Harry Potter: The Fake Gryffindor Warrior - HP / Hogwarts

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[Chapter Size: 1800 Words.]

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Harry's high fever lasted for three full days, but finally, on the morning of the fourth day, his temperature dropped.

This brought a slight sense of relief to the young doctor from the community hospital. He was under thirty, inexperienced, and had been assigned here due to his limited skills. Even so, he could sense that the two guardians standing by the boy's bedside, one towering and the other much shorter, were not in a good mood. In fact, despite Harry's fever breaking and the danger passing, both still looked deeply unhappy.

The Dursleys were unhappy. Of course they were.

Harry's sudden high fever had alarmed them. Though they had countless complaints about his parents, whom they preferred not to mention, they didn't dare be too harsh on the boy.

God only knew what would happen if something went wrong with him. His kind, those dreadful, unnatural people, would surely come looking for answers. The last thing the Dursleys wanted was any form of contact with them. Unless, of course, it was to take the boy away permanently.

The only silver lining was that the child rarely got sick. In fact, since he had come to live with them, this was the first time.

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When Harry woke up again, his eyes were filled with confusion.

It felt as though he had been dreaming for a very long time.

In his dream, he had met an old man with an incredibly long white beard.

The old man had been terrifying, he had chased after Harry, forcing him to run and run. But in the end, the old man couldn't catch him. Exhausted, he collapsed onto the ground, and then, before Harry's eyes, he dissolved into countless silver-white specks of light.

And then, Harry had woken up.

As he looked around the room, a strange feeling washed over him. The entire world seemed different.

At that moment, Harry's mind was flooded with unfamiliar knowledge, as if the old man from his dream had left something behind.

It wasn't that Harry had never had dreams before, he had, but they always faded from his memory the moment he woke up. This time was different. He could recall everything with perfect clarity. He even remembered every wrinkle on the old man's stern face.

And more than that, the knowledge from the dream felt real, as though it had been carved into his mind.

The old man's name was Neil. He was a sorcerer from the Aegean continent. And apparently, he had been quite powerful. He had been assassinated, but his soul had been too strong to vanish immediately. Instead, it was swept into a rift of time and space, eventually drifting into this world, into Harry's mind, or perhaps even deeper, into his very soul.

Neil had originally planned to devour Harry's soul and take over his body. However, after being weakened by the turbulence of space-time, he had failed. Instead, the struggle had consumed what little remained of his energy, and in the end, his soul had dissipated entirely, leaving behind only scattered memories and vast amounts of knowledge.

"How could I have such an absurd dream if it feels so real?" thought Harry.

Then.

"...%%&...&...&%..."

Harry raised his hand and muttered a string of strange syllables. It was part of the knowledge he had gained from the dream, a spell. If it worked, it was supposed to summon a fireball.

His target? Dudley's baseball bat.

But nothing happened.

"How foolish of me to believe in dream nonsense." Harry pouted and shook his head.

And yet, the very next moment!

"Snap!"

A tiny spark flickered in the palm of his hand. It was faint, like the small electric sparks from a lighter flint. Easy to miss.

But Harry had been looking at his hand, mid-complaint, so he saw it.

"What was that?" Harry blinked in disbelief. "Did I… just do that? Could the things I dreamed about actually be real?"

He tried again.

Nothing.

He waited.

Still nothing.

"Maybe I imagined it." thought Harry.

Harry pursed his lips in frustration, but then, suddenly, an overwhelming fatigue crashed over him. His limbs felt heavy, his head spun, and before he could resist, he collapsed backward onto the bed. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through his head.

Excessive consumption of mental and magical energy.

The phrase surfaced in his mind. Among the fragments of knowledge left by Neil, there was a description of this exact condition. And there was a solution to it.

Meditation.

A clear instruction appeared in his thoughts.

Without questioning it, Harry followed the guidance, closing his eyes and imagining a peculiar symbol in his mind. Once the image became vivid, he attempted to change its color, just as the instructions dictated.

It wasn't as easy as it sounded. Just forming the symbol clearly in his mind took time, and making it change color was even harder. It remained stubbornly multicolored instead of turning into a solid hue. Controlling the shift was nearly impossible.

But Harry didn't give up.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally succeeded.

And as the symbol in his mind solidified, the piercing headache vanished. Not only that, but Harry felt sharper.

It was a subtle shift. He couldn't suddenly hear Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's voices downstairs, nor could he sense air currents or anything dramatic like that. But something was different.

