making my magic come out.

And then, just as I began blacking out and thoughts of failure invaded my mind (I fucking stabbed myself for nothing and now I'm dead again) - a new pain overtook me. The room around me shook - that's an understatement; it began to fucking implode on itself. Glass cracked, furniture outright disintegrated, and the roof threatened to cave in on me as my magic exploded outward.

Unlike before, this pain existed solely in my mind, and it was the worst god damned pain I had ever experienced. It was as if someone was carpet-bombing my brain with fucking nukes. I could barely think. The only distorted thought that remained in my head was that I had to become stronger and live.

And then it was all over. The intense acute pain died down to a manageable ache in my head. I let out a groan of protest as I touched my stomach - and then froze. I looked down. There was nothing. No wound. Not even a scar. It was all healed.

It. . . it worked.

It was just then that I noticed something else. I could feel something within me, something I hadn't felt before. A pleasant warmth that had the potential to turn into a raging inferno. Was this my magic?

I held up a single finger and willed light to appear. It didn't work.

. . .

Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! So my magic only healed me, huh? I stabbed myself for fucking nothing! Damn it! Damn it damn it damn - wait what?

The pleasant warmth inside me surged up my arm and burst out in the form of a small floating light.

I stared at it, utterly transfixed.

A wild smile of absolute euphoria spread on my face.

I did it. I fucking did it.

They say that if you fail, you're brilliantly insane; if you succeed, you're insanely brilliant.

And right now, it was as clear as day which one I was.

XxX

I was initially somewhat confused as to why Tom hadn't come up here to investigate the commotion. Then I realized that the rooms were probably soundproofed. It was a good thing, because I immediately began laughing for about a minute straight.

Oh, I had my magic. Even better, unlike those who forcibly repressed their magic, I had control over my magic - excellent control, in fact. I experimented trying out different things: creating flames on the palm of my hand, forming a shield, conjuring up crystals. . . I succeeded in everything.

I felt my lips quirk up slightly. If this is what I had accomplished with just one life-or-death experience, then I wondered what I could do with more.

Any sane individual would accept their newfound power and just go home happy. For me, however, the thought that I could grow stronger still. . . I mentioned that I had a distorted personality, didn't I? My view of the world was completely warped. I was consumed with the urge to become the strongest, to become omnipotent, to become God -

I stopped myself there. It was one thing to have a small superiority complex, it was another thing to have a God-complex. I wasn't ready for that. Yet.

Against all reason and logic, I raised the knife again. My instincts, my intuition were all telling me to stab myself, to go through the terrible pain again so I could come out stronger in the end.

And so I did.

XxX

And again.

XxX

And again.

XxX

And again.

XxX

And again.

XxX

And every single time, it fucking hurt.

XxX

I collapsed on the bed, both physically and mentally exhausted. I would have kept on going, but I had to consider the Law of Diminishing Marginal Utility. Besides, even my distorted and warped personality had its limits.

Every time I stabbed myself and willed my magic to come out, the pain almost tore my mind apart and the only thing that kept me sane was my insanity.

But in the end. . . I chuckled and raised my hand up to the ceiling.

It was worth it.

That was about the time when I passed out.

XxX

I woke up and tried to sit up, but I was unable to move. Or rather, there was something preventing me from moving.

You're awake.

I tried to reply or do anything, but nothing worked; my muscles simply refused to obey. I couldn't even turn my head to see who was speaking.

Don't worry, I can hear what you're thinking.

I grew still at that. Legilimency. Fuck. This was not good.

It's not Legilimency either. I'm a part of you; it's only natural that I can hear your thoughts.

A part of - what the hell are you?!

The voice hummed in thought. In the most simple terms, I am your magic.

Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. Magic wasn't sentient. There has never been any records of a person's magic becoming alive.

Ah, the voice said amusedly. But you see, people don't generally have a shard of someone's soul in their heads.

. . . fuck. You're Voldemort, aren't you.

Not really. It's fairly hard to explain what happened, but after your multiple suicide attempts last night -

Hey, they weren't suicide attempts. They were calculated risks I took.

If that's the case, then please never gamble. At any rate, your magic - well, I don't even know how to describe it. It devastated your entire being, and quite frankly, I do not know how you survived. I suppose the soul shard felt the damage done to your being and it must have tried to take over your body. Fortunately, it was unable to do anything against the overwhelming flow of magic and was successfully beaten back, and in the process, the magic managed to absorb parts of the soul shard.

What.

