New Reality, New Me

He didn't know how much time had passed when he woke up. All he could see was a vast expanse of white all around him. Straining his eyes, he tried to see if he could spot any recognizable features around him.

'Am I in a deity's realm? Again?'

What was it about deities and the color white? Maybe it was based on his conceptualization of divinity. White was pure and associated with holiness, or so he felt. It made sense why whenever he visited the realms of Death, Fate, or Magic, white was all he could see.

'Did I die? That would make this Death's realm then?'

Looking around, he tried to spot her elusive figure. The first place he looked was behind him. She wasn't there. The only thing he could see was a thick white blanket of fog that surrounded him.

'Huh. Okay. Maybe I'm not dead, but in a coma?'

That would be an unwelcome surprise. Fate had said the Earth's magic was tainted and that all magicals would perish in the aftermath. What the hell was going to do if he somehow survived? Live the rest of his life as Muggle? After all the sacrifices he made? Not likely.

"I remember lying on the ground. There was so much blood. Oh, bugger me! The ritual!"

The memories of the eerie red light came crashing back into his mind. For some reason, it had activated even after Voldemort was dead. The only way that could have happened is if he fulfilled the conditions.

"Goddamn it! I can't even fucking die properly! What the hell am I going to do now?!"

This situation was totally out of his wheelhouse, and panic slowly started to overcome him. He had experienced his fair share of mysterious, life-threatening scenarios before, but this took the cake. What could he even do at this point?

Just as the feeling of panic was about to overwhelm him, Harry slapped himself across the face.

"Calm down, Harry! Panicking won't help you. Think!"

He forced himself to calm down and analyze his present circumstances.

'Okay. I died in the middle of a ritual circle meant to transport Voldemort to another reality. With how destructive our duel was, chances are the ritual went pear-shaped. However, I met the activation conditions by coincidence, so it may have done what it was meant to do. Now I find myself here.'

It was a disheartening realization. If the ritual went awry, then this might be the consequence. The transfer got obstructed, which trapped his soul to this sodding place.

Combined with all the shit that had happened immediately before, it made him want to cry in frustration. So that was what he did, and it was a cathartic experience.

During the war, there were many days where he felt like crying about the unfairness of it all. The amount of loss he had dealt with from a young age had nearly broken him.

Despite everything that happened, he managed to hold himself together, mainly out of necessity. Others had looked up to him as a leader, so he was required to swallow his grief and keep moving forward.

Now that he was in an unknown place all by himself, he let go of the tight grip he perpetually held on his emotions. Tears cascaded freely down his face as sobs racked his body. Thoughts of his parents, Sirius, Fleur, Tonks, and his squad-mates flashed through his mind. They were all gone. Yet again, he found himself all alone.

It took him a decent while to finally regain control of himself. When he recovered, his shoulders felt lighter, and his mind was clear. A small flame of hope had been ignited within him.

Seeing as there was nothing else he could do, he picked a direction and started walking. At the very least, he could possibly end up somewhere he recognized, or maybe find someone who could help him. This wasn't the end for him.

What felt like an eternity later, he was still walking, and there were no signs of anything. The blasted fog was everywhere, obscuring his vision despite the distance he had trekked. It was getting on his nerves.

'I can't believe this! Still nothing! How much farther do I have to go?'

He noticed during his journey that he wasn't feeling anything. Hunger, thirst, fatigue, and all the other feelings related to traveling long distances. His robes were in pristine condition, but both his wands were missing.

He had lost his original holly wand in a battle in Hogsmeade. A Blasting Curse had caught him unaware, and it had flown out of his hands. He had dispatched his assailant with his basilisk wand, but his original one was irreparably damaged. Since then, his basilisk wand became his primary one, while the Elder Wand was a spare.

However, in the last couple of years, he used the Elder Wand more than ever. With his increasing use of necromantic constructs in battle, he found it easier to cast the spells with the Elder Wand. The added advantage of receiving the knowledge required to turn the tide of battle had made it an indispensable part of his arsenal.

He attempted to call upon the Elder Wand, only to fail. That had never happened before. He had opened up his robes in a panic to inspect the Deathly Hallows symbol on his chest. To his shock, it was no longer there, meaning that all three Hallows were gone. He cursed loudly before deciding to keep moving. Nothing seemed to be going his way.

No matter how far he seemed to go, all he could see was white fog. It was maddening. He started to falter as his hope diminished with every step.

'Am I trapped here indefinitely? Is there even an end to this place?'

As he asked himself this question for what seemed like the hundredth time, he felt something. A pull on his body, not unlike that of a portkey. His eyes lit up with excitement. He was finally getting out of this Merlin-forsaken place!

The pull increased in magnitudes as he saw his limbs start dissolving into ethereal smoke. Harry closed his eyes and regulated his breathing. The feeling was getting slightly painful, so he needed to stay calm. This was quite possibly the only way he was getting out.

The pain increased as he felt a slow heat start building in his body. It got progressively warmer until it felt like he was on fire. He lost all sense of time as his body shuddered in agony. Gritting his teeth, he bore the pain as he felt the world around him twist.

Just as he was about to lose himself in the pain, it dissipated instantly. Harry struggled to open his eyes as he experienced a rapid shift in his surroundings. He felt a cool sensation on his forehead that wasn't there before. His blurry vision gradually sharpened as he slowly observed his new environment.

He was in what looked to be a sizeable bedroom, much like one he would find in a traditional family manor. The room was elegantly decorated with ornate fixtures and tasteful furniture.

The one thing that stood out to him was the chair right next to the bed. It had a small pile of children's storybooks on it. French children's storybooks.

'I'm in a kid's bedroom in France? Did someone find my body and take it back to the Resistance FOB in Paris?'

He struggled to get up, as his body felt weak. With great effort, Harry propped himself up by leaning on the headboard. He felt a slight weight slip from his forehead and drop onto his lap. It was a damp towel.

Looking around, he could tell that the family that was hosting him was quite well off. He moved to pick up the fallen towel when he froze.

He noticed something worrying. His hand. More specifically, the lack of callouses and scars he had accumulated over the years.

He brought both hands in front of his eyes, marveling at them. They were smaller and looked like he hadn't worked a day in his life. Even his skin tone was noticeably different. Healthier.

'What the hell?' he thought as he carefully scrutinized the appendages. Something was definitely off. He couldn't put his finger on what it was though.

Deciding to get a better read of his predicament, he slowly eased himself off the bed. His feet settled into the plush carpeted floor as he gently pushed himself up. Taking a tentative step forward, he felt that his depth perception was off. The floor seemed a lot closer than it should have.

