Fiction’s Reality

Wow, this is a long chapter.


When I began writing this story, I loved the concept, the ideas, everything. And when I finished this first chapter, I realized that while I like this story, I probably wouldn’t if it was starring some other character I don’t know.

No one likes self-insertion fics, me included. But I understand why people write them. Now I understand why M. Night Shyamalan can’t help but put himself into movies. It’s fun. It’s cool and entertaining for my eyes only. In hindsight, I wrote this story for me and me alone. And one day, I’ll continue it. Maybe when I’m stuck with one of my other stories.

But, for the most part, it’s a narcissistic tale about how ‘Rihaan’ met Harry Potter, set him up with Hermione, collected a Harem for himself, and helped H/Hr kill Voldemort, with constant jibes, bashing, and a whole lotta tormenting of everyone I’ve ever shown a minor dislike for in the past.

So… Not much demand for this story, I get that. But I still wanted to put this out there, before I accidentally delete it, I guess.


Rihaan’s NEW Bio:
Name: Rihaan Shimomura III (pronounced ‘Ree-hawn Sheem-o-moorah’)
Race: African-American, Raised in Japan (Area classified)
Birth Date: October 2, 1980
Age: 5
Height: 4’1″
Weight: 39 lbs


Chapter One – Fiction’s Reality

Rihaan awoke with a groan. A somewhat effeminate groan. His eyes burned, and his body felt abused do to shifting and shrinking. He was dimly aware that he was in a dark place, for that he was thankful. It was suggested when he read on the qualities and benefits of the potion that he would be sensitive to light.

He slowly opened his eyes, and was perplexed to see that there was no light in the room, save for the window. It looked to be about morning time. While he was still disoriented, and bone-tired, he could plainly feel the sheath and the guard of his sword painfully poking into his back.

While his body wanted to lie still for a while, the pain was too uncomfortable now that all of his senses came back to him. He rolled over onto his stomach, and was halfway to getting up, until his body took control again, and heaped onto the floor in sleep, with no intrusions.

A couple of hours later, Rihaan awoke. He did his usual routine, letting all of his senses awaken before opening his eyes. He slowly stood and shed off his sheath, laying it on top of his bags. He checked his surroundings. It looked like a normal hotel room to him, minus the fact that it had no electricity, such as lights or Television. A freshly made bed was beside him. Odd. He looked back at the place he was sleeping on, the floor. Rihaan raised one eyebrow.

He had logged in the time and space on the time turner to be set for 07:00.00;000 on the 22nd of June, 1986, exactly 27 years before his depart time. He had set the coordinates, but it wasn’t a measurement of Latitude or Longitude. It was set to a room in the Leaky Cauldron. He had guessed correctly that there would only be one place called ‘Leaky Cauldron.’

He blushed embarrassingly. He had forgotten to put exactly where in the room he would land. He was thankful, however, that he wasn’t put in a place where something was. He knew of fusions, of materializing inside a wall, or even a bed. That would’ve been messy.

He chalked it up to either luck or magic, and stood, quite happy that he wouldn’t be hearing pops and cracks for a few years when he stretched. He absently trudged around the bed to the window, the only source of light, which was most likely the reason the blinds were open. He peeked through them. He seemed to be on the third floor of the inn. He saw what could only be described as people who had never heard of mirrors, by the way they dressed. He saw some people that looked normal enough, but were constantly looking around suspiciously at what Rihaan might as well have been openly gawking at. The sore thumbs stuck out so hard, they may as well have each had a neon sign saying ‘Hello, citizens! I’m a Muggle, just like you primitive beings!’ Some were wearing Hawaiian-style shirts with their snow boots; others seemed to be wearing mismatched gloves and shoes. Some were subtle, but Rihaan could see some minor flaws, such as bowling shoes or even a top hat. One woman even walked around in a bulletproof vest. They seemed to have absolutely no idea how to wear regular clothes…

He had entered the magical world. A smile adorned his face at this seemingly impossible feat.

Rihaan would, once again, try to do the Genius Jingle, a dance he had made when he had done an exceptionally brilliant feat, until he realized that his clothes were a bit too big for his body to dance. He looked down. ‘Shit… can’t believe I overlooked that… ‘

He had forgotten to factor in quite a few things, really. For one, while his knowledge and skills were still with him, his young body couldn’t control it well. It was like an oversized brain in a small vessel; it fit, but just barely. Understandable, since he was a mere five years old. Years of training, all for moot. He had to start all over again. He still remembered how to do it, but his body was new to it. The (thankfully) thin child did not know when to start his daily regimen of workouts, so he decided that he would postpone it until it was necessary to exercise. A six- or eight-pack on a child just looked disgusting, and he was quite sure people would ask questions about it.

He didn’t want to call attention to himself now. He would wait until he reached Hogwarts. But his workouts had to be soon.

After closing his eyes for a moment, with a little difficulty, his clothes could fit on him easily, if not a size too large. He glanced around the room. His clothes were not the only things he shrunk. The bed, the lamp, the dresser and the blinds themselves shrunk to toy sizes. While the bed shrunk, the frame did not, so the mattress just fell with a thump. Rihaan sighed. ‘Well, I can’t focus my magic much anymore. What else?’ He had a sobering thought. ‘Wait… my magic can still work because I know how to use it. But my body is…’ He quickly unsheathed his sword, and immediately fell over when it slanged forward. He barely missed the slumping mattress and hit the wooden floor, making a loud thunk and a noticeable dent. His eyes narrowed in frustration. He now had a sword that was his height and most of his weight. “Just perfect,” He spoke to himself, letting go of the katana and standing up, glaring at his favorite sword. He cleared his throat. He had yet a new obstacle; he hated his voice. “I bet I can’t even pick up most of my other weapons. Hell, I know I can’t pick them up. I guess I’ll have to practice with them later. See if I can test the limits of the Room of Requirements.” That brought a small smile to his face before he got down to business.

“Let’s recap: I’m short and weak, I can’t focus my magic, and I have the strange urge for ice cream for breakfast. And I know for a fact that I’ve slept way past breakfast time.” A flicker of confusion flickered in his eyes when his mind registered that he hadn’t eaten ice cream since he was… five. ‘Damn. I’ve got a new problem: The only logical explanation I can get from this is my mind is fusing with a small part of my five-year-old mind. Now I have the noticeable tendencies of a five-year-old me. And I’m pretty sure if I give into my ‘little’ demands, they will only grow stronger. So, no ice cream. For now.

Done disciplining himself, he decided that he should do something more than figure out the problems so far; such as if there was a TV around. Barney was on.

‘Okay, That’s it!’ He closed his eyes and found himself travelling to his Occlumency mindscape to confront the problem. While he could not get rid of parts of his brain, he could silence thoughts.

He appeared at the front gates that was the beginning of his shields. He smiled as he looked at the small bust of the golden face with two jade stones staring down at him. It was as he was not ten minutes ago. He was seventeen again. A part of him distantly wondered if he still aged from 17 up in his mind. He doubted it, however. He figured this was the oldest Rihaan he was going to see for a while. After all, he didn’t know what he would look like in the future.

He barely noticed that even in his mind, he had the appearance of a five-year old. He would figure it out as he went along, he could only hope.

He walked towards the golden gate with two clothed white marble statues, each heavily armored. They had the classic two inch long bullet belts strapped like an X across them, two of their rifles connected to the belt. Handguns and Berettas adorning their waist that only they could touch – they would disappear in someone else’s hand – ready to be pulled out and fired within a moment’s notice. The only thing that made this entire scene more deftly intimidating was the fact that they were smiling. No, no – grinning would be the better term.

His guards had Rihaan’s face. And it was only fair that he gave them his personality. They loved to fight. They especially loved to fight with weapons. And they were ecstatic to fight and win with weapons. If they had to, or if they wanted to, they could kill. But while it is almost easy to kill someone while invading someone else’s mind, it’s next to impossible to fully kill the invader, just from a mind probe. Although when they are mentally killed, they get a nasty headache that lasts for several days, even with plenty of potions. A full-on attack that leads to a defeat of the invader would lead to a permanent stay at St. Mungos, since the attacker would be entirely focused on the attack. Luckily for any attacker, they would be having trouble with Rihaan’s shields before they even started invading his mind. So it was all sport for the statues. However, sometimes they had fought off the temptation to run after the probe and ‘return the favor’ to the other mind. They did have orders to follow, after all, and that was to protect his mind at all times.

That was the only thing that made Rihaan different from them; they could take orders. Of course, he could as well, but his grandfather was the only one he ever took orders from. Call him a rebel, but he would call himself home-schooled and not exposed to other authority figures. In order to take orders from anyone, he had to have complete trust and respect in someone. No hints of doubt could exist for him.

This would be something, he was sure, that Professor Severus Snape would not appreciate.

Rihaan walked through the gates after nodding. After all, it was his mind. There couldn’t be an imposter – they would know, and you can’t polyjuice or glamour the mind. Every guard was part of his imagination and looked like him. They all wore black suits, green sunshades, and black tennis shoes, for foot pursuit. Not really necessary, since there were many snipers around the place.

They picked off Dumbledore every time.

Looking at the simple white dojo with a brown roof, Rihaan noticed nothing strange and walked inside. The inside was many times larger than the outside, for confusion. There was a large hallway in front of him. Rihaan closed his eyes again and tried to focus on where the new intrusion was. Nothing. Absolutely everything seemed normal, though he could still hear a little boy telling him that there would be hell to pay if he missed Barney or, god forbid, Sesame Street. Only one person – or entity, he wasn’t really sure – could be able to help him find that annoying presence. He decided to go to the source. He walked up to an old man who seemed to be waiting for him.

To this day, he did not know why he had added his grandfather in his shields. Maybe because he taught him almost everything he knew. Maybe because he was his guardian since he was a year old. Maybe because he died when Rihaan was thirteen, and the figure before him was a memorial. Or it was possibly because he was the only person Rihaan ever trusted.

He never lingered on the thought for too long. The strange thing was, he didn’t even remember adding the original Rihaan, his grandfather, to his mind. He was grieving over the loss of his best friend years ago, and he just appeared, taking charge of his mental defenses and the only person with complete access to Rihaan’s mind. And somehow, having him there made Rihaan stronger, mentally, emotionally and physically since that day.

Done with his quick reminiscing, and missing the bearded chisel smile of his old man’s old man, he asked the marble statue where the kid in his mind was. But the man stiffly shook his head, his porcelain colored skin stretching as he frowned. “The presence needs to stay,” the man warned with an all-too-familiar voice. “If you act too mature for your age, your cover is blown. I put the presence there.”

“I know,” Rihaan said impatiently, “that’s why I asked you.”

An eyebrow was raised. “I assumed you asked me because I was created to be put in charge of your last defenses, so I should know where it is.”

