Me, Myself and I: A Harry Potter Fan Fiction
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.
Dedication: "Voldemort is Mine!" Muggles, Witches, Wizards, Ministries, Headmasters, Teachers, Students: none of them matter to Harry any longer. Because now, after learning the truth about who he is, only one thing will give him peace: Lord Voldemort's blood on his hands!
Author's Note: So, here's an odd little idea that, in a way, is inspired by the hit TV series The Mentalist – do not own – and, well, with the idea in my head, I just started laughing because it sounded crazy at first. Then, after calming down and mulling it over, I thought about it and came to the realisation that it sounded pretty good, so let's see if I was right.
And, as always, if you don't like it, then don't read it.
Dedication: I'd like to dedicate this story to my good friend Quatermass for always giving me the right sort of advice; my recommended reads are Just A Touch of Kleptomania and Renaissance of the Renegades by Quatermass, Harry Potter and the Lightning Lord and Harry Potter and the Power of Two by Colt01, Lucifer Rising and The Rise of Thanatos by JasminSky, Rise of The Serpent Lord: Origins, The Last of the Peverells: Origins and The Wizarding Chronicles: Return of the True Descendant by Arcturus Peverell and, finally, Shadow of the Demon by Andrus Tolero;
Key Pairing: Eventual Harry/Jessica (OFC);
Other Pairings: To be confirmed
Prologue: A Different Introduction
"Well there you are boy; platform nine and platform ten…"
From where he saw in the back seat of the new Mercedes that pulled up in the entrance of King's Cross Station, eleven year old Harry James Potter, orphaned son of Lily and James Potter, boy wizard and alleged saviour of the masses looked out of the window while he listened to his Uncle Vernon grandstanding confidently about what he was seeing.
Without any reaction showing on his face, Harry just scowled while Vernon then added, "Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, I suppose, but…oh…what a pity, they don't seem to have built it yet."
"Because it's clear that a magical platform would be seen by every Tom, Dick and Harry that walks into the Muggle Station," drawled Harry, not at all offended by the common phrase that referred his name: the truth was that he'd figured out weeks ago when Hagrid had given him the ticket that there might be some sort of magic keeping it hidden from others, namely Muggles who didn't need to see it.
Opening the back door, Harry slid out of the car with ease and, standing up, he stretched up, working the tension out of his muscles before, putting his hand on the car roof, he reached into the seating area next to him, pulling out a large trunk and the cage that contained his beautiful snowy owl, Hedwig, who was snoozing lightly on her perch.
Once his things were by his side, Harry looked to Vernon as he said, "Well, you'd better get going, Vernon: you don't want to miss Dudley getting his tail removed. Oh…but you had better make sure they take the right tail and not wind up doing irreparable damage. That would be a pity…"
His sarcastic drawling did exactly what he hoped it would; without bothering to ensure the door was closed, Vernon sped off, the only sight that Harry caught from him was his purple face glowering at Harry in the rear-view mirror.
Lifting a hand in a mocking wave, Harry dropped it back to his side before, with his uncle out of sight, the joking, happy-go-lucky demeanour vanished, only to be replaced by a cool, apathetic glare that looked to the station as Harry, picking up one side of his trunk, dragged it over to where a small cluster of trolleys were kept. Loading his possessions onto one of them, Harry checked the big clock by the entrance, seeing that he still had fifteen minutes before the train set off at 11am.
Fifteen minutes to find Platform Nine and Three Quarters thanks to Hagrid being too busy with Dumbledore's business and praising Harry's stupid title and the nobleness of Gryffindor, the darkness of Slytherin and generally being as useful as a rubber saw cutting through steel to notice that he hadn't said even a word in advice to Harry about getting onto the platform.
So, instead, with nothing but an owl, a trunk and his own wits about him, Harry walked into the station and headed for the stretch of tarmac and cement that made up Platforms Nine and Ten, the many different brick wall barricades in-between dividing the two platforms.
Looking at them only made Harry scowl as he wondered what he was supposed to do now: maybe this was like Diagon Alley and he was meant to tap the bricks in a certain order or perhaps there was some sort of incantation like the spells Harry had read in his books.
Or maybe he was just supposed to stand there looking like an idiot who could have asked a Muggle about the location, wound up laughing at him and then asking him if he was out to cause trouble because he was a minor in a packed Muggle station with no real reason for being there.
'Sometimes,' thought Harry, leaning against one of the pillars while he brooded on his thoughts, 'I don't know which world is stupider: Muggles for thinking they can underestimate a kid or magical because they think they can leave a kid helpless even though, if they knew who he was, they'd be kissing his boots and moving heaven and earth to make him happy again!'
"It's the same every year, packed with Muggles of course!"
Just as Harry smirked on the stupidity of his thoughts, he heard the voice: loud, boisterous and none-too-careful about the fact that they were using such an unknown term around people who were meant to be in the dark as to the greatness of magic.
Looking to his left, towards the entrance to the station, Harry saw that the source of the voice appeared to be a rotund woman with red hair and a warm, but somewhat-commanding air about her; she was dressed in what looked like a hand-knitted shirt with dark-coloured trousers that clung to her round frame as she walked towards Harry, leading what looked like a pack of similar-looking redheads, all of whom seemed to be following like ducklings following their Mother.
Two of the redheads seemed to nudge one another playfully, sniggering while one of them gestured to the matriarch, making a gesture that Harry had seen many times to mean cuckoo-cuckoo, implying that their leader was crazy for being so loud.
