Work Header

Harry Potter Plot Kneazles

Chapter Text

[Potter Luck] Prologue: When He Died

There was once a man who stood at the top, but never looking down. Cold, vividly emerald eyes and curled raven tresses. He was not normal, he was not average. Even in death he stood out from the rest. It goes to say a second life, a new identity does not change the fact. At least now he has a convenient excuse...blasted Potter Luck.

Harry Potter couldn't remember a time beyond his old decrepit cupboard with it's spiders, dust and thin, frayed blankets. His whole world had been that small suffocating darkness and a life enslaved by his supposed Aunt, Uncle and baby whale of a cousin. He was always alone, his emotions flickering constantly between a heart wrenching resignation, fear and pain.
His life revolved catering to their every whims, bowing his head in submission and silencing any protests as he was starved, beaten and killed.

A small broken body laid unmoving on the wooden floor. Blood pooled around his head from the gashes soaking his hair, his arm was bent at an irregular angle, his back stung from countless lashes of Vernon's belt and his stomach and legs were black and blue. Only the quick, shallow dips and rises of his chest showed he was alive.

Emerald eyes stared unwaveringly above, gathering his remaining strength he forced his finger to twitch, surpressing the flinch as a dulled blade seemed to carve its way through his flesh. Broken.

He took a deeper breath, not even tensing at the pain as his ribs protested, and when he let it out his eyes blazed with icy flames.


He wasn't sure how long he laid there, just thinking at what his death has come to. He, once renown throughout the world as the unparalleled genius of the 23rd century was reduced to this! A child, 7 years of age if his memory is correct, beaten and kept barely alive by the unfamiliar energy surging through his veins....sighing, he cast the thought away and recalibrated his focus to something more intriguing.

The boy's name was Harry Potter.

Magic was real...he snorted and so was rebirth apparently. He noted absently that the movement didn't cause as much pain as it would've before. His mind locked down his emotions as countless theories and ideas formed, he ran through them subconsciously sorting through the useful from the improbable.

He had magic...and while it's still debatable if he can use it, magic was at least partially sentient if the way his wound were rapidly recovering when moments ago he'd been dead was any proof.

The newly reincarnated boy filed away the theory for later investigation and focused on actually identifying the source of his magic within his body, his 'magical core' so to say. As an academic he'd pursued all forms of knowledge and sources of inspiration, at one time he'd become inspired by the lost art of alchemy and the art of transfiguration from JK Rowling's forever famous novels he'd pursued an alchemist's greatest dreams, the transformation of lead into gold, the concept of turning one pure substance into another.

He fondly remembered his 'small' collection of various awards and the Nobel Prize sitting on his fireplace mantle back in his 'old world'. He lived to defy the laws man had set and he felt rather smug that he came out on top more often then not.

He twitched his finger once more just as he closed his eyes and felt a soothing, familiar warmth encompass his body. His eyes snapped open and he tested a bit of his weight on his hand, feeling only a dull soreness he easily dismissed the sharp protests of his body as he sat up. He focused on the warmth, noting it was warmer around the injure parts of his body and tried to move the intangible energy around, circulating it like the blood pumping in his veins.

He did flinch when he snapped his arm into place, aligning it properly and holding it in place while the energy- his magic -wrapped around it, mending the bone and torn tissue. About half an hour later, going by his internal clock, he could release the arm with only a slight throbbing of complaint from the appendage. His breathing was normal and he focused on the steady rhythm as his mind formulate a plan of action, efficiently dividing what he needs to do and identifying what is urgent and what can wait.

First, he needs to heal his wounds, he probably won't have time to heal fully before that overweight hippo or his anaemic giraffe of a wife comes and forces him to complete his daily chores, with or without the injuries. As soon as he can walk, he needs to get out of here.

His magic...he has time, so he'll explore what he can do with it without slowing down his healing. In his time such wounds could be treated in seconds with the laser medical treatments, but considering that the method wasn't even made possible for even minor injuries and surface wounds until the 21st century it meant that without his magic he'd be looking at a few months at minimum in a hospital.

He missed his lab already.

But, there has to be some passive abilities of his magic he could use...for one he can vaguely identify three, empty-feeling bodies above him. Whether it's because the Dursley's were literally inhumane or something similar to one of those clone automals (automatic animals), or if it was because they were muggles without a magical core he wasn't sure, but it was worth noting.

He focused on the feeling leading him to the three Dursleys, his lips twitching upwards when his magic seemed to respond to his wish and reached out further away from him, spreading outside of the house. He let the warmth trickle from his 'core', his body, and only stopped when he felt the magic around his injuries drawing away.

