Chapter Text
It was a normal day when Harry Potter realized that he was miserable not just because his life was miserable, but moreover because he felt miserable. Because he laid awake at night wishing for things he couldn’t have. Because when Mr. and Mrs. Dursly showered Dudley with love and affection, he would look at them with longing. Because he would talk to himself, pretending it was someone else, so he didn’t feel so lonely.
There still wasn’t a way out of the utter neglect, near hell, that the Dursely’s put him through, but this was at least something. He wasn’t utterly helpless. And all he had to do was stop. Stop wishing, stop longing, and most of all, stop feeling hurt. The Dursly’s could throw their worst at him, but if he refused to care, get hurt over it, it wouldn’t matter.
It wasn’t an easy task. Toxic thoughts and longing would creep into his head fully against his will, and more often than not, trying not to think about them only seemed to cement their presence in his mind. It took Harry far longer than he would like to start making progress. It helped to distract himself with numbers and a stolen encyclopedia. But eventually, he stopped caring, hurting, and longing.
The results were better than he could have thought. Sure he no longer miserable, but the real prize had been entirely unexpected: Knowledge. It had started as a distraction, but page by page, it was as if he was piecing the world together.
If Harry could have two things in life, it would be to know the world and never feel hurt again. Honestly, he didn’t want anything more anyways.
And then came his power. While training out the pain, Harry had realized that the strange happenings only happened when he lost control. It seemed this one time, The Dursleys actually were blaming him for something he was doing. Unfortunately, this power revealed far less than he hoped.
The source of this power was a terribly difficult to notice energy in his chest which he could configure in different ways. There were nine different tiers in this configuration, and each tier had a sequence of seemingly random numbers. Harry could adjust how many tiers were used and what number each slot had.
At first, it took an enormous amount of meditation and practice to shift this configuration, but soon it became as easy as walking, taking less than half a second to switch between a configuration, and it was even quicker to make minor adjustments. The real problem only an infinitesimal fraction of these configurations worked within the margin of error; by his estimate, only one in five million. And that was if he only used three tiers of the nine tiers. Very strangely, seven configurations just came naturally.
Sure, this was incredibly peculiar, but so far, it seemed fairly random, and he had no way of learning about what it was or how it was happening. Harry would gladly trade his power for an explanation of what his power was, how it worked, and where it fit into the universe and reality as science explained it. After all, it was really only good for a small handful of tricks and something to work on while finishing chores.
-- -- --
An hour into his first day of school, it was clear that this school would not teach him anything new. It certainly didn’t help that the Dursleys had held their shameful freak back two years. Sure, Harry had only learned most of what he knew in the last year, but this was ridiculous. It was so mind-numbingly simple that it astounded him that this was new to anyone older than two, but apparently, some of the other kids were actually having trouble with it. It seemed that the Dursleys weren’t actually incredibly dumb, just that he was incredibly advanced.
They asked what four plus three was, and forty-four times thirty-three was effortless. All this was to say that Harry was extremely underwhelmed by primary school. Well, except for the library, which seemed to have a few thousand books; The Dursleys barely had ten.
At the first break, Harry sat outside on the far end of the playground under a tree. He was trying out a few hundred potential combinations for a configuration that would influence people and enjoying the sun for a few minutes. Then he would sneek(or rather walk unnoticed into the library), while the others squealed and flailed around the brightly colored plaything.
“Hi,” a voice to his right said. Harry slowly turned to face the boy, his eyes narrowed.
“Umm-- I’ll just go--” The boy said, slowly walking backward.
Wait, did this boy want… to…? a small voice in his head that Harry thought he had crushed long ago said that it wasn’t pointless longing if it was true. “No, umm. Hi, I’m Harry. Nice to meet you.” Harry said, putting on his best smile and extending his hand.
“I’m Austin” The boy said, taking his hand.
“So--” What would he say? Harry hadn’t even spoken a single word this week except when the teacher had welcomed him to her class. Before that, it had been a week since one of Mrs. Dursly’s orders had needed a reply. Sure he was talked at, ordered around, and teased by Dudly, but this was...something he barely knew a single thing about.
“They’re really loud over there. My dad keeps taking me to play with James or Billy, but they don’t like me much. The other kids seem to like James and Billy.”
“Like my cousin. He doesn’t like me much either.” Harry said quietly, and Austin sat down beside him.
“I like drawing better than playing. My mom made me leave my sketchbook at home. I’m going to take it tomorrow. That tree over there is pretty.”
Harry looked over, leaning forward towards the tree just a bit. There were fan-like clusters of white flowers spread through the leaves. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”
“Grandma says it’s an elder tree. She has one.”
