Disclaimer: Not the Rowling.

NOTES:

Inspired by Harry Potter’s Discovery by JohnDeath:
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5284129/1/Harry_Potters_Discovery

I read the above piece, and thought that the basic concept was very interesting. It sat in my head for a while, then this popped out. It’s not an attempt at great literature or anything, and I’ve made a couple of possibly incorrect assumptions about a certain series of light novels, but at least I’ve found a power-up for Harry that doesn’t involve setting the events of the books fourteen years later than they should be.

“Hello.”  :  voice.
“Hello.”  :  voice over phone, radio, TV...
‹Hello.›  :  thought.

POTTER, INVERTED

ANGRY? Harry’s sudden transformation!

It was definitely not the sort of household one would find on middle-class Privet Drive. The distinctly scruffy bungalow would never have been tolerated on that cookie-cutter-perfect street, but it somehow fitted in perfectly beside the mad old cat lady on Wisteria Walk. And of course, shunned as they were by the polite gentry of the neighbourhood, the three students living there had not heard the terrible stories about ‘that Potter boy’; so when he tumbled through the hedge into their unkempt garden one fine May afternoon...

“Hullo,” said Jon, looking down at the small boy who had come close to knocking his garden table over. “What’s going on here?”

“Shh!” said Harry. “It’s my cousin Dudley. He...” He tailed off, holding back a tear as he unconsciously cradled his twisted arm.

“Ah,” said Jon. “Well, I’m just enjoying my breakfast in this nice sun, and going over some of my chemistry notes, so I’m sure I wouldn’t notice if someone decided to hide out on that zed-bed over there for a while.”

“Pardon?” said Harry, confused.

“You sit there quietly, let me get on with my work, and maybe your cousin will give up and go home?”

“Okay...” Harry went over to the battered springs-and-canvas device, currently set up as a lounger, and sat gingerly on one side.

“Here, I might have something you can read... how old are you kid? And what’s your name, for that matter?”

“Harry Potter sir, and I’m eight.”

“Really? I though you were younger. Hang on...” Jon got up and went into the house. Harry could hear him shout something about sticking a couple of extra sausages on, then he returned with a glass of Coke and a large, brightly-coloured book.

“You don’t look like you’ve eaten in ages, so if you’ll wait a bit you can have some breakfast with us.”

“Thank you sir,” said Harry, unsure whether this was a sudden turn of good fortune or some kind of trap.

“I’m Jon Davis, and I’m nineteen, so drop the ‘sir’ could you? Here, you can read this; just try not to spill Coke on the pages. There’ll be sausage sandwiches in a bit.”

“Thanks s— Jon.”

It was a very odd book. It had lots of pictures, and was written in some indecipherable script that Harry initially thought was Chinese, though Jon later told him it was Japanese. However, there were loose sheets tucked between the pages with an English translation. Jon also had to explain that you had to start at what Harry thought was the back of the book, and read it in the opposite direction. Once he got the hang of it, Harry was soon immersed in the story.

And he was hooked. He had to come back, not just because the students gave him somewhere to hide from the Harry Hunting, not just because the story kept him entertained... because of Her.

Something about her spoke to Harry. She was young, independent, and didn’t take any rubbish from any bullies. She had her flaws, but she was powerful, knowledgeable, and collected friends who stood by her.

She could do magic! She ate as much as she wanted! And no-one called her a freak and got away with it!

If Harry had been a few years older, he might have fallen in love with the redhead from the book; as it was he found someone he could admire and aspire to be like.

So he became a regular fixture at the students’ bungalow, getting the occasional meal and reading more about her. When the university term finished for the summer, Rod the physics student went home to stay with his family in Scotland, but Jon stayed on, as did Michael (who also studied chemistry, but turned out to be the person translating the book). Harry kept his visits there a secret from everyone, because they were sure to be stopped if his uncle and aunt ever found out.

