Mind Over Magic
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to JK Rowling. I do not own any crossover references used in the story: all rights belong to their original creators. I do own any OC spells explained at the end of a chapter.
Key Pairing: Eventual Harmony
Normal Speech
'Thoughts'
/Parseltongue/
Chapter 1: Call Me Harrison
For as long as he could remember, which sounded like the opening to a bad joke for reasons that will soon become clear, nearly-eleven-year-old Harrison James Potter – once known as Harry before he'd decided to change it to the more-formal option – had always loved to read.
That being said, given he couldn't forget anything about his life, even if he wanted to – hence the bad joke opening – it would be more-appropriate to say Harrison had always loved to read for as long as he was able to.
MoM
While others were busy generally being the way kids are, little Harrison was reading books, examining newspapers and learning as much as he could about the world.
He couldn't explain why he saw enjoyment in it, and neither could anyone who saw him.
Some people would claim he was looking at the pictures or messing about trying to read and learn above and beyond his station. However, when he turned around and gave them a detailed description of what he'd been reading, they soon shut up and, while many of the people saw this talent as a good thing, there were those who saw it as wrong, weird or just plain freakish.
Take Harrison's family, for example.
Well, his first family…
MoM
Mr and Mrs Vernon and Petunia Dursley were the sort of people who liked to believe they were the cream of the crop and that everything about them was normal. From their snooty, unpleasant, we're-better-than-you-and-we-know-it attitude to the fact they encouraged their only son, Dudley Dursley, to become morbidly-obese and turn into something of a bully, the Dursleys were anything but normal.
So, when Harrison wound up on their doorstep, dumped there like he was nothing more than a parcel, the self-deluded normal lives of the Dursleys were threatened by this alien presence.
For a time, they put up with him, going as far as assigning him chores while Dudley was generally treated like royalty, meaning he did nothing and Harrison did everything.
However, things soon changed when the boys started school and Harrison was labelled as a prodigy by his teachers, while Dudley was constantly being referred to a wide range of specialists about his lack of personal development or his obesity – none of whom seemed to last longer than one session for some strange reason – and, as a result, the shit hit the fan for the Dursleys, and for Harrison too.
Thinking it was the best thing for his perfectly-normal family, Vernon Dursley took it upon himself to lose Harry in a large crowd, which led to the young boy being left alone, scared and curious about what was going on. When the police found him, Harrison told them what happened and gave them an address, but when reports came back saying the house was empty and looked like it had been abandoned, Harrison was left homeless.
As a result, he joined the ranks of St Christopher's Children's Home for Boys where his skills with learning, reading and his personal, mental and physical growths were all observed with careful scrutiny and interest.
At the same time, Harrison also kept one ear to the ground for any mention of the Dursleys, if only so he could enjoy the looks on their faces when he was sent back to them. After another three years in the orphanage, however, Harrison never heard from them again, but, had anyone bothered to ask him, he would happily admit that he'd actually stopped caring, choosing instead to be the only thing they'd clearly wanted him to be in life.
Alone, relying on nothing and no-one but himself and his smarts to survive was just fine with Harrison.
MoM
Shortly after Harrison's 9th birthday, however, he was surprised when a seemingly kind, caring family finally decided to free him from the humdrum cycle of life and the rut he was in at St Christopher's.
At first, Harrison genuinely believed they wanted him to be their son, but, behind closed doors and away from the socially-public eye, it was soon made clear to him that their true intentions were more-selfish and driven by nothing, but ego and social standing.
For one, they expected him to spend hours on end poring over books that no nine-year-old should have access to.
It wasn't that he minded the studies; on the contrary, Harrison took to the new means of gaining knowledge and the studies like a fish to water, but when he realised that the only love and pride he'd get from his second family was the love – read: greed-driven ego – of having a child genius for a son and expecting him to be the next Prime Minister or some other rubbish, he soon lost interest.
When he tried going back to St Christopher's with the explanation that he didn't feel right staying with the Millers and that they made him feel like he didn't belong there, Harrison was horrified to find himself forced back to the greedy people when Mr Miller put on the façade of a kind, loving parent and insisted Harrison return home.
When he got home, however, Harrison found bolts on his door, handcuffs to his desk and a huge stack of books and information for him to learn, all of which made him feel like a prisoner in his own home – not that he called it a home after that day.
Given how his first family had put on faces and made him feel likewise scared and how he didn't belong, the nine-year-old made a choice.
As far as he was concerned, that was the first and last time Harrison put any trust in adults seeing him as more than a symbol or a little kid.