In essence, I am your magic that gained sentience through absorbing parts of Voldemort's personality, memories, and knowledge. Not all of it, of course; every time your magic spiraled out of control, I only absorbed a small fragment, but I received enough to become sentient.

Well. Shit. I didn't know that could happen. So you're my magic, huh? I guess you're mad that I stabbed myself and tried to force you out repeatedly?

Fuming, my magic agreed. There was a very good chance that you would have died, and even if you didn't, there was also the possibility of you causing irreparable damage to your magic and body - in fact, I am still not entirely certain that you are healthy. In fact, the only reason why you maintained control was because of me. Once I absorbed enough, I was able to reign in your magic - myself - and keep you from self-destructing.

So I have you to thank for me not dying?

Indeed.

Huh. Well, thanks, I guess.

You're very welcome.

So. . . are you going to let me get up anytime soon?

Not until you promise to never pull a stunt like that ever again.

. . . fine. I promise.

Good.

And just like that, I was able to move again. I sat up calmly - then grimaced. I was filthy. The bed was filthy. There was dried blood everywhere. Sighing, I strolled over to the bathroom and took a shower.

"So, what should I call you?" Speaking in my mind was just weird.

I don't have a name. I'm your magic.

"Fair enough," I shrugged before stepping out the shower and toweling off. I finished the rest of my business quickly and then walked back into the room and stared at the bed. "This looks like a scene from a low-budget horror movie."

I waved my hand, willing the bloodstains to disappear. A second later, all the blood vanished. I smiled. Magic was awesome.

Thank you.

I frowned. "Hold on. Who did that?"

Explain?

"You said you were sentient, right? So did you just read my thoughts and vanish the blood? Or did I consciously control you?"

Does it matter?

"Kind of, yeah. I mean, what if I try to do something you don't like? Would you be able to refuse my command and stop my magic?"

Yes.

"Oh. Are you ever going to betray me?"

Why would I? I am your magic. Besides, if you die, I die. And I don't want to die. Ever.

I chuckled. "You and me both."

XxX

I picked up a newspaper. I wished to find out information about my current time. My eyes scanned the headlines - and then I promptly froze in shock.

BOY-WHO-LIVED DEMONSTRATES GREAT KNOWLEDGE OF MAGIC

I quickly scanned the rest of the paper. Daniel Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, had attended an interview with his parents, James and Lily Potter. In that interview, Daniel Potter showed a tremendous ability in being able to. . . remember how to say incantations. And that's it.

I set down the paper. It appears that I'm not in canon Harry Potter. I have a sibling. A twin, if I'm not mistaken. And he was mistakenly identified as the Boy-Who-Lived. More importantly, my parents are alive. And they abandoned me to the Dursleys.

I absentmindedly wondered how the actual Harry Potter's memories didn't contain any of this - although he probably just forgot. He was abandoned when he was just one year old, after all, and I doubt he would be able to remember anything from that time.

Or maybe it's just because not all of Harry Potter's memories merged with mine. That could also be it.

But anyways. . . what the fuck. Why was I sent to the Dursleys?! What reason could they possibly have had?!

This did, however, explain why Dumbledore didn't come rushing over the second I left the Dursleys. His trinkets didn't warn him that the blood wards broke because there were no blood wards.

Wait, what the fuck? How did James and Lily live? Was Voldemort still out there? Were the Death Eaters disbanded? Why the hell did Dumbledore think Daniel was the Boy-Who-Lived and not me?

I had hundreds of questions and no way to answer them.

However. . . I sat back and composed myself. This was fine. This was a good thing, actually. I was free to do whatever the hell I wanted. It's not like they would look for me; I doubt the Dursleys would tell them anything. There would be no spotlight on me, no expectations, nothing.

But holy hell, I can't believe the Potters actually just flat-out abandoned Harry. I mean, what the fuck? Who does that?

Harry, I suggest -

"Don't call me that please. Call me Master or something." I ignored the confused and slightly worried look the bartender gave me.

Very well. Master - I grinned - we should leave this area. Some of them may recognize you.

I nodded. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking." I set down my fork and flipped the bartender a Galleon. "Thank you for the meal. I'll get going now, to reverse this potion accident. Or something."

"Good luck, sir," Tom said. "Have a nice day."

I left the Leaky Cauldron without looking back. "Do you think I should get a wand?" I muttered under my breath since I was now walking among normal muggles.

Not from there. All of Ollivander's wands have the Trace on them.

"Oh right. I forgot about that." I sighed dejectedly. "So, where should I go?"

I do not know.

I frowned as I considered my options. Then I smirked. I knew exactly where I should go.

