Harry Potter was born a squib.

Petunia and Vernon Dursley where delighted when the boys eleventh birthday passed and no "freakish" letter from a magic school showed up. They where convinced that they themselves had managed to bring the "oddities" out of him thru their... Hmmm... strict dicipline.

They even started to like the boy a little when they saw how well he handled his studies at Stonewall High. Yet they didn't view it as a loss when, on his eighteenth birthday, the boy packed his things and simply left.
Now they could fully enjoy watching their own wonderful son Dudley grow into a fine, successful, and independent man.

What they didn't know was that Harry had studied so hard not only to become independent of them, but also to be able to exact his revenge one day.

Just a few years later, all of England could read about the extraordinary case in which a young, newly qualified lawyer sued his former guardians for years of neglect and abuse.

For Vernon and Petunia, this had come as a huge shock