Soon they were called in from the break, and Harry found it much too soon. The lesson stretched out as Harry waited, watching the clock tick slowly towards his next break; the library forgotten. He had his first friend like he had always wished. Maybe he wasn’t doomed to be alone forever. A day ago, Harry would have said that he was over it, that not even the tiniest spark of him cared. But this was everything that he thought he could never have and, well...
Despite how shy Austin seemed, he still talked more than Harry managed. Most of what Harry said was just agreeing with him. Still, a few times, Harry would mention something particularly interesting that he had read in the encyclopedia or a half-truth about his life at the Dursleys, and Austin would listen. It was the first time in his life that someone cared about him, at all, in any way.
And it was nice. Harry didn’t find himself smiling much, it was books and his power and careful, objective documentation, but now, maybe that was something that Harry would be doing more of.
That night Harry tried to focus on the effect of creating a flower, but the starting numbers never came to him. A month ago, he had gained a bit of control when the numbers for the first tier had started coming to him after a bit of concentration on an effect. They were wrong or fuzzy half of the time, but now Harry could barely get the idea for even a single number.
With a sigh, Harry gave up and used a more general-purpose configuration to shift the shape of a plastic figurine into an intricate flower. It remained plastic and green all over, unlike the real thing. Austin would still find it pretty.
Harry smiled as he fell asleep.
It took Harry five days to finally seek out the library. It was a spectacular wealth of information, and he learned more in that afternoon than in the last two months. That was when he realized how clouded his mind had been. Harry could have snuck out during any of his lessons, but no, he had been too focused on the next break where he would see Austin. He hadn’t been able to see the first tier of numbers either, with his concentration breaking so frequently.
This was just like when he was miserable wanting and for a friend rather than learning about the world. Now he was happy to have a friend, and his mind was similarly clouded. They were two sides of the same poison.
Of course, he enjoyed having a friend, but he didn’t want to have a friend. Harry wanted to know the world.
So Harry trained out his joy, his friendship with Austin, and everything happy the same way he had done for misery and pain. Thankfully this time, it was a quick process. In less than two weeks, Harry no longer cared for any human.
-- -- --
Today the Dursleys were going to some new film which Harry would naturally be excluded from. This meant that instead of being driven home with Dudley, he would have to walk the few miles back. At least when he got back, no one would be there.
On his way home, there was an ice cream truck stopped at the local park where a few parents watched over their kids as they played. Harry looked at it for several pensive moments before walking over. There was a bored expression on his face while he waited.
“Hello kiddo, What can I get you today?” the man said cheerfully.
“How much is the chocolate?” Harry already knew the price, and he didn’t even smile.
“I don’t usually do this, but I suppose this one can be on me.” Then the man reached down and grabbed a cone, putting one scoop of ice cream on it, then handed it to Harry.
“Thanks,” Harry said as he walked away.
He took a bite. It was too sweet, but that wasn’t the point. No one noticed when he dumped the uneaten thing into the trash while continuing home.
When he arrived, he immediately went into his small cupboard, grabbing only a notebook filled with notes on different combinations of configurations. Harry put it in his pocket and left.
The Dursleys weren’t bad, but Harry had a better option.
That evening everyone looked through him as he boarded a bus to the British Library in London. He didn’t purchase a ticket, and he didn’t pretend to be with an adult. Still, no one so much as spared a second glance. It still felt like such a thing shouldn’t be so easy.
Harry entered the British Library late in the evening, and it was the most glorious thing that Harry had ever seen. Countless shelves filled with books, extending further than his school’s length and stacked five stories high; a skyscraper of knowledge.
-- -- --
After three years, Harry had finished the small bit of school endorsed English that he deemed useful up to the A levels concluding what he considered mandatory background knowledge. History had been almost completely neglected along with all optional subjects school would typically offer.
He had finished it in between his more interesting studies. Harry had probably read up to and practiced enough math and science to know the equivalent of several bachelor degrees. He probably had at least a masters in his favorite subject, physics.
In the process of his studies, Harry had also discovered a bit about his power: how to calculate the sequence of the second and third-tier. However, the most exciting discovery was that each slot in the ninth tier had an associated equation. And when Harry solved the first equation using the foundation of great scientists, he had realized that they were universal truths. He decided to call them perfect numbers.
Now he was celebrating by spending a few hours on the town. He would pick up a few expensive imported dark chocolates and maybe a new cashmere sweater. After all, a bit of luxury had yet to cloud his mind, so it was sparingly allowed.
Wait, what? That energy! Harry had only ever sensed it within himself, but that slightly strangely dressed man, he had it too.
Harry just stood there for a few seconds before turning and walking after the man. The man walked through various streets further than Harry would venture out until he finally entered a small grimy looking pub. With a slight grimace, Harry dashed in after the man.
Harry followed the man through the pub and out into a small courtyard where he tapped on some bricks with a stick. There was a small trickle of energy gathered in the stick drawn from the man’s energy.
