Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I claim no ownership of this work. Only the original characters and ideas are mine.
Hello to you, my dear readers. I present (or reintroduce) my fanfiction Le Mage, which will be quite different from my previous works.
This story will be divided into books, with Book 1 being pre-Hogwarts and Book 2 covering Harry's first year.
Each book will be around 40,000 words, and Book 1 is already about 70% finished. There will be an age gap between the first two books because the first one serves to set the stage for my version of the wizarding world. So, a lot of the politics, economics, and the way the magical world differs will be covered. This is pretty important because a lot of things will change (e.g., Fudge will not be Minister).
Book 2 will focus on Harry's first year at Hogwarts, and you'll find excerpts in the chapters that deal with this age gap.
As for the infamous "Harry pairing," I've decided to go for an unconventional couple. I considered the political ramifications and the number of couples in fanfiction (yes, I didn't want to go with the usual pairing or something that might be hard to sustain due to politics). For those who are curious: it's a quarter-Veela (yes, I wanted to try a heterosexual couple for once). This story will be very little (if at all) romantic, as it's simply not my focus.
Regarding the "Sirius couple," I decided not to go with Wolfstar because I want to preserve the possibility of Teddy Lupin (so, Remus x Nymphadora). While it's clearly implied that they had some fun, no official relationship has been established.
I hope you enjoy the new version. As always, one chapter will be in French and the other in English.
You can find this fiction on the site-whose-name-shall-not-be-mentioned (P A T R...) by searching for Kelorus' Fictions and selecting the site with the big white "P" on a black background. I'll be posting chapters there in advance for those who wish to support me through donations. If that's not of interest to you, just be patient—chapters will eventually be posted here and on AO3.
I wish you happy reading and encourage you to let me know what you think of this new version.
Godric's Hollow
October 31st, 1981
In the heart of the English countryside, hidden among beautiful green hills, lay the village of Godric's Hollow. A winding path meandered between the old houses until it reached a fountain at the center of the village, bathed in the soft glow of street lamps. Not far away, the village's old church stood watch over a vast cemetery where tombstones and crypts mingled.
What set Godric's Hollow apart was neither its architecture nor its church, but the quiet coexistence of Muggles and wizards. This village, reputed to be the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor, had a history spanning a thousand years. And on the night of October 31, 1981, a new legend was about to be written into its annals.
As the light of day gave way to the brilliance of the stars, the village pulsed with the rhythm of Halloween. Costumed children ran from door to door, demanding treats under threat of tricks. There were fewer than usual; the witches and wizards, who usually enjoyed mingling with the Muggles and seizing the opportunity to wear their finest robes, had chosen not to take part in the festivities. The war in the wizarding world loomed over them, and it was best to avoid any gathering of Muggles. One could never know if Death Eaters would come to spoil the night.
Thus, only Muggle children were present, their faces lit with smiles and eyes twinkling with mischief, all under the watchful supervision of their parents. Few paid attention to the hooded figure moving slowly among them, a figure that surely would have been noticed had any wizards decided to partake in this annual celebration.
A child dressed as a mummy approached but, seized by sudden terror, fled. The hooded man watched for a moment before resuming his path, indifferent. His gaze was fixed on a space that all believed to be empty. Yet, a house stood there, concealed from untrained eyes. Its windows illuminated the night, and its chimney emitted a peaceful stream of smoke. But this tranquil scene was about to descend into nightmare.
The man stopped in front of the house and slowly lowered his hood. In the moonlight, his pale face appeared, his piercing red eyes burning with cold malice. A smile ghosted his lips as he whispered:
" At last…"
His slender fingers gripped a wand of dazzling whiteness. Without a word, a crimson bolt shot forth, shattering the door with a deafening crash.
"Lily! Take Harry and run! I'll hold him off!"
James Potter stood before him, determined but unarmed. His eyes shone with defiance behind his round glasses. A green flash sliced through the air. James collapsed, his lifeless body hitting the floor in a terrible silence. The dark wizard inwardly scorned the deceased, who, believing himself safe, had left his wand on the sofa. He decided not to linger and climbed the stairs.
On the walls, portraits came to life, screaming insults. He dismissed their protests with a single stroke, slicing through the canvas of Charlus Potter and Dorea Black. The voices fell silent at once.
