HP: The Origin of Magic -ON HIATUS-

A young boy of roughly nine to ten years of age, sat at a large mahogany desk that was stationed inside of a tidy room of late Victorian era design. The boy was writing a letter with a silver-feathered quill, which seemed to glitter in the dim light emitted from a solitary candle sitting nearby.

Stationed behind him was a large, beautifully carved stone hearth, the mantle of which was emblazoned with an ornate silver crest. The crest consisted of what appeared to be two crossed wands, below which were three stars surrounding the letter 'A'. Below the crest were the Latin words, "Ad vivificarent traditiones maiorum".

Within the hearth itself, a warm fire blazed, the light from which caused shadows to dance about the room, giving it a slightly foreboding atmosphere. The boy paid no heed to such things however, as his attention was focused solely upon the letter he was writing.

One that he had been writing for the last twenty minutes, placing painstaking detail into each letter of every word… almost as if his very future depended upon it. A short while later, the boy gazed down upon the intricate letter he had written. Evaluating and re-evaluating his penmanship.

"Hmm…"

'This magical quill was hard to obtain, but its effects make it well worth the effort.'

The silver quill he had used to pen the letter was an astounding magic tool. It allowed him to write "with another's hand", which was a fancy way of saying that it allowed him to perfectly forge another person's handwriting. Which had been ideal for the letter he was writing.

A letter that was intended to be a final will and testament… although, it was not meant to be his own. No, this was to be his "father's" last will and testament… although, he was not actually dead… yet. Still gazing upon his handiwork, the boy could only let out a deep, resounding sigh.

'I really didn't want it to come to this…'

Leaning back in his chair, he looked over his shoulder at the crest emblazoned upon the hearth behind him, reminiscing about the strange new world he had suddenly found himself in, his "new parents" and most importantly… how he had reluctantly come up with the desperately morbid plan he would soon enact.

---

It had all started just over three months ago, in this very house. He had awoken in a bed, that although he recognized, somehow felt foreign to him. Rising, he had walked to a nearby mirror. And standing in front of it, he felt even more perplexed, as somehow his face, body, and even his voice was… wrong somehow.

Even his memories felt strange to him… like they were his, yet not his. It befuddled him, as he remembered his name, his family, even the world around him. He was, or should have been, "Alistair H. Avery", the youngest scion of "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Avery", one of the most powerful wizarding families in all Great Britain.

The problem was, he could not shake the notion that wizards… should not exist. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he felt that much of the knowledge he had of the world in general felt impossible, to impossible to be real, that is. Fortunately, he soon realized why.

Alistair came to the realization that he somehow possessed memories that were not his own. Memories of places that he had never been to, people that he had never met, as well as objects and creatures he had never come across before.

Even the memories of his father and mother, whom he loved… where not his own. His first thought was that he was going crazy, but then… he recalled a terrifyingly familiar scene. A memory that did belong to him. A memory that frightened him to his very core.

A giant red eyeball hung in a large, black void. A void in which bone chilling laughter resounded. Laughter that made his very soul tremble in fear, even now. He also remembered a single phrase being spoken, uttered in a strange, guttural language that he somehow understood, even though he was certain he had never learned it.

"Ascal-Racna-Ephnee-Hongaal."

Somehow, Alistair understood the meaning of those words.

"Now then mortal, let us see if you survive."

And with those words, came a flood of memories. Memories of having been a young black man with his whole life ahead of him. Memories of a wrongful, blatantly violent arrest… and a lifetime spent in prison for a murder which he did not commit.

A life of compromise and humiliation, where privacy was nonexistent. He distinctly remembered how his only solace had been reading a wide variety of books to escape his situation… even if it was only for a little while.

He then remembered his end… the needle in his arm and the darkness that followed. It was a tragic ending to a sad and unfair life, one that had left him with countless regrets. The only good that came from it was a stoic disposition, and a sense of right and wrong that could only have been brought about by having experienced what true injustice was like.

Tears streamed down his face as the memories of his old life subsided. With a shaky hand, he then wiped them away, and with his confusion finally subsiding… he knew exactly where he was and why his memories were a complete mess.

He was forced into the world penned by renowned author J. K. Rowling, the "Wizarding World of Harry Potter". As for the memories that had befuddled him… they were not his own. Against his will, He had been transmigrated into the body of a nine-year-old boy. To his own disgust, the boy's soul had been extinguished and their memories merged as one.

An act that filled him with some guilt, although he knew that it was not his choice, but rather the doing of that red-eyed… creature... God... Devil? He didn't know what it was, only that it was powerful enough to play around with mortal souls, reality and even fate itself.

"Why in the world would it send…!"