He felt a nervous pit start forming in his stomach. Several things were not adding up, and he was getting worried. Carefully making his way over to the dresser, he immediately realized what happened. He was no longer himself.

"Who the bloody hell is this?!"

Reflected in the mirror was a child that looked a lot like a much younger version of himself. More accurately, the version of himself after he had undergone the blood adoption to become Lord Black. Yet, there were some distinct differences.

His features were sharper, and his hair was soft and luxurious, without a trace of the wildness he inherited from his father. His eyes were still green, but the shade was darker than the light green color that everyone mentioned he received from his mother. Upon closer observation, there seemed to be minute, light-grey flecks dotted across his irises.

He lifted his hand and poked at his face, watching in fascination as the action was reflected in the mirror. He was not in his own body. The realization sent several thoughts racing through his mind.

'Did I take over this body? Is this the outcome of the ritual? Am I truly in a new reality? What happened to my original body?'

Before he could even begin to think about them, he heard the door open as a woman entered the room. She took one look at him and rushed towards him while yelling, "Archer!"

Her sudden appearance as well as what she said caught him off guard. Within seconds, he found himself ensconced in a tight hug as the lady buried his face into her chest. Bending down to his level, she started speaking worriedly in rapid French as she cupped his face in her hands.

Despite never having truly learned the language, he found that he understood her perfectly. Fleur had tried to teach him, but learning and practicing magic had been his main priority. He had picked up a couple of basic sentences over the years, but not much else. Now, he had an almost instinctual understanding of the language.

"Archer! Are you okay, my darling? Why did you get up?! You could have called me! What if you had fallen and hurt yourself?! You are still weak from that fever-!"

He could hear the love and concern in her voice, and it made him feel warm inside. She was a beautiful woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties. Her features were refined and gorgeous, with bright blonde hair and blue eyes.

He interrupted her before she could continue chastising him.

"Maman. Don't worry. I feel much better."

The woman relaxed as she observed him.

"Archer. You were very sick last night. Even if you are feeling better, I want you to go back to bed and rest."

"But Maman-"

"No buts! Get back to bed right now, young man! I will bring you some food in 10 minutes."

"Yes, Maman."

Harry sullenly replied as he trudged back to the bed. Lying down, he watched the woman walk over to the drawer and retrieve a thermometer.

She came over and said, "open your mouth."

He obeyed and felt the metal tip settle underneath his tongue. After some time, she pulled it out. She carefully read the measurement and then smiled at him.

"99 degrees. One more day of rest, and you will be well again. Now be a good boy and stay in bed. After lunch, we can read a story, okay?"

"Okay!"

He automatically gave her an enthusiastic nod with a bright smile. She reached over and tousled his hair before getting up and making her way out of the room. As he heard the door close, he started reviewing their interaction.

'She must be the mother of this boy. Archer, was it? How was I able to answer her in French? Where exactly am I?'

A sense of guilt flooded him. Whatever happened to him was connected to this boy named Archer. Did the boy die? Was he responsible in some way? It was the only explanation he could come up with as to how he suddenly found himself inhabiting the boy's body.

He stewed for a while as he tried to come to grips with this realization. The woman walked back in with a bowl of soup and some bread. He hungrily devoured the food like he had been starved for days.

After lunch, the woman asked if he would like to read a story, but he declined. He needed to find out what was going on inside him and that required privacy.

It took him a bit of effort to convince the woman that everything was fine, but she relaxed in the end and gave him a kiss on the head before walking out the door. The lights were switched off, plunging the room into silent darkness, the perfect conditions to start his recovery.

He closed his eyes and tried to enter a meditative trance. It was easier said than done with how hyperactive his mind was. After considerable effort, he managed to calm down enough to see if his magic was active. The outcome of his investigation surprised him.

He could feel an above-average amount of magic within him. Unusually, it flowed through his body like blood. Unlike his previous body, where he had to actively push magic to his extremities, his new one didn't require him to do that.

Wandless magic would be second nature to him, seeing as his body was a natural focus. Though it seemed quite unstable as of the moment, meaning he wouldn't be capable of magic anytime soon.

As he was reveling in the feeling of closeness to magic, his mind was inundated with memories he didn't recognize. The influx increased dramatically after a few seconds, so Harry tried to utilize Occlumency to filter and understand them all.

To his horror, he discovered that the near-impenetrable Occlumentic barriers he had developed and refined over several years had completely disappeared. His mind was left without any protection against intrusion.

Gritting his teeth, he rode out the pain as the memories were forcefully downloaded into his consciousness. By the end of the transfer, his breath was ragged, and his clothes were soaked in sweat. After taking some time to collect himself, he started to review the memories he had received.

Archer had grown up in an orphanage for the first 5 years of his life. The matron had told him about a woman who had dropped him off in the middle of the night, only giving his first name and birthday, July 31st.

'Knowing my luck, that isn't a coincidence. Not by a long shot.' Harry thought as he continued perusing the information.

His early years were quite peaceful as the orphanage was well funded and had several ladies who took care of the children. From a young age, he had shown extraordinary intelligence, which had been fostered and developed by his caretakers. They went out of their way to give him lessons and books that helped him progress in his studies.

By the time he was 5, he was already speaking fluently with the reading comprehension of a senior primary school student. The matron had marketed his intelligence at one of the scheduled adoption days, and the results had been effective.

Several families had offered to adopt him, and he was actually given a choice as to where he wanted to go. He had spent a day with each of them to allow him to make his decision. Most of them were ordinary couples, and he had no doubt that they would all have been good options for him, but one pair had drawn his attention.

Jean-Luc and Sofia Beaufort had been a young and unassuming couple. They had taken him to visit their chateau. It seemed palatial in size, and after a short tour, they took him to a local restaurant for lunch. During their conversation, he found them to be engaging and fun. He had enjoyed the day with them immensely.

They were very energetic and caring, which had endeared him to them. Upon his return to the orphanage, he had made his decision right then and there.

The couple finished filing the paperwork, and within a week, it had been approved. The matron had happily congratulated him, helped him pack up the few belongings he had, and wished him all the best. That was the day he had become Archer Beaufort.

Life with his new parents had been amazing, to say the least. The library in the house was vast, and Archer spent a lot of time cooped up in there poring over the various tomes. He commandeered a comfortable leather chair, which was initially hard for him to climb into until they got him a step-stool.

They were enamored by his intelligence and similar to his previous caretakers, sought to give him the best education possible. Instead of sticking him into some exclusive private school, they took him on trips around the world. They focused on giving him an experience of different cultures while allowing him to meet people and make friends along the way.