Harry got out of bed and sat cross-legged on the floor. A thin layer of dust and scattered debris floated around him, this room had once been Dudley's toy storage, and Aunt Petunia rarely bothered to clean it. Harry had only been moved here when the Dursleys decided they couldn't stand having him around any longer.

That didn't mean Harry himself was particularly tidy, either.

Tracing a strange pattern on the floor with his fingers, he whispered a series of unfamiliar syllables under his breath.

For a second, nothing happened.

Two seconds. Still nothing.

Three seconds passed. No change.

"Why isn't it working again?" Harry frowned. "Were the memories from the dream real? The sparks, the headache, and that so-called meditation technique were all illusions?"

Just as confusion started creeping in, the pattern on the floor suddenly glowed.

A moment later, a tiny ball of water, no larger than the tip of a thumb, appeared above the symbol.

It hovered silently in midair.

"Ah!" Harry gasped, startled. In his shock, his hand brushed against the drawn pattern, accidentally smudging part of it.

The small water sphere lost its support and plummeted, splashing onto the dusty floor and dampening a tiny patch.

"It 's real! Everything from the dream, it was real!" Harry's eyes lit up.

"Magic. It's real. Magic actually exists in this world!"

The pattern he had drawn on the floor, according to the memories from his dream, was something called a magic circle.

Though, if Old Neil's knowledge was correct, this particular spell was supposed to summon a water dragon. Instead, all Harry had managed was a droplet smaller than a marble.

But still, the water had appeared from nowhere.

So why wasn't it working as intended?

Was it his fault? Or was it because this wasn't the world called Aegean?

Harry delved into the fragments of knowledge lingering in his mind.

The information was messy and scattered. Judging by the fragmented, chaotic memories left behind by Old Neil, it was likely that the sorcerer's soul had suffered severe trauma when it was torn through the turbulence of space-time.

The sensation of recalling these memories was unlike remembering his own past. Instead, it felt as if his mind contained countless books, books without covers. He had to open them one by one to discover their contents.

But once he opened a book, he instantly grasped its general knowledge.

It was an exhilarating feeling, so much so that Harry found himself immersed in it, unable to stop.

Finally, a particular piece of information caught his attention.

Elemental intensity.

Elements, or magical elements,were the foundation of all magic. When absorbed and stored within a person, they became magical powers.

The world of Aegean was rich in these elements. Sorcerers there wielded their own magic power to manipulate nature's elements, creating extraordinarily powerful spells.

But Aegean sorcerers had also discovered that in some places, planes, as they called them, the elements were sparse. One such place, which they referred to as the Astral Plane, contained almost no magical energy at all.

Harry couldn't find any references to an Astral Plane in his inherited knowledge, but he began to wonder.

Could Earth be one of these magic-starved worlds?

He had no way to confirm it. At least, not right now.

"If that's the case, then no wonder my magic isn't working the way it should." thought Harry.

Earth was likely a world with very few magical elements. Without enough magic in the air, and with his own power still weak, his spells couldn't manifest properly.

"What a shame."

Harry sighed in disappointment. At the same time, another thought crossed his mind.

"Were there other magic users in this world?"

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"I want Harry's room!" Dudley whined loudly over dinner. "I want to put my TV and game console in there! Harry can't live there anymore!"

"Well..." Uncle Vernon hesitated, clearly annoyed. Harry's illness had cost him a considerable amount of money. Though the Dursleys were relatively well-off, medical care in the UK was expensive, especially when you needed a doctor to visit your home. Public hospitals were cheaper, but getting an appointment could take at least two months.

"Harry's already staying there. Where else do you expect him to sleep?" Vernon grumbled. "I don't want him in the living room. He'd just get in the way of the telly."

"Put him in the cupboard!" Dudley shouted. "He's so scrawny anyway, looks like a rat!"

"That's…" Vernon hesitated. "That wouldn't be right, would it?"

Child abuse was a serious crime in the UK, and forcing a minor to live in a cupboard would undoubtedly fall under that category.

"There's nothing wrong with it." Petunia scoffed. She, of all people, Harry's own blood relative, was the first to dismiss the concern. "As Dudley said, he's thin enough, isn't he?"

Harry was seriously ill, but the people who should have been worried, his mother's kind, didn't show up.

Petunia was starting to think they had forgotten about the boy.

Harry, watching her closely, found himself unsettled.

Not because of her words. That kind of cruelty was nothing new. What unsettled him was the fact that, for the first time, he could see her emotions.

He could read them.

There was disgust.

There was hatred.

And there was, jealousy?

Harry shook his head, pushing the thought aside. He had more pressing concerns.

He wasn't going to live in a cupboard.

No matter how thin he was.

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