It was also then he chose to forsake the name of Harry and adopt the moniker of Harrison, deciding that if he wasn't going to be treated like a little kid, then he wasn't going to let his name reflect a childish sense of innocence.
Harry was weak, jovial and full of hope.
Harrison, however, was determined to be someone who was strong, stood on his own two feet and took on the world with nothing, but the sun at his back and the future stretching out in front of him.
A future he was also determined to leave in the palm of his hand.
MoM
Weirdly, one week later, Mr and Mrs Miller found themselves under scrutiny for tax evasion and claims of embezzlement from their businesses, both of which had them arrested shortly afterwards while Harrison was returned to St Christopher's.
Even weirder was, when the businesses – a high-ranked manager's post with Selfridge's for Mrs Miller while Mr Miller was CEO with Halifax – went looking for the money that had been embezzled, they found no trace of the cash, let alone any sign that it had been diverted to an offshore account or any other hidden secrets.
Yet records of Mr and Mrs Miller's accounts said the money had been there, but nobody could explain where it had gone or how it had vanished.
No-one, that is, except for the scheming, amused little boy who'd been returned to St Christopher's.
A little boy whom, when questioned, denied having any knowledge of such funds or money.
Denials that were believed as well.
After all, who'd suspect a now-ten-year-old boy of being able to understand what embezzlement was, let alone how to use things like finances with such grown-up matters as bank accounts?
MoM
Outside of the public eye once more, Harrison continued to grow, though not without silently congratulating himself on using everything the Millers had forced him to learn to bring about their downfall.
The two-point-five million pounds that he'd managed to save from the Millers' greed and egos was a nice bonus too.
For the next few months, he continued to be a resident at St Christopher's, though now, he made it clear to his so-called carers that his name was Harrison now, selling his change of name by making up a lie about how the Millers had drilled it into him because it sounded more grown-up and mature for a son of their family – and, like the sheep they were, his carers believed his lie too.
During his returned tenure at the Orphanage, Harrison not only knuckled down to studying up on everything he could to keep himself to himself and rely on nothing and nobody else; he also made the choice to stay as far away from any more potential adoptions and foster families as he could, since he knew – or, at least, he believed it given the evidence of his previous families' experiences – they'd probably be the same as the Millers with their hunger for fame in taking in a gifted child.
And for a while, Harrison was content being as far out of the spotlight as he could get.
That is, until the day when a strange letter, so precisely addressed to him that it might as well have been a laser fixed on his location in preparation for a nuclear strike, found its way into his hands.
On that day, Harrison found something that really interested him.
Something more than books and cleverness and the pursuit of knowledge.
He found something…he didn't know…
MoM
It was just another ordinary day for the kids in St Christopher's and while many enjoyed the summer sun out in the yard and discussed potential adoptions from both the previous and up-and-coming visiting days, there was one whom was where he preferred to be: inside, surrounded by the gateways to knowledge and greatness.
Indeed, looking at him, anyone would find it hard to believe there could be anything unusual about the boy known as Harrison James Potter.
With his raven-black hair that never seemed to lie flat and emerald-green eyes that never seemed to lose their calculating, but otherwise-innocent gleam, he was described by most as an angel – though many more would call him a fallen angel. The summer sun had given him a healthy tan that accentuated his angelic features, as well as the air of nobility and pride in his facial features, honed from his lack of proper love or care from the Millers and his realisations about the way the world worked.
Unlike his peers, Harrison was dressed in a skin-hugging short-sleeved shirt as well as a pair of loose, dark-blue chinos, which would have looked informal, if not casual on another student, but, on Harrison, it made him look older than he was, and just as devil-may-care as he appeared. He had a black biro nestled comfortably behind one ear while his hands were currently held onto a copy of his favourite book, David Copperfield, which he read with the same bored, private look about him that showed he was happier inside with the book than outside.
Had anyone bothered to ask him why he enjoyed such a classic piece of literature, Harrison would have told them how it was because he could also imagine what it'd be like to be someone like Copperfield or another Dickensian character…well, except Oliver Twist anyway. (1)
Unlike Oliver, he didn't need family holding him back and expecting him to be something he wasn't.
As he finished the book for what seemed to be the tenth time since he'd first been given the copy as a birthday present, Harrison sniffed before he leaned back and looked out of the window. His room was on the less-sunny side of the orphanage, which meant sunlight wouldn't hit the area until much later in the day.
Just one of the reasons Harrison liked it so much.