The little Rihaan had to smile. Beyond the grave, the man could see through him. It was as if his grandfather had his own mind, and couldn’t even be controlled. Rihaan honestly preferred it that way. “That wasa reason,” he managed to say, “but why did you do so?” The man was his grandfather and the only trusted figure in his life, dead or not. He rarely questioned the man’s motives, because they are always for a good reason.

Unlike Dumbledore, of course.

“I had to put the presence in your mind because you need to act more like a child. No matter how much you know at your age, if you had the slight personality of a child, then you will rarely be questioned. Act your own age. You are more successful this way.” He paused. “If your secrets are ever discovered, I really don’t want you to test your shields against Veritaserum, or a Dementor… if Occlumency can even block Dementors at all.”

Rihaan nodded with a shiver. “I just hope they’re not uglier than the ones in the movies.”

The original Rihaan shook his head and chuckled. “You’re just worried about them looking ugly?”

Rihaan III nodded with vigor. “I don’t want its face being the last thing I see!”

His grandfather was still shaking his head with a smile.


Rihaan awoke in his body in the time span of two seconds. The mind works faster than the body, and it only took a few moments to recover something. He did, however, have the annoying habit of misplacing small bits of information and seemingly unimportant facts.

He walked back towards the side of the bed and looked at his shades. He sighed. It wasn’t exactly normal for five-year-olds to wear shades. It also wasn’t normal for five-year-olds to walk around places like Diagon Alley alone. And he had really wanted to look around Knockturn Alley. Ah, well, he would definitely do some sightseeing later.

He had read quite a few fanfictions in his past, as he did a bit of writing himself. He had read many theories of disguise, such as Security Cloaks that let people ignore you, or Cloaks that are laced with Charms making you look like an average human. While he doubted the Wizarding World could actually think of something that practical, and it would be great for criminals to get away, he would look up on it.

He bounced on the freshly made, albeit miniature bed. He knew that the first thing he had to do was to find a place to live. Tom, the barman, would probably eventually check up on this room. If there were wards he had tripped with his appearance, Tom would have been there already, unless he had seen the five-year-old while he was sleeping and had taken pity.

He had already thought most of his plan out, as much as it pained him to do so. He was a bit of a freelancer. If the entire project was successful, and he really was in the Wizarding World (of which he had almost no doubt), then he would find a home, hopefully on Privet Drive.

But just because he was a freelance, it didn’t mean that he had no idea what to do. He had a general idea of what the next decade was going to bring, how it was going to happen, and where. He was prepared of the changes he was certainly going to make, and was ready to take full advantage of them. That was where the freelancing came in. He knew what he wanted to happen. The only question was how was he going to get it to happen?

Therfore, he had several residences planned out. One was near Privet Drive, one was near Otter St. Catchpole, and one near Hogwarts. He supposed he would have to check the phonebook to find his other residence.

Then, in six years, he would go to Hogwarts. However, he would make sure he would run into Harry Potter first.

He stood up, and for the heck of it, put on his glasses. He cursed silently when they fell. He carefully shrunk them to the width of his head, trying to keep the same ratio. He tried them on, and seeing that they fit again, put them in his pocket for later use. With a bit of concentration, everything in the room was back to the regular size. To his chagrin, the bed had returned to normal, under the frame, causing the frame to be wrapped around the mattress. Either the bed was going to rip on all corners because of the sharp leg pegs, or the frame was going to break from the pressure, or both just stayed straining, he didn’t know. He shrugged and decided that someone would fix it sooner or later.

He decided that it was time to get down to business. Rihaan looked around the room, checking for any wards in the entire inn. He had learned to sense magic for a while, and it was a fairly easy, but very useful, trick. He gave a relaxed sigh. Well, that took care of one problem. There were no wards anywhere in the inn, minus small privacy wards, notice-me-not wards, and a large anti-apparition ward surrounding the inn. He picked up the bags he left on the floor and unzipped one of the two. He lifted his weapon-of-choice and placed it in the bag and closed it. While he would love to miniaturize the bags, or at least put one in the other, thanks to a space-expansion charm, he had to put up a Muggle appearance. Having one bag would make some – the more paranoid – suspicious, and he wanted to cover all of his bases.

He carried them to the door and set them down to open it. Looking out into the hallway, he saw no one. He picked up the bags again, careful not to handle them roughly, and walked through the hallway and down the stairs.

If he was correct, Tom’s bar and inn, or the Leaky Cauldron, was only two stories. At the bottom of the stairs, he saw no one but a middle-aged looking man sitting behind the desk, reading the Daily Prophet, he guessed. The man seemed to sense him, and looked up.

The two were silent for a moment, until Rihaan spoke up. “Do you take Muggle cash?”

The man nodded mutely, wondering how the small boy had sneaked past him.

The boy pulled out a thousand quid, having known about Tom’s cheap prices, a galleon or two a night. He didn’t know how anyone could survive like that, but he was sure that he was paid much more for guarding the Wizarding World’s portal. Either way, since he had stolen one of his rooms for a bit, he decided to pay the man. He had money, so there were no worries. And he did have accounts to ‘fall back’ on. And of course, bets to make.

He dropped the money on the table and walked towards the restroom, not looking back at the surprised man.


He wiped his brow. It had quickly turned into a bright, scorching summer day. His afro certainly wasn’t helping him; he would have to change his hairstyle again later. Setting his resolve, he walked through the large doors of Gringotts Bank.

Rihaan was quite confused about the customs of Goblins. He was incredibly confused of what insults them and what compliments them. The most famous topic being ‘Did they hate you if you showed your teeth?’ Popularity said both yes and no, so he did not want to take any chances. He walked through the hall, which was similar to the movie’s version, only with slight differences, such as the goblins. Yes, they did all look very similar, but their noses weren’t that big. Their skin looked darker, taking a less human form.

He reached the teller. He saw only small differences in each Goblin. He gave a light chuckle. If there was one thing that was common with almost every story, it was Harry remembering Griphook enough to call him by name. And yet, in the actual story, Harry had all but completely forgotten Griphook’s existence.

“Name,” the goblin droned, not looking up.

“Shimomura, Rihaan.” The Goblin scrunched his rather large eyebrows together before looking over the desk. Seeing nothing, he looked further down.

Then he looked down further.

“What are you doing here, kid? You have no account here.” This was not a growl, contrary to popular belief; it was just an annoyed drone.

“I want to open an account,” Rihaan explained. “Can I do that?”

The Goblin just kept staring at him. Then he sneered.


Working with Goblins, Rihaan understood later, was a horrible experience.

He realized that Goblins are only nice to the wealthy. Apparently, if you are just now making an account, and you are sending a child to make an account for you, they can safely assume that you are not stinking rich, and they consider it an insult that you sent a messenger instead of show up yourself. There are fees for purchasing a family vault, monthly handling fees, fees for withdrawal, and fees for deposits (and he was not sure, but he overheard a goblin whisper something about charging a galleon and a sickle for every galleon misplaced or stolen). Also, if you look like you were lost on the way to Zonko’s joke shop, then it doesn’t really help you. So they kick you out before you can defend yourself.

Rihaan simply shrugged his shoulders. He had enough money to be considered wealthy. If you could call every penny you own, including college funds and blood-money wealthy. It was in the millions, but he didn’t know what that would equal to in galleons.

He was almost sure that there was another bank. Gringott’s couldn’t have been the only bank in the Wizarding World. Even if it was the only one mentioned at all, and it seemed as if everyone had a vault there, and it seemed to be the only bank Voldemort controlled in ’97 to ’98, but… .

On second thought, it would be better to put it all in a safe in his own home.

He had already decided that he was going to live on Privet Drive. He did not want to interfere too badly until he reached Hogwarts. While he had a few things in mind that he needed to do as soon as possible, he wanted to live in an environment he was more comfortable with, and he could not live in a house that he could mistake for every other house in the neighborhood.

Besides, he was a Muggle-born. He should act like one.

He gripped both duffel bags tightly as he walked into an alleyway. He knew he needed to live near Privet Drive. That was unavoidable. He was going to change a few details of Harry’s past.


The small boy walked into his new bedroom. Not bad.

The impromptu plan had gone off without a hitch and had been easier than he had suspected.

From the moment he popped into Wysteria Walk, the house caught his eye. He scouted the house for the entire night to midday. Two stories. Four bedrooms, including a guest room. Three baths. A dining room and living room. A kitchen. An attic and a basement, not included in the stories. Most importantly, according to a rather crude drawing he had borrowed from the lexicon site, it was only a block away from Harry Potter, and even closer to the park.

This was going to be the house.

He had spotted a boy, a man and a woman in the house. The boy looked strange to him; he had buck teeth, pale skin, he was terribly underweight and he looked to be a bit taller than the average five-year-old. Rihaan smiled. The boy was an almost exact picture of the mental image he had gotten from the books. ‘Piers… perfect.’

This had opened a new window of opportunities for him. Piers Polkiss was one of Dudley’s most loyal, and most despicable of friends. If Piers had disappeared, then Dudley’s future gang would be crippled considerably. Hell, Dudders could possibly have a gang already.

It was time to disband them, starting with Piers.

With this in mind, Rihaan stretched his fingers as he placed his bags behind the bush in the backyard.

With his new light weight, he could crawl up the water spout almost as well as a squirrel. When he reached the top, he wasted no time reaching the chimney. He looked down. Narrow, it seemed, but his small stature could fit almost easily. He slipped into the chimney and carefully crawled down, careful not to make any suspicious noises or slip and thus alerting the house’s occupants. He wasn’t sure, but it felt as if his afro was cleaning the chimney as he eased himself down.

When he was a step closer to the entrance of the chimney, he stopped. The room was silent. No bated breaths, no concerned murmurs, no footsteps. He slid the rest of the way down. If he was caught, he would fight his way out; there was no way in hell he was going back up the chimney.

No one was in the room. The bright sunlight streamed through the open blinds of the windows. Rihaan stayed crouching for another moment, regaining his breath, before he stood up. He was beginning to feel light-headed, but not enough to fall out. He hesitantly waved his hand over his face, concentrating on his magic, and felt the soot leaving his entire body. His afro even felt lighter. That out of the way, he stepped off of the furnace and thought of what to do next.

A moment later, he heard large footsteps come down the stairs. Rihaan ducked behind the chair that was right in front of the television, out of view. He waited.

Rupert Polkiss walked slowly to his usual chair. He was a large man, but he was no Mr. Dursley, according to Rihaan’s readings. He eased himself down. He turned the telly on just in time to watch a new episode ofLast of the Summer Wine (‘When You Take A Good Bite, Yorkshire Tastes Terrible’).

