I'm reborn as Harry Potter

3 patreon subscriptions = 10 bonus chapters

Fully completed story at:

patreon.com/FanFictionPremium

***

I lost track of time. Wakefulness mixed with restless slumber, thoughts flooded my mind, and the endless questions in my head had no answer. How long have I been here? How is Fleur? Why doesn't anyone come to see me? I was ready for a visit from anyone, even Riddle himself, but the door to my makeshift cell remained closed.

It wasn't my usual cell. At least, not like the one I woke up in last time. It looked like a small room, but the lack of windows, the small size of the room, and the sparse furnishings, which included only a shabby cabinet and an old bed whose springs were digging into my body, made it clear that I was a prisoner. The door, which seemed so flimsy, withstood all my blows, even when I armed myself with the foot of the bed. The loud knocking attracted no one's attention.

I showed up here a few days ago. Fawkes literally threw me to the floor and disappeared immediately, managing to snatch my wand out of my hand and cast a reproachful look, as if regretting having once saved my life in the Chamber of Secrets. I waited for the members of the Order of the Phoenix to burst through that door and start pointing their wands at me, but nothing happened. I waited and waited, listening to the sounds, keeping my eyes on the door, wondering exactly what was going to happen and how I should react so I wouldn't get hurt, but all of my thinking went blank. Food appeared on the bedside table twice a day. It was meagre, but I hardly felt hungry at all. And not a single visitor. What was the point of kidnapping me if they didn't want anything from me?

For the first time, I heartily entertained the thought that Dobby had become the owner of the elder wand. He had succeeded where the Dark Lord had failed, and Grindelwald, as I recall, had been on his way for years. Grindelwald, Dumbledore, Dobby - Elder Wand's resume was looking more and more impressive. Then I really started to get seriously worried about the houseboy, though. If Albus never honoured me with a visit, it was quite possible he was hunting an elf, and I had no idea how far he might go in search of a lost relic.

Dobby I tried to call out almost immediately. I was so used to elven magic being ignored that I was literally taken aback when the houseboy never showed up. I guess wizards are getting smarter. I hope my loved ones are okay and the Order didn't hurt them. I liked Sebastian and Bernard a hell of a lot. They never once asked if someone else was really living inside me, as Dumbledore claimed. Nor did they inquire about the spell I threw at Black. Bernard only shrugged his shoulders at my question, saying that all means are good in battle.

The longer I was here, however, my thoughts became more and more disordered. It was the lack of information and lack of basic communication. I had no idea where I was, no idea what my former supporters wanted from me, and no one to talk to. Even Death never appeared once during my sleep, though I tried to call out to him out of desperation.

Out of idleness, I began to try to conjure without a wand. There were still scraps of stories in my memory, in which the hero could vaporise a wall with a simple wave of his hand, or break through any anti-apparatus charms. Unfortunately, all I was able to do was summon tiny bolts of lightning from my fingers again, and for that I had to remember the letter from Weasley's mother again.

It didn't add to the optimism that, apart from the food appearing on the table, there was no magic going on around me. I smelled awful, and the toilet in the corner of the den didn't seem to be cleaning itself. I finally decided that everyone was just waiting for me to die of suffocation. Strange, it would have been so much easier to just stop feeding me.

Despair. Despair was getting the better of me by the second. While I rot here, Riddle continues to consolidate his position, Fleur burns with worry, and Dumbledore tries to concoct what he thinks is another brilliant plan. If I haven't been able to keep up with events before, now the backlog is starting to become catastrophic. How will I be able to fulfil the mission assigned to me if I am in a hopeless situation? I don't even know what day it is. Obviously, this is where I met New Year's Eve, but how long has it been since then? I had originally wanted to finish off Riddle before he broke into Azkaban. It almost seemed ridiculous now.

***

I figured it was about day eight when the situation changed dramatically. I was habitually trying to lift a feather from my pillow with a wave of my hand, and failing miserably, when footsteps began to sound in the room outside the door. The sound was so unfamiliar to the surroundings that I panicked for a second, looking around for a place to hide. Exhaling deeply, I relaxed and stared at the door. Now, at the very least, I would be able to get some information, and that was better than nothing.

The door opened completely silently, as if it had been open all this time and I'd just been pushing the wrong way. A complete stranger appeared on the threshold. His grey hair and the same grey, neatly trimmed beard betrayed his age, but his attentive gaze and the inner strength with which he held himself told me that the man in front of me was not as simple as he might seem at first glance. Once inside, he wrinkled his nose painfully.

- Instead of trying to levitate feathers, you'd better try to get rid of that smell. - He said with a wave of his hand, eliminating the established scent of my home. I sneezed involuntarily at the freshness, but he ignored it. - If you really are the one who keeps the whole of Britain in awe, then my opinion of English sorcerers has become even worse.

I took my time answering, watching my guest carefully and analysing his words. He had obviously seen my attempts at wandless magic, which meant I wasn't as alone here as I thought. And his words about my compatriots suggested that he himself was a citizen of another country. The demonstration of magic without the use of a wand confirmed my suspicions about this man's power. Another height beyond my reach. At least for now.