He blinked, that couldn't be right...the range was...well, considering he didn't have anything to compare with but even he had enough common sense to know almost 200 square kilometres is not a normal range...he'll, even sniping weapons of his time only reached half of that without external help, if he remembers right sniping weapons of this time doesn't even reach 1% of that... huh, wonder how far he'd be able to sense once he was fully grown up.

He reduced his range to cover about 50 square kilometres, covering the neighbourhood. He catalogued each feeling he had, his eyes narrowing when all but one felt 'empty'. The non-empty-but-not-whole feeling came from down the street...the squib, Figgs was it?

He filed his findings away once more and played around with his new senses, drawing it in and out, moulding it into different shapes and enhancing its sensitivity while he propped himself up against the cold wall.

It was nearly time for Petunia to come knocking, he wouldn't be surprised if they hadn't realised they killed the his body's former inhibitor...

He can stand, a bit wobbly but he could probably still walk and possibly a job if he needs to. He tests out his legs, shifting his weight on the a few times before slowly pushing his cupboard door open, it seems they didn't think he'd be up to escaping any time soon.

The small, fragile body had an unhealthily high pain tolerance and he immediately dismissed the dulled aches in favour of steadily walking towards the front door. Slipping out soundlessly he breathed a sigh of relief.

It wasn't even dawn yet and the crisp morning air had him biting his lower lip. He slowly surveyed his surroundings, it was still dark so there was no one up and about, his senses confirming that no one is out on the street. He walked slowly, every step away from the wretched house gaining strength.

His back straightened, eyes sharpened with cold intelligence, his strides confident. If anyone were to witness the changes they'd be frozen in fear as the air around the boy changed, growing more controlled and unlike any for a 6 year old who looked like they were barely 4.

When he reached the edge of the property his eye was caught on the traces of unfamiliar magic bordering the residence. The magic was waning, leaking untamedly into the air, whatever held it together broken beyond repair.

Wards...he ignored the fallen magic, stepping out into the slated paving, never turning back.

He can't pretend to be Harry Potter, even if his very soul had merged with the boy's. He wasn't the person he was before either, not with his beaten state and very much different world.

Harry Potter had been a naive boy whose future was dictated by others from the moment he was born. He'd been shy, unconfident and innocently naive despite the reality of his life.

He, however...he wasn't humble, wasn't particularly shy and far from unconfident despite disliking any attention, he wasn't all too fond of the human race really... He knew both sides of the world, despite what many would think he'd found inspiration in both the glitz and glam, the naive dreams of the sheltered as well as the slums, the dead, the resigned and desperate.

He can't be Harry Potter, the boy was his opposite in more then a few ways and considering he was in control his pride wouldn't let him bow down to another.
He can't change his blood, yet, but he can change his identity.

Harry Potter was too well known in the magical world so the name has to at least change.

Gringotts first, he nodded to himself walking as he pieced together any information he knew on this world.


Time-skip, 5 years later, Kings Academy, Australia

A plain brown owl hooted as it landed on a metal railing, attracting the attention of a raven haired boy.

"A barn owl? In the middle of the day? My, they sure are bold", the boy stood up from behind his oak desk, gliding across the spacious room and pushing open the wide glass windows into the veranda. The boy smiled, pulling out an owl treat from a dish attached to a perch by his desk.

"Thank you my dear", emerald eyes softened as the owl rubbed against his hand before taking the offered treat. He gave it a gently pat before untying the letter attached to the bird's leg.

To Mr H.C Potter,

Scholar Dorm, Luxury Suite room 001

Kings Academy Australian Campus

He ran his finger along the edge of the letter, cutting through the paper and pulling out the content within.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

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 September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

First-year students will require:
1.Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2.One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3.One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4.One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

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

1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales

Students may also bring and owl OR a cat OR a toad.


Hadrian, formerly Harry, scanned through the course books, confirming he was in possession of all the mentioned titles and smiled at the owl, fishing out another treat.

"Wait here, I will send my reply with you in a moment", the owl hooted in acceptance, taking the treat with his beak.

Hadrian twitched his fingers thrice, two objects appears in front of him. He turned to a piece of pristine white paper on top of the drawers as his fountain pen glided elegantly across the page.

To Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,

I, Hadrian Orion Potter, accept your invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Due to my current situation I will not be needing an escort. I am also asking if my bonded familiar will be allowed in Hogwarts as he is not an owl, cat or toad. My thanks.

May magic bless you and yours,

Hadrian Orion Potter,
Heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter

(Seals: Crest of the House of Potter, personal seal Cloak of Stars)

Hadrian had contemplated whether or not to reveal that he knew his heritage but honestly he doubted he'd be able to hide it for long, nor did he want to.