He stopped before a barricaded door. Through it, he could hear soothing whispers. He fully intended to put an end to them.
[From Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallow, chapter 17]
[He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand . . . and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead. . . .
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl … stand aside, now."
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead —"
"This is my last warning —"
"Not Harry! Please . . . have mercy . . . have mercy.… Not Harry! Not Harry! Please — I'll do anything —"
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"
He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all. . . .
The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time: He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing —
He pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face: He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry: It had seen that he was not James. He did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage —
"Avada Kedavra!"
And then he broke: He was nothing, nothing but pain and terror, and he must hide himself, not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped and screaming, but far away . . . far away. . . .]
In a twist of fate as spectacular as it was unimaginable, the wizard whose name was a taboo had disintegrated, leaving behind only a smoking mound of ashes. A shadowy specter escaped from the pile, rising into the air with a piercing scream before vanishing. His downfall had played out in the intimacy of a family tragedy, his final act of destruction witnessed only by a crying child, marked on the forehead and already orphaned.
As silence settled over the remnants of the room, another wizard appeared. Short, plump, with rodent-like features, he seemed overwhelmed by events. His wide eyes betrayed a fear mixed with disbelief at the still-warm pile of ashes. Hesitating almost comically, he seized the abandoned wand before hastily leaving the scene.
Tormented by dilemmas, he wondered how to hide—not only from the allies he had betrayed but also from the Dark Lord's followers, who would seek vengeance for their master's fall. One thing was certain: life would now be a nightmare for him.
No sooner had the traitor's furtive shadow disappeared than the tragedy drew another witness. A tall figure with pale skin and dark eyes, he stood in stark contrast to the surrounding chaos. A storm of emotions swirled in his usually impenetrable gaze.
Slowly, he knelt beside the lifeless body of the woman who had been his confidante, his unspoken love. He, the man of ice, wept. For the first and perhaps only time, he allowed his tears to flow freely. Only the baby bore witness to his sorrow.
Murmuring the deceased's name in a litanic whisper, he silently prayed for her soul, cursing in turn the other dead man whom he held responsible. But in the distance, a voice pulled him from his grief:
"James? Lily?"
His gaze lingered one last time on the child, whose green eyes reflected the shadow of his lost mother. The moment was unbearable. He melted into the darkness, cursing the one who had disturbed his mourning.
This newcomer, carrying his own burdens of hope and sorrow, was immediately recognized by the child.
"Pa'foo'! Pa'foo'!"
Sirius Black, his steel-gray eyes drowned in tears, rushed forward.
"My pup, you're alive! Merlin be praised…"
With infinite tenderness, he lifted the child, holding him close. His gaze fell on Lily, and his heart clenched under the weight of grief. He left the room, each step resonating like a silent farewell.
On the stairs, the sight of James's lifeless body once again stole his breath. His soul brother lay there, broken. A storm of emotions within him solidified into a burning certainty: Peter Pettigrew had to pay.
He had barely crossed the threshold when a deep voice called out to him.
"Sirius! are yeh alright? an' harry, james, lily… how …"
The hope in his eyes extinguished when he saw Harry in Sirius's arms. He understood.
"I'm going after Peter. He'll pay for this!" Sirius swore, his gaze ablaze.
But Hagrid placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Think o' the little one firs', sirius. Dumbledore'll know wha' ter do."
The shadow of vengeance wavered within him. He slowly nodded. Hagrid was right. Harry came first. As for Peter… his time would come.
Lost in thought, a sharp crack jolted him back to reality. A burst of flames erupted, and from this fiery apparition emerged an old man. He wore a blue robe speckled with golden stars that seemed to dance along the seams. His long white beard, as soft as lamb's wool, flowed majestically. His blue eyes, usually twinkling with mischief behind half-moon spectacles, were clouded with sorrow. Albus Dumbledore, considered by many to be one of the most powerful wizards of his time, had arrived, bringing with him the gravity and wisdom necessary to guide Sirius through this moment of profound desolation.
"My boy, how are you?" the old man asked without preamble.
The grave look in Dumbledore's eyes left no doubt that he was aware of the tragic events that had unfolded that night. The protective spells and alerts he had carefully placed around the Potters' home must have warned him of the danger. But, caught up in the demands of his many responsibilities, including a long meeting with the International Confederation of Wizards, he had not arrived in time to prevent the Potters' grim fate.