His first couple of years with the Beauforts were spent jet setting around the globe, seeing picturesque sights, and experiencing the world in the lap of luxury. This was possible due to the Beaufort family's wealth.

Jean-Luc, or Jean as he liked to be called, came from old money. Old as in there had only been eleven King Louis' when his first known ancestor was born, old. His ancestor had become a blacksmith who catered to both aristocrats and the lower class.

That business had been passed on to his son, who grew it and passed it on to his son. That cycle continued until it became the leading metal manufacturing company in all of France. The company provided materials for everything from aircraft and arms to knives and fine silverware.

It had expanded into ceramics as well and been on the cutting edge for over three decades. Jean was wealthy beyond belief, despite him making a concerted effort to not look like it. He was a humble man who avoided flaunting his immense wealth in front of others with luxury goods and the like.

The business practically ran itself as Jean's father had appointed a trustworthy successor. The only time Jean actually had to work was when there was a crucial vote on the Board of Directors due to his family owning a majority of the company.

With his unbelievably lax work schedule, Jean was able to spend most of his time with him and Sofia. He was an attentive father who tended to spoil him quite a bit. The way he spoiled him was markedly different from what he knew other parents did.

He was quite a mature young boy, so he never threw tantrums for things like sweets or toys. His primary desires were books. Archer was a voracious reader, who loved reading about different topics that caught his fancy. Anything from the works of ancient philosophers to economics and physics.

Jean would often go out of his way to acquire some truly rare tomes for him. He justified the expenses by remarking that they would add value to the library after he was done reading them. Sofia wholeheartedly approved of her husband's presents, oftentimes adding in her own.

According to the memories, he had spent two years with the Beauforts. They had embraced their role as his parents, and he had led a blissful existence. It broke his heart to realize that he had interfered in Archer's newfound happiness. As an orphan himself, Harry felt especially guilty.

Sadly, it didn't look like there was anything he could do. Archer Beaufort had disappeared, and he had taken his place. No matter how unfortunate the circumstances, the only thing he could do was move on. He would live a great life in Archer's stead. With these thoughts floating around in his head, Harry let himself drift off to sleep.

'Who knew it would be so hard?'

Two weeks later, he was struggling. As a child, he had been starved of love and affection. The Dursleys had gone out of their way to abuse him on Dumbledore's instructions. Whenever he tried to get an authority figure to help him, they let him down. The constant let-downs had hardened his heart against adults in general.

In contrast, Archer had led a relatively blessed life, despite growing up in an orphanage. His parents showered him with unconditional love. Sofia had almost immediately picked up the subtle change in his behavior since the day he woke up. She had fretted over him several times, and it left him disconcerted.

No adult had ever worried about him out of genuine concern. Their seemingly good intentions had been rife with ulterior motives. He felt out of his element when Sofia constantly pestered him.

He was skilled enough in reading facial expressions to know that she was sincere. Sadly, a lifetime of dealing with betrayal had left him excessively paranoid. Was he even capable of reciprocating their love?

That question haunted him at night. Had the war stripped him of his emotions to such a point?

It took them a few more months, but Jean and Sofia had wormed their way into his heart. While he wasn't ready to forget or even come to terms with his traumatic past, they had given him some semblance of normality.

Their patient love and care made him decide to fully embrace his new identity. He declared Harry Potter dead. A victim of a botched ritual that spirited him away from his reality. Now, he was Archer Beaufort, son of Jean-Luc and Sofia Beaufort.

It would take time to leave behind his past, but he would be damned if he wasted the fresh start he received. This was something he had dreamed about for the longest time. After being Fate's whipping boy since birth, he felt he richly deserved an amazing next great adventure.

It was easier said than done, seeing as the memories would never really leave him. He could rest comfortably knowing that his new life as Archer Beaufort would allow him to make many good memories. Memories that might help him balance out and slowly forget the painful ones he had.

He had endeavored to find out if this new reality had magical societies like his old one. It was difficult, seeing as his family spent most of their time in the chateau while they weren't traveling.

Even when they did travel, they didn't wander too far off the beaten path. Jean and Sofia always kept him within their sight, as good parents would. He couldn't exactly traipse around on a quest to find magical places.

If this reality was similar, he would receive a Beauxbatons acceptance letter on his 11th birthday. Until then, all he could do is wait and prepare.

He was determined to stay clear of England for as long as possible. The British Wizarding World had left indelible scars on his psyche. There would come a time when he would eventually confront those demons, but it wouldn't be anytime soon if he could help it.

No, Archer Beaufort did not have the weight of the world on his shoulders. No psychopathic Dark Lord was after him. He was free to become whatever he wanted. Whether the magical world had a place in his future, was for him to decide. It was genuine freedom, and he cherished it.

That didn't mean that he was content to relax in his new circumstances. He was coming to love Jean and Sofia as the parents he never had. He would not allow them to come to harm if he could help it. That meant hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.

If Voldemort existed in this world, then he would need every advantage he could get. He had languished at Hogwarts in his previous life. While not entirely his fault, he had been content to sit on his laurels while bitching about how dreadful his life was. That would not be the case this time around.

While he would never stoop to Voldemort's insanity, he would use whatever knowledge he had retained as effectively as he could. He wasn't sure if events had progressed as they had in his old reality. Even slight shifts could cause drastic changes that he wouldn't know about until he rejoined the magical world. Still, that wasn't going to stop him.

The most powerful tool in his arsenal at the moment was his intricate knowledge of rituals. Morgana and Salazar had given him priceless knowledge gleaned from decades of study. Both had willingly imparted their wisdom to ensure he had a higher chance of survival. He would utilize their teachings to give him a leg up.

Both his mentors had drilled into him the significance of arithmancy when it came to rituals. The most important numbers were 1, 3, 7, and 13, although the latter was primarily used only in Dark rituals.

British Pureblood families all had their fair share of family-exclusive rituals to aid their children. Magical strength was everything, and they did whatever was necessary to help their progeny get stronger. The example they had given him, was Draco Malfoy.

Whatever he could say about the ferret, he had never been considered magically weak. Even as a first-year, Draco had been an exceptional student and wizard. Even though he had gone out of his way to belittle others, he had garnered grudging respect among the Pureblood children. With the blocks on his core, Harry had struggled and barely managed to reach his level.

It was after he had gone through some minor enhancement rituals under Salazar's supervision, that he understood why. Draco had been ritually augmented several times from a young age. While none of the rituals had been anywhere near as potent as Salazar's or Morgana's, they had nonetheless given him an edge over his peers.

It had blown him away when he realized that even though he had been excessively bound, he had matched Draco. It had put the vastness of his magical strength into perspective.