Satisfied he closed the letter with a wax seal with the Potter Crest and handed it to the patiently waiting owl. The brown bird nodded and flew off with the letter in his beak.

Hadrian watched the bird disappear with unreadable eyes, not even turning around when the sound of a fist knocking against his wooden doors broke the silence.


Albus Percival Wulfric Dumbledore paced in his office, his eyes constantly glancing at between the shattered silver instruments on his shelf and out his window where the owl carrying one Harry Potter's letter had left nearly half a day ago.

He frowned when he caught sight of the bird, a letter in his mouth, blue eyes lacking their usual twinkle. He immediately flooed to Minerva's office as the bird disappeared from his sight

Chapter Text

Chapter 2:

At age 1, he could speak in fluent sentences, run as soon as he could walk and drew whatever he saw.

At age 2, he could read, write and paint.

At age 3 he could play 7 musical instruments.

At age 4 he was fluent in 13 different languages.

By the time he was 5, he could operate the STAR Voyager fleets.

And when he entered Athens Academy, the entire galaxy knew his name.

So he resolved it wouldn’t be any different now, as Hadrian Potter.


Hadrian remembered most vividly the first time he stepped out from Gringotts, the wounds on his body were completely healed and his frail fingers weighted by heavy golden rings, the figure of a abused boy in tattered rags suddenly cast away.

The oversized clothes from his cousin seemed to equal the most expensive robes, his gaunt face as regal as any nobles, the force of his magic securing his safety more so then any guard.

His name was Hadrian Orion Potter, scion of his Houses and legacy of his own self.

By the time he stepped out of the Ally, his clothing matched his status and his bearing peerless among kings.

His gait didn’t falter as he walked away into the unknown of this time.


King Academy wasn’t an ordinary boarding school, it’s arms reached far from continent to continent and any graduate was set for a lifetime of success.

However, to enrol is one hurdle, to stay there was an even bigger one.

The graduation rate for the Academy is less then 30%, not from expulsion, rather the majority of students drop out. The reasons vary, but if asked, most present and past students would agree, if you cannot graduate then you are ordinary. If you graduate, you are extraordinary, if you graduate amongst the top 10 elites, then your future is limitless.

This was a fact which was the foundation of the school.

The top 100 are the ones with a road for a bright future, the top 10 are the ones who can carve out their own roads.

Success or failure, one is guaranteed, the other impossible.

The Academy honed the talents you were born with, and ones you discover. It fed your passion and guided your self.

You can be anyone or anything you want to be.

These aren’t empty words.

This was the Academy of Kings.


He’d been reluctant, initially he disdained at substituting Kings Academy for an institution that serves more as propaganda then it is for learning, however there was always a factor or two that made the offer more enticing.

It wasn’t magic, Kings Academy had their own share of Witches and Wizards, the Australian Campus in particular served as both Australia’s finest non-magical, and magical academy. By the time he was 10, Hadrian was long part of the 10 Elites, the youngest and most...infamous.

It was partially his curiosity, and partially his boredom, that led him to accepting his place at Hogwarts.

Hadrian was most curious as to how shameless the British magical populace can or will be.


The boy’s eyes stared at the golden sigil pinned to his collar, an eyebrow raised but respect echoing in his eyes.

“A King’s student?”

Hadrian cocked an eyebrow, unsurprised, “Indeed.”

The boy stood straighter at the confirmation, a smirk appearing on his face, “which campus? Father had considered sending me to the one in France, but Mother argued I was too young.”

Hadrian allowed a calm smile, “Australian Campus, actually, I’d considered both the French and American Campus but they weren’t to my taste.”

The boy—Draco Malfoy, his memories supplied— nodded in understanding, discreetly adjusting his pose when Madam Malkin looked away.

“I would have preferred the French campus myself, however I do wonder why a King’s student would be here..?”, Draco looked at him promptingly, an eyebrow raise in inquisition.

Hadrian’s eyes glanced over the various fabrics, mentally cataloguing the ones he liked while he answered, “Call me Hadrian and tradition, I suppose, and curiosity. My family has a history there and I have various projects that require my being here.”

Just as the other boy was about to answer, Madam Malkin returned and Draco’s mother had returned to pick him up.

He paused as he was about to walk away and extended a hand to Hadrian, Hadrian paused, staring at him curiously and reached out in acceptance.

“Call me Draco, Draco Malfoy. I’ll see you at Hogwarts, Hadrian”, with that they shook and the blonde turned to leave as Hadrian turned to discuss his robes with Madam Malkin.

Both wore matching smirks of satisfaction.


There’d been certain limitations that arose whilst changing his name.

One, for every title he claimed the House name is added to his True Name.

