Chapter 1: The Lion and The Princess

Hello, welcome to my new story, surprised to see me post on Monday huh?

This is part of a new upload schedule known as long form Mondays. where stories with average chapter length over 4.5 words get posted on. weekly upload on Friday for short format stories is still Weekly, while long form Mondays are biweekly.

Anyways, Enjoy Harry Potter and the Lady of the Worlds

I hope you guys enjoy the chapter- if you want to access more chapters or see my full library, my is always open at

pa - tre - /on/ under the username Pel853

I do not own Harry Potter nor The Witcher

"Dad, what was life without mommy like? You've been together a really long time right? But you couldn't have been together all the time!"

Harry Potter laughed, as he gave the question posed by his son nothing more than a glancing thought. Life without his beloved Ciri was miserable. Before he met her he was nothing more than a talented if isolated and edgy child. And the only other time they had to live separately was a dark time for both of them.

Lucas' twin sister Luna, asked "Obviously miserable! If daddy and mommy have to part for more than a day daddy gets grumpy! Next question, daddy, what was the battle of Hogwarts like?"

Galadriel, their elder daughter laughed from her rocking chair, "Well, Father, It looks like there is no DNA test needed. Just wait till she finds out about the other battle,"

"Was there any question about that, child of mine?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Then he turned to his younger daughter and said, "You're a bit too young to hear about battles, Luna,"

"Oh please," Ciri said as she entered the room and took a seat on Harry's lap, "At age five I was dining and hearing stories of my grandmother's latest conquest. Luna can hear about your war,"

"Why not just tell them the whole story then? How I met you dear," Harry replied as he wrapped his arms around his wife and laid a kiss on her shoulder.

"Sounds like a good idea, you should do it hubby," Ciri replied.

So the father of three began by clearing his throat.

"This story is long, beginning when I was a little older than you two. For Ciri and I, it was a time of contempt for both of us…"

Galadriel turned back to her knitting, having already known the story. She was literally there for most of it anyways. But it was fun to remember the life she had grown up with before peace finally found her parents.

She remembered back to everything she had witnessed, and even that which she had not been yet born for, but had been told.

Her adoptive parents had each lived a life so incredible that if a movie were to be made about them. It would be ruined because parts of it would be too incredible for audiences to believe.

But the golden child of hope knew her parents were no ordinary people.

Harry Potter knew he wasn't an ordinary person. His so-called relatives made that clear with their disdain for him, often calling him a freak. There were times when unexplainable things happened around him, and he would get punished for it. Like when Aunt Petunia tried cutting his hair as a punishment for some offense, but it would grow back by the next morning.

Or that time that he turned his teacher's hair blue somehow. But he didn't start to truly consider the plausibility that he may be something… more, until a particular event. When one day his cousin Dudley was chasing him looking to torment Harry.

And inexplicably Harry teleported to the roof of his school. After that incident, Harry began to try and seek out this power of his more obsessively. Turning to books normal people would consider fantasy to try and gleam the source of his knowledge for it.

It was a long road ahead of him. Especially since when the Dursleys found him trying to practice his magic, they just punished him more and more severely.

It was long, many days and nights before he even found the tiniest success. He had managed to levitate small little pebbles with immense concentration and effort that left him sweaty and breathless and oftentimes so tired he just fell asleep.

Over a period of six to seven months he was able to levitate the small pebble consistently. And once he didn't have to struggle to lift one, he moved onto two, playing around with moving them around in the air pushing and pulling them towards him.

But he noticed no matter how much he improved his telekinetic control, he always seemed to run out of this mysterious source of energy within minutes.

This left him with a new conundrum. How could he do more than a meat trick without running out of energy as quickly?

His first breakthrough came in the form of star wars novels. Them speaking about this mystical force one must be in tune with in order to maximize the use off, often achieved through meditation. The novels explained that the Force was a universal binding force that connected everyone and everything, and it existed in all things organic or inorganic.