Morgana had often lamented the fact that he had only started his rituals at the age of 14. She frequently mentioned how much more powerful he could have been if he started at age 7. That was something that he was determined to fix in this new life. For that, he needed to find the French magical street.

He had until the last week of June before his eight birthday to somehow find a place to procure the ingredients for the enhancement rituals. Ideally, the rituals would be the most effective on July 7th, but so long as he was still 7 years old, it would work.

The months passed as he tried his best to research his magic in this world. It was still volatile, so he had held off spellcasting. As the end of June approached, he started to get desperate. He needed to undergo those rituals to be able to protect his parents.

That was when he was struck with a risky yet ingenious idea. Assuming this reality was similar, the French Ministry would have a way of tracking magical energy spikes in the Muggle world. If he was able to create a large enough one, they would be forced to send the Aurors to check it out.

If executed properly, he would both gain confirmation of this reality's situation in comparison to his, and the location of a magical shopping district.

So he set out to create a disturbance that would hopefully attract the attention of the French Ministry.

With his magic being much wilder, he was not able to attempt anything complex. He decided to stick with charms, as they were both invisible and useful. The Lumos charm, while being simple, was not an option because it would draw the attention of Muggles.

Going through a mental list, he considered the pros and cons of different charms until he finalized his options. He decided to practice a versatile spell that could save his life in a pinch, the Summoning Charm.

The spell would be localized and only affect his immediate surroundings. The surge would only be noticed by other magicals, therefore preserving the Statute of Secrecy, if it existed in this reality.

'Merlin, I need to learn more about this reality immediately. Who knows how different it might be from my old one.'

He spent a couple of days mentally reviewing the lessons on the wandless Summoning Charm he had received from Morgana before practicing. A crucial factor that he needed to test was how magic worked in this reality.

It could be the exact same, or it could be vastly different. The method of spellcasting would affect any magic he tried to cast if it was not the same. He had to be careful because with how volatile and potent his magic was, the chances of hurting himself were high.

Two days before the end of June, he entered the library like he usually did. He felt a mixture of excitement and anxiety. This could be his first step back into the magical world. After the pain the magical world had caused him, he had been tempted to hold off several times.

In the end, his pragmatism and desire to protect his new parents won out. He had lost too much, and even if he was not as powerful as before, he would be able to hold his own. He had a family to think about now.

Picking up a random book from the shelf, he laid it on the table and walked five paces away. Turning around, he took a deep breath and cleared his mind. Closing his eyes, he focused inward, sensing his magic flowing within him.

He held out his hand and willed his magic to listen to his command. He felt it snap to attention, as the flow towards his right hand increased. A loud thwap sounded out as the book sailed into his hand.

His eyes shot open as his expression lit up in glee.

'Wow! Did I get it on the first try? I can't believe it was that easy!'

He walked back to the table and placed the book on it before turning around. As he was about to start pacing, he momentarily faltered.

'Shit. It was too easy. Does that mean it'll work no matter how far I am? Then how the hell am I going to draw the French Ministry's attention?!'

Taking a deep breath, he relaxed.

'Okay. Calm down. If it keeps working, then I'll improvise. Besides, shouldn't I be happy that wandless magic is this easy for me?'

With renewed confidence, he measured out double the paces of his last attempt. This way, if he had a limit, he would find it quicker. The library was vast, spanning a little more than half a football field. He had plenty of space to work with.

He repeated his test and found success, although he felt some resistance. This was good, as that meant he had a limit, and it might not work for him past a certain point. That was where his real test would begin.

It took several repeats until he was near the entrance of the library. Now he was struggling to summon the book. He was also tired of the repeated use of wandless magic. The scenario was perfect.

He attempted his summoning and failed. Determined, he tried again. The book stayed stationary. He continued his attempts hoping a burst of accidental magic would occur. Frustratingly, his efforts were met with nothing but failure.

'What am I doing wrong? I pushed myself to the limit, so my desire to get the book should have spurred my magic to flare and cause a disturbance.'

He thought back to his previous life and the acts of accidental magic. The time he Apparated to the roof to escape Dudley and his gang. The time he turned his teacher's hair blue. The time he vanished the glass cage of the boa constrictor in the zoo. He wanted to recreate such instances but was missing something.

He stood with a blank gaze, lost in his thoughts. After a couple minutes of consideration, his gaze sharpened. He scowled as he reflected on his stupidity.

'Emotions! All those times my magic acted up was when I was under duress. My mind is too disciplined to give in to my emotions. However, it's the only way I'll succeed.'

It was difficult for him to let his emotions overtake him. Years of war had tempered his mind into an analytical machine that allowed him to ignore pain, and calmly deal with whatever situation he found himself in.

The first lesson Salazar had ever given him on magical combat was on controlling his emotions. Or as he put it, "not being such a bull-headed barbarian like Godric". It was an important lesson that had allowed him to survive against overwhelming odds.

Since that lesson, he had never once lost control of his emotions until Fleur's death. Giving in to them was going to be a challenge, as nearly all his instincts honed over countless battles told him not to do so. An internal war was being waged in him, and he had no idea what to do about it.

'I need to find out about the magical government. I need to go through the rituals to prepare myself. If Voldemort exists in this reality, I will protect my family from him! He won't take them from me! Not again!'

Closing his eyes, he started whipping himself up into an emotional frenzy. Grief, frustration, resentment, and fury filled him as he brought his worst memories to the forefront of his mind.

Fleur casting Fiendfyre and sacrificing herself. Dora's corpse in Diagon Alley. Daphne, Luna, and Susan, all lying dead in a field of bodies. Gellert's farewell. Neville's and Julius' corpses brutalized by the demons.

Ten minutes later, his eyes opened, and gone was the wide-eyed, innocent Archer Beaufort. In his place stood Harrison James Potter-Black, The Black Lich. Slayer of demons, and the nightmare of Death Eaters. His emerald orbs glowed malevolently as his magic flared, forming a visible aura.

Reaching his hand out, he closed his fist, grabbing the air in front of him. He brought his magic to heel and commanded it to fulfill his wish. He pulled his hand backward, and his magic grabbed the world around him and twisted.

A low rumbling sounded throughout the library as thousands of books rattled on the shelves. Before he knew it, they started leaping off the shelves and formed a tidal wave of tomes. Their target? Himself.

This broke him out of his reverie, reverting him back to normal. He immediately made a break for the door. He had overpowered the spell. Significantly. As he threw open the door, he froze. Standing in front of him was his Sofia, with an anxious expression.

