Disclaimer

There is a simple fact that I do not own any rights pertaining to the canons used to make this story. All I can claim is the idea for this story. In which I write this story as a source of entertainment and to improve my overall writing skills. If you cannot handle me respectfully incorporate my beliefs within this story. Then go read something else. As I am not holding you against your will. Next thing is that at the time of this chapter's posting this story only has an A.I. proofreader. With those out of the way there are a few things to cover. That cannot be realistically covered without placing the story's starting integrity in jeopardy.

Chapter 1: Earthbound Service

Upon being deposited within Dumbledore's Office, I could feel my magic beginning to slowly drain. So I grabbed the leftover ritual chalk from the pack and drew a dirty and quick mindscape reformation ritual. Once within my mindscape, I was hit with a fresh wave of mournful loss at the actual extent of damage. There, glowing in the shallow pool, is the shattered stalactite from which my magic drips, destroying the pool's bottom and exposing an unusual circuitry-like pattern. Each of the seven larger stalactite fragments is a glyph that I recognised from my Ancient Runes exam – the Alteran Sorcery Master Glyphs for Air, Blood, Fire, Lighting, Psionic, Shadow, and Thaumaturgic Magics.

The still-standing archway that I used to boot Voldemort and his soul fragment from my being inspired me to use what little magic left within my system to redecorate. First, the slate became bricks and mortar, which I used to build a Heptagonal step pyramid with four above ground segments and a fifth basement level. Each segment was hollow and dedicated to one of the Glyphs. My mindscape shuddered, and the slate bricks lightened to gleaming white marble, while also fussing to become a single smooth surface. At that moment, I blacked out.

Upon waking up in a tent, my mind still hazy from the impromptu ritual, I found Dumbledore sitting nearby in an armchair, his presence both comforting and foreboding.

"You've been in a coma for three weeks," Dumbledore informs me, his expression grave. "Today is your sixteenth birthday. Sadly, I have to give you some bad news. You've been banished from the wizarding world, Harry," he says with a heavy sigh. "As when I arrived at my office, you were on the floor unconscious. I called for Poppy to come check you out before moving you to the hospital wing. Sadly, when she was casting the standard array of diagnostic charms, Minister Fudge and a few of his lackeys came in via the Floo and saw that the results came back as if there seemingly to be no detectable magic left within you. So, a few left straight away to ensure your banishment. By the way, what was the ritual that you did in my office?"

"A quick and dirty mind reformatting one," I replied. "During the process, I discovered that the stalactite that embodied my body refining raw cosmic energies and trickle-fed magic into the shallow pool that embodied my magical core had shattered upon impact with the pool's bottom. Revealing seven glyphs that I recognized from my Ancient Runes exam as being the Alteran Sorcery Master Glyphs for Air, Blood, Fire, Lighting, Psionic, Shadow, and Thaumaturgic Magics. So, I rebuilt my mindscape to be a seven-sided step pyramid. I reshaped the fragments bearing the glyphs and had them become archway capstones, using up the last of my magic in the process."

At the mention of what I have done, Dumbledore perked up. "Well, that explains your transformation and why you're now emitting a new multi-layered magical frequency. It seems that I have some unburying to do."

At the mention of transformation, I finally took notice of my new body, realizing that this is the body I should have had if not for the abuse suffered at the hands of my muggle relatives. It's a bittersweet realization, a reminder of the life I could have lived had circumstances been different. But then, my attention is drawn to something else – a set of Dragon Balls. It seems that my Draconic Djinn Creation Ritual had worked after all.

I spent the next two-ish years after my banishment from Magical Society working on getting caught up on my muggle education, which was quickly accelerated when the telepathic aspect of my mind magic manifested. During a trip to Antarctica, I found the original ancestral gateway and its corresponding dialler, the latter of which I had cannibalised with my shadow magic. Leading me to attend Oxford University and earn multiple degrees, the highest being my doctorate in theoretical physics.