Rihaan frowned. It seemed as if the man wasn’t going to get up anytime soon. A new idea started forming. While it was exceptionally easy to do, he didn’t want to mess up. After all, he had never tried the spell on a human, and he didn’t know if he had the power to do what he had first accomplished when he was fully grown.

Throwing caution to the wind, he stood up and put his hand on the back of the man’s neck, and before he could be surprised, he was quickly stunned. Rihaan wasn’t sure if he could stun a man of such girth using any type of technique other than magic. He walked around the couch to face Rupert. He peeled back the man’s eylelids and delved into his mind.

Five minutes later, Rihaan stumbled backwards, but regained his composure before falling. He leaned on the table for a moment, sweating lightly. He was thankful that Polkiss was still unconscious. Implanting a temporary command in a person’s mind was quite tiring, and he was almost completely worn out. His stamina had lessened dramatically since entering his body. Still, his reserves kicked in, and he stood up straight and walked over to the man. Wary to use more magic at the moment, he performed a most useful technique – he slapped him.

Rihaan moved back behind the chair while the man was regaining his senses. Mr. Polkiss shook his head for a moment, before he slowly stood up. “Bonnie,” he yelled, hobbling back towards the stairs and completely forgetting about his favorite show, “What do you think about the States?”


Rihaan sighed as roughly as a child could. The wife had, surprisingly, agreed instantly, as she was tired of nosy neighbors and Piers’s choice of friends. When the smallest Polkiss had arrived from the park, he was quite livid. He seemed determined not to leave, Rihaan suspected because he probably wouldn’t be able to have power in a foreign place. He wouldn’t know any of the right people, so he would have to start over his bullying. Rihaan doubted the frail boy would get anywhere before he gets his ass handed to him.

He had done some prodding through the man’s mind while he was implanting the command. Mr. Polkiss was an honest man, for the most part. The man had nothing to do with what Piers did when he was with Dudley. Mr. Polkiss had actually believed he was at Dudley’s house for tea. Rihaan mentally shook his head at the naivety. He did not want to just cheat the man out of a home, so when the family had prepared the very next day to leave, Rihaan had shown up with 500,000 pounds sterling, asking for the house. The man blanched, seeing all this money from an adorable little boy, but did not ask any questions. Mr. Polkiss didn’t even have the chance to tell anyone that they were moving. Rihaan was sure it was because by some ‘unknown’ reason, he wanted to move within twenty-four hours. But thanks to the money, he didn’t have to take much furniture with him.

It was lucky for Rihaan as well; it would be awkward for a five-year-old to be looking at furniture and shopping as if he actually owned something. He could just picture the surrounding families talking about how some rich kids take the game ‘House’ too seriously.

He had let himself tour around his new home, wanting to get familiar with the place. The place seemed to be, in his opinion, a termite’s wet dream. Everything seemed to be made of polished… he wasn’t really good with wood types, but he would have to say cedar. He went downstairs and only found an empty cement room and an out-of-the-way water heater. The almost empty basement, he knew, would be renovated into a room where he could practice his weapons. So long as there were wards protecting the water heater.

Rihaan was about to check the attic as well before he decided he had spent too much time dawdling. It was likely that dear Dudders was mad that his friend had left (Of course Piers had the chance to tell him, if his yelling on the phone the previous night told Rihaan), meaning that there would likely be a special episode of ‘Harry Hunting’ today. However, seeing that it was still eight, he decided that he needed something to eat first. He had a feeling that this was going to be a long day.

He walked into the kitchen and cooked himself a small breakfast – a sausage sandwich. He was thankful that the family had left the food in the fridge. He hadn’t eaten since he had traveled back. He was also thankful that they had left their chairs. It’s hard to cook when you can’t see the stove.

Satisfied for the moment, he walked up the stairs to his new room. He opened both bags and looked for his preferred weapon for his age.

His first bag was filled with clothes of all sizes, from his childhood to thirteen. His grandfather had saved all clothing that had not been used in training, and had planned on giving it to Rihaan to give his future son.

He smiled. Even unintentionally, his grandfather was there for him.

The other bag was filled with weapons. Guns of many shapes and sizes, swords shinier and sharper than magic ever could’ve made them (although he had spelled them so they could stay that sharp and shiny), poisons and boxes of explosives contained in a large crate, an even larger crate (about the size of the full-grown Rihaan) of ammo, and a large collection of knives, daggers, and a surplus of stars. He even had a small collection of medieval weapons that he had never even used. The bag was obviously charmed to hold more than it was supposed to, and the packages and crates inside the bag were charmed to hold more than it should as well. All in a convenient featherweight bag.

The only thing any of the items of the bag had in common was they all could kill the intended target in less than five seconds, including the grenades and cherry bombs that take four to five seconds and two to three, respectively, to detonate.

After careful searching, Rihaan finally found what he was looking for. It was a wooden sword, carved quite poorly, and dull, but as he found out, can sting like a bitch if used properly.

The sword twirled slowly in his hand, adjusting to it. Since he had made that sword as a small child, it was perfectly proportional with his body. It was his first sword, practical or hand-made, and he would be using it again – in public, at least.

He thought about sharpening the sword, but decided against it. It would be hard to make someone bleed without thrusting the sword, and the jagged edges would make you run away in fear of getting hit again.

Rihaan smirked as he put on his headband, with much difficulty getting it over the afro. While he would consider wearing something traditional, such as a robe, he had decided not to. He didn’t want to be labeled as a… well, a freak. He wanted to be labeled as a dangerous freak. Of course, if all went as planned, in a few years, Harry would be just as dangerous.

Rihaan took a deep breath. He flexed his arms a bit before jumping in place a few times. ‘Why the hell am I so nervous? All I’m doing is going to meet my storybook hero, and possibly save him. Bad choice of words… . Okay, I think I’m ready to do this.’

And Rihaan walked out of the house, magically locked it, and jogged on, the wooden falchion on his magically enhanced one-size-fits-all sheath.


“Freak! I know you did it! Come here!”

Dudley, along with three other boys, ran full-speed towards the frail five-year-old. He was getting short of breath. Usually, Dudley would run about a block before he collapsed in a heap, then his friends would help their leader, as Harry would run off, escaping the game he really didn’t like. He knew that the only times that he was caught was when Dudley sent his thugs at him, and catch up later.

Now, however, Dudley wasn’t slowing down as he usually does.

He was running faster. He was running as if he wasn’t the most obese child in summer school. He had unkempt fury in his eyes and adrenalin in his veins that kept him running.

As the gap kept closing, and Harry got more tired, he only hoped that when Dudley reached him, he would be too tired to give one of his usual beatings. ‘Just a few kicks,’ Harry thought to himself, please just a few kicks… ‘

Dudley reached his hand out, managed to grip the exhausted boy by the back of the shirt with a few chubby fingers and yanked back.

Harry was always caught like this. He was always caught by the back of the shirt and slammed back-first into the ground. He was just happy that he had made it to the grassy park.

Dudley was still seething with anger. Well, as much anger a six-year-old developing a stomach, leg, and finger cramp could have, at least. “You freak! You made Piers move! I know you did! What did you do?!

Harry just groaned.

“Excuse me,” a boy said behind them. The group turned around and faced the little black kid. “What’s your names? I’m new here.” he asked in the cutest damn voice he could possibly manage.

If he had sent the message that he was a momma’s boy, or a kid that could be pushed around too easily, then the voice had done its job.

It seemed to work. “Beat it, kid! We’ll talk later!” Dudley yelled without looking back.

“Run!” Harry shouted desperately from the ground, trying to get the boy away from Dudley, knowing Dudley’s definition of ‘talk’. It had the side-effect of Dudley sneering and kicking him in the side of the stomach rather harshly.

From that moment on, Dudley had made the biggest mistake of his young life, and had forever cemented himself as one of Rihaan’s punching bags. His life was generally over, as it would, from that day, be turned into a living hell. Of that, he would make sure.

Starting now.

“I’m telling on you!” Rihaan yelled in an alarmed voice. He ran away from them a few meters a bit, and got the desired effect. The group moved away from Harry towards himself, leaving open space and no chance for a casualty. He turned back towards them with an angry face. “What are your names?”

Dudley moved forward and raised his fist threateningly at the boy, a threat that was no doubt taught by his father. “Why should I tell you my name?”

Rihaan slowly unsheathed his sword, giving them a good look before he answered. “Because I like to take names.” He swiftly smacked Dudley on the side of the head. Giving no time for the others to recover, he tripped the one on his left with his sweeping leg while clonking the other on his right. He blocked the fourth person’s punch with the flat side of the sword, before he pushed it forward and raised it, hitting him under the chin. “Before I kick ass.” He muttered as their bodies hit the ground. Corny line, but he had been watching a lot of action movies lately, and wanted to know why action scenes involved so much talking. What better way than to try it while fighting?

No, he figured, he wouldn’t say something like that again. He needed to work on them. One part of his mind was already working on a few lines. Sadly, it was the premature part.

He looked at the four groaning bodies. His eyes shifted to Dudley, and faster than his hazed over eyes could blink, he was kicked with amazing ferocity in the side, the approximate spot Harry was kicked. He was eerily reminded of a pig squealing.

“Next time,” Rihaan said, “and I know there will be a next time, I will hurt you.” He looked over at the smallest boy who had managed to sit up, but he looked to be in visible pain. He was staring in shock at the boy who had beat up his cousin and his entire gang with a wooden stick. He looked pointedly at the boy he didn’t know. He seemed almost afraid to talk to him. Rihaan decided that he would introduce himself. He rooted the sword to the ground and walked closer. Harry winced, but sat still. Rihaan held out his hand. Harry just stared at it.

“Don’t worry,” Rihaan said, “I’m not going to throw you to the ground or anything like that. I’m just here to make a friend.”

Harry looked past Rihaan, to Dudley. Rihaan nodded, knowing what he was going to say. “If he’s the type that doesn’t want people hanging around with freaks,” Rihaan said, waving his hand over the boy, “then we freaks need to stick together.” He dropped his hand. “Feel better?”

Harry blinked. His side didn’t hurt anymore. Neither did his back. He didn’t even feel tired anymore. He stood up and looked at the boy in front of him – not in awe, but curiosity. That curiosity turned into panic, moments later. “Look out!” he hoarsely screamed.

Rihaan heard the sword as it was pulled from the ground, the reason he had stabbed it into the ground in the first place. He knew it was Dudley by his heavy weight as he stomped over. Rihaan shook his head. The boy would never learn. He swiftly ducked the sword that he knew would have been aimed for his ear. Using his legs as a spring of sorts, he sprung up and knocked Dudley’s jaw with the back of his head, leaving the boy dazed. Rihaan allowed himself a grin. He was always hard-headed. If he still had his tight dreadlocks instead of the puffy and cushioned afro, Dudley likely would have had a broken jaw.