"James and Lily are dead, Professor. Peter betrayed them! You have to believe me—I was just a pawn!" Sirius exclaimed, his despair palpable even as he held Harry close to him. "Who could have imagined that Peter, our friend, was the traitor? I thought I had come up with the perfect plan... I... it's my fault..."
Sirius's pain was evident, and Dumbledore, moved by such distress, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder—a simple gesture, yet one filled with deep empathy.
"I believe you, Sirius. You would never have betrayed the Potters... I regret that Peter was the one who deceived us. I had placed so much hope in him... And Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked, breaking the heavy silence that had settled.
At the mention of that name, both men shivered, but the silence that followed reminded them of the absence of any response from the Death Eaters, confirming their master's defeat.
"He..." Sirius began, his throat tightening before he could continue. "I found nothing but ashes. But Harry... he has a strange scar..."
"May I?" Dumbledore asked softly, his eyes resting on the child.
With a hesitation full of respect, Sirius entrusted Harry to the old wizard, who took him into his arms with surprising ease for his age. In Dumbledore's secure embrace, Harry, carefree, offered a beaming smile, his tiny hands reaching joyfully for the wizard's long white beard, which shimmered in the pale moonlight.
Mesmerized by the softness of Dumbledore's beard, Harry momentarily seemed to forget the turmoil of the night. The headmaster of Hogwarts, amused, savored this moment of pure childlike innocence. It was his love for young, curious minds that had driven him to become the director of the renowned school of wizardry.
His gaze then fell upon the distinctive scar marking the boy's forehead. A shiver ran down his spine as he recognized its sinister shape—lightning-like. This mark was the remnant of a spell far darker than most, the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra—the most unforgivable of them all.
Could it be possible that he survived through the power of the prophecy? Marked by Tom, yes, but how? Dumbledore pondered, his mind swirling with hypotheses. He sensed in this scar a complex entanglement of magic—a battle between life and death, as if an invisible struggle had taken place within that small piece of flesh.
The headmaster's expression hardened at the thought of Tom Riddle's dark experiments—the man better known as Lord Voldemort. Had he truly dared to fragment his soul, engaging in one of the darkest and most forbidden magics to achieve immortality? The physical changes Voldemort had undergone over the years—his former beauty devoured by excessive use of dark magic, leaving him with a spectral, almost cadaverous appearance—were mere outward signs of his soul's corruption.
Dumbledore held Harry a little closer, aware that the child, with his scar, might carry not only the key to Voldemort's downfall but also a mysterious and potentially dangerous connection to the Dark Lord himself.
His expression softened, a melancholic yet determined smile appearing on his lips. No, he could not—he must not—use Harry as a mere pawn in this war against the forces of darkness. Dumbledore had often found himself at a crossroads between the greater good and the well-being of the individual, but in this moment, as he looked at the innocent child, the choice seemed clear.
He made a silent promise, right there, under Harry's admiring gaze, to protect him with all the strength and wisdom he possessed.
"Is he... is he alright ?" Sirius asked, his voice tinged with urgent anxiety. "Please, tell me he's alright, Professor."
"Oh, Sirius, if only I could give you a simple answer," Albus Dumbledore sighed, his blue eyes searching those of his friend. "Harry's scar bears the mark of a terrible curse, almost certainly a remnant of the evil Voldemort inflicted upon him. But there is hope—another force watches over him… the sacrifice of unconditional love… the purest magic of all."
Sirius and Hagrid exchanged a stunned look before turning their attention back to Dumbledore.
"Love?" Sirius murmured; his voice choked with emotion. "Oh... Lily... James..."
Tears welled up in Sirius's eyes once more, while Hagrid, with his natural kindness, wrapped him in a comforting embrace, offering silent support in this moment of grief.
Then, an indignant meow pierced the night. A squashed-faced ginger cat, visibly annoyed at being forgotten, leapt onto Sirius's shoulder and began nibbling his ear. Startled, Sirius nearly dropped Harry, while Dumbledore, amused, gently patted the feline's head.
"It seems that even in the darkest hours, some keep their priorities well defined," Dumbledore observed with a smile.
A nervous chuckle escaped Sirius. On this night of sorrow, a mere cat had brought a much-needed moment of lightness.