Mid-thought, Alistair hunched over in his seat.

"Bloody hell!"

A sharp, piercing pain assaulted him. Along with the pain came a stern, but very clear warning. The creature who had sent him here placed a few "safeguards", so to speak. Safeguards which made it impossible for him to perform certain actions, such as recalling his old name or trying to fathom any aspect of its existence.

It wanted him to quickly and quietly adapt to his new situation. It was also clear that he was not, under any circumstance to meddle in its affairs and after the surge of pain he had felt, curious though he was, he considered it unwise to disobey… for now.

"Well, that was unpleasant."

Rubbing his temples, Alistair took a deep breath, recovering somewhat.

"Right… so no poking my nose into your business."

"Message received!"

Giving a thumbs up to the sky, he began to sort through his "new memories". He quickly discovered several serious problems, first of which was his "new father". It helped him to understand why he found the surname of Avery so familiar.

In the Harry Potter books, Avery was the name of two characters, both of whom served "The Dark Lord, Voldemort". A name which was not just for show. Voldemort was one of the most powerful and dangerous dark wizards in Great Britain's long history, if not arguably "the" most powerful.

Alistair found himself in the body of Avery the second, the Avery that should appear in book five of the Harry Potter books… as a "Death Eater" no less. Death Eaters were Voldemort's followers, they were one-and-all, either fools, fanatics, or sycophants. None of which Alistair found agreeable.

His memories also told him that his new father was the other Avery, one of Voldemort's staunchest allies. Not to mention, a "pure-blood" supremacist to his core. That meant that he despised anyone not of direct wizard lineage.

And ironically, or perhaps true to form, the man was also a sadist, though Alistair did not find that out until two months later, when he happened upon the bastard torturing his "new mother". Upon asking a few of the house-elves, which acted as magically bound servants in the Wizarding World, he discovered that this was a regular occurrence.

While the child whose body he took may have idolized his father, the current "Alistair" held no such misguided emotions. If there was one thing, he disliked the most, it was a bigot, but he also happened to despised abusers. And as his new father was both, something had to be done.

Alistair spent a whole month trying to secretly contact the proper authorities, the Ministry of Magic in this case. He had to be careful, as he had no doubt that his father had friends or paid informants amongst them. The ministry was full of corrupt officials after all.

He even contacted the only man that Voldemort himself feared, informing him of his fathers "less than savory" dealings… unfortunately, the man only offered to bring his matter to the ministry's attention. Knowing that both he and his mother's lives may lay in the balance, it was not difficult to make up his mind about what to do.

If he was to act, however, he needed a solid plan. A nine-year old's knowledge of the world hardly gave him an advantageous position regarding magic, let alone how to enact the perfect murd… ahem, "enactment of justice". Luckily, his was not the mind of a child.

Alistair spent the next month both planning his father's downfall. He also took time to learn about the world he now found himself in. Even charting out potential paths for his future. And the more he remembered about the plot of the Harry Potter Series, the more his plans took shape.

That was especially true, when he took note of the current year. It was 1969, and by his musings, he had two more years until he would attend "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry", one of the world's greatest schools of magic.

If he was to prosper in this world, then he had a lot to do, specifically if he wanted to ensure his own safety… and if his previous world had taught him anything, it was that only the strong survived without compromise.

That was essential for him, if this were to be his second life, then he would not compromise on his values and even if it killed him, he would never allow himself to be anyone's prisoner again. That meant that influence had to be a necessity for him, for without it, life would very well strip him of everything, yet again.

---

A light knock came from the room's door. Knowing that it was neither of his parents, as they could go wherever they liked in their own home without ever having to knock, Alistair stood up from his seat and faced the door.

Always being the cautious sort, he put the letter away. Better to be safe than sorry, after all. He then quickly smoothed out his disheveled clothing. Afterwards, while taking great care to play his new role perfectly, he spoke in a loud, commanding tone of voice.

"Enter!"

Soon, a small hand attached to an equally miniscule arm gently opened the door. Soon after, one of the Avery family house-elves, "Saxx" entered the room.

"Young Master… the… the mistress fell down again."

With one sentence, Alistair was brought full circle. Closing his eyes, he nodded.

"Thank you for informing me, Saxx."

Alistair could wait no longer. It was time for his father to have an… "unfortunate encounter with a letter opener".

---

Author's Note: Hey there folks! Some of you might be wondering what's going on. Well... I finally had a bit of time to address the corrections to this fic (Late, I know!). And while doing so, I took the time to adjust its writing style as an added bonus. Anyway, this fic shouldn't take me all that long to catch up to Ch. 4, editing-wise. So, in closing... sorry for the wait folks, and please enjoy!