XxX

"Hello, Vernon, Petunia, Dudley. I'm back, and this time, I have a friend."

I couldn't help but relish the horror in their eyes when they saw a massive phantom behind me - a simple illusion.

"Now, let's lay down some ground rules."

XxX

Several days later.

My eyes widened in shock as I entered the bedroom and saw a girl waiting for me. She was beautiful, inhumanly so. Black hair, green eyes, flawless skin. I couldn't tell how old she was - I assume she was in her late teens, seventeen, eighteen years old.

"Who are you?"

She smiled. "Good afternoon, Master."

No. It can't be. "Are you my magic?"

She nodded. "I am."

I blinked. "Okay. So why is my magic suddenly a human girl sitting on my bed?"

"I am merely creating an illusion in your mind that allows you to see and hear me," she replied. "To anyone else, you are simply talking to thin air."

I paused before walking over and touching her skin. It was warm and soft. "Whoa. You're good. This genuinely feels real."

She smiled. "Thank you. I had thought it would be easier for you to talk to someone you can actually see and hear. It did take me quite some time to get this correct though; the first few times, I failed and you blacked out."

"That was you?!"

She ignored me. "I admit, I didn't know what form to take, so I simply mixed together elements of your appearance and Voldemort's."

Hold on a second. "But we're both men."

She nodded. "Yes."

"But you're a girl."

She shrugged. "I thought it would be easier for you to talk to a beautiful girl."

I chuckled. "Your modesty is astounding."

She smiled in return and I involuntarily drew in a breath at the sight. All banter aside, she truly was gorgeous. "I learned from my Master."

And at that moment, I cursed the fact that I was only physically three years old.

XxX

That wasn't the only thing my magic could do. As the years passed by, she continued advancing and improving, constantly pushing against the limits of reality itself. And during all that, I just sat by and watched. I didn't need to do a thing. My magic was self-evolving, continually growing stronger and more versatile and efficient all by herself.

I idly wondered if I should refer to it as "she" or "it". But after seeing her as a girl, calling her an "it" would be rather dehumanizing.

"I don't think I need to point out the irony in that statement."

I had suffered through ungodly amounts of pain and suffering to get to this point. But it was worth it. I mean, sure, I would become unresponsive now and then as my entire body shut down temporarily, but it always returned to normal in the end.

"Master, you're a little too casual of the fact that you enter total organ failure every other week."

"Oh please. The pain may make me want to kill myself, but in the end, you always heal me."

She sighed. "I told you that what you did could cause irreparable damage to your body. All power comes with a price. You were lucky this time. But you may not be next time, so please, don't do anything too idiotic again."

"I won't, don't worry."

Naturally, I didn't go to school. School catered to the middle of the bell curve, and I was so many standard deviations above it that it wasn't even funny. Hell, I was more intelligent than the teachers. Compared to me, they might as well be mentally ill.

"Careful now, Master. Your superiority complex is showing."

I spent most of my time up in my bedroom - although it can't exactly be called a room anymore. It didn't take long for my magic to master space-expansion charms.

Dudley, Petunia, and Vernon didn't bother me anymore. They tried once. Just once. Now, they do their best to pretend I don't exist, avoiding me at all costs. I prefer it that way.

And, day after day, month after month, year after year. . . my family never came to visit.

I still don't understand what the hell happened. I mean, it makes no logical sense for them to just abandon me. Don't get me wrong; I'm glad they did, but still! I thought the Potters were "good" people.

I didn't go back to Diagon Alley or the Leaky Cauldron. I couldn't risk someone discovering me. Sure, my magic could cast an illusion on me, but there was still the chance that someone would dispel the illusion and reveal me to the world. Besides, there was no point in going there - what was I going to do? Buy some spellbooks? Going there would be high risk, low reward.

XxX

And so the years passed by until one day, a letter arrived in the mail.

I've always wanted to write a reincarnated character. I've also wanted to write a story with a ruthless and pragmatic MC. I've also wanted to write a wrong BWL story. So I did. If it isn't clear by now, Harry Potter will not be the typical "I want to make everything good and everyone happy" perfect character. I've taken inspiration from several characters for this MC, and as the story progresses, you might be able to guess some of them.

Wrong BWL stories have the potential to be either really good, or they have the potential to be cringe as hell. However, in this story, wrong BWL is honestly only there to set up several other parts of the plot.

There will be no bashing in this story.

Obviously, this is a complete AU. The rating may change to M in the future.

Thank you all for reading, and please review :)

euphoric