So he tried meditation late in the night, when he knew the Dursleys wouldn't interrupt him. And he tried meditating for so long he soon arrived at a starting conclusion.

There was energy within himself, and there was this energy in the air. But there wasn't this connectivity, and he didn't have the ability to pull it into himself and channel this energy through him. So it very obviously could not be the force.

Though it did give him some cool ideas as to how he could try and develop his powers, further his telekinetic abilities. Try to learn jedi mind tricks, maybe that would get his relatives off his back.

And lightsabers were cool. But lightsabers were not going to solve his conundrum, so he was brought back to square one.

How could he improve his magic? His answer first appeared in the Lord of the Ring and Hobbit books. Gandalf and the other wizards use staff to focus their magic through. Which itself presented another problem, he couldn't just pick up a random stick and claim it as his staff, the dursleys would just take it and break it and beat him for experimenting with magic. Something they feared clearly as they insisted magic did not exist.

Through continued meditation, Harry came to a startling conclusion. As he tried to visualize his magic and make it appear like an aura like he had seen in some manga he had read when he had another breakthrough.

When he was able to make it appear, it wasn't like an aura in a similar way to Dragon Ball Z. Rather it manifested in the form of particles that floated off him and in the air around him.

But while he worked on the solution to his ability to channel more magic from the air around him, he also worked on a project of replicating whatever teleportation allowed him to appear on top of the roof of his school building.

This was a project that went by a bit quicker, as he had realized by this point a lot of his incidents where he performed magic came at a time when he had been in an emotional state before he had been able to gain more control over his ability to make things happen.

Harry had been able to replicate that feeling of desperation and need to escape and had successfully teleported around, the park, school, the library and back to his room.

And he was working on gaining better control over his teleportation to become proficient enough to do it at will.

After two months, he had become fairly good at teleporting at will. So he resumed his training and His search for a magical focus, when he finally came across a possible answer.

Magic Circles.

Due to his lack of a proper focus as he had read in books, comics and manga, like staffs or wands or artifacts. He figured his next best choice was a magic circle, using his own internal magic to focus the magic in the outside world into a spell.

And tonight came the moment of truth, as he poured his focus, his resentment towards his relatives as green particles floated from his hand and formed into a magic circle that floated above his hand.

He visualized his home, four privet drive being consumed by a blazing fire. He heard the crackling and felt the heat. As Harry opened his eyes, he saw the flames beginning to engulf the building.

He teleported outside, far enough away out of view but where he could still see the house. It wasn't long until the three Dursleys, Vernon, Petunia and Dudley were all huddled outside. Looking as their home burnt down to the ground.

Harry made another magic circle, intensifying the fire. Then he turned around, a smile in his lips as he left under the cover of darkness, teleporting away never to be seen again by his relatives.

Fate would not be denied after all, and he knew his fate lay not with the Dursleys.

Princess Cirilla Fiora Ellen Riannon's eyes snapped open, as she sat up trying to calm her raging breath. It was another nightmare about the fall of Cintra, her home being invaded by the Nilfgaardians forcing her to abandon it following the death of her grandmother, the Queen.

She listened to the sound of horses in the distance and knew it was the black ones coming for her. She didn't know why Nilfgaard was insistent on finding her to resource cavalry men away from their conquest, but she knew she had to keep running away.

She ran deeper into the forest, with little regard for what lay behind her. Her only instincts were to get as far away from the black ones as quickly as she could, and then once she finally lost the tail of the Nilfgaardians, she could finally set about her task of finding Geralt. The Witcher who was destined to claim her by the law of surprise.

And also, he would be her favorite person right about now if he was actually present. She desperately needed a safe place where she could finally let go of her constant hyper awareness.

But first she had to survive, make it out of the situation she was in alive before she could try and make her way to the witcher Geralt.

Her days were lonely, spent alone running and walking through the woods as she navigated unfamiliar lines. Often going hungry for a few days at a time when she did stumble across refugee encampments and finally was able to get some food she couldn't stay for long.

Overall, it was a miserable existence for her, one Cirilla wouldn't have wished upon anyone. But it was her everyday life, and yet she still tried to make the most of it. She relished human contact that didn't come from the hostile types, primarily being the black ones she feared.

But Ciri missed her old way of life, the one burnt away in the fires of war. Where life was much simpler, being a princess. Standing by stuffy ceremonies and balls. Enjoying banquets and pretending to be a poor boy to hang out with the other kids of Cintra.

As she was deep into these melancholic thoughts. She heard the galloping of horses growing closer and closer, and she knew it was time to run again. Not matter how tired, hungry and fed she was.

And so Cirilla ran. As fast as a nine year old could run. But ultimately her stomach and legs cramped up, and she fell onto the dirt. Fear creeped up her back as she started thinking about what could happen to her, what would come from her being captured by the black ones?

In pain, hunger, dehydration, and fear. Ciri's desperation reached a fever pitch, and as she laid on the ground uncertain of her fate.

Green clouded her vision, and almost as if accepting whatever was to come of her. Ciri closed her eyes and let out one final breath.

Then the galloping stopped, the ground beneath her suddenly felt much harder and rougher on her skin- and instead of horse shoes, she heard what sounded like footsteps.

Ciri opened her eyes, and she saw an old lady in black robes and a pointy hat kneeling and looking down at her. The woman looked her over, putting one hand on the ashen haired girl's forehead and another one on her arms as she spoke with an accent reminiscent of Skellige, "Oh you poor dear, you're burning up."

Then the woman asked, "Can you stand up?"

Ciri nodded, trying to stand up but she got as far as sitting up but her stomach and legs protested heavily, as she told the older lady, "I can't, my stomach and legs,"

Then another person's footsteps caused Ciri to look up as a man with black robes and hair joined them and asked, "Minerva? Who is this child?"

"I don't know Severus, but she's burning up, and she can't stand up," the lady named Minerva answered, further stating, "We need to bring her to Poppy to see what's wrong,"

Severus did not hesitate as he squatted down and picked up the ashen haired girl, and they took her to a place along the stone corridors and moving stairs that had a lot of beds and curtains in it.

Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape and Poppy Pompfrey quietly watched as the ashen haired girl ate her dinner hurriedly and drank away. Poppy Commented, "Poor girl, she's been starving for days and is starting to show signs of acute malnutrition, how did she get into the castle?"

"I don't know," Minerva stated as she stroke her chin, "I was walking the corridors when I saw a explosion of green tendrils of magic that deposited the girl in the middle of the corridor, Severus came up a bit after,"

"I'll speak to her," Severus said as he noted the girl had finished her food. He walked up to her and introduced himself, "I am Severus Snape, may I know your name?"

"Cirilla," the girl answered, taking a moment to compose herself.

Snape noticed her accent was very similar to that of the Queen's English from the few times he heard her speak.

Then the girl spoke up again, "My Name is Princess Cirilla Fiona Ellen Riannon, but my family calls me Ciri,"

"Do you know how you got here?" Snape continued with his questions, maintaining eye contact and a gentle legimancy probe to ascertain if the girl was being truthful or not.

The girl frowned, "Quite Frankly, I do not know. One moment I was in the middle of the forest running away from the Nilfgaardian Cavalry. I just appeared here?"

"Nilfgaardian Cavalry?" The black haired man asked, raising an eyebrow, so far the girl was speaking the truth, or at least believed she was and yet nothing made sense.

"You've never heard of the black ones? What about the fall of Cintra? My home, surely you've heard about how they destroyed my home?" The Princess asked as panic started creeping into her voice.

"We haven't," Minerva said as she came up beside the girl, "But we will help you figure it out."

Albus Dumbledore was in a right pickle to be in, in a case of odd appearances, disappearances and unfortunate events. First was the sudden appearance of that strange girl with the mousy grey hair, Cirilla, a week prior. She spoke off kingdoms and conquest, and could not recognize the basic map of the world.

And confirmed through a bit of unethical but very much necessary use of legimancy by Severus Snape. They were able to confirm at least what the girl was saying was true. Which brought up an interesting proposition, that there were other worlds out there with humans and magic and much more.

But ultimately other than confirming a theory or two, it was ultimately entirely useless information, as nobody could really act on.

And really, all the Hogwarts staff could do was take pity on the exiled princess and allow her to remain at Hogwarts. After all, Hogwarts would always be open to those who asked for help.

And on the flip side of things, the other half of his current pickle. Harry Potter had made rather unnecessary and unsightly waves in the wizarding world.

Three days ago, the boy-who-lived at eleven pm at night burned down his family residence made of bricks in a fire fueled entirely by magic before pulling off a disappearing trick that left the Department of Magical Law Enforcement scrambling.

Of course, the Dursleys were not hurt. Which he was thankful for, as soon as he figured out what would push a nine year child to commit such an act of arson he used his measurable influence to begin the process of dragging the Dursley's through the muggle justice system so that DMLE could get their hands on them.

Which thanks to the help of the current anti-muggle sentiment in the magical world, did a lot to exonerate the Potter boy and overnight turned him into a living legend especially amongst the more conservative and more… radical elements of Magical Britain.

After all, they were pretty much handed a win on a silver platter: The Boy-Who-Lived abused by his muggle relatives. Burns down house with magical fire!

It put him in a precarious position, on the one hand. He had entrusted the Dursleys with the care of the Potter heir. They had been at the time of the murder of Lily and James, the most viable option.

Sirius, despite his personal doubts- was in Azkaban. As it was a well known fact that he was the secret keeper of the Potter's and had betrayed them, which despite his own intuition the evidence had been stacked against Sirius Black from the get go, and the other Black that Dumbledore would have trusted was dead.

And the fact that the secret keeper is the one who casts the Fidelius charm.

As Dumbledore contemplated on these problems, he heard a knock at his door. He wove his wand at the door to unlock it, as a familiar, long thought dead figure walked in.

"Arcturus Black, as I live and breathe. I thought you were dead, old boy," Dumbledore greeted as he leaned back on his chair, "I thought you died when Voldemort began purging the old guard,"

"That Rat Bastard could try a thousand times and still couldn't best me," Acrturus replied as he took a seat and pulled out a bottle of fire whiskey and set it on the table as he said, "Moved to Norway when i realized my spineless failure of a son finally lost control of the House and Walburga took,"

As Dumbledore conjured cups of silver, the two veterans of the Great Wizarding War shared a toast and drank down the fiery liquid, then set their cups down, "What brings you back to Britain?"

"Rumors," Arcturus stated, narrowing his eyes, "Rumors of a wraith hiding in Albania. Unicorns being sucked dry of their blood, animals found dead. Whispers of one who flees from death,"

"So it is as I have feared, Voldemort persist even without a body," Dumbledore stated as he interlinked his fingers, his eyes looking at some seemingly random trinket blinking away in the middle of his desk, "This is a bad omen for all of us, if we can't figure out what keeps him tethered to the mortal realm,"

"I've tried to look into it," Arcturus admitted, pulling out a badly burned locket and set it on the table next to the blinking trinket, "I do not know much about it, other than Regulus stole it from the dark lord and ordered Kreacher to destroy it. The elf was unable to, and when I saw it- it tried to poison my mind. It took Fyendire to destroy it,"

Dumbledore looked at it, and noticed the warped figure of a snake on the locket lid, "I will look into it, if it was significant for Young Regulus to betray the dark lord for it. Then it must have been something truly dangerous,"

"I'm sorry old friend, when I left Britain thirty years ago I did not think my house would fall so far," Arcturus Black said as he poured himself another drink, "I fought against Grindelwald like everyone else, I thought I earned my retirement. But Britain will be in for a bad time if Voldemort comes back,"

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, watched as the former Lord of House Black downed a shot and then spoke, "Well, not all hope was lost. We still have young Harry Potter, if I could find him."

Arcturus looked at Albus with narrowed eyes, "Dorea's grandson? I heard some hogwash about him being the boy who lived but you know nonsense like that doesn't leave the british isles,"

"It isn't some simple no sense," Albus replied, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his desk, "When Voldemort attacked Lily and James home, Lily Potter managed to activate a powerful ancient magic that protected little Harry from the killing curse, which rebounded at Voldemort,"

"And here I thought you killed him," Arcturus said as he stroked his chin, "Lily Potter, Eh? It seems to run in their veins to find remarkable women. Charlus and Dorea, William and Pherosphone, And my nephew found himself a girl that may have surpassed them all. What is it with the potter's ability to find strong women? If my sons had half of the sense for picking a wife Charlus did, my house would still be standing proud!"

Then he added, "All this over what? Blood purity? Where did this nonsense movement come from? What happened to the noble aristocracy of Magical Britannia?"

"It became corrupt," Dumbledore replied, "As all institutions of power eventually do, we became corrupt and complacent since our victory in the Great Wizarding War."

"You are right there my friend," Arcturus acknowledged and tipped his head, "So explain to me why you are putting your fate in James lad? As I recall, James was not overly remarkable."

Albus frowned for a moment, then said, "There was a prophecy that voldemort overheard. Not all of it, but it spoke of one being born to parents who had thrice defied him, and that the dark lord would mark him as his equal. The prophecy spoke of this child being born as the seven month died, with the power to defeat the dark lord with a power he knows not,"

"Fatum iter suum habebit" The former Lord stated, as he explained, "Fate will have its way, one cannot deny it or escape it,"

Then he asked, "But what do you mean if you can find him?"

"Well, it seems young Potter decided to burn his relative's home down," Dumbledore answered, adding in, "They were the bad sort of muggles, and while they lived entirely unharmed, Little Harry took out his frustrations at an abusive upbringing by learning to control his magic without a wand and used that to burn down their house, and ran away, unfortunately we cannot find him now, thought he is alive,"

"I see, well luckily for you. Mr Potter has black blood running through his veins. Which makes him easier to find for me," Arcturus Black stated.

Ciri was walking around the halls of Hogwarts aimlessly. Ever since she arrived in this strange world she felt lost, confused and numb. She often took to walking around like she was now, without a purpose.

Her thoughts were of home, how it had all come crashing down. How she had been left alone to survive in the wild, and now had nobody. She still hadn't gotten the chance to grieve. Having to put on a strong face in front of so many unfamiliar faces. Not even the solitude of an empty dorm room allowed her to lower her guard and cry for everything she had lost.

However, as she walked along one of the many passages which had windows that overlooked the grounds outside. She saw an older gentleman a black trench coat, brown boots and pants. His hands rested on a cane as he looked out the window.

She went to turn around and leave he he spoke, "No need to leave dear,"

She took one step closer towards him, and asked, "Who are you?"

"I am Arcturus Black, I once fought alongside Professor Dumbledore in the war against Grindelwald," the old man explained as he introduced himself, "He told me a bit about you, Princess Cirilla,"

"Professor Dumbledore told you about me?" Ciri asked curiously, raising an eyebrow, "Why would he do that?"

"Just old friends catching up, dear," Arcturus replied, as he looked deeply into her eyes.

Ciri felt a bit unnerved by his gaze. It was as if he could see her very self, As if he was looking through her and not looking at her. Then he turned back to look out the window and said, "You haven't had a chance to grieve properly have you?"

"I'm sorry," The ashen haired girl asked, feeling a bit affronted.

"Kid, you're doing a bloody good job of keeping it together. But to someone like me, I can see it in your eyes. You haven't had the chance to process the travedies and trauma in your life," Arcturus pointed out, "You've kept yourself from crying and finally acknowledging that you were wronged, and it's eating you alive, don't hold onto those feelings,"

Then he casually mentioned, "I've been where you are now, Back in the days of Grindelwald's war in nineteen forty. My father died, two of my siblings betrayed Britain and joined the dark tosser, my wife was ill and there I was in some trench in France waiting for death. Grindelwald's forces caught us by surprise and our unit was shredded almost to the last man. I would have been dead if not for Charlus Potter. But needless to say, I was in a bad way for some time,"

"But is is important that you process and acknowledge your losses," The old man continued, "Allow yourself your time to cry, to rage at the unfairness of it all, and then accept that it happened, and use that as motivation for you to get better, stronger, so that nobody can take anything from you again be it man or army,"

His words hit her like a knife, and before Ciri could even stop herself. She felt the first tears fall and before she knew it she was sobbing, as the pent up emotions she had been guarding for so long finally burst forward amongst the rip tides of grief, anger and sadness that filled her soul.

She didn't know how long she cried for, but when the tears finally stopped. She was exhausted, and was sitting down side by side with the elderly man, as he told her, "There will be days where you are filled with sadness and melancholy. Other days you will feel better, and some days you might feel like you're invincible, only to get knocked down again. The road to recovery is a long once, Princess Cirilla,"

Then he stood up and said, "I wish you well, I have to go now,"

Harry Potter listened to the sound of two cracks outside of the walls of his castle, and raised his head from the book he was knee deep into reading. Currently he was just lazing about, sitting in his throne with his legs thrown over the armrest.

However as he heard footsteps coming from the hall he set his book in his lap and sat up straight.

The wolf sitting beside him, which he had lovingly named Puff after the wolf from Norse mythology which he found fitting, considering their first encounter had not gone down well.

From the dark passageway, emerged two elderly figures. One with a walking stick and a trench coat, and the other one with a long beard and purple flamboyant robes.

Puff growled, as Harry crossed his arms and rested his right ankle on his left knee, and looked at the people who so brazenly stepped on his domain. Figuring he might as well hear them out, he spoke, "Puff, down boy."

The wolf stopped, listened to its partner and took a seat.

And when two old men took a couple more steps forward, the one in the trench coat said, "Must be a Potter alright, same damn arrogance, but with Dorea's face on it. Snot nosed bastard,"

Harry raised his eyebrow, and asked, "And who is the cripple supposed to be?"

"Oh you got a smart mouth don't ya, this cripple can still bend you over and whoop your ass boy," The old man said as he started crackling, "See Dumbledore, I told you we'd find him- hehe. I've seen him all of a minute and I can already tell. He's as insufferable as Charlus was,"

"Mr Potter," the old man with the beard said then, "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And beside me is Lord Arcturus Black, your granduncle on the side of your father's family,"

Harry did not look impressed, his face remaining impassive as he judged the two old men before him. Arcturus leaned to Dumbledore and said, "I don't think the lad is impressed. Nor do I think he believes a word you just said, old boy,"

Just then, from Harry's left and right. Three spears on each side began to levitate and slowly turn to face the two older gentlemen.

"Hey, shit head. If you're gonna point weapons at us, be prepared to use them," Arcturus exclaimed as he drew his wand from his pocket, and held it at the ready.

"State your business," Harry demanded, "My patience is waning,"

"Listen you little shit," Arcturus began. But before he could continue the six spears were thrown at them with impressive speed.

Both Dumbledore and Black acted in tandem. With the Professor transfiguring his spears into a swarm of butterflies. While the Lord sent a rotting curse at the spears heading towards him that saw them turned to dust, metal and all.

"I see, so you are mages," Harry said closing his eyes, "I apologize for my brazen actions, I mistook you for the common rabble."

"We know your name, we told you that the old boy next to me is the Headmaster of a School for magicals, and you assume us peasants?" Arcturus asked incredulously.

Harry merely shrugged, "I burnt down the house of my dead aunt and uncle, I figured the boys in blue would try to come for me eventually,"

"If you weren't Dorea's grandson I'd split your skull wide open boy," Arcturus said, then starting laughing again. It took a while for him to calm down, and spoke once more, "So, you can already do magic without a wand, impressive. There's not anyone who can use magic like that at all,"

"So other magicals rely on a wand?" Harry asked looking something other than impassive for the first time, "Curious, I know utilizing internal magic was difficult and took me a couple of years of practice, but I assumed that's because I lacked true instruction. I didn't realize… I see, so your wand pulls magic from the environment,"

"You can sense the inner workings of a wand?" Albus asked, as he took another step forward, "You must be uniquely gifted since perhaps merlin. Usually one who can do wandless magic spends a lifetime studying a field magic before they can attempt a wandless feat in the field they specialize in,"

Then Albus shifted the topic, "But regardless Mr Potter. We are here to ensure your safety and to find you a proper home, I am aware that the Dursley's were not kind or good people at all towards you,"

"I think you will find… Professor. I am quite at home and very comfortable where I am, and I would be remiss to not inform you that attempting to remove me from my castle would be… inadvisable," The green eyed boy stated, his eyes narrowing once again. Beside him, as if sensing the shift, Puff started growling once again, raising its canine head and baring his fangs.

"If he is my family," Harry then asked, pointing at Arcturus, "Where has he been? Obviously, non magicals cannot be trusted with those who can use magic. The Inquisition and the Witch hunts make that clear, yet I was given to those without the gift. Why not him?"

"Lad, as far as anyone has been concerned, I have been dead since nineteen sixty two. A huge mistake on my part, as my House has failed with the weak leadership of my son, and now only you and my other grandson remain who carry my blood, and that piss poor bastard is in Azkaban, prison," Arcturus pointed out, "Allegedly for betraying your parents. I was the last person anyone was going to trust your care with,"

"Interesting," Harry replied, his lips thinning with a hint of content marrying his tone, "What do you know about my parents? According to my dear relatives they were drunk junkies who got themselves killed in a car accident,"

"That could not be further from the truth, and a disservice to the heroic sacrifice your parents made for all of Magical Britain, and for yourself," Dumbledore replied sounding indignant, "Were it not for your mother, you would not be alive and Britain would be under the thumb of a Dark Lord, the same who killed your parents, and gave you the scar on your forehead,"

The eyes of the green eyed child narrowed, and demanded, "Explain,"

After Professor Albus Dumbledore and Lord Arcturus Black left his castle. Harry sat in his throne- his elbow on the arm rest and his chin resting on his palm as he processed everything he had been told.

His parents were wizards, ones who stood up against a dark lord that had waged war for two decades and had nearly won until a miracle in part of his mother, Lily Potter had magically saved the day.

No pun intended.

He had a lot to think about, new information to process. so many more questions had been brought to the forefront of his mind. Why were those of his own kind weary of looking after him? Why had he been given to those despicable pissants he called relatives, if he and his parents were considered important heroes of the century amongst Magical Britain?

Harry Potter scoffed at such fanciful tales. nothing more than mere fantasies spun to get him to trust those old men, and his intuition advised him as such.

He had read many books, comics and manga, and he knew that wise old men with magic were trouble. They would make him go out and train and compete and save the world somehow.

Nope, not his cup of tea, he wasn't a hero. If anything he identified more with the villains, afterall. He cared not for the trappings of the so-called innocents. The safety of the crawling and pretentious masses were the least of his worries as he stood up from his throne and made his way up the north tower towards his chamber, deciding it was time to tuck in for the day