She had rushed to him after hearing the rumbling from the library. She saw the wave of books coming at them, so she hugged him tightly and turned away, attempting to shield him. At this point, he was panicking. His mother was about to get hurt because of his stupid plan.

His emotions were in turmoil as guilt and regret threatened to overwhelm him. His hubris might cause harm to his dear mother, who he had grown to love. The one he wanted to protect.

Reaching out to his magic, he yelled, "Stop!" The moment he spoke, the books froze in mid-flight. They both stayed still, waiting for the blow to arrive, only for it to never come.

Sofia had confusedly looked back to see a sight she would never forget. The books were suspended in mid-air, hanging by some invisible force. In a word, it was magical.

She looked at him as he stood mystified. The bell rang, bringing her out of her thoughts. She told him to stay put and not touch anything before she left to answer the door. He heard muted talking for a minute before footsteps started coming in his direction.

Judging by the noise, more than one person had entered the house. As they came into the hallway, he saw his mother walking next to a man in his thirties. He and his colleagues were all wearing powder blue cloaks that swished around as they walked purposefully towards him.

Archer's eyes glinted in recognition. He opted to act anxious and worried while internally whooping gleefully. The men were wearing the traditional uniform of the French Aurors.

The French Ministry existed in this world. He had succeeded in his endeavor and gotten the confirmation he wanted.

The man in the lead came up to him while gently smiling. "Hello Mr. Beaufort. My name is Captain Pierre LaRoche. Can you please tell me what happened?" Upon being prompted, he went into his pre-rehearsed spiel.

He had nervously explained to them how he really wanted a book but couldn't locate it. He mentioned how he became angry at not being able to find it, and something happened to him.

Before he knew it, the books were flying towards him and his mother, who tried to save him. He stressed that he didn't know what was happening and shouted "stop" and the mass of books had done just that.

Pierre had written down his statement in a small notepad and given him an encouraging smile before telling him that it wasn't his fault. His father came home right about that time, and was worried and confused by the blue cloaked men in the house.

Pierre had assembled them together in the living room before telling them to stay put while he checked on the situation. He had gone back to the library, and while his parents were looking at him worriedly, he heard excited exclamations coming from the hallway.

What he had done seemed to be quite impressive to the men. They were all mentioning how "powerful" he was, and speculating on his "magical potential". He decided the best course of action was to keep his mouth shut and feign ignorance.

Waiting for Pierre to come back, the full weight of his actions hit him all at once. His mother had been put in mortal danger because of his foolishness. He started to sob as he tightly hugged her while saying "I'm sorry" over and over again.

While on the inside, he was a battle-hardened veteran, his new body was interfering with his emotions. He sometimes forgot that he was effectively a young child again.

Most of the time, he was mature and in control, but there were occasions when the childish side of him surfaced. It was why he found himself crying on his mother's shoulder.

This was the scene that Pierre returned to. His mother was trying to calm him down as she looked apologizingly towards Pierre. Pierre nodded as he flicked his wrist, retrieving his wand from his holster. Pierre pointed his wand at him and mumbled something he didn't catch.

A feeling of happiness came over him as his crying instantly stopped. It was weird as all of his sadness was washed away within seconds. He was surprised, as the feeling was familiar to him.

'A Cheering Charm!' he thought as his eyes widened in recognition.

Pierre gave him a smile as he noticed his look. "Let me explain Monsieur and Madame Beaufort. Your son is one of the people in this world with the ability to wield magic. His frustration and fear triggered the event in the library. In our world, we call what he did accidental magic."

His parents reacted skeptically to the word magic. They questioned his explanation, so Pierre asked them to allow him to demonstrate, to which they agreed. He waved his wand at the sofa they were sitting on, and they felt themselves floating higher. Suffice to say, that was all his parents required to be convinced that magic was real.

Pierre informed them about the existence of the French Magical Society and how children with the requisite magical power were all invited to the prestigious institute Academie de Magie Beauxbatons. There, they would learn about magic and how to effectively utilize it in their lives.

Archer's parents were stunned at hearing that an entire society of magic users existed, hidden away from them. They looked at Archer with wide eyes as they digested the information. Their son would go to a school for magic in the future? How amazing was that?!

In comparison, Archer was distraught. The Dursley's had tried to stomp out his magic through physical and emotional abuse. Their hatred of "freakishness", as they called it, spurred them to commit heinous acts against him. While he wasn't worried about abuse from Jean and Sofia, he didn't want them to fear him.

They must have seen the look on his face because Sofia soon wrapped him up in a tight hug. Gently stroking the back of his head, she spoke. "Archer, you have been given a wonderful gift. What happened in the library was an accident, and your magic saved both of us. Your father and I could never be afraid of you, my angel."

Tears pooled in Harry's eyes as he lost himself in her embrace. They accepted him for what he was. Relief flooded through him as he heard her words. He felt his father wrap his arms and at that moment, he mentally thanked Fate for giving him such loving parents.

Pierre watched the heartwarming scene with a bright smile. It always felt good to see parents who were able to accept their child's gift. Merlin knew how many he had seen become upset or react with violence.

He let them have their moment before interrupting by clearing his throat. Grabbing their attention again, he started explaining the different aspects of the magical world.

He let them know about the Place Cachee, the hidden street in Paris where magicals went to do their shopping. He recommended a well-known bookstore for Archer that would have some great resources to study magical theory.

The magical world was a very different place than the non-magical world. The French didn't use the term Muggle, opting instead to say non-magical, the rather self-explanatory term to designate people who didn't have magic. Throughout the world, magical societies interacted in different ways and held various policies about interacting with non-magicals.

He educated them on the Statute of Secrecy, which was an international law that prevented magicals from openly telling non-magicals about the existence of magic and the wizards and witches who wielded it.

He stressed in no uncertain terms that it was a crime to tell others about Archer's gift. His parents were understanding and promised to keep mum on the subject.

Their conversation was interrupted when a man who had accompanied Pierre updated him on the situation. They had successfully managed to restore the library to normal.

Hearing that, Pierre quickly reiterated his main points and bid them farewell. As the family saw them off from the porch, cracks of Disapparition resounded as the men disappeared one by one.

Archer, Jean, and Sofia stayed close to each other for the rest of the day. The two adults seemed ecstatic to discover a fantastical world they didn't know existed. Archer kept up with their enthusiastic conversation and went to bed that night, excited to finally start his plans.

After breakfast the next day, The Place Cachee had been their first destination. Following Pierre's directions, Archer guided his parents through the secret entrance within the statue, and they got their first view of the street.

It was a vivacious and bustling street with most men and women dressed no differently than in the non-magical world. Noticeably, some of the elderly wore outfits that looked dated. Otherwise, it was like watching just another street in France. The only difference was the stores.