Another redhead, who seemed to be the only girl in the group and the youngest, was clinging to the free hand of the matriarch as though her life depended on it while another, who seemed to be the eldest of the kids there, walked with an air about him that gave Harry a clear image.
Someone with a stick the size of Big Ben up their behind and who believed the sun set when they sat down.
'Great,' thought Harry, rolling his eyes as he mused, 'A magical version of the Dursleys: that's all I need.'
As he watched, Harry tried not to show disgust on his face when he noticed the group walk right past him, but not before the young girl in the group asked, "Hello: are you lost? That's a lovely owl."
"Owl?" asked the matriarch, earning a clenched glare from Harry, his jaws almost fused together as she looked to him and his things before, letting out a gasp, she asked, "Oh, don't you know how to get onto the platform, dear? Not to worry; it's Ron's first time as well. Why don't we show you and then you can be on your way."
"Thank you," said Harry, using his years' worth of forced manners from the Dursleys to his advantage before he followed the group past two more pillars and, as he stopped, he saw the matriarch guide the eldest, whom he learned was named Percy, towards the barrier.
As Harry watched, he saw Percy vanish through the wall in a manner that seemed to suggest that he'd just passed through into another realm, just as Harry had guessed when he'd come to the conclusion about the hidden entrance and how Muggles didn't notice it.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Harry raised an eyebrow before he asked, "Is that it? I would never have known that without your help, Miss; thank you…may I go next?"
"Of course dear," replied the woman, earning a curt nod from Harry before she asked, "What's your name?"
"John Smith," said Harry, using the most-common name that he could think of, especially after how the magical people in the magical world had reacted when they'd seen him.
Given that they were in the Muggle world, the last thing Harry wanted – or needed – was this boisterous redhead making a fuss, although he was a little amused that she, unlike them, didn't recognise him and seemed both confused and a little disappointed by the name that Harry had given her.
Almost as though she'd expected him to say something else.
Heading for the barrier, Harry picked up speed as he drew closer and, after a few seconds' running, he felt the air brush over him before he arrived on the other side, revealing an awe-inspiring sight.
A scarlet steam engine with carriages behind her that looked old, but glamorously-new in their model.
A sign over Harry's head proclaimed that he was standing on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, while underneath the large numbers, there were the words Hogwarts Express. On the platform itself, a large number of men, women and children walked along the edge towards the doors into the carriages, some of them talking loudly and aimlessly while others wept and gasped and hugged the younger ones, earning embarrassed looks from said spouses.
A cacophony of hoots, croaks, mews and one or two other noises came from carry cases and cages where the animals were stored while, as Harry slowly pushed through the throng, he also noticed some of the people on the platform were already dressed in their Hogwarts robes.
'There must be a magical way for someone to get here,' thought Harry, clenching his hand around the handle of his trolley as he added, 'Yet another thing Hagrid didn't tell me about: guess this answers the question about which world's stupider: this world!'
Heading for an open door, Harry stopped and, checking the compartment, he found it empty: lifting Hedwig's cage inside, the young wizard then turned and, bending his knees, he hefted his trunk into the compartment, dragging it along the floor before he pushed it, with some effort, under the nearest seat, Hedwig's cage now settled on top over the window.
Closing the door to his compartment, a part of him hoping for some privacy, Harry sat down and, removing his glasses, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose before, returning them to his face, he sighed, "Finally…I'm on my way…"
Leaning his head back against the wood panels of the wall behind him, Harry let his eyes look to the window as he waited for the 11am deadline to come around, a part of him filled with determination and strength as he saw the other witches and wizards pass him by, none of them seemingly noticing him there as they socialised with old friends and new.
But none of these things mattered to Harry: thanks to the Dursleys, he'd never had friends, he'd never really known happiness until he found out the truth of his gifts and, after what had happened in Diagon Alley, a part of Harry didn't actually want friends, especially those who'd look at him for his scar or because he was a god to be worshipped.
No; there was only one thing that Harry cared about right now and, as he sat on the train, the seconds ticking by, his eyes hardened in their sockets as his mind reminded him of what that was, 'No matter what it takes, I will avenge you both.'
Lifting his hand to his scar, Harry's eye twitched briefly before he added, 'Voldemort: if the rumours are true and you are still alive, you're going to wish you weren't…because I destroyed you once and, no matter what it takes, I will destroy you again!'
Pressing his hand to the scar on his brow, Harry took a breath before he hissed in a low voice, "The Dark Lord is mine!"
As far as he was concerned, this was all that mattered to him; anything else was either a means to an end or a complete waste of time including this uselessly-pathetic title that Harry had been forced to have for ten years.
'The Boy-Who-Lived? What a joke.'
Well, soon, the joke would be on them because, when the dust finally settled and the last spell was cast, Harry Potter would have another name.
One that he did want!
He would become The Boy-Who-Conquered!
So, the opening chapter is done and it looks like learning the truth about his 'fame' has had a complete opposite effect to canon on Harry, but what is his endgame?
How does he plan on becoming the Boy-Who-Conquered and what will stand between him and that goal?
Keep Reading to Find Out
Next Chapter: On the train ride to Hogwarts, Harry meets some good faces, some bad ones, some downright ugly ones and the odd one or two who make him wish he'd never even set foot in the magical world, especially when he learns what fate has in store for him with the Sorting Ceremony…
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