As the stone began to quiver, its previously dull energy flared up, and it transformed into an archway. There was a configuration powering it, but it was unlike anything Harry had ever seen before. It was as if several configurations had been overlaid on top of each other until they all became one jumbled mess. Strange, Harry had never seen anything like it before.
When the stone parted, a new world stood before him. Harry ambled to the middle of the street, silently taking everything in. There was a stand for cauldrons with several types standing outside it proudly and shining in the sun. Next to it was a slightly macabre-looking shop with purple trim. A man in all black emerged from it carrying a bag of eyes.
“Three sickles, for eel eyes, good price. Shame they don’t keep well.” the man muttered. And then the dark-robed man’s configuration flickered before snapping into place. There was barely a fraction of a second for Harry to take in the configuration. It went all the way up to the ninth tier. Even more, astonishingly, the first and ninth tier used a perfect number. Then the man disappeared.
Harry’s eyes widened; he had never seen a configuration resonate quite like that one. Harry had already found that perfect number, but he had never experienced it being used before, and it was exquisite. Before even checking what the configuration did, Harry had switched his numbers to match the man’s and pushed his magic, though.
Nothing happened other than an unpleasant compression. And his tension slowly deflated. Maybe he should check what the configuration would do first. Oh, it was desire-dependent teleportation.
This time he thought of a spot a few feet ahead of him before pushing the magic through. Despite the unpleasant sensation, Harry couldn’t help but be a bit giddy at using a configuration for the first time. That one number felt so well attuned, but the others almost felt the opposite. It was like Harry had found a configuration that was in the range of working but hadn’t fine-tuned it yet. If Harry hadn’t been in the middle of a strange new hidden place, He would immediately start fine-tuning it, as it was that could wait until later.
Harry turned around to find a larger shop. Elegant script on either side of the door said Flourish and Blotts. Inside there were books on display, and the right side had a rather precarious tower of books. Ok, a bookshop. That’s where Harry would start.
Inside, Harry found many strange subjects like transfiguration, potions, and charms. Unfortunately, books on history or, ideally, current society were what he needed to gain some basic understanding about what this hidden place actually was. Thankfully he found a book called Wizadering society: a Muggleborn Guide. Harry also picked up a book called Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Harry didn’t really expect much from a biography, but still, someone who shared his name was printed on the cover.
In the next few hours, the information Harry learned by skimming through the books was almost overwhelming. The most shocking information was that he was this Harry Potter that the biography was talking about. He was extraordinarily famous for surviving when some powerful wizard that the author didn’t like tried to kill him. Thankfully the wizard had seemed to vanish as it would be rather inconvenient to avoid someone who was seeking to murder him, and he refused to die while the world was still shrouded in mystery. However, information on how wizards functioned, including the ministry, Diagon alley, and Hogwarts, was much more useful.
Unfortunately, Harry’s usual tactic of using his power, or well, magic was the proper term, probably wouldn’t be too useful against a magical society. He had to hope that Gringotts had an account for him, considering that his parents had been rich.
The inside of Gringotts was grand, making the wealth of the bank obvious. Small, rather ugly people that were apparently goblins were seated at several stations. Harry stopped the configuration that made him unnoticeable, which he used periodically to keep it applied perpetually.
“Do I possess an account?” The goblin barely looked up.
“A key is issued to each account holder. You must be older than fourteen to set up an account at Gringotts.” the goblin said.
“No! My name is Harry Potter. Do I possess an account?”
“Harry Potter has an account with Gringotts; however, if you do not have a key, we would need to verify your identity.”
“Fine. How?”
“Simple blood identification. There is a two-galleon fee for the process.” the goblin replied.
Harry walked out of Gringotts a bit later with a small magically expanded bag filled with gallons.
Harry strolled along the street, looking at each shop until he arrived at the wand shop. There were faded gold letters above it that read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A bell chimed, and Harry waited in the small lobby. The whole shop seemed to be saturated with magic more than anywhere else in Diagon alley.
“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice. An old man with unnaturally pale eyes emerged from the back of the shop.
“Ah, I didn’t expect to be seeing you so soon, Harry Potter. You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand—ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work” Ollivander moved closer. “Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable...”
“Fine. Nice. Get me a wand.” Harry interrupted.
“Yes, yes. Now Mr. Potter. Let me have a look. Which is your wand hand?” Ollivander said while pulling out a silver tape measure.
“What?”
“Your dominant arm Mr. Potter.”
Harry stuck out his right arm.
“Good, good,” Ollivander said after taking a few measurements. “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”
The tape measure kept measuring as Ollivander went around looking through the shelves. “That will do,” he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. “Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave.”
Harry took it and...nothing. Absolutely nothing. This quickly became a trend. Ollivander would hand him wand after wand as nothing happened.