Posters advertised books on magical subjects, bargains on parts of magical creatures, and even flying broomsticks. It was the most magical thing they had ever seen. Jean and Sofia were like children in a candy store, gawking at the creative and extravagant displays of magic by the various street performers.

Archer was also taken in by the sights, as he had never had the chance to see a magical shopping district other than Diagon Alley.

They first needed to convert their money into magical currency. Archer knew the only place that dealt with currency was Gringotts, so he guided Jean and Sofia to the large white marble building near the end of the street.

They crossed the threshold, walking by rows of armed guards looking fierce in their shiny gold armor. Jean and Sofia were wide-eyed and a bit intimidated by them. Archer made sure to hold their hands and drag them to the queue in front of the teller.

They waited silently for the line to move ahead. Once at the front of the line, Archer took the initiative to talk to the teller. He wanted to show the proper courtesy when addressing the teller but had to play ignorant of goblin culture. So, he opted for a semi-formal style of address.

"Good morning, Monsieur Teller. My name is Archer Beaufort, and I was recently informed of the magical world. My parents, Jean-Luc and Sofia Beaufort, and I came here to convert our money into magical currency."

That was the best he could do. Short, to the point and polite enough. Hopefully, the goblin would be appreciative of the effort and guide them properly.

The teller peered over the desk with a toothy smile. "Greetings wizard. Welcome to Gringotts. I am Master Teller Bonesmasher. The counter for conversions is on the left. Remember that the next time you come in, so you do not waste time."

It was better than expected, and he even gave some advice for next time. Overall, a decent first interaction.

Thanking the teller, he grabbed his parents and led them to the counter the teller specified. The goblin behind the desk barked. "How much do you want to convert?"

Archer nudged Jean. Jean quickly retrieved the money in his jacket and held it out. "2000 francs."

The goblin snatched the money and put it onto the scale in front of him. "Current exchange rate is 5 francs to a Galleon."

Archer tried his best to match Jean's and Sofia's confused look. "What's a Galleon, sir?"

The goblin growled in irritation. "A Galleon is a gold coin, the largest denomination of magical currency. Underneath Galleons are Sickles and Knuts. Silver and bronze coins, respectively. 29 Knuts to a Sickle. 17 Sickles to a Galleon."

As he spoke, a non-descript brown pouch appeared on the opposite scale as the paper money vanished. Grabbing the pouch. He held it out to them.

"Your total is 400 Galleons. This is a temporary Gringotts money pouch that will remain with you for a week. After which, it will return to us. You can buy a permanent one, for a fee, of course."

Archer took the pouch. "Thank you very much for your help, Teller...?"

"Backslicer." the goblin snarled.

Opening the pouch, he retrieved 5 Galleons and set it onto the table. "On behalf of the Beaufort family, I thank you for your excellent service, Teller Backslicer. Please accept this as a token of our gratitude."

Backslicer's eyes widened as he heard him. He retrieved the Galleons and gave a feral grin. "You will make for a good client, Archer Beaufort. You have good manners, for a wizard."

With a small bow, he swiftly guided his parents out of Gringotts and back onto the street. He let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. Being around goblins always made him slightly nervous.

They could be your best allies, but if someone offers them a better deal, they would stab you in the back without hesitation. It also didn't help that he had only ever had contact with goblins in the British branch of Gringotts.

Regional cultures might have differed, but one thing that stayed the same was their love of gold. It was something he had capitalized on.

Jean had questioned him once they were outside. He replied by stating that the goblins seemed greedy, so playing to their greed would put their family in their good graces. Even though he knew better.

The place Archer was most excited to visit was the bookstore. That was where he could start gathering information about this world. Based on what he learned, he could modify his plans accordingly.

On their way, Jean had joked that Archer loved the fact that there was now an entirely new world that had books he could collect for the library. They all had a good laugh at that.

Locating and entering the bookstore, they marveled at the size of the place. Archer recognized the Space Extension Charm being used to enchant the entire store to be larger on the inside. Jean and Sofia were wowed by the effect and simply put it down to the wonders of magic.

An elderly gentleman walked up to them with a jovial smile. "Welcome to Magillard Plumes and Tomes! My name is Marcel Magillard. How may I help you today?"

Archer took the lead. "Good morning, Monsieur Magillard. My name is Archer Beaufort. These are my parents, Jean-Luc and Sofia Beaufort. I used accidental magic yesterday, and a few Aurors visited our house.

Captain Pierre LaRoche recommended your bookstore so I can learn about the magical world and magical theory before attending Beauxbatons."

Magillard smiled brightly. "Ahh, Pierre told you about my humble bookshop? We have known each other for a long time. He is one of my best customers. Congratulations on discovering your magic, young Archer! I have just the books for you to read."

His expression became somber. "It is important to understand how magic works, but I must warn you. You must not attempt to cast any spells or it might permanently damage your magical potential in the long run. Understood?"

Archer nodded. "Understood, Monsieur Magillard."

Magillard's expression reverted to one that resembled a kindly grandfather. He flicked his wand, and three books came whizzing towards him from the back of the store. They briefly floated in front of him before settling into his open hands.

He pushed them towards Archer. "These three are the most comprehensive primers for basic magical theory, the workings of the magical world, and the history of Beauxbatons.

As I mentioned, understanding the basic theory of magic is necessary for every magical. Magic is a fantastic and mysterious thing, young Archer. This book will help you learn what little we know about it. Having prior knowledge will also aid you in your wand-based classes in school.

The book on the magical world will give you a better understanding of magical cultures and how they differ from non-magical ones. When you enter a new world, it is helpful to learn the various traditions to avoid accidentally offending others. Magical cultures are fascinating, and a solid understanding will allow you to successfully blend in with your peers.

Beauxbatons is one of the finest institutions in Europe and one of the best magical schools in the world. Read up on the history before you attend, and I assure you that it will come in handy once you start your formal magical education."

Archer accepted the books. "Thank you so much, Monsieur Magillard. I look forward to reading these and learning about the magical world."

Magillard beamed. "Your welcome, young Archer. It is always a pleasure to see someone so interested in our world. Congratulations again, and I hope to one day see you come here for your schoolbooks when you turn 11.

In the meantime, please have a look around. Take your time and read about whatever interests you. We have a great many books on various subjects. I guarantee you will find something you like." With that, he left to assist another customer and left them to wander.

Archer turned back to his parents and beamed. "Maman. Papa. Can I please look around for a while longer?"

His parents laughed as his father ruffled his hair. "Of course, my boy. Go have fun and pick up whatever books you want. If we need more money, we can always go back to Gringotts to convert more."