Two, if he were to discard a name, he forfeits all rights to everything connected to the name which included money, assets, and in certain cases, blood and magic.

Three, it has to be recognised by magic just as he must recognise it as himself.

He can shorten or hide his True Name, which most pure bloods do as names carry magic in them— as most things do— but he cannot change it completely.

He’d been born a Potter, so it is his House. If he were to deny it, he could very well lose it.

He wasn’t a monk, and he didn’t fancy discarding what could be potentially valuable resources for something as simple as a name.

Hence, since he could not, and will not even attempt to be, Harry James Potter, he could live with being Hadrian Orion Potter-Black.

His code name in his last life had been Orion, it had become as much his name as the one his parents had granted.

It symbolised the him of the past, but did not define the him he is now.

He wasn’t Harry Potter, and it would be best for those fools to realise it sooner.


There had always been certain...laws that governed the way witches and wizards utilised their Magic.

Gamp’s Laws of Transfiguration, Mercella’s Rules of Runic Warding, Haseloth’s Laws of Arithmacy.

He took...certain delight in breaking each, and every one of them.

Food cannot be conjured out of thin air?

It takes a bit of work, studying food making processes, compositions and the like, but it could be done.

It was a matter of knowing what you want.

It went beyond in terms of detail, of ordering a gluten-free white choc mocha with two parts mocha to two parts water and one part soy milk and exactly three teaspoons of sugar and 57 ml of cream on top.

Magic can do anything.

At one time he’d made a birthday cake for his Transfiguration Professor. Conjuring it all together out of thin air and personally decorating it with  colourful icing, sweet strawberries and whipped cream before presenting it to her.

She accepted, and ate it, and complimented him on it, all while her eye wouldn’t stop twitching and her wand tightly grasped in her hand. Whether to try it out herself or hexing him for breaking a once-absolute law, he didn’t really know.

Or care.

He gleefully proceeded to repeat the stunt every year on her birthday.

Mercella’s Rules of Runic Warding state specific properties of each dune of the Runic alphabet as well as the fact that only the Runic alphabet could be used in Runic operations including wards, talismans and rituals.

He almost gleefully used the Latin alphabet to spell out ‘Mercella Was A Batshit Crazy Lady With As Many Braincells As An Amoeba’ as he would in a ward.

The wards worked, which oddly enough wasn’t the weirdest thing, the wards had made it so that it was impossible for anyone within them to also had the side effect of making them reveal a bit too much. He found out his Arithmancy and Runes Professors were kinky idiots and traumatised their entire class with rather, graphic, details of their...endeavours.

That aside, he also found out it didn’t work on him, the creator, when both vindictive professors and some overzealous fan girls shoved him inside and tried to find out everything from his most hated food to his ideal type to things he’d had to call the Dean in for and nearly the Police.

It would’ve been traumatising, if it had worked.

As it stands he has restraining orders filed against half the girls of that particular class and his Professors.

Haseloth’s Law had a simpler tale that involved the entire auditorium filled with black boards, a red faced Arithmancer, and House elves.

It worked on the basis that you cannot quantify emotions and certain intangible subjects, Hadrian, obviously, proved otherwise.

The Arithmancer quit the next day though, the Dean had to sit through three days of ‘detention’ that involved him smirking like the cat ate the canary while staring unnervingly at every movement old man made. What should’ve been three days of writing lines, ‘I will not upturn every belief a professor has...I will not purposefully or accidentally send a professor to St Victoria’s Mental Facilities...I will not make teachers retire just because I could...etc’, turned into three days of the Dean being coaxed, cornered and possibly blackmailed into signing certain forms that pretty much gave him the ability to do all of the above, and more.

He will admit to some distinctly demonic sounding cackling there, if the new Dean has anything to say about it.


Hadrian apparated back to his suite.

His beautiful, full equiped and private suite.

He leaned against the comfortable wing backed chair, his eyes closing as he sent his purchases to organise the self somewhere. Now, as things were, they are a far cry then how it had been years ago when he first left the disgusting animals claiming to be his relatives.

Now, he wasn’t the boy, the freak, the Potter or even Harry. The cupboard of his home wasn’t his bedroom, the none existent spiders were not a source of company.

Here, was his territory, his home, the place he’d spent 4 years perfecting. Everything was pristine, flawless, not a thing out of place. It was a source of his pride.

But now he was going to have to leave it, his lips turned down in into a cold sneer, his displeasure visible. He was reluctant, but he’d accepted he’d have to leave eventually. His home will remain though, as it always had. No one would dare to even attempt to intrude on his territory, even in his absence.

He stood and headed down to his laboratory, the doorways parting by themselves to open a pathway for him alone. He walked deep into the heart of his home, and stepped into his realm.