He snatched the sword roughly out of Dudley’s hand, wishing the boy got splintered, before clonking him once more on the head, this time twice as hard. Dudley gave a dull thud as he collapsed. “I reallyhope that leaves a bruise,” Rihaan said to himself. He kneeled down to the barely conscious boy. “And this kid didn’t make that Polkiss guy move; I did.”

He turned back towards Harry. “My name’s Rihaan,” he said cheerily. “What’s yours?”

The boy had almost gone into shock, but had recovered. “H-Harry,” he said, “my name’s Harry.”

They looked at each other for a moment, Harry looking at him curiously again, Rihaan noticing the details. ‘Lightning bolt, right side of his forehead. A black mess of hair on his head, hand-me-down clothes so big he looks like he shrunk like I did, and the kid’s so malnourished the rib was almost broken before I fixed it. But he looks different from what I had pictured. I just can’t put my finger on it… .’

Shaking his head, Rihaan raised his hand again. “Friends?” he asked hopefully.

This time, Harry acted almost immediately. “Friends,” he said, shaking his new friend’s hand gently, but firmly, with just a bit of desperation.

Rihaan smiled. “So, what’s the news on Whale Blubber, there?”

Harry smiled as well, but frowned afterwards. “He’s my erm… cousin.”

Rihaan’s face dropped for show. “Crap… I guess that complicates things, doesn’t it?” He looked at the large boy and back at Harry. “But you don’t live with him, right?”

Silence.

Rihaan slipped his sword back into his sheathe. “Well, he did deserve it.” He looked at the boy. “You look you have been hurt like this a lot. Did his parents know?”

More silence. Rihaan frowned. While he easily knew all the answers, he wanted Harry to be more responsive. “Did they know?” Rihaan asked again.

Harry nodded. Not what Rihaan had in mind, but it was a start. “Alright then,” he said, “let’s go to the police.”

“For what?” Harry finally spoke, alarmed.

“Child abuse,” Rihaan said. “You have all of the symptoms. I don’t like it when people get bullied, like you just saw.”

The boy seemed to be arguing with himself, but did not say anything. While the Dursleys had warned him to never go to the police, he didn’t want to end up losing his new friend. A friend that could actually bully Dudders was one he wasn’t going to let go of.

“Let’s go,” Rihaan said, walking away, hoping his new friend would lead him to the police station. Seconds later, Harry caught up.


Rihaan waited in the Sitting Room of his own house.

While the main reason for all of this was to introduce Harry to the Magical world, in all honesty, he needed to test something. He had wondered what would happen if the Dursleys were ever reported for child abuse. Would they go to jail? Would Dumbledore interfere? Would Dumbledore even notice? Well, that question was already answered, since a watcher in the form of Arabella Figg was sure to inform him. This was Rihaan’s dilemma. If Dumbledore interfered, then everyone, including Harry, would be obliviated of the entire incident. Of course, he would try to obliviate Rihaan, but his Occlumency simply refused to just delete a memory without a period of time in between for it to fade away, so it, in defense mode, makes the memory even more prominent in his mind. This would be very helpful if Rihaan wanted to know what memory a person was after.

Rihaan looked at his watch that he had synched to the News Channel time. It was a bit after eight.

After Rihaan and Harry entered the police station, and convinced them that, no, they weren’t playing a joke ‘or something’, and no, his sword didn’t cause those injuries, officers nearly SWAT teamed Privet Drive. Well, actually it was only a couple of cop cars, but the neighbors treated it like there was going to be a gunfight and ran out to watch. Both Harry and he got to ride in a cop car to see what would happen.

First, the police knocked on the door. Before Vernon answered it, Rihaan decided to strike up a conversation with Harry, asking if he wanted one of his donuts. The nice officers had given them two each, and Harry had eaten both of his. After some badgering, Harry gratefully accepted it. Rihaan could easily tell that the donuts were the only food he had eaten that day.

During this time, Vernon had answered the door. If anything, Rihaan was impressed by the man’s size. He was sure that if he were any bigger, he would get either a wheelchair or his own television show, simply for the amazing talent that he didn’t need a wheelchair. The man’s mustache was impressive, especially when it twitched in irritation before he realized who was at the door. He blanched at seeing the policeman, and asked if anything was the matter. The officer mumbled something, and Vernon couldn’t decide whether to be angry or scared, but kept it all in a nervous smile. Rihaan could read his emotions easily by the tell-tale signs of anger. What he had never seen before, however, was how easily he had changed colors from white to purple. He would have laughed had he not been distracting Harry.

Vernon wildly looked around, until his eyes settled on the policecar and the two occupants in the back seat. That seemed to be enough for the officer as he quickly found a way to maneuver around the large man into the house. The man quickly followed, which alerted the other officers to follow.

Then silence followed. Everyone was trying to figure out what the Dursleys had done, and if it had anything to do with the strange boy that was sometimes spotted near their home. Rihaan didn’t know what to think of it, considering he hadn’t been near Privet Drive until now. He correctly assumed that it was Harry they were talking about. The neighbors had not yet noticed the children in the car.

While in hindsight, what he had done was an overprotective move, but he had distracted Harry because he didn’t want him to worry. Vernon had noticed Harry in the car, and Harry likely would have been scared at the consequences for the rest of the day. He wanted him to at least be happy for an hour or two.

It was starting tomorrow, that Harry’s luck would permanently change.

The arrest of the Dursley family went off without a hitch (with Vernon screaming, Petunia kicking, and Dudley doing both), except for a frantic elderly cat lady questioning the police, according to descriptions. Dudley was taken as well. As he was way too young to be arrested, or sent to Juvenile, he had to stay the night in an empty, but for the most part comfortable, prison cell. He was going to be sent to a Foster home. Rihaan had decided to take his leave and told Harry he would catch up with him tomorrow morning, at the park. It confused Harry greatly, because the policeman had told them both that he was going to send Harry to an orphanage that night.

However, Dumbledore would not allow any of this if he was alerted. The cat lady had already gone running into the house, and he swore he saw a flash of green before the cop car drove off. Now he just needed to wait for the dungbomb to hit the Blasting Hex.

Rihaan knew Dumbledore. In fact, Dumbledore was the only person that Rihaan knew personally in this world, from his experience dealing with him in his past life. He knew that Dumbledore could find Rihaan and try to obliviate him. He knew that Dumbledore would obliviate Harry as well, so he had placed a small defense mechanism charm. If… when Harry gets obliviated, He will look dazed and confused, but that’s all the spell will do. He will return to normal about a minute later and still remember everything. Dumbledore would not notice, as he was, as always, in a hurry and would be on the way to obliviate the one who caused all of the trouble… .

The doorbell rang.

“I wonder who that could be,” Rihaan drawled with a smile. The wooden blade in his lap was not going to be useful for hitting with, but it was made of a wood that had been enchanted with his special wand, and was a great focus for his magic. It had no core, but he found that it still worked pretty good regardless. He stood up and strolled to the front door, wondering if this really was going to work. He hid the sword behind his back before he opened the door. Rihaan had to smile.

“Good Evening,” Dumbledore said kindly, his eyes twinkling like the freaking stars. Rihaan guessed that was why he wore crescent-shaped lenses on his glasses. It was quite amazing. He needed to learn the spell to do that, since that was one of the few things the past Dumbledore never taught him. “Are your parents home?”

It seemed as if Dumbledore hadn’t been told the entire story. The man had assumed that the people who noticed Harry’s situation were adults, and had only obtained the address from the police records. This would work out better than Rihaan expected. “They’re not here at the moment, Albus. Can I take a message?”

The man was caught off-guard, fumbling with the wand he had hidden behind his back, giving Rihaan enough time to strike. Rihaan quickly focused the wooden falchion at the man and a large blast of red knocked Dumbledore back. He flew into the air, ungracefully, and landed hard on the merciless cement walkway, unconscious.

Rihaan fingered the wand in his left hand, looking it over thoroughly. “Hmm… too plain-looking. You can have it back.” He turned around, tossed the wand over his shoulder and closed the door. Wasting no time, he started casting protective spells around his home with the makeshift wandsword. He had found out from the past Dumbledore that he did not have to be outside to make wards; he just had to think of the perimeter of his yard, and visualize the spells he wanted around the house. He looked through the peeking hole when he was done, out of breath. Dumbledore was still out for the count. He ran outside, his sword still in hand, and walked to the side of the house.

A hand-carved rune in the ground was waiting for him, pre-drawn earlier. He spat on the rune; no point of using blood, when he had a much easier solution. Either could be used easily, although he did admit blood gave stronger runes that literally lasted a lifetime. However, he only needed temporary wards. He used the wooden sword and muttered a spell. He placed it on the rune. Slowly, he dragged the wooden sword around the entire house. To anyone, it looked like a boy dragging a stick around the yard, were it not for the light blue glow that illuminated the trail. He had crossed three other similar looking symbols, spitting at random intervals along the way, before going back to the original, completing the circle. They were all poorly drawn, sure, but it was good enough. It’s not how well you drew the symbols, but rather what the symbols mean when translated and what spells you put on it. However, properly drawn symbols would have a clearer effect, and some runes required perfect symbols. Luckily, he wasn’t creating such a rune.

He allowed himself a grin. With all the knowledge he had obtained from Dumbledore in the past, this would be an interesting twelve-and-a-half years.

By the time Rihaan had reached the front of the house, the light blue glow had grown brighter. He looked around; he wanted to make sure no one was gawking at the sight. Of course, the unconscious old man in bright green and purple clothes, looking to the entire world like an overgrown garden gnome, was debatably more distracting. He walked over to the man, making sure he was knocked out. “Obliviate,Confundo,” he chirped happily, giving the man a taste of his own weapon. Shaking his head at the good times he was sure to have to the man the future, an adventure of upsets and complications and setbacks, he walked back into the house.

The moment the door closed, the glow ceased abruptly.

Minutes later, Albus awoke like most people; with a groan. He slowly stood up, the wand on his stomach dropping to the ground. He picked it up, wondering what had happened. It took a few seconds for almost everything to come to him.

It had started during lunch with the few professors that lived in the Hogwarts Castle in his office. Ms. Figg called him through the Floo and begged that he come through.

The next few hours were a blur of tracking, convincing, obliviations, and relocating.

After the entire block of the neighborhood was set straight, and all of the Dursleys and young Harry were placed back in Number Four and memory wiped, he traveled to the house of the small boy and his parents who seemed to have started all of this mess, according to the police reports. The officers’ minds told him the child had appeared with young Harry, and there were no adult figures there. The parents were likely at home now, and probably had full knowledge of what happened. He sighed. Another deed to chalk up to The Greater Good.