He whooped in childlike delight and handed his mother the three books in his hand before rushing to the shelves in the back.

Once he was out of sight, the smile on his face faded, and what was left was a look of grim determination. He needed to focus on books that would give the most information. He asked an employee where the historical section was, and they guided him to it.

Flitting through the shelves, he rapidly scanned the titles of the numerous tomes. He stopped a couple of times and picked up books that looked promising. The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Greatest European Magical Conflicts, and a couple of others.

He was skimming through the first book and had come to the section on the 1970's British Blood War. Sadly for him, there was a Voldemort in this world too. He stifled the urge to curse loudly and profusely when he found out.

As he read on, he came across a piece of information that stunned him. Surprisingly, Voldemort had been stopped by a baby. A baby named Rose Lily Potter, known as the Girl-Who-Lived.

Things suddenly got significantly more confusing. His counterpart in this world was female. Not only that, but James and Lily Potter had survived that night. James was currently Deputy Head Auror of the DMLE, and Lily was apprenticed under Filius Flitwick for a Charms Mastery.

He didn't know how to feel about what he learned. On the one hand, he wanted to meet James and Lily to at least get a sense of what kind of people they were. He had never been able to meet them in his previous life, so the chance to get to know them was tempting.

On the other hand, he had self-declared Harry Potter as dead. He wanted nothing to do with Magical Britain for as long as he could. Besides, they were Rose Potter's parents, not his. Who knew how many changes that surviving that fateful Halloween would have caused in their overall character.

'No. My parents are Jean-Luc and Sofia Beaufort. My James and Lily Potter are dead, and there is nothing I can do about it. These people are not them.'

He repeated the mantra several times in his head before calming down and focusing on the next book. This one gave an overview of all of the significant magical conflicts across Europe for the last 2000 years.

It included several goblin rebellions, the conquests of the Roman Empire, the establishment of magical societies around the world, etc. Overall, a highly detailed book that would inform him of any deviations in the timeline as he knew it.

Finishing his trip to the history section, he browsed around all the other ones. He picked up books on Runes, Warding, Potions, Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and a book on magical sports. They were all intermediate level tomes except for the latter. That was more to show his parents what Quidditch was and express his interest in playing it. He missed flying.

They paid for their purchases and left with a feather-light charmed bag to hold the thick stack of books. They explored a few stores that sold convenient magical knick-knacks, and Sofia looked especially interested in exploring the clothing stores.

Near the end of their journey, he convinced his parents to let him visit the apothecary and the cauldron shop. He expressed an interest in potions, so his father had smiled ruefully and given him the money pouch to buy potions equipment and ingredients.

He entered the cauldron shop and gotten an affordable pewter cauldron, a mortar and pestle, a set of knives, a scale, and a set of vials. Heading over to the apothecary, he went over a checklist of everything he needed for the rituals.

The first set of three was all about bolstering his magic, so no ingredient other than his own blood was required. The second set of three was laying down a proper foundation for physical enhancements. He needed a couple of magical creature parts for that one.

The final ritual's purpose was to temper his magic and grant him more control over it. All he needed to do was offer his blood and magic to the Earth and take it back.

He had already made a decision on what physical aspects he wanted to enhance first. Speed was a given, as it would stack with all the other rituals he planned on going through. Endurance was another critical factor that would complement his speed enhancement.

He had initially wanted to focus on strength but realized his fighting style mainly relied on speed, both in ranged and close-quarters combat. Whenever he had gotten close enough to use a sword or dagger, he primarily employed swift and lethal strikes. Therefore, strength wasn't as much of a concern, though he would definitely enhance it later on.

The final aspect he wanted to enhance was dexterity. Enhancing his fine motor skills would help when it came to drawing and carving runes, preparing potions ingredients, and making complicated wand movements quickly.

Satisfied with his choices, he went into the apothecary and purchased low-level ingredients in bulk before putting in an order for the exotic materials he would need for the rituals.

The three parts were Wampus Cat heartstring for speed, Hippogriff tendon for endurance, and an acromantula leg for dexterity. They would be offered as a sacrifice, so a portion of the physical properties of the animals would be permanently imbued into him.

It would be expensive, but this was all an investment in his future. His other purchases had totaled roughly 40 Galleons, and he would have to part with the rest of the money for the exotic ingredients he ordered.

He would have to track down the French version of Knockturn Alley soon, so he could acquire some of the more questionable items necessary for future enhancement rituals.

After paying for his items, he went back to the main square and saw his parents entranced by one of the performers. He was combining the Color-Changing and Bubble Charms to create a colorful painting. It was a very creative and skillful display that entertained the crowd that was watching.

He went up and grabbed their hands, alerting them to his return. They decided to leave and come back later next week to explore more of the various stores. They had dinner outside and drove home.

The days passed by as Archer awaited the owl from the apothecary to deliver his ritual ingredients. July had arrived, and he had less than two days to undergo the rituals.

He had used the potions equipment to create several healing potions. Pepper-Up, Fever-Reducer, Stomach-Soothing, and Blood-Replenishing Potions. His parents were slightly envious of the fast-acting cures the magical world had for common ailments. Non-magical medicine simply couldn't compare.

They had visited the Place Cachee a second time, and he had acquired a rune carving kit which he used to create a magical containment ward within his room. Any fluctuations caused by the ritual would not alert the French Ministry. Otherwise, it would be really tough to explain how he learned about rituals and what exactly he was trying to do.

He had managed to read all three books Marcel had given him. The magical theory book had been an eye-opening read. Spellcasting was distinctly different in this reality.

First of all, magic was everywhere. Witches and wizards channeled the magic around them through their bodies and back out through their focus as spells.

They had magical cores, but they were not used to store magic innately. They acted as filters to refine the wild magic taken in from the atmosphere.

As magical children grew up, their cores would experience rapid shifts in size. The most significant developments occurred at the ages of 7, 11, 13, and 17. The core could still grow beyond 17, but the pace would be much slower.

Core degradation started around 80 years old on average, but the speed was slow for powerful magicals. Also, special rituals could be used to slow it down even further.

With bigger cores, a magical would be able to channel greater amounts of magic to fuel more demanding and powerful spells. There was, however, a limit to how much they could channel.

The core was not a physical organ, so researchers theorized it was more spiritual in nature. If a magical cast too many spells, they would feel increasingly weak and find it harder to connect with the magic around them.

Nobody knew how or why this reaction happened, but there were numerous theories about it. The most popular idea stated that magic was a sentient life-giving force, so it sought to protect its children from harming themselves.