There were potions bubbling away in one area, each isolated and fitted with charms to prevent explosions, mess or cross contamination. There were ward testing areas and charm testing areas each with gages attached to each ward to measure their effectivity, there were hundreds, of not thousands, of diagrams, heroines, observations, notes and recipes covering the walls desks, each one on his precise writing.

His eyes flashed with the pleasure that always came from seeing his own accomplishments. He had been a prideful man, and he had never been afraid to show it. He knew the things he could accomplish, what he was capable of, and he knew he had every reason to be proud of it.

It was just one of the many things that differed him from his body’s original inhabitant.

As it stands he’d invented well over a dozen charms, potions and wards, in a matter of 4 years whilst others his age could barely hold their wands right.

And that was only the magical side of his research.

Technology of the 23rd century couldn’t even be imagined in this time, in the 300 odd years that separated his lifetimes humanity had evolved to extents no one could have imagined. To the people now, it had only been roughly 30 years since humans landed on the moon.

But, in his time there wasn’t a place in the Milky Way that they hadn’t been.

He strode across the room and through to another, this one was isolated for testing inventions which may effect his more delicate experiments. His magic perked up when he passed through the doorway.

His expression softened, he adored magic, and judging by how it gave him the impression of a cat’s purring, he’d say it was quite fond of him too. The door slid shut behind him and his emerald eyes glowed with power.

The air seemed to vibrate as his magic seeped out from under his skin, filling the space even as the charms activated and the white room expanded.

His magic sang as his lips curved up in a smile, it danced as he let go of the reigns and basked in the freedom of his power. Four years ago he’d tested to see if his magic really was sentient, the results pleased him.

His magic rose once more and twisted around him like a snake winding around its prey, it hummed with power as it changed form into silvery mist that wrapped protectively around him. A loud, earth shaking roar thundered throughout the room as a silver lion in all its glory materialised beside him.

It was bigger, stronger, fiercer, then any other.

The first time he’d seen his Patronus he’d snorted in amusement, he was no Gryffindor but he found it foolish to dislike his own Guardian just because of the fact. He could see why his memories took the form though, Lions, male lions in particular, were the rulers, the guardians of their Pride.

He’d inadvertently disproved the theories behind the Patronus spell as well.

What he used weren’t memories of joy, nor emotions of happiness.

What he’d used was his pride, his satisfaction and his determination.

It was no wonder a lion appeared.

This was the raw form of his Patronus, the manifestation of his primal side. Which, he’d observed, seemed to be stronger now then it was in his last life. He noted it down mentally as a possible result of the generation gap, it was possible his old body, and possibly humanity of his time as a whole, had evolved such that such primal instincts were either repressed or unnecessary.

Through experimentation he found that by honing this side of him, his instincts and sensory sharpened greatly, almost as if he’d had a seventh sense after his magic. He didn’t dislike this untamed side, it had irked him a tad at first, but when he found how to harness it, he could very well see the advantages.

He’d lived control, knowing what was happening, being responsible for it, in his old life nothing surprised him anymore. It was part of the reason he’d accepted his death, and consequent rebirth, so easily. He thrived on stimulation, the feel of puzzle pieces connecting, of the Adrenalin and pleasure running in his veins.

And this had made it easier.

His primal was free, unrestrained yet still very much him.

It was almost addictive, the temptation of succumbing tot his side of him was strong, yet there were always two sides of the same coin and various shades of a single colour, his pride also stemmed from his control, his ability to think in the dire situations and his knowledge. To sacrifice one for another would be foolish.

He let he mist dissipate, the silvery form of his lion dissolving into him. He revelled in the warmth of his magic seeping into his veins, the rush of emotions that always came from his Patronus. Who knew magic could feel so different?

The battle magic which scorched his very blood, the healing magic which covered him in comfort, even basic charms had a different feel. Some were light, like air, others dense and heavy, some felt like sunlight and others like raindrops.

It was an area he was currently researching, if only for his personal curiosity.

He closed his eyes as his magic came out to play, his senses expanded beyond the norm and everything became clear. He could feel the small movements in his messy locks as his magic brushed past, he could hear the potions bubbling away, smell the fragrance of the herbs from his garden and feel the magic work away in his abode.

He felt it brush his fingers and his lips unconsciously curved, his finger twitched once and once more the massive form of his Patronus appeared beside him. He could sense as it prowled the room, and see as it tossed it’s thick mane in the air. Every detail, from the appearance of each of his House Elves to the roots of his Magical plants in the greenhouse became so much clearer if not visible, his magic became his eyes and ear, his very senses merged together with his Gift.