However, as he looked out of the window, watching the leaves of a nearby oak tree blow in the breeze, Harrison's eyes narrowed slightly when he caught sight of something very strange making its way towards him.
It looked like a dark-grey tawny owl, but Harrison knew that was impossible: tawny…heck…any owls were nocturnal and didn't like to fly during the day, especially an almost-cloudless sunny day like this one.
And yet, the more he watched the owl flying towards his current place of residence, Harrison felt his eyes narrow even further as the fact it was an owl became even more evident until, realising it was flying to his window, Harrison clicked the latch open and lifted the window, just enough to allow the bird to fly in through the gap left by the curious-eyed young man.
This allowed the strange creature to soar through the open window where it landed nimbly on the edge of his feet, which were currently resting on the sill with the rest of him.
For a moment, the owl shook itself before, to Harrison's bewilderment, he watched as the owl offered one of its talons to him, revealing an even stranger sight than that, which had already claimed Harrison's curiosities in the owl.
A yellowish-coloured envelope that appeared to be sealed with a red wax seal.
As Harrison eyed the seal, he took note of the design: a surprising quartet of beasts surrounding a large letter H; there was an eagle, a badger, a snake and a lion, all of which looked as though they were supposed to mean something, but Harrison didn't know what that was.
And the fact that it was him who didn't know something was a funny thought; funny enough to make his lips just twitch upwards in the universal sign of acknowledging the aforementioned amusement.
As for the owl who carried the odd envelope, it didn't seem to move, which told Harrison it was waiting for him to relieve it of its burden. When he did so, however, Harrison saw the owl remain where it was, save for when he moved his feet, which caused it to hop off his socks and onto the sill.
"Strange bird," drawled Harrison, looking away from the owl as he eyed the envelope.
Aside from the odd seal and the parchment, the only other thing Harrison noticed was an address written on the reverse in emerald-green ink.
Mr H Potter
Room 7
St Christopher's Orphanage
Guildford
Surrey
"How strangely specific of my mysterious correspondent," muttered Harrison, turning the envelope over once before, lifting it to his face, he cracked the seal with his teeth, but not before he also took a closer look at the envelope.
From the look of its colouring and the perfectly-flat state it was in, he assumed it had come from a place where it was handled respectfully, since Harrison couldn't make out any creases or hints of a stamp; it also looked like whoever had addressed the envelope had either done so with stencils or some kind of computerised text printed onto the paper.
How else was the writing style so perfect, yet so unrecognizable that it looked almost too-perfectly written to have been done by a human hand?
He was pretty sure even computers couldn't manage something like this.
As for the seal, it was made from some sort of candle wax, but there was an underlying tang of some hidden scent wherever the writer had sent the letter from.
Something like polished wood or…he didn't know…some kind of plant or perhaps an herbal scent in the air wherever this letter had come from.
Wherever it had come from, Harrison was even more intrigued than he had been at the sight of an owl flying during the day.
As he cracked the seal, he examined the contents of the letter, which turned out to be a single letter with two pieces of parchment, one of which looked more like a shopping list while the other had a very unusual header.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
"What is this? Some sort of joke?" scoffed Harrison, ignoring the long list of accolades concerning someone named Albus Dumbledore as he turned his attention away from the shopping list and, instead, he directed his attention to the accompanying letter itself.
Dear Mr Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
'A school?' thought Harrison, re-reading the letter several times while he wondered, 'As in an actual school? With an actual Deputy Headmistress and Headmaster? And classes? Pupils? Grades? Interesting…'
For the second time that morning, his lips twitched in amusement, but only momentarily, before his expression turned stoic again as he looked not to the letter, but the strange name and heading at the top of the parchment, 'But even if it is a school, what kind of a name is Hogwarts anyway? And why would they say I've been accepted? I don't remember being offered a place at such an unusually-sounding institution to begin with. And then there's this last bit: they await my owl…so…what? Am I supposed to send a reply back with this unusually-habit-breaking bird?'
For a moment, Harrison eyed the owl sceptically before he turned the letter over, reading the second parchment as carefully and with the same air of curious scrutiny as he did the first letter;
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
UNIFORM
First-year students will require: Three sets of plain work robes (black)
One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following: The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT: 1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK
Yours sincerely,
Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus
Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions
'Well, I admit it…if this is intended to be somebody's idea of a joke, it's starting to get funny,' thought Harrison dryly, looking more to the list of books as he wondered, 'I mean, who are these authors? Newt Scamander? Bathilda Bagshot? Quentin Trimble? They don't sound like bestsellers that I've seen on the shelves in Waterstones, but I admit; it's funny…they actually sound like a bunch of interesting reads.'