It was quite strange, really. No one else had noticed that Harry wasn’t raised in the best of conditions, and he had seen to that. Little Harry was supposed to be a child that could be easily molded into a trusting, loyal, brave, naïve, saint and the perfect … dying… machine by the time he reached Hogwarts. He couldn’t have certain things, such as self-worth and defiance. And especially not loving parent-figures. It was, after all, for The Greater Good.

And, of course, the wards at Number Four keep Harry from dying prematurely. He mustn’t forget that.

The neighborhood seemed to be rather oblivious to the boy, as if he didn’t even exist. Albus didn’t have anything to do with that; unless, of course, you counted the small charm that he had placed on young Harry, years ago. The charm was very weak, but it had done its job so far. The spell was mainly a subtle notice-me-not charm, but modified. It was directed towards adults not related, or keyed in, to Harry, which was only the Dursleys and Ms. Figg. The only way Harry was not ignored was if he brought attention to himself. Not just raise his hand in class, but he had to jump up and down and screech. However, if someone from his family pointed him out, then he would be easily seen. After all, hearing ‘Good work, Harry’ tends to build up self-confidence. Well, that mustn’t happen. While he hadn’t expected the Dursley boy to threaten anyone who had wanted to become young Harry’s friend, he was quite amazed and pleased at the results so far.

He was getting off track. How did he end up here? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what happened next. He looked up and noticed that he was sitting in front of the space between two houses.

Albus Dumbledore was not a stupid man. He knew that if he was sitting between two houses, and his memory escaped him, that there were either runes keeping him from seeing the house that was probably between the two, or a Fidelius charm. He could’ve easily looked towards the next houses over and see the house number. Obviously, he would’ve noticed that there had to have been a house between the two. Then he would break the wards; though it was tough to do so, he could.

Moreover, there was also the most important observation. The entire yard was still visible, and he was standing on it. The two houses were apart by 30 meters. The mailbox was still there, along with the walkway he was still standing on.

He also could have deduced that he had just dealt with a wizard, considering he had just lost his memory of what had happened.

However, the entire house was laced with a powerful repelling charm, a notice-me-not charm, and a remember-me-not charm, locked and contained within a ward of some sort. Dumbledore, still recovering, did not notice the spells, but only its effects. He stood up and popped away to Ms. Figg’s, thinking the job was done, and completely forgetting the occupant of the house and what he had to do with anything. He was a busy man, and he was quite positive his food was cold.

If he had stayed ten minutes later, he would’ve seen the house appear, and all charms simultaneously fall. Spit wards could only contain powerful charms for so long.


As soon as Rihaan went inside the house, he ran upstairs to the master bedroom and plopped on the bed. He wasn’t ready to go to sleep yet, but he had done a bit of magic on Dumbledore and the wards and was tired. But it was worth it.

Well, he had ruined half of Dumbledore’s short-term plans and completely altered his future plans with that simple meeting. Rihaan gave a small grin as he realized the long-term consequences of his actions. Thanks to the Remember-me-not charm (a charm that, ironically, the past Dumbledore had taught him), Dumbledore had forgotten any information about him and his house address, and would only remember when he saw Rihaan’s face. Rihaan figured that would be when he went to Hogwarts. However, it would be best if he put up a Fidelius, just in case.

He frowned. He thought something magical was supposed to happen. ‘Not even a little surge of energy, a heightened sense or anything?‘ He pouted. ‘I don’t even feel unbeatable. I feel the same as I always do, if not a bit tired. I guess that means I’m as good as I think.‘ His pout turned into a smirk. “I wonder if Dumbledore feels weak.’

After all, Dumbledore had just lost true control of the Elder Wand, but he still didn’t know. He would most likely know something was wrong when he next casted a spell.

Rihaan turned his head towards the open bag of clothes still on his bed. He slowly rolled over to the bag and dug inside. He pulled out the Elder Wand. The other Elder Wand.

“I almost forgot about you,” Rihaan said tiredly.

The past/future/alternate reality Rihaan’s notes to the machine that created Dumbledore, along with the machine itself, was physically destroyed, but they were still in Rihaan’s memory. Since he still knew how to assemble the machine, it only took a week to recreate it. He had only made the machine three more times, the last one he used to plug into the hourglass that sent him on this adventure. The first time, he decided to try an inanimate object. The Elder Wand would suffice.

There were quite a few things he wanted to create, such as a phoenix, a hippogriff, another imaginary creature, or even a simple golden snitch. However, he was not sure how well either creature would react, in a foreign place, and would try to escape (which was very easy for a Phoenix and possibly painful for a hippogriph, and he felt no desire to harm animals). The snitch, although tempting, was eventually going to get boring to Rihaan unless he had the entire Quidditch set and knew how to fly. He did not feel like making the machine that many times, he was too busy working on the time-turner machine. So, he had chosen the Elder Wand since it would prove to him very useful in the future. It was the first wand that Rihaan used, and while it was plain, and rather boring looking, he was very satisfied with his spells. But, he knew how addicting power could be, however he wasn’t stupid enough to throw it away, like Dumbledore had suggested for the second time (whether he knew it or not), so he kept it with him, to be used in emergencies.

Rihaan stared at the wand with a curious eye. While it was not an emergency, he did need a wand for when he entered Hogwarts… .

No, no. he would go to Ollivander’s like everyone else. He had always wondered what type of core and wood he would be fitted with, anyway.

He placed the wand back in his clothes bag, and with wonderful thoughts of the destruction and chaos the future would bring, Rihaan fell asleep.


As he had suspected, Harry was waiting at the playground. Rihaan’s sword was in his right hand, ready for anyone who hadn’t learned their lesson.

Obviously, Harry had some questions. First, he had healed him with just a wave of his hand. He had the Dursleys arrested, then an old man came along and waved a stick at everyone’s faces. Then everyone forgot what happened, except Harry. He was sure his new friend was going to ask, in summary, ‘What the hell is going on?’

Harry saw him approach and stood from the bottom of the slide, not yet damaged by Dudley’s gang, Rihaan noticed. “Rihaan, right?” Harry asked, almost hesitantly.

Rihaan nodded after looking around once more. “I guess we haven’t had a formal greeting. Rihaan Shimomura, nice to meet you.”

Harry shook his hand once again. “I’m Harry. Nice to meet you too. Thanks… for… ”

“No problem,” Rihaan said, chuckling, “it’s why I’m here.”

Harry cocked his head to the side, confused.

“I don’t like bullies. They’re mean and they like to pick on people. So I make sure they know that there’s a guy that’s tougher than them that could pick on them if he wanted.” It was the most sophisticated sentence a he could give, and his inner five-year-old was confused for a short moment, but it was the best Rihaan could do.

The boy looked nodded and said nothing further on the subject. Rihaan saw no new scars on the boy, so the Dursleys had no knowledge of what had happened.

Wait a second… .

“Freak!”

Rihaan smacked his forehead with his palm the exact second the little (age-wise) Dursley and his band of misfits decided to make an appearance. Of course; Dudley had forgotten the whole incident the day before, but not the fact that Piers had moved. However, most of his little gang had not forgotten what had happened. “That’s why I had that nagging feeling that I was forgetting something.”

“Piers is gone because of you! Freak! Look at me!”

Harry had turned away and was prepared to run, but Rihaan had his hand on his shoulder, stilling him. “Don’t run away.”

“He’s bigger than me!”

“That’s obvious! But he was bigger than me yesterday. Remember what happened?”

Harry stopped. He looked back at Dudley, who seemed to not pay attention to Rihaan. “Yes… but he doesn’t look like he remembered.”

“That’s ’cause of that old guy.” Rihaan said. “I’ll explain later.”

“But how—”

“I’ll explain later,” Rihaan said patiently, unsheathing the wooden falchion. The part of Dudley’s gang had not forgotten about the incident made themselves known, and were meters behind Dudley with aluminum and wooden bats, a plank of wood, and a small branch, likely used for whipping more than beating. He noticed there were six of them in total, only the ones who were standing with Dudley unarmed. He also noticed that the ones behind them were either looking at Dudley in awe or as if he was crazy. It was either because the boy seemed to completely ignore Rihaan, the fact that he was heading right towards him, or he was the only one without any type of weapon. Either way, they mustered up their courage, raised their weapons high, and followed meekly.

“Get out of the way, kid!” Dudley yelled, raising his fist to knock him out of the way.

Not the one to take orders, Rihaan quickly ducked and rammed his shoulder into his legs, causing Dudley to fall over backwards. Standing up and spotting the charging boy, he raised his sword to block the aluminum bat and twisted it so the sword could hit the boy’s hand. With the resulting scream and drop of the bat, he ducked and picked up the bat. He twirled it to let it adjust to his hand.

While he knew the odds of him getting hit were pretty high, and his body would only allow one hit at his age, he was determined to make sure he won. Besides, with a little training, he could get used to his more youthful form.

He swung his falchion at the surrounding kids’ ankles, buckling them to the ground. While it wasn’t enough to break their ankle, it was enough to keep them from standing for a while, crying in pain. He knew nothing was wrong with them; they just had a very low tolerance of pain, like he supposed he had. He stood up and immediately jumped back. The kid with a switch that he broke off of a branch somewhere, the only one left, swung wildly at Rihaan, not even clearly looking at him. He was moving his head with the swinging, with a senseless yell that Rihaan guessed was his battle cry.

Rihaan raised his new bat, and before he could lower it, the boy froze. In mid-cry.

Rihaan looked around him to see Harry, who looked distressed for a moment, then confused. “What happened? Is something wrong with him?”

Rihaan waved his hand in front of the boy’s face; the boy couldn’t blink. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even breathe.

Rihaan had no choice but to cancel the spell, whatever spell it was. Petrificus Totalis would have sent him crashing to the ground and there was no legal spell that could stop someone from breathing. It had to have been accidental magic.

Rihaan checked the pulse of the now unconscious boy, who had lain out in a heap. Still alive. Rihaan looked up at Harry, who stared back at him in shock.

He guessed he had a few questions to answer now. And then some.


“So… how did you do all of that?”

Rihaan smiled. He liked it when questions were straight-forward.

The wards around the house were now down, so Harry had no problems seeing or entering the house. Rihaan had led them to the kitchen, where he forced Harry to sit down for a full breakfast. While Rihaan had no intentions of fattening the boy like a certain Weasley planned to do, he was going to make sure that a very different Harry appears at Hogwarts. He just hoped that it wouldn’t be too dramatic a change.

He took a sip of his orange juice. He hadn’t had orange juice in a long time, and he had the feeling he would miss it when he went to Hogwarts. “I didn’t do all of that,” Rihaan said slowly. “You froze that guy.”

Harry’s fork clattered on his plate. “W-what?” the boy asked.

Rihaan started cutting his pancake. “I’ll only tell you everything if you start eating.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You didn’t eat anything.”

“Because I’m not hungry.”

Rihaan sighed. “Do you want to know why they call you a freak or not?”