It was brilliant.

Never had magic come hard to him, each step he took felt as natural as breathing. There were hitches and hiccups but in the end the essence of wielding magic itself came to him naturally.

The heady feeling at the rush of power he could wield, the pride that purred in his chest...nothing made him feel more alive.

Not even in his pursuit of myths of his time had he felt this, the rush of adrenalin was most likely the cause behind his...predatory feelings. He was on the hunt, on the prowl for something, and his instincts burned in him that it will all be worth it once he had it in his grasp.

He breathed in deeply, feeling his magic breath with him, and when he let it out the room was back to its normal state, his patronus had faded back within him and the excitement drained from him.

He was back in control.

Adjusting his collar, he wondered what awaits him in Hogwarts. Will his actions of the past, running away, becoming— as outsiders commonly referred to his schoolmates —a Royal, affect the events foretold? Or will it be his actions in the future, the changes he will bring to the school known as Hogwarts, be what causes the proverbial ripples in time?

He had numerous curiosities to indulge in, namely the Chamber of Secrets. Oh, he was sure the other Founders had added their own personal touches to the school they’d jointly built, but this was one he knew where to find, and one no one but perhaps his supposed ‘enemy’ could access.

It would be his territory, the place he could call his own, during his stay in Hogwarts. The ‘Room of Requirement’ would have been preferable, yet considering its location he cannot be certain that no one else will be able to access it, not to mention he was wary at the fact the House Elves knew of its location and probably used it frequently. The Chamber, while he will have to do something about the ghost girl, is more private and the Basilisk alone would’ve made dealing with the ghost worthwhile.

If he cannot have the Basilisk under his control for him to study it, then at least he has a viable source of income, or bribery.

Running his fingers through his hair he smirked, yes Hogwarts offered exactly what he seeks, whether it is what those around him desires, he couldn’t care less.

Hadrian strode gracefully out the room, Magic thrumming from within him in content.


The world he’d lived in was both one of peace and war.

Boundaries between nations are always tested, battles always fought, it was an age of scientific discovery.

At the time, Earthians shone in their ability to adapt. Some Galactic Nations were built millennias ago, comparing them to us was much as you would a newborn infant to a teenager.

So far, very few Nations could be said to have reached their peaks, they were all still growing, maturing, discovering.

Yet Earth, despite being a seemingly small and inconsequential planet, grew at rates which surpassed them. Each discovery made by Earth were large steps compared to the crawling of other, larger planets.

Geniuses, individuals who brought about revolutions, were born with every generation.

There were people who spearheaded military conquests, revolutionised the Inter-Galactic economy and made scientific advancements that surpassed even the oldest Nation.

Each were titled a Genius, and the title was far from an empty one.

More resources, more opportunities, more backing, more privileges then the rich and powerful.

That was the right of a Genius.

It didn’t matter if your family had been the backbone of Earth’s government for hundreds of years, a Genius was to be the backbone of Earth’s domination throughout the Universe. They were born to burn brighter then the brightest star.

『Orion』had been a Genius, acclaimed to be one of the brightest of all Geniuses. He’d been the hunter, the light of humanity, the blinding star. It was a fact.

From birth under the light of the constellation he became known as to the years until his death, he’d been a Genius among Geniuses.

The early tests to determine his potential from birth alone stated so.

As he grew up he accomplished one feat after another until not a soul throughout his galaxy, and even several others, did not recognise him as Orion.

He’d never known otherwise.

He’d lead the team to build Earth’s first “Satellite City”, he’d discovered the serum which reversed the clock of their vary cells and extended Earthian’s life span twofold, and it was him who defied the laws of physics and gravity itself. He had, after all, personally built every inch of Earth’s first anti-gravity chambers.

Yes, he’d accomplished much in his life.

And yet, it hadn’t been enough to make him stay.





Chapter Text

Theoriamancy — Potter Luck (Excerpt)

Warning: May contain spoilers, please ask permission before using any component of this chapter or any of my works.


Magic, at its raw form is one colour. You could say it is red or blue or black or white but it is never anything but one colour.

It isn’t black and white or red and blue.

But when it is wielded, siphoned through a person’s cores, it changes.

Only then did magic begin to split into different branches.

And only after are coloured witches and wizards born.

But make no mistake, the colours are simply a method of categorising the magic, and should not be used as a basis for discrimination.

When magic is filtered through a person, when it is contained to the person, it gains a degree of character.

What is commonly referred to ‘White’ magic which is timid, calm and passive.

Whilst it’s opposite, ‘Black’, magic which is wild, uncontrollable and active.

Neither are good or bad, but must be used differently.

White magic needs emotions to fuel it, Black Magic needs control to tame it.