- Do you think silence will help you? Or are you thinking of escaping? Look, the door's open, it's all yours. - He pointed to a door he hadn't bothered to close, but I didn't move. - Well, I suppose that's the right thing to do. Though I don't really care, to be honest. Young Albus asked me to hide you from everyone, and I honoured his request, but if you were to run away, I wouldn't grieve. Besides, he asked for three days, but he's so caught up in a political standoff with your Minister that it's been much longer than that.

Young Albus. I'll have to call the old man that at least once to see the look on his face at this moment. If I ever see him again, of course. The way my probation officer referred to Dumbledore made me wonder about his personality.

- For all I know, you should be dead by now. - I was so unused to speaking that my voice came out of my mouth as something between a cackle and a wheeze instead of my usual voice.

- You got it, huh? You've got the beginnings of reason in you, and that's commendable. But you shouldn't poke a man more than forty times your age. It's rude, to say the least.

- Oh, forgive me for being so young. You're not the one who's kept me locked up indefinitely without even a bath. My indiscretion knows no bounds. - As usual, sarcasm was the first thing to kick in.

- You got off easy, boy. When I found out what you'd done to my greatest creation, I was ready to put you in real agony. Young Albus talked me out of it. You should be grateful. Because of your childish games, the stone was so damaged that the only thing left to do was destroy it.

- I should have just kept the stone to myself rather than let Dumbledore play, as you put it, childish games with your greatest creation. Either way, you don't seem like the type to die. That's a pity. There'd be one less marasmus in this world.

I knew I shouldn't be rude to a wizard who not only had a direct influence on my imprisonment, but was probably more powerful than Dumbledore, but I couldn't help it. Another person starts accusing me of something right from the doorstep. At this rate, I'm really going to believe that I'm guilty of all the sins of the world.

- I see Albus is wrong about you," he looked at me with obvious distaste. - Years ago I had the chance to talk to young Tom, and he was much more courteous. You seem to be just a punk with a craving for attention. - I shuddered at how Snape-like that sounded.

- I hope we're done exchanging pleasantries and you'll finally explain why you're keeping me here. - I had no intention of becoming courteous to this man, despite all his merits. And I didn't give a damn how he felt about it.

- Just be thankful you're safe and sound. I'm not going to explain anything to you. You can ask Albus those questions, he'll be here soon. I just needed to make sure you were in your right mind. I can see that you are, if you call that sane. Continue to take advantage of my hospitality, cheeky boy. If Dumbledore doesn't deal with you, I will.

With that, he walked out and locked the door, leaving me to wonder what exactly was wrong with him. If he thinks I'm a common brat and not the reincarnation of the Dark Lord, why is he keeping me here? Is Dumbledore so eloquent that he could convince even Flamel himself? Or does this alchemist have his own agenda? Well, either way, I've found out where I am and who's holding me. But that didn't help me at all. On the contrary, new questions arose, and the usual unanswered ones arose.

No sooner had I loaded myself with another batch of doubts than I heard footsteps in the corridor again. This time I guessed who had decided to honour me with a visit, taking a break from his political games. If he had indeed been visiting the Ministry regularly all this time, trying to get in touch with Fudge, then I could be worried about Dobby. I guess it's another part of the plan to marinate me in confinement so I'll be more talkative.

Albus was alone. Any hint of good-naturedness was gone from his eyes, and he was squinting at me as if expecting an attack. To my surprise, I noticed him pointing a painfully familiar wand at me. Following my gaze, Dumbledore decided to start there.

- It was a good idea to get the houseboy to take my wand away. I didn't see that coming. Your out-of-the-box thinking is to be commended. Fortunately, since Fawkes is my familiar, I can call myself the full owner of my new wand. It may no longer be the guide my phoenix feather was, but it's still a very powerful wand. Dark blue... Can you tell me what it's made of? It doesn't matter, I'll ask Garrick later. I can't deny I can feel my spells getting a little stronger. Here, look: Stupefy, Legilimens!

Dumbledore pointed his wand at my face and stared intently into my eyes. I couldn't move and thought with horror about how he was about to find out all my secrets. However, nothing happened at first. I didn't feel any intrusion into my own mind and was just playing peek-a-boo with the old man. Albus realised too that not everything was going according to plan and frowned in surprise.

- What an interesting defence. - He whispered some kind of spell and circled his wand around me. - Ah, that's it. Very clever, Harry. - At first I didn't know what he was talking about, but then I noticed that the rings on my fingers, which had been hidden from everyone all this time and which I had forgotten about, were visible. He paid no attention to the Potter family crest, obviously already aware of my new title from his solicitor, but the other unassuming ring caught his eye. On my first visit to the family vault, I had acquired a compact artefact to protect my thoughts. It had been a whim, and I had never imagined that this modest-looking piece of jewellery would one day save me from mental intrusion.