Harry, more shocked and curious than anything else, picked up his fork and slowly began to eat.

Rihaan nodded in satisfaction. “Good. I’ll tell you everything I can, but you have to… you can’t tell anyone else.” Rihaan almost let slip that Harry had to swear, but he was not exactly sure Harry’s magic and life would automatically end if the swear was broken. While a wand was necessary for an oath if you were not powerful enough, accidental magic can be a tricky bitch.

Harry, taking a gulp of orange juice, nodded, interested in what he had to say.

Rihaan wondered what to say first. He had already decided that he wouldn’t tell anyone about his past or purpose, but he had also decided that eventually he was going to tell Harry, at least. When he felt that he had no other choice, he would tell him… them both about his secret.

He decided to start with the basic stuff that Harry needed to know. “You are a wizard.” When Rihaan heard another clatter of the fork, he knew this was going to be a long conversation.

He decided to just keep talking. “Look… you can do magic. I can, too. We are called ‘wizards’. The reason you can’t do magic consciously is because you don’t know how. Magic is natural to me, but that was after I heard about it. It should come naturally to you as well, eventually. What you did to that kid today was accidental magic. You do that when you are feeling really mad or happy.”

“Or angry,” Harry said, his eyes widening in response. “I think something like that happened to me once. Dudley stole my ice cream a few months ago. It was blueberry. I was just so angry at him. Then I… he turned blue.”

“Really?” Rihaan asked, impressed. “Wait… have you ever seen the movie Willy Wonka?”

Harry embarrassingly nodded. “That’s where I got it from.”

While Rihaan wanted to know what happened after, he could guess, knowing the Dursleys. However, he did want to know how Dudley turned back to his original color.

Harry seemed to know his inner confliction, because he continued. “He turned back overnight. I don’t know how he turned back, but he did.”

Rihaan nodded. Accidental magic was usually only temporary. Before he could continue, Harry asked a question. “But… who was that person with that stick?”

Rihaan sighed. “Okay… how do I answer that without ranting?” Rihaan muttered. “Well, let me start with the stuff you don’t know. His name is Albus Dumbledore. He’s the headmaster of a Wizarding school in Scotland. Most say it’s the best and safest school in the magic world.” Rihaan refrained from saying differently. “They say that the school is safe because of Dumbledore.” It was getting tougher with every sentence. “He’s known as the most powerful wizard in the world, and defeated a dark wizard 40 years ago.”

“A dark wizard?” Harry asked.

“Grindelwald,” Rihaan replied, “an evil wizard. Often, a person with magic can go bad, just as often as regular people. Sadly, there are some people that go bad and can’t be stopped. One example is the Dark Lord that was killed mysteriously a few years back.”

“What happened to him?”

It was a question that Rihaan almost wanted him to ask. “The man called himself Voldemort. He was somehow killed by a powerful wizard on Halloween in ’81. For thirty years, he was doing unforgiveable things.” Literally.

Harry seemed to absorb all of this information. Rihaan decided that he didn’t need to drop bombshell after bombshell, so he decided to answer another question. “The stick is called a wand. All magic users are supposed to have one.”

“But you don’t… ”

Supposed to,” Rihaan stressed that, “but if you’ve been practicing long enough, it almost gets in your way. A wand is supposed to be a focus for your magic. You can concentrate on most of it going through your wand, but without it, it sometimes strays and hits things or people you don’t want to get hit. You have to really focus if you want to use magic on someone or something. I have a wand; you can use it at any time, and you should be able to get your own wand.”

Harry stared at Rihaan for a long time, as if trying to believe him. Rihaan continued. “Let me tell you a bit more about Headmaster Dumbledore. Since he defeated Grindelwald a long time ago, he got a lot of positions as a reward, including Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

Harry blinked. “Did he qualify for the job, or did they just give it to him?”

It was Rihaan’s turn to blink. Smart kid. “Not sure,” he said honestly. “All I know is he’s good enough. He was top of his class when he was in that school. Now, back to why the man came to the jail and waved a stick around. See, he was erasing memories.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “He can do that?” He whispered, as if it was a conspiracy to announce it aloud.

“Not legally,” Rihaan said easily, “But he does it anyway. He’s pretty much the most powerful man in the wizarding world right now, magically and politically. If he were on trial, he’d be the judge and he knows how to persuade almost all of the jury.”

Harry frowned. “Wait, if he can wipe your mind of memories… then that’s what happened to everyone… except me and you?”

“I can’t really explain all the details to you,” Rihaan started, “but yeah, everyone that he visited doesn’t know what happened yesterday. It was only the people on that lane that he visited, though. Who knows, maybe he did the whole block. I know he probably did that to the police, too.”

“But then, why did the rest of Dudley’s friends seem to know what happened?”

Rihaan furrowed his brow. “I guess he didn’t bother with most of the children. If the parents hadn’t seen it, then it’s all in our minds. Just our imagination.”

Harry nodded soberly. “Like when I try to tell my teachers about Dudley.”

Rihaan nodded as well, silently vowing that it would be a cold day in hell before the Vernons live a day without fear again.

They were silent for a moment, and Harry finished the rest of his juice. Rihaan decided to drop at least one more bombshell. “I think he’s keeping you here.”

“Where?” Harry asked.

“The Dursleys. That’s their name, right? I think that Dumbledore put you with the Dursleys. He broke a lot of rules when the Dursleys were in holding. People with magic don’t go public, or you’d be hearing about it. I don’t think you’re supposed to tell people that you’re a wizard.”

Harry nodded. He had figured that much. He was catching on pretty fast for an almost six-year-old.

“How long have you lived with the Dursleys?”

“For as long as I can remember,” he said honestly.

“And did you ever wonder how you got there?”

Harry nodded, but shook his head a moment later. “My parents died in a car crash. They were drunk. My aunt is my mum’s sister, so I went to her. I suppose they’re my last family left. They said I got this scar from the car crash.” He lifted up his fringe to show his lightening bolt-shaped scar.

It was the first time that Rihaan got a good look at it. He figured that now would be better than ever to tell him some of his story.

He stared for a few seconds before he remembered something. “What’s your last name?”

Harry shrugged, unconcerned. “I don’t know. They never told me.”

Rihaan sighed. He was having trouble keeping Harry from being an orphan again, but the temptation was so damn strong! “Your name is Harry Potter,” he said, keeping his anger in check, in case Harry became worried it was directed towards him, “and you are the most famous wizard in recent history.”

Only pausing to hear the inevitable fork clang onto the plate, he waited until he looked up at Harry.

He had only paused in mid-bite. Rihaan could tell that he was in complete disbelief. He wasn’t going to believe it. It just wasn’t going to happen at this stage. Rihaan could live with that.

After a full minute on deciding what to do, he did the only rational thing he could do. He began eating his food again. He looked up after a bite, savoring the taste. “This is very good.”

Rihaan chuckled. “I suppose you don’t believe what I said. Would you be surprised if I told you that youwere the powerful wizard that killed Voldemort?”

Ah! There it was. The plate rattled a bit as the fork clanged, before being silenced prematurely by the fluffy, half-eaten pancake. “W-what?!”

Rihaan stood and picked up his plate. He walked towards the sink and started washing. Dishes, utensils, cloths, basically everything had been left in the house. He was grateful for that as he put the dishes on the counter. He then carefully jumped back down to the floor. It sucked to be little.

Harry still sat there in shock, and Rihaan allowed himself a smirk. “Why are you so surprised? You just stopped a kid from breathing with just a look today. You think you couldn’t kill the biggest, baddest wizard in history as a baby?”

Harry stuttered, “I c-couldn’t… how… I didn’t… th-there’s no way I could… ”

“You did.” He stopped. “But no one knows how. He killed your parents, but he was vaporized when he tried to kill you.”

“My parents?”

“Were respected wizards. They were never in a car accident, and they were very respected wizards. Very nice people, from what I hear. They were never drunks, and no car accident could kill them. They had magic, after all.”

“But..my scar… ”

“… was the only thing you got from Voldemort. He cast a curse that was supposed to kill you, but it only gave you that scar.” Rihaan paused. ‘How did the world know about that scar, anyway? And the curse?‘ He thought. ‘Harry was taken right after the attack… Hagrid? Dumbledore… McGonagall?’ He could almost feel the self-titled Convenience Law ringing through his mind. ‘Any and all plot-holes will be filled, since everything happens for a reason.‘ He held back a chuckle. ‘A new mystery…’

He looked back to Harry, who was still staring off blankly, as if trying not to believe what was happening to him. Rihaan scrunched up his face in concentration. What could he do to make Harry know he was telling the truth? Show him Godric’s Hollow? Was Harry ready for it?

He looked at Harry again. It was the boy’s decision, not his own. “I have an idea,” he clapped, startling Harry out of his thoughts. “What if I took you to where you live?”

Harry gave him a weird look. “I know where I live.”

Rihaan shook his head. “I meant your parents – ” Then he stopped.

Well, this was embarrassing.

How was he going to show Harry a house that he didn’t even know the location of?

“Forget I said anything,” Rihaan said with a long-suffering sigh. He needed to think before he acted. He would’ve blamed it on the 5-year-old mentality, but it was too busy thinking up what the Potter’s house looked like, which, in his older self’s opinion, looked accurate, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Okay… ” Harry said, still giving him a worried look. “But… how do I… do that stuff?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I’ve never taught someone how to use magic… .” ‘So much for thinking things through and being thorough…’ He sat like this before a thought slowly formed into his mind. “Maybe, though, I might be able to get a wand. I don’t know if the Wandmaker will give one to you, since you’re too young… ”

“How old do you have to be?”

“Eleven.”

“But, how old are you?”

“I’m five, but I didn’t pay for my wand. I found one.”

Harry cocked his head to the side, with a most curious expression. “Where can I find one?”

Rihaan smiled. “It’s very rare that anyone lose their wand. They survive on them. Only a few, or so I’ve heard, can do wandless magic. And you need a wand that is fitted for you, since every wand is different.” He looked up to see Harry’s disappointed face. “I’ll find you a wand, and when you learn to cast magic well, we’ll see how well you can use it without one.”

A smile adorned Harry’s face until he frowned again. “I don’t think I’ll be that good… ”

“You beat a Dark Lord when you were a baby,” Rihaan reminded him. “There’s gotta be somethingspecial about you.”

This time, Harry kept smiling. Rihaan really didn’t want to bring up yesterday’s excitement, but he really needed to put some pieces together for the boy to figure out.

“Harry,” he started, “about your… relatives, was it?”

Instead of a frown, he gave more of a disgusted grimace, which made Rihaan smile. “What about them?” He asked in the politest way he could.

“I couldn’t help but notice, by the screaming they gave during interrogation yesterday, they look like they don’t want you around much.”