Neither can succumb to the nature of their magic, lest they become inverted.

A wielder of white who is too calm becomes a Black Mage with a white core, and should it persist, its likely to cease to work. He theorised a fraction of Squibs, at the least, are created this way.

A tamer of Black who is too wild becomes a White Mage with Black core, and should it persist, only destruction awaits.

Over time there are many other gifts granted that manifest in certain lines with strong compatibilities with their magic.

A Black gift is the ability to metamorph, a manifestation of their wild magic onto their bodies that require conscious control. Another is elemental magic.

A white gift includes the Patronus spell, which Black magi will find difficult if not impossible to cast. It requires strong, yet controlled, emotions to manifest. Yet it should be noted truly powerful witches and wizards will be able to cast Gifts regardless of orientation.

A white magus could wield elements just as a powerful black magus could manifest their Patronus.




Hadrian had conducted a wide scale research on the topic, his subjects extending from every student on campus to every Royal in all three campuses before approaching major institutions from Salem to Mahoutokoro.

He’d analysed thousands of bloodlines, conducted millions of trials to determine a person’s predisposition towards specific branches of magic.

What he found supported his theories.


While his findings showed small, almost dismissible variations he could theorise that the exact ratio of Black to White is 1:1. Smaller branches exist, but they all fall into one heading or the other and are more like different forms and usage of Black or White magic then individual colours or shades.

Where one White is born, a Black is made.

Where Black fades, White will shine.

There is an order, a balance.

He even proposed that magical creatures were part of this.

Werewolves have existed for millennias, yet going further he discovered where all else still has history, they do not.

He also found, bitten werewolves achieve duel magic, Black and White fighting against one another. But only if the infected was a White mage.

He could theorise it is a median for which magic keeps the delicate balance.

Should werewolves be exterminated, he could guess that another breed would emerge with similar properties to maintain the quota.

It had happened before.

What predated werewolves and even Vampires were Demons.

What predated unicorns and pixies were Angels.

Both arcanes disappeared at the end of the Holy Wars and Werewolves and Unicorns, according to his sources, emerged at similar times.

Where one threatens to overtake the other, order will be restored.

Sometimes by increasing birthdates, others by the birth of new magical creature...

And other times, by the birth of a ‘Hero’ to lead one side against the other.

Whatever beliefs they hold.

Whatever banner they fight under.

Their purpose is simple.

Restore the balance.

Restore the ratio.

Protect magic.


Too much white and you will be blinded.

Too much black and the world disappears.

Either way it will stagnate and dissipate.

No life is truly lived.

And magic itself is denied.




He’d developed, much to his amusement, what is essentially a Werewolf’s breath mint.

It temporarily negates the infectious properties of a werewolves bites during the full moon, but it isn’t a cure.

Much like the mint for a person with a case of bad breath.

It only worked with saliva, and since being a werewolf is a magical condition that effects their magic more then their physical self, injections in the blood stream or other bodily fluids is ineffective.

Hadrian discovered that the infection is conducted through werewolf magic saturated in the saliva which in turn saturates the blood stream and is drawn into the core when an infected uses their magic.

In muggles, the infection creates a pseudo core for which only werewolf magic is viable. The creation of the core is unnatural to the muggle’s body and will put a massive strain on the body every time the transformation occurs and they are forced to use it.

A turned werewolf is likely to have more adverse effects to the procedure and subsequent turnings when they were a White Mage. They do not have the control to tame Werewolf magic, or have too much so that the magic turns violent due to its containment. In addition, an internal battle, collisions will occur in the core and body.

The core which will have to accomodate the new magic and the body which is used to being saturated with white magic will be forced to adapt to black magic. Which will cause physical strain on the body.

Side effects include accelerated aging, physical weakness, exhaustion, loss of emotional control and rationality, self-mutilation and bi-polar behaviour. Subsequent fevers and other illnesses are like.y due to weakening of body’s natural defences.




Wandless magic is not truly wandless.

Because in every magical body there is one natural ‘wand’ or magic conduit,

The magical core.

It filters and contains magic, drawing it into the body for use. It is in constant motion, much like the process of osmosis.

It is a natural conduit of magical energy and as such, a natural wand for which the wielder could utilise.

And it empowers spells by eliminating the subsequent loss of magical power which is found by using a secondary conductor.

But it has a greater mental strain, it require more control. Black Magic will be used and channeled directly through the body and core, as such the volatility of the magic will be amplified and hence, requires more control.

White magic will be difficult to coax out, especially in a magically rich environment, and as such needs stronger emotions and more energy.




In magical beings the core exists seperate, yet entwined with the soul. Each feeding the other.