Shaking his head as he thought on the humour of the moment, Harrison sighed before, removing his pen from behind his ear, he picked up his book once more and, turning it over, he rested the invitation letter on top of it, giving him a hard surface to write on, while he penned his response.
Once he was done, he offered the letter to the owl before, deciding to indulge the humour of the moment, Harry scoffed as he drawled, "Well, off you go, Archimedes; I'm sure Merlin's waiting for your return. Say hi to the Wart for me, won't you?"
If the owl even suspected he was being sarcastic, it didn't seem offended or amused.
Instead, it took off silently from the bedroom window, leaving Harrison alone with his thoughts and the small glimmer of humour that lingered in the back of his mind.
Although he didn't admit it to anyone but himself, there was a part of Harrison that couldn't help but think, 'Please let it be true…because it's a whole new world to explore, new knowledge to claim and new levels of greatness to reach.'
Another part of him, however, couldn't help but also think, 'Ha, ha, very funny; my name's Bugs Bunny: your move…Doc!'
MoM
When Minerva McGonagall received a response from one of the students whom she'd dispatched the traditional acceptance letter to, she was a little surprised, as well as a little aghast at the air of pride and mockery that was written in the response from said student.
This was only heightened by the fact that it was addressed to one student in particular, but Minerva didn't think of that as she read the response;
Dear "Deputy Headmistress McGonagall" (kindly note the air-quotes there)
Let me first congratulate you on making me smile in acknowledgement of my sense of humour with regards to your letter regarding the impossible existence of magic, let alone the even-more impossible existence of a school where one can become a wizard – or witch in the case of the females of the species…hmm…what do you call gender-neutral? Wiccs? Wazen…
Wixen?
Yes, I like that last one.
Ah, but I digress; you see, the only thing that amuses me about your pathetic excuse for games is the creativity that must have gone into naming those books and creating such interesting topics.
Now, don't get me wrong, I admire and appreciate the pastime of LARPing as much as the next boy, but I have never had any ambitions to join any of them: whether they're Tolkien fans, Pratchett fans or even King fans, let alone the embarrassing LARPers who go around in Mister Lucas' science-fictional-inspired gear and call it normal.
But, as a wise woman might have said: we are not amused.
(Sidebar - it's never been proven she said it, but it's also never been proven she hasn't)
So, if you want me to actually consider your joke even an iota of truth, it's going to take something truly spectacular; therefore, I cordially invite you to arrange the necessary proof and deliver it to my address on the up-and-coming eleventh anniversary of my birth: July 31st.
If you convince me, I'll surrender myself to the curiosities of your lifestyle and happily attend your "school"
But if not, I will have on hand, the names and addresses of several well-known therapists and psychiatrists who can help you keep your jokes in better taste.
As a wise man once said: extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence and, sorry, but even my hunger for knowledge and your amusing book titles barely qualify as that.
Ball's in your court, Deputy Headmistress of the Wixen School for so-called Magic
Yours sincerely,
Harrison James Potter
Staring in disbelief at the way the letter talked about such things as magic and Hogwarts being fake, Minerva felt horror rise up in her heart.
How could Lily and James' son not believe in magic?
How could he call Hogwarts a fake?
Why did he seem so…different from the little boy she'd seen delivered to those damn Muggles?
Had she been thinking clearly, Minerva might have noted the address on the letter; however, with fear and disbelief clouding her senses, the only thing she could do was oblige one request on the letter.
Extraordinary evidence.
Fortunately, she knew just the colleague who'd be able to provide that and more in spades…
So, the first chapter of the first of my edited reposts has been done and I'd say Minerva's going to need to eat some serious humble pie when she meets Harrison, but will he accept such extraordinary evidence?
Also, how will a Harrison who seems to be something between a cross between our favourite brunette and a certain blond embrace the new world, not to mention all the BS that comes with it?
Keep Reading to Find Out
Next Chapter: Extraordinary evidence you wanted, Harrison; extraordinary evidence, you will get: also, our anti-hero makes an effect on a certain someone that might just pave the way for a more-interesting future than some may like;
Please Read and Review
NUMBERED ANNOTATIONS (1)
Daniel Radcliffe played a young – and cute – David Copperfield in a TV drama adaptation before he was in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, ironically featuring the late, great Maggie Smith, as well as Imelda Staunton in two very fun, amazing roles.
Just felt like a funny shout-out.