“They don’t,” Harry muttered.

“So it wasn’t voluntary,” Rihaan said, before he stopped. ‘Stay in the mind of a five-year-old,‘ he reminded himself. “Somebody put you there and didn’t give them an option. You should ask who.”

Harry was about to object, about to plead that he just leave it alone, until Rihaan interrupted. “They should want you to ask those questions. After all, if you could talk to the person that gave you to them to take you away, then you’ll be away from them. Either Dumbledore was doing it because your parents wanted it, or he just… did it.”

Harry sighed. “Really, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want there to be any trouble.” He looked around the house. “Where are your parents?”

Rihaan had expected the question, either as curiosity or as a distraction. “Well, don’t tell anyone this, but,” he leaned closer, which was unnecessary considering he was about a meter from him. “I’m a runaway.”

“Whoa,” Harry exclaimed, “really?”

“I don’t have much memory of my parents.” He leaned back on the counter. “I was born in America. My mom died while I was born. She had an aneurism, I was told. My dad raised me for a year before he sent me over to my grandfather, who lived in Japan, but I don’t know what happened to my dad after. He raised me, teaching me everything he knew. He had a friend that knew about magic, and taught me. Then, he just… died.” Rihaan paused. He didn’t really want to explain the circumstances of his grandfather’s death to anyone. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t feel like being raised by an orphanage, so I got his debit card, snuck on a plane, got a few friends in high places, and here I am.” All of it was true, if the condensed version of the truth.

Harry had trouble digesting the information. “But you’re so young! How did you live on the streets?”

“Actually, I’m pretty rich. I used some of my tuition – I was about to be put in a school that required a lot of money – and bought this house. I have a lot left.”

Rihaan saw the gears going in Harry’s mind. While he didn’t want Harry running away from the Dursleys, as he was still not sure about the protections around the Dursley house, he wasn’t going to blame the boy.

“Harry?”

Harry looked up, his meal forgotten.

“Look, I’m not telling you to do anything you’re not ready to do, but… I have a big house. If you ever feel like you can’t take any more, or that your relatives decide not to feed you for a day; come to me. Even if you just need to get away for a while. Alright?”

Harry seemed to contemplate on this. While he did truly believe that the boy in front of him was telling the truth, he feared his uncle and aunt. He wasn’t allowed… he couldn’t do anything they told him not to. The first rule was to never tell anyone what happened at Number four, Privet Drive. The next was to never run away, and he feared that if he ever did, the Dursleys will find him. After all, Dudley and his uncle were very good at ‘Harry Hunting’. Especially with a car.

However, his new and first friend had managed to send the Dursleys to jail once; what if, one day, he managed to do it permanently? Could he have that much power over the Dursleys?

“Okay.”

“Promise me.”

Green locked on to green. “I promise.”

Rihaan smiled. “Good.” He was about to stand up, before a surge of magic swirled around Harry. He could see an almost visible light fade into Harry’s chest. Harry seemed to not feel anything, but he looked different somehow. He seemed to look… resolved or something.

Accidental magic was a tricky bitch. Rihaan had a hunch of what had just transpired, but he wasn’t going to alert Harry about it yet. He didn’t want to scare him. He looked outside. “Hey, would you like some ice cream? I promise I won’t take it from you. Blue’s not really a good color on me.”

Harry nodded, slowly smiling.


Rihaan followed Harry down Privet Drive. “Remember,” Rihaan told Harry, “don’t tell anyone what I told you.”

“I won’t. Really.”

“I have to ask. Do your guardians always call you a freak?”

Harry nodded ashamedly.

“They really don’t want you to know,” he said easily. That was a major understatement. “They think you’re a freak because you will eventually know magic, that you were born with it. It doesn’t make you a freak. It makes you special.”

They had reached the house of Number Four, Privet Drive. While Harry was trying to take it all in, Rihaan knocked on the door. “Do you think you can stay at my house on weekends? I’m sure your Guardians won’t mind it.”

“I have to ask them,” Harry said, almost unbelievingly, unsure if his new friend was having him on, “but I don’t think they’ll say no. So long as I don’t have chores, they like it when I leave.”

The door opened. “Get in, boy! Dudley told us what you did to him!”

Crestfallen, Harry hurried passed through the doorway. Vernon almost slammed it shut before realizing that there was another boy. “Why, hello there!” he said, his entire demeanor changing instantly. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Rihaan, sir,” the boy said, “and I’m the one who hit Dudley.”

“You did what!” The man yelled.

“I… hit… him.” Rihaan said slowly. “I… viciously… attacked… and… beat… him.” He paused. “And the rest of his thuglets.”

Vernon seemed to completely ignore the last part. “How could a scrawny kid like you do anything to my dudders? Are you lying to me, boy?!”

“I’m not scrawny, I’m in shape,” He said innocently, “and I already answered that question. And I don’t lie, All I did was head-butt him in his flappy chin and kicked his side, I really don’t see what the problem is. He was attacking Harry, so I defended him.”

“The fre—Harry?” The man could switch façades like nobody’s business, Rihaan had to give him credit for that. “That’s because the boy probably hit Dudley first. He’s always been a bad kid.” He actually gave a little chuckle. “He’s a little troublemaker, always—”

“If that’s the case,” Rihaan interrupted, “then why was Dudley yelling ‘Freak, you made Piers move!‘ then? I saw Dudley throw the first punch. And I see you’re allowing this. Harry has a lot of scars on him, and he walks as if he was in constant pain. And you’re allowing it, probably beating him yourself.” He narrowed his eyes, and Vernon now noticed the color of them. “Don’t do it again.”

Vernon decided that he wasn’t going to get bullied by a five-year-old. “Listen here, you. What happens in my house stays in my house!”

“Until I tell the police! Then everything that happened in your house, the world will know.”

The man blustered, “They’ll never believe you.”

“Vernon?”

Rihaan smiled at the sudden appearance of Petunia. Perfect timing. “They did believe me the first time.”

“What are you on about, boy?” The man asked, more in anger than worry.

“What do you think happened yesterday? I’ll tell you what. Nothing. Nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary. Your conversations with everyone was a haze, nothing good happened, yet nothing bad happened. In fact, you vaguely remember anything that happened yesterday. It’s almost like yesterday was erased from history, just a smudge on the calendar.

“I’ll tell you what really happened.” By now, Petunia was standing beside her husband. “Dudley tried to beat up Harry, along with his little gang. I wouldn’t stand for it, so I took them all down. I decided to report to the police. You were all arrested. But then,” he looked pointedly at Petunia, “an old man came along and made everything better with a wave of a stick and a little Hocus Pocus.”

There was a long pause. Vernon immediately understood what the boy was getting at. Petunia, however, looked distinctly nervous. She had gone pale; it looked as if at any moment, she would tremble. “Petunia,” he nodded to her. Vernon had the nerve to stutter out a small noise; he hadn’t said his wife’s name. “I’m sure you know him. Tall, quite old, long beard, twinkly eyes, flamboyant costumes. I believe you met him in person about twenty years ago.

“Ever heard of Polyjuice, Petunia?” Rihaan said after a while. “It’s a special type of ‘freakishness’ that can turn your body into pretty much anyone. Such as, let’s say, a five-year-old black kid.” He looked at them seriously, his eyes hawking over them as if he was watching them at every turn.

As soon as it happened, his entire demeanor changed as he smiled childishly. “Well, I’m new to the neighborhood. I’m Rihaan. I’m supposed to be checking in on him until further notice, on the old man’s orders. I also have to do weekly inspections, I reeeally don’t want to, but it’s part of the job. And since I’m on a strict schedule, it starts… well, tomorrow. If he’s living in anything smaller than yourself, Vernon,” he patted the dawning man’s stomach, “then I’ll have to either report you or do something… ” His voice gave a slightly lower pitch, “unorthodox. If he’s sleeping any less comfortably than your son, then we’ll have a problem. If he is not normal looking by next week, then you’ll have to answer the police… of both worlds. If you make the boy do something he doesn’t want to do that’s illegal for five-year-olds, such as mow the lawn or cook breakfast and dinner for a family of three, then I’ll know. If he even looks unhappy, I’m going to read his mind and find out what the hell is happening.”

“Now wait just one second!” Vernon finally yelled. “You aren’t telling me what to do in my own home! And you freaks can’t read minds!”

Rihaan hardened his stare at him. “You’re thinking of going to beat the so-called freak the moment you try to abruptly slam the door in my face.” He glanced to his right. “Petunia, you want to strangle me right now for revealing more about the magical world to you than you already know. You want to strangle me just because I have the same color of eyes as Harry, and in turn, Lily. Just for the record, I have a different shade of green. You just can’t tell because you’re stupid.” He sniffed. “Also, if you touch Harry, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, Your little factory, Grunnings, will become haunted. Who knows what I can do with levitating drill bits? I’ll leave it to your tame imagination.”

There was a pause at he let this sink in. “You know… if I were you, I’d watch it. I wouldn’t want to get on my bad side, for my sake. Lord knows what I would do to me.” His attitude changed once again to that of a care-free child. “Don’t forget the inspection tomorrow. Have a good day! Tell Harry I said I’ll be watching!”

He left the Dursleys there, Vernon still holding the door. They were frozen in place – from fear or shock, he didn’t know – and watched him walk down the street.

When he was far enough, he stopped to reflect on his approach. While it wasn’t exactly the brightest plan, it had made several things possible.

First; The Dursleys now believed that little Rihaan Shimomura was the form of Harry’s official watch-guard in disguise for an unknown amount of time. Even worse, the unknown man was magical and could probably see anything that happened in the house, or see through walls, or some freakishness like that. This now ruined any chance of hurting the boy, squashed any Harry-hunting games, and drastically shortened the usual list of chores the boy received every other day. He, of course, knew that they would try to gain some semblance of control and try to give Harry ‘mini-beatings’ to show who still runs the house, but that’s all they would do; try. They would never succeed. After all, he really could see through walls.

Second; Hand-me-down clothes were now unacceptable. Normal-looking mainly meant normal clothes. The same would apply to shoes. They needed to buy an entire wardrobe for the boy, whether they wanted to or not. While he was unsure if they would bother to buy underwear, he could always go shopping for the remainder himself.

Third and most importantly; Harry had to move out of the cupboard.

During his reflection, he had found his way back to Privet Drive, leaning casually under the kitchen window, naturally hidden behind a bush. Rihaan waited in front of the house until an hour later, when the Dursleys numbly left their home to the nearest Department store… with Harry. They had decided, after a heated debate with themselves – not each other, but themselves – not to even tell Dudley, since he would want a wardrobe twice as large, and he wouldn’t want cheap clothes. They couldn’t afford it, so they decided to leave Dudley home.