“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere -- I wonder, now -- yes, why not -- unusual combination -- holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”
Harry took it and again nothing.
“Here I thought it might be the one. Not to worry, let me check in the back.” Ollivander returned carrying several. “Now these ones are a bit more experimental, and I hesitate to sell them. They aren’t up to the usual Ollvander quality.”
The first three continued the trend of doing nothing, but the fourth vibrated. Well, a vibration might be a bit of an overstatement. But at the very least, it did something.
“Iron wood and crushed sphynx teeth, eleven inches and quite rigid. It’s very stubborn. Haven’t had much luck with it, but you might.” Ollivander paused, “That will only be three galleons. If you find the wand to be too much trouble, I can get you a refund and try to find a better quality wand that suits you.”
“Sure.” Harry said, then handed over three galleons from his bag before leaving. That had taken far too long.
Later that night, Harry teleported back into his library after a long night of shopping. Leisurely strolling through Diagon alley, stopping when he saw something interesting in the windows.
In a tucked-away corner, Harry set up his new home. Ah, a luxury bed and bath with overpriced oils and bath salts. Configurations for floor softening and washing were adequate, but nothing like this.
— — —
Wizarding magic was going to make Harry break something.
It had started with spells. He had tried them just as the book instructed. Carefully doing the wand motions and pronunciations over and over only for absolutely nothing to happen. Harry had then tried using the library’s computers to check the pronunciation. Harry’s attempts were perfect for the most part, but a few needed revision, not that it helped.
Next, He tried potions, starting with a simple sleeping draught. He made sure to pre-prepare every ingredient that wouldn’t be affected and read through the text several times before meticulously following the instructions down to the letter. His diligence was rewarded with a potion that looked almost identical to the book’s description during every step. Well, at least until Harry tried to test it. The sleeping draught made him yawn for one second, one bloody second, before he was back to his normal, very awake self.
Harry then proceeded to try making and remaking every first-year potion until every single one of them until they looked absolutely perfect, but they still did next to nothing.
Fifteen books, hundreds of spells, and a few dozen potions later, nothing had changed. Absolutely nothing. Maybe his wand was to blame.
After trying out every wand in Ollivanders shop and two other wandmakers that Ollivander had suggested after no wand had suited him, Harry could pretty confidently say that there probably wasn’t a single wand out there for him, and his sphinx one was the best he was going to get. But just to be safe, he bought two other wands that Ollivander had reluctantly claimed to be generally suited to most people.
Next came wizard watching in Diagon alley to observe spells. Spells seemed as straightforward as the book claimed. A wizard would utter a few funny words and wave their wand, then their configuration would flicker before settling on numbers that were more or less good enough before their magic energy was pulled through the configuration into the wand and then released into the world.
From this, Harry didn’t get any closer to being able to cast normal spells, but he did notice a discrepancy. When he used the same numbers as wizards Harry’s spells tended to be almost twice less energy efficient. Maybe it was the wand.
If it was the wand, Harry certainly couldn’t test it. When he tried to push the magic through his wand, he just kept casting the magic onto the wand. Wizards could very distinctly cast through their wand onto another target. Whatever Harry was doing was not that.
Up next was magic spell crafting books then magic theory, from which he learned quite a lot.
First of all, wizards had their own set of equations to find the numbers that spells relied on. Finally, the result would be summarized by some words and a wand motion that followed a few rules based on the numbers. This arithmancy was wildly inaccurate, but it did estimate all tiers better than Harry’s current method except for the second and third for which Harry had found the correct equation.
To give a scale for this estimation, for the most simple spells, Harry would be fortunate to be able to use the configuration even if he exhausted almost all of his magical energy. The configurations that Harry observed wizards using were nearly a hundred times better, even though they used these imprecise spells.
Magic theory confirmed several of Harry’s suspicions, including that the wand made magic more potent and that intent influenced spells to be more accurate. Unfortunately, it brought Harry no closer to why he couldn’t cast magic, but at least it helped him brew potions. Waving the wand over a potion would typically funnel magic into the potion to activate it. Harry simply had to direct a small bit of his energy into the potion at these steps to be able to brew potions.
After two more months, Harry had read about a fifth of flourish and bolts books on magic theory, was no closer to performing spells, and had gone back to focusing on math and science.
Having a way to make configurations a hundred times more accurate with only a bit of intention and magnify the output with a wand would let Harry find new configurations incredibly quick, but this was going nowhere.
Harry’s last hope would have to be Hogwarts. When he had first read of the school, Harry had immediately decided not to go. After all, independent study was quicker and preferable, but it wasn’t like Hogwarts could make slower progress. Harry was currently making no progress.
He could already see that place becoming a pain, but there were clues in configuration or spells as wizards called them that helped him uncover perfect numbers, and perfect numbers helped explain the universe. In the meantime, he was back to studying math and science.