While in muggles who’d developed cores later on in life, they are separated.

This is what allows a magical being to live longer then mundanes.

A stronger soul relates to a stronger life force, a stronger tie to the world.




Hadrian was not one to miss an opportunity, following his mass research he launched a secondary survey in order to create a quantitive and qualitative scale to measure magical power and magical potential.

Just as mundanes had created the scales for which energy, weight or height is measured by, he created one for magic.

Or more specifically, the strength and efficiency of a person’s magical core which, according to his theories directly correlates to magical strength.

Of course, he is still developing one for magical potential and power which uses arithmancy to calculate in factors such as mental poweress, magical orientation, magus type etc...




The things he will endeavour are beyond that of even hundreds of years from now.

While mundane had successfully completed their first Lunar settlement by the beginnings of the 22nd century, and began their conquest throughout the galaxies by his time, he wants to accelerate the rate of growth. It did not matter if wizards and witches were not accepting of his ambitions but he will succeed.

He knew centaurs, Seers, prophets and astromages used the Sky, the stars and distant planets as a median for their magics, it begets the question.

Does magic exist beyond their planet?

If it could...what are it’s limits? What are the similarities and dissimilarities between Earth magic and Celestial (as he will tentatively name it) magic?

And what could it be used for?

Could they channel this unknown form of magic, much like how they’d utilised the bounty of rare resources found on the moon, to reach other planets and galaxies?

Countless rituals, potions and archaic magic is dependent on factors such as the position of the moon, the stars and the constellations. Why?

Magic cannot be contained by logic yet logic is only defined by what makes sense, what is understood and what conforms to law.

Hadrian had a different sense of logic, a different understanding of law.

Law is what is meant to be broken, to be rewritten an infinite times over.




At first, he’d been tempted to ditch the glasses.

They, like the scar on his forehead, marked Harry Potter, not Hadrian Potter-Black.

But then he conceded to his own arguments.

They, the Wizarding world, had certain expectations of him.

Looks like his father, with his mother’s eyes.

A Lion, like his ancestors.

A frail, malleable boy.

He could break all their expectations, could redefine Hardy Potter into Hadrian Potter.

The advantages were no one would know what to expect of him, he was a blank canvas on he himself could paint on for them to see.

But did he want that?

As an unknown, the events of the books and movies will be that. Unknown, unpredictable, a series of variables with which he could not control.

He only knew the characters as characters, works of fiction. They are portrayed as the author saw it fit.

But a person, a real, living breathing human, is not as simple.

Many could speculate, but how accurate could it be?

Even a fractional deviation could lead to complete deviations in the long run, and corrections could only go so far...

This was his life, as real as his first.

So, he will give them the appearance of what they will expect.

He kept the glasses.

But underneath it all will be everything they didn’t.

Rune, intricate ones, weaved onto the inner side of his frames and concealed to appear normality.

People do not dig deeply into things once they’ve found what they’d expected.

His small, pocket-sized journal will contain more knowledge then the Hogwarts library.

This was an advantage he will abuse, and by the time they realise it...

It will all be too late.




He broke the rules of Patronus once again, he smiled all-too widely, with lots of teeth.

Positive emotions, positive memories they’d said.

Patronuses are your guardians against the dark, they said.


He’d wondered.

For every White category spell he’d found a corresponding Black category spell.

For every Black gift, he found a White one that is similar.

Black has Metamophmagi, White have Illusionlordes who could project their imaginations into reality.

Black has Elementalists, White have Singers who call to magical beings.

There are Sorcerers to Warlocks and Exorcists to Necromancers...

And just as there are Patronuses of Light, their are Patronuses of Dark.

These take form from ones darkest emotions, their wildest feelings and untamed magic.

These attack, devour and repel White beings.

Expecto Patronum.

Same spell, different intents




Hadrian was someone brilliant, but these were all things he could think of, mere ideas.

Despite having lived two lives, the combined number of years he’d lived did not rival most older magical.

Vampires for one, powerful wizards for another.

Yet, his inventions would be heretic in one time and place and revolutionary in another.

If this was what he could do, what he could think of, in his comparatively handful of years.

What about everyone else?

Those who lived, live or will live longer then him...

Those whose thoughts diverse further then his or deeper then his own...

It’s frightening to think about it.

He will bring about change to what was a stagnated field.

Think about it.

Not just Britain, even America, Japan and China.

There is still a degree of stagnation because of the convenience of magic.

Every new spell proclaims a genius, every new potion a Master.

But what about in the future?

Hadrian’s smirk sharpened, his emerald eyes ablaze.

He was very, very interested.

Chapter Text

Version 1: Soft

Version 2: Normal

Version 3: Hard