Vernon gave a small grin as he turned the key in the ignition. Just because they had to outfit the boy properly, didn’t mean it had to be expensive… or clothes that the boy even wanted to wear. He was going to be weirder than a freak; he was going to be a nerd.

Rihaan decided that it would be best to follow them. He honestly didn’t know if they were going to go to a department store or a nearby lake or pool with a bucket of wet cement. When the car pulled out of the driveway, he was about to jump onto the roof, when he realized that he still wasn’t accustomed to his body yet. His little fingers couldn’t grip onto a car moving at any speed. He looked at the car for any safe mode of transport.

Five seconds later, The Dursleys sped off from Number Four, Privet Drive with a child latching onto the bottom of their car.


Rihaan frowned at the calluses that threatened to form on his hands. He liked his once smooth hands before he traveled through time, space, and reality. He was more deceiving that way. What assassin had soft hands, really? When a target shook hands with him, they had no idea they would die by those smooth hands by the end of the day. He needed gloves. Luckily, he was at a department store.

Deciding he would worry about it later, he looked to see Vernon, Petunia, and Harry get out the car.

“Vernon, I think we should’ve just measured the boy instead,” Petunia whispered urgently, as if she had just seen a neighbor.

Vernon grunted. “We couldn’t let the boy stay with Dudders, could we? That other freak might intervene if Dudley starts playing with the boy.”

Rihaan had to admit that the fat man had a point. Dudley wouldn’t live very long if he didn’t find out what was wrong and what was right. He raised his eyebrows at the man’s choice of words as well. ‘So I’m the other freak, then? Well, at least he’s not racist.’ That was always a pet peeve for him. He found it very difficult to work with racists, and anyone that crossed his path that was a racist never lived very long after that. So, Vernon got to live for now. Pity.

The odd family and odder spy walked into the department store, Vernon keeping a respectable distance from Petunia, the couple keeping an obscene distance from Harry, and Rihaan keeping a considerable distance from the whole… family.

While in the store, Rihaan knew that they would dare not attack Harry in a public place, so he decided to do a little shopping on his own. This was especially tricky, since he didn’t know when his ride was going to leave him, and he had left his map at home. He was too busy gripping onto the muffler to remember the way to the store.

First things first. He needed Gloves. Preferably, gloves that could handle weapons well. He preferred biker’s gloves. He picked up a pair of gloves of every color available – red, blue, green, yellow and black.

Next; a detailed map of the entire city of London would be nice. It would help him find the platform, and more importantly, the house of a six-year-old who happened to be the other half of the reason Rihaan arrived in the new world. The enchanted map that he got in Diagon Alley was great, but he didn’t really like the map moving to the center of wherever he was. It got very confusing, especially whenever he turned. It seemed that his face’s direction was always North. That got dizzy.

‘Anything else?’ He asked himself. He chuckled a moment later. ‘There isn’t any ice cream in a department store!‘ Ignoring his inner child, he walked around a little bit until he found the bicycles. He decided to take two, both a nice shade of dark blue. It was a bonus to find both in his size that didn’t have a basket and a squeak-horn as well. It would be a perfect birthday present for Harry.

After purchasing the items, ignoring questions about his age, and watching the cashier check that the money was legit, Rihaan wheeled his new presents outside the store. He checked his map and looked for his address. “Surrey… Little Whinging… Wisteria Walk… ” He quickly highlighted where his house was with a smudge of his oily finger, and slipped on his gloves. He sat on one bike, and the other began levitating off the ground.

Rihaan sighed. This was going to tire him out. He quickly conjured a chain to connect both bikes and peddled along, finding the Dursley car fairly easily. He kicked the stand out a few meters away and out of sight, banished the training wheels off his own bike and waited.

During the time he waited to get picked up, part of him wondered if he could cast a point-me spell on one of the bikes to take him home, but the other wanted to see exactly what type of wardrobe Harry had received. He chuckled to himself; the Dursleys would be persuaded to do anything when threatened that the neighbors would be informed of their personal lives. And if just a little bit of magic would help, then all the better.

Finally, the Dursleys mumbled and grumbled as they walked out of the store, with not a single bag in their hands. He looked back to see Harry struggling as he lugged the large bags, but smiling. It was a bright smile, too, as if he had discovered Christmas. Rihaan smiled as he wondered what his reaction would be to the bike. As Harry trudged closer, barely able to walk, he was finally close enough to cast an imperceptible charm that halved the weight of the bags. It was then that he realized how Harry shook his arms wildly when he was able to carry the clothes easier. He could only guess that it cut off Harry’s circulation, and he was trying to get the feeling back again.

For the eleventh time that day, Rihaan wondered why it was so important to keep Vernon and Petunia alive until he confirmed the blood bond wards.

“Fifty pounds! And for what? This foolishness is going to stop!” He whispered to Petunia, who just nodded. “I said I would put up with just one freak, not another one telling me what to do in my own house! I don’t want Dudley to continue to be raised with these freaks! Soon enough, the neighborhood will be flooded with ’em! What then, Pet? Are we just going to sit there and let them controlling our lives?!”

Rihaan only raised an eye-brow. ‘Fifty pounds? That’s about sixty dollars in this time. He’s making all that fuss over fifty pounds!’ Honestly, they were a sad, dysfunctional family, even without Harry involved. Part of him had to agree with what the fat man said afterwards, though. He was right, after all; their lives were going to be controlled. Soon enough, though, it would be Harry pulling the strings. He was determined to not let the Dursleys, or Dumbledore, have anything go ‘just as planned.’

He paused. Right there; it was the thing that separated Dumbledore’s and his beliefs: Albus had a well thought out plan from a year before Harry’s birth. He wasn’t asking anyone’s permission, he wasn’t respecting anyone’s wishes; he just did it all for what he thought was for the best. For the greater good, what he would always say. He was willing to put everyone’s life on the line for a few irreversible souls that had no plans for redemption, and the death of a wizard who just wanted a normal life. One would say that his plans were noble, considering that the end result was the death of Voldemort. However, no one asked to be put into his master plans. He could’ve told them the general idea of what was to happen and let them decide from there. The man had a God complex, deciding who lives and who dies for the greater good. His plans didn’t even include sacrificing himself. All in all, when the battle was over, Voldemort was supposed to be dead, Harry was supposed to be dead, half of the Order were likely to be dead,All of the Death Eaters would be sent to Azkaban, or pay their way out, and he would still be alive.

Funny, how plans work like that.

Rihaan also had a plan. It was a plan that he had put into action yesterday. It basically only had one goal from start to finish, and it didn’t involve anyone getting hurt in the slightest. And anyone he tortured, socially, mentally, or physically, deserved it. And he always asked whoever was directly affected if they wanted this. And if he didn’t, He made sure, without any doubts, that it was for the best… of their intentions, not his own.

For example, if years later, Harry wanted to take on Voldemort, assuming all of the Horcruxes were destroyed, Rihaan would silently hand him his suitcase of guns and kindly advise him to have fun obliterating the fucker. If Harry decided that this was all too much and he didn’t want to stay in Britain anymore, and Voldemort can just sod off, Rihaan would happily buy the plane tickets.

And if Harry decided that he would have nothing to do with Rihaan, then… well… he honestly didn’t know what to do at that point. He would cross that bridge when he got to it.

And that was what kept him on his task, resolute in the fact that in no way was he turning into Dumbledore. After all, he knew he could be greedy, and maybe even slightly power-crazy, but at least he knew the difference between his own skills and the skills of external powers… such as the elder wand.

He heard two car door slams and looked towards the car to see Harry placing the bags in the trunk. He caught sight of a maroon sweater before Harry stepped into the car.

He looked behind him. The bike was still floating in place behind him obediently. He had realized long ago that he could concentrate on his magic better when distracted. It didn’t make sense to him, but it worked. For extra safety, he disillusioned the bike as well.

The engine revved, and the kickstand was let back up. Rihaan peddled with vigor as the Dursleys drove home, keeping his head low and sidewalks empty as he dashed through.


Thankfully, it was only a couple of miles. Rihaan made sure to remember the route this time as he finally reached his street. He noticed that they drove through Wisteria Walk, his street, as they were on their way home, so he rode up the driveway. He looked at the surrounding houses. If he hadn’t known his number, or if the house wasn’t next to the second to the corner, it would’ve taken a lot longer to find the right house. He needed to make some distinct changes.

His stomach grumbled embarrassingly. Quickly, he wheeled the two bikes in the large garage. Turning to the windows across the garage door, he waved his hand to give them a permanent fog effect, to keep prying eyes away. His stomach threatened to grumble again. Using magic always seemed to make him hungry.

He stepped into the house and opened the fridge. ‘Damn, this morning was the last of it.’ He looked at his body again. How was he going to go to the store and back without anyone asking questions? He wasn’t going to make the same mistake he made at the department store. He was tired of questions.

He groaned as the answer hit him abruptly. He ran upstairs to his room and searched his bag. Within a few seconds, he found a cloak.

While he had not done business with the goblins, he had asked for a few things. The first was a type of cloak that, when placed on, people tend to ignore you unless you bring attention to yourself. Then when under scrutiny, the only information anyone can gather when they look away from you is that you were of medium height, medium build, unknown race, and unknown sex.

He sniggered. Sex.

He blinked. His inner five-year-old was even less mature than he had thought.

While the cloak was ideal, it would not work for grocery shopping, nor shopping in general in the Muggle world. A black cloak would still raise suspicions, and anything to hide your identity with a hood is just saying ‘He’s hiding his face with a hood, ask him who he’s going to rob.’ After all, he would be suspicious if someone with a hood and a magically darkened face approached him.

With a sigh, he realized that it would not work. Such a cloak would only work in the magical world. He had to go to the store without a disguise.

He picked up one of the other items he had bought; a bottomless bag, that could be disguised as anything capable of holding things. He picked it up. A simple grocery bag would be see-through, but a tote would be perfect.

He gathered his money and walked down the stairs. He looked outside into the still sunny afternoon sky.

He still didn’t believe it was possible. He had created an entire dimension – maybe even just a solar system, he did not really know – that involved the magical world. A part of him, likely the five-year-old part, still wondered if the magical word existed in his past world, and he just never found it. While he knew it to be very improbable, as he had traveled all over the world searching, he realized that the place he was standing was supposed to be impossible. Also the fact that he had magical abilities was supposed to be impossible.

‘Nothing’s impossible. You just haven’t gotten around to doing it yet.’

Rihaan chuckled. ‘You always make me feel better.

He could feel his grandfather’s smile. ‘That’s what I’m here for. To keep your sanity.’

‘In every way,’ Rihaan thought, opening the door to a foreign, yet familiar universe.


Author’s Note: Hot damn, forty pages! This was my longest chapter for a time. I may have to revisit this story one day.

I’ll leave it as ‘In Progress’, because I’m not ready to give it up yet.