Having met Mother Magic herself in his previous life, he wouldn't have been surprised if that was the actual reasoning behind the phenomena.

It had been an interesting read, but something had stuck out to him. The method of spellcasting in this reality did not correspond to how his body used magic. He could feel a wellspring of magical power within him that was innate and not something he was absorbing from his surroundings.

While surprised by the revelation, he had simply put it to the back of his mind. His reasoning was that he was never normal, so it wasn't a big deal. He felt fine, so it didn't matter to him. Nonetheless, he would look into why his magic was different when he had the time.

He had been woken up the day before July 7th by a series of sharp taps on his window. Blearily making his way there, he saw an owl with a package attached to its leg. His sleepiness disappeared as excitement overtook him.

Unclasping the parcel from the owl, he looked at it. "I'm sorry, but I don't have any owl treats for you. I forgot to pick some up."

The owl gave a reprimanding hoot before taking off.

Giving a rueful smile, he opened the package and saw several shrunken boxes inside. There was a note that identified each ingredient along with all the charms on the storage boxes.

Putting it aside, he focused on the center of his room, where a runic circle had been inscribed in magical chalk. He had spent the last week remembering the ritual process and necessary runes from his time learning under Morgana.

It had taken him several tries to get used to properly inscribing the runes. This reality had different inscription techniques that relied on polygonal shapes for structure. He wasn't used to the new methods, but he was a quick study. He perfected the standard heptagonal inscription method and had used it for the ritual.

With his preparations set, his lines rehearsed and timed, he was confident of his success. He went through the rest of the day like usual, spending most of his time in the library.

Before he went to bed, he gave the runic circle a final check and rehearsed his lines mentally. Tomorrow would be the first step on a long journey in this new reality. His next great adventure.

His alarm went off in the morning as planned. Mashing the snooze button, he vaulted off his bed. He walked to the bathroom while stretching his muscles. He would be standing for a long time and didn't want to get a cramp.

Freshening up, he returned to his room and took out the boxes that contained the sacrificial ingredients. Taking them out, he placed them in different sectors of the circle. He stripped off all of his clothing and felt a chill run through him.

He retrieved a Blood-Replenishing Potion from his desk, the clock from his nightstand, and a clean silver potions knife. He set the clock and potion just outside the circle while keeping the knife in his hand. He strategically placed the clock in front of him, and the potion right next to it. Taking a few deep breaths, he settled himself into the center of the runic circle and started waiting.

His main plan relied on using arithmantically powerful and stable numbers to make sure the ritual went well and had the most effect. He was going to completing 1 set of 7 rituals. The process would start at 7:07 on the dot. The whole set would be finished in 77 minutes, with each individual ritual spanning 11 minutes.

He had thoroughly practiced modifying the speed of his speech and properly intoning all the Latin phrases. The only thing he was missing was a personalized ritual dagger, and while it would have been nice to have one, it wouldn't affect the success of the ritual.

He kept a close watch on the clock and stood up as the seconds ticked down to 7:07. The moment the second hand pointed straight up, Archer started reciting the phrases.

He cut himself across the palm and held it facing downwards, watching the blood slowly drip down onto the circle. The runes started to glow dimly as his blood turned the white chalk red.

The first ritual was about cleansing his magic and blood of any contaminants. The second involved increasing the flexibility of his core to handle larger amounts of magic. The third was the one he needed the most, as it allowed Harry to gain greater control over the flow of his magic throughout his body.

While his new body was very good at evenly distributing his magic, he noticed the delayed responses when attempting wandless magic. If he hadn't been influenced by the shift in personality, he would never have been able to take control of his magic as he did. This particular ritual would make it easier for him to marshal his magical energy both when casting and in general.

After they were done, he went onto the physical enhancements. He walked over to the Wampus Cat heartstring and let the rivulets of blood fall onto it. His blood ignited into a white fire that started to engulf the heartstring. It released opalescent wisps as the fire spread.

Walking back to the center of the circle, he kept chanting as the wisps made their way to him and started surrounding his body. He felt a brief upswell of energy before his fog-like surroundings cleared up. He repeated this process twice for the Acromantula leg and the Hippogriff tendon before he proceeded to the final ritual.

This was one the most important for him as it would calm down his violently energetic magic. It was absolutely critical that this went off without a hitch. Despite the massive amounts of blood that he had lost and the weakness he felt, he held on.

Biting his tongue to force himself to stay awake, he continued on with the final ritual chanting as he fed all of his remaining magic into the Earth. He could feel his magic burrowing into the floor and seeping down into the ground underneath the chateau's foundations.

It kept going deeper and deeper until he hit what was most likely a major ley line. It was a feeling, unlike anything he had ever experienced before. The closeness he felt to the steady flow of magic throughout the world was a heavenly experience.

If he had to compare it, the only thing that came close was when he invoked Mother Magic to channel her energy through him to cast a divine spell. This felt less forced and much more natural.

It was like he had become one with the magical energy all throughout the globe. Feeling the energy and emotions of hundreds of different magical beings.

The hum of energy at various magical sites like the Pyramids of Giza, Stonehenge, and the like. It threatened to overwhelm him as he unwaveringly kept the chant going, trying not to lose himself.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he finished the ritual and regained his bearings. He was instantly very nervous. Frantically glancing at the clock, he saw that the second hand had just passed the 12 o'clock mark.

Looking at the other hands, he saw the time reflected. 8:24 AM. He had succeeded. His ritual set had ended perfectly on time. All of his efforts had paid off.

A strangled giggle made its way out his lips as a smile stretched wide across his face.

Immediately reaching for the vial of Blood-Replenishing potion, he uncorked it and chugged it down. The ritual had healed his cut at the end, but the blood sacrificed had not been replaced. He would be weak for the next couple of hours as the potion worked its magic.

In the meantime, he walked over to the wall and sent some magic into the concealed rune cluster he had engraved onto it a few days ago. A pulse of magic emanated from the wall, and the remnants of the ritual were swept away, leaving no trace.

'Merlin that is so convenient.' he marveled at the instantaneous cleaning of his room.

Something he immediately noticed was how much calmer his magic felt when he was pushing it into the cluster. It was no longer like bubbling lava, feeling more like a calm ocean. It still flowed naturally on its own, and while he did not have complete control over it, it was a large improvement.

He felt a sense of weakness overtake him as he stumbled towards the bed. Even with the Blood-Replenishing potion, it would take the rest of the day to recover. However, once he did, he would be able to start using his magic.

Grabbing his clothes, he slowly slipped them on before sliding back underneath the blanket. Cocooning himself with it, he closed his eyes and was asleep within seconds.