During my studies, I founded a tech company that builds spaceship subsystems. The first pair of products on the market are gravity plating and a scalable cold fusion reactor. The moment that I took the stargate out of my shadow realm, it activates and spits out two US Air Force officers, giving me the opportunity to experiment with making Chthonic Corridors. I grabbed the copies of the dialler's control crystals and a building kit for a custom fusion reactor, then packed them up in a crate locked by a sanguine seal. The tests went well, and later that day, my copy of the magically binding contract had appeared in the review & file section of my office's inbox.

When my eighteenth birthday rolled around, Luna unexpectedly dropped by with a prophetic glazed look on her face. "Beware if you don't become an officer with the Royal Marines. You will doom our Atlantean Inheritance to be desecrated by the muggle's taint. Enlist today, and your business ventures will progress how you'd like." There was nothing to it. So I shadow-stepped to the nearest Naval Recruiting office and enlisted as an officer's cadet. The next sixteen months were marginally grueling, yet I managed to fugitively kneecap my more vindictive instructors. The higher-ups noticed this and the fact that I only did what I did as a corrective measure. Then there was the fact that all my testing scores were retroactively all flawless – clean, efficient kills, zero fatal messes in drills, the ones that did occur were found to be tactically exploitable by my team, finally, I always took on the greatest risk but wasn't squeamish about taking orders and giving them back out. In essence, the ideal field officer.

Over the years, I sent my company's R&D team all the alien tech I found during one of my deployments. The earliest I found was a pyramid-shaped ship that I found while vacationing in Egypt before my first assignment, which prompted me to ask Captain Carter if I could quickly borrow one of the US's active space shuttles. Her boss gladly agreed and made it happen, under their careful supervision, of course. Once I confirmed that there were no sensors or recording devices active nearby, I revealed my powers to the bald airforce General and told him that he should properly integrate the dialler control crystals within their dialling computer. Soon after, the SGC outsourced all shipbuilding R&D to Peverell Industries.

Her Majesty sent me a nice thank-you present and card on my first birthday in active service. As Clinton had read her in on the SGC, apparently the SGC was desperate for me to join them. But she told them and later me that, for the time being, I am still better off serving in the Royal Marines and spending my spare time as I have. But she did say she'd inquire if I would be amenable to Peverell Industries conducting all the SGC's R&D, not just shipbuilding. Which I agreed to under a few provisos. The first is that the Americans drop DADT in its entirety and allow its non-heterosexuals to openly serve their country. The second was that the navy was to be transitioned from being sea-based to space-based. Third and finally, all Commonwealth Realms must have their entire navy upgraded before any other nation is allowed to get their space ships.

Ever since being assigned to lead a Royal Marines black ops platoon, I was often sent out to mop up various messes that either involved magic or alien tech, occasionally both. Resulting in me dismantling the tech and shipping it off to be studied. During one of my missions to the Middle East during the War on Terror, a USAF officer by the name of John Shepard crash-landed during one of my missions. I noticed that he has a hemomancy curse mark.

A few months later, I was asked to assemble my platoon for a mission briefing. "Ok folks, we have a genuine Alien invasion on our hands. We're the first responders and depart in fifteen. So pack light, don your spacer kit, and prime it for arctic warfare." The Tau'ri-Goa'uld war's Battle of Antarctic was quite fearsome. However, with the exception of Anubis's mothership, I had managed to capture all Goa'uld ships and the Jaffa manning them, granting me enough raw material to build enough satellites.

In the aftermath, I politely summoned Tom. "Ok Tom, I wish that you adapt my Draconic Djinn Creation Ritual so that it can remotely target the partly ascended Goa'uld Anubis."

"It is done. Note that if you want me to perform the modified ritual, it would take the equivalent amount of power I have available to grant all three wishes."

"Fair enough." I replied. "For my second wish, all captured Jaffa be de-brainwashed and have their immune systems restored. Finally, for my third wish, I would like that you use one wish's worth of energy to trap Anubis and upon recharging your energy, perform the ritual I asked you to formulate."

"Both shall be done. Please note that because of your wording, I am able to grant all four of your wishes straight away. But I will lay dormant for twice the normal recharge period."

"Which is fine, Tom. Have a nice extended rest. You've earned it."

~:| Alteran Sorcery |:~