- I remember, I remember. It was the ring James had inherited from his grandfather. Artefacts like that are very rare, Harry. And I've always wondered exactly how they work. Unfortunately for you, they can't be removed by anyone but the wearer, and I know how well you resist Imperius. So I'm left with no other choice. - At first I didn't even realise what he was up to, but the pale green beam and the infernal pain that pierced my entire body answered that question. In my heart I didn't want to believe it, and I hoped I was wrong, but the pain persisted, and it was clear - Dumbledore had cut off my finger, along with the ring.

I felt tears come to my eyes. The pain, the disbelief, and the inability to move led to despair. All I could do was stare hatefully at the old man. For the first time in all my life, I felt such a clear desire to kill a living person. That bastard had gone too far in his belief that he was right. I don't know how long he has to live with his bloody arm, but I'm not going to let him live to see the end of it.

- Now, now, Harry," Dumbledore didn't seem the least bit embarrassed, "it's only your left little finger. You don't have to worry so much. - A new wave of pain, even more intense than before, washed over me. - You see, all you have to do is cauterise the wound and it won't hurt. - He picked up the severed finger from the floor and tossed it aside, leaving the ring, which had been a Potter family artefact, in his hand. - Yes, an extremely interesting piece.

He looked at it for a few moments before tossing it into the pocket of his regular coloured robe. I struggled to take in what was happening, trying with all my might to shrug off the pain and concentrate. The carelessness with which Dumbledore had done what he had done made it truly horrifying. I was afraid that, having learnt my secrets, he would just as easily do something far more serious.

- Well," he continued his monologue, taking advantage of the fact that I was still under the spell and unable to move. - I suppose we should continue. Not that I'm in a hurry, but curiosity is eating me up. Have you noticed I'm addressing you as Harry? I can't figure out who you really are. Besides, Pernella's made some lovely pastries for tea, I don't want them to get cold. Legilimens!

The second attempt to enter my mind was much more successful - my head was filled with various incoherent images, rapidly changing each other. Here I was fighting a Basilisk in my second year, here I was running away from Dudley and his friends when I was seven, here I was helping Veselur hanging on the edge of a cliff, here I was sitting with Fleur in the still-burning Shell. It seemed as if Dumbledore was rushing through my thoughts, not knowing where to turn. But it turned out that I had simply underestimated one of the best Legilimens in the world. While I was seeing scattered memories, Dumbledore was specifically going over my life since my sudden resurrection. However, among those images, the shape of Death had never once appeared.

- Interesting, interesting," the old man said thoughtfully, breaking eye contact. - There seems to be nothing unusual. But there's a part of it that's blocked by a strong block. Well, let's try to increase the pressure.

Once again, Dumbledore intruded into my head and intensified the pressure, making me almost incapacitated. The images were coming at me incoherently, one after another, at such a speed that I couldn't make sense of them. I was no longer thinking about secrets and mysteries. My only coherent thought was to keep my mind and not turn into the drooling vegetable I had been a short time before.

I don't know how long it lasted. I don't think it was more than five minutes, though it felt like hours to me. As I regained consciousness, I realised that I was vomiting non-stop. My body continued to be restrained by the spell and my mouth was barely open, and I was in serious danger of dying a not-so-pretty death by choking on my own vomit, but I couldn't even concentrate on that as my head was being torn from the inside out by millions of hammers that seemed to be pounding into every brain cell at the same time. If it hadn't been for the magic, I would have collapsed to the floor a long time ago and sprawled in a shapeless heap because of the unbearable weakness, but, at Dumbledore's command, I continued to stand, unable to see anything because of the tears in my eyes.

With a magnanimous wave of his hand, he let me fall, then stepped aside, allowing my stomach to rid itself of its contents. My head was tearing apart. I was coughing up a choking cough that made the hammers pound even harder. I struggled to keep myself grounded in reality and not fall into darkness. Dumbledore wasn't saying anything and it was unclear to me exactly what he had learnt. I was afraid that if I blacked out now, I would never wake up again.

After a little bit of breathing, I was able to lift my head off the floor and look at the man I now absolutely hated more than anything else in the world.

- Look at your uncooperative behaviour," the old man said as he conjured a small mirror in front of me. A dark red face, red eyes that looked like they had no blood vessels left, blood dripping from my nose and down my chin, my mouth open and a trickle of saliva reaching for the floor. When I saw what Dumbledore had done to me in a few minutes, I felt myself start to shiver. A wave of anger unlike anything I'd ever seen before started somewhere in my stomach, and it wanted to burst out. I looked at my former headmaster again and raised myself up a little on my hands, screaming loudly, putting all the pain I'd felt because of that man into that scream.

Feeling that I couldn't resist any longer, I let go of my anger, and a wave of force hit me in all directions, sweeping away the few pieces of furniture and tearing the door off its hinges. The last thing I saw before I finally blacked out was a surprised Dumbledore failing to put up a shield and the force literally throwing him away.