He didn’t talk much about his home life with the students, and they accepted that, allowing him to open up at his own pace. There was however one thing he determined to keep secret from them, because he was sure they’d think him mad.

One night, a couple of weeks after his first visit, he was locked in his cupboard early for some imagined freakishness. As before, his mind wandered into fantasy as he sat in the dark; but instead of dreaming about his parents coming to rescue him, he began wondering what she would do.

She would incinerate his relatives with a fireball!

She would pin Dudley to his seat with a single thrust of her sword!

Failing that, she would certainly not just sit here in the dark.

“Light which burns beyond crimson flame, let thy power gather in my hand! Lighting!”

It worked! He had said the incantation quietly to himself, just fantasising, but then he’d felt a strange rushing sensation run up his back, down his arm, and out his hand... and the cupboard lit up as the shining ball formed in the air.

Then dust sifted down as Dudley tramped down the stairs, and Harry stuffed the ball under his blanket.

Harry practised the spells from the book diligently, whenever he could find time alone. Judicious use of Illusion and Ray Wing made sure that Dudley rarely bothered him again, and the occasional donations of food from his student friends helped build up his strength. By the time they graduated and moved out of the bungalow, just before he turned eleven, this universe’s Harry Potter was a more robust and confident youth than the vast majority of his analogues. Unfortunately, that ended up causing him... trouble.

“BOY! You’ve been stealing food again, haven’t you?! And you cheeked your aunt when she found you out!”

“No Uncle Vernon, I haven’t. And all I said to her was that I hadn’t stolen—”

“CHEEK, boy! I don’t know how a freak like you can expect to get away with that sort of thing! Maybe missing a few meals will remind you of your place.”

Vernon transferred his grip on Harry’s arm, and shoved him towards the cupboard. Harry made the mistake of trying to resist.

»THUMP«. A meaty fist struck him on the side of the head, making him see stars. By the time his vision cleared, he was falling inside the cupboard, and the door slammed behind him.

“You can just stay in there until you learn some manners, boy!” spat Vernon as he locked the door.

Harry felt the rage grow inside him, but with an effort of will pushed it down, moulding it onto the ball of concentrated ire that seethed in his core. Calm on the surface once more, he lay down and tried to get some sleep.

As he drifted off, the ball of anger combined with his uncle’s words, still echoing around his subconscious, and something... happened.

»KNOCK KNOCK«. “Come on, get up. It’s Dudley’s special day; we can’t have you holding us up and spoiling it.”

Harry woke suddenly, his aunt’s nagging voice ringing in his ears. The cupboard door unlocked and swung open, letting light in for the first time in two days. A bony hand reached in and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him out.

Petunia gasped, and whispered, “Lily...” Then rage overtook her, and she pulled Harry down the hall to the full-length mirror by the front door. “Look at this!” she hissed venomously. “What have you done now, you freak?”

Harry tried to take in what he was seeing as his aunt shook him violently.

Eyes, unchanged.

Face, still definitely his, but somehow slightly softer.

Hair... a deep, rich, red; and long too: far past his shoulders.

Body... again, softer, with slight curves where he had none before. And something... missing...

Petunia shook ‘him’ again, spinning ‘him’ to face her.

“Well? What have you done, FREAK?”

The former boy snapped. Eyes blazing, she slapped her aunt’s hands away, pushed her against the wall with sudden blossoming strength, and as Petunia’s knees folded, pinned her there with a forearm across her throat.

She leaned in to her aunt’s face, and hissed from a range of inches:

“Call.

Me.

Lina.”

To be continued...

Oh dear. What has Harry done to himself? A subconscious defence mechanism induces dissociative identity disorder, fixating on a favoured “saviour” character who has near-sociopathic tendencies, borderline egomania, and a history of solving problems with excessive violence — all bundled up and made real by anger-fueled accidental magic. What changes will this effect in the unfolding of this universe’s story?

This is my first try at a multi-chapter work. Don’t expect updates too often. It’ll probably run one chapter to a school year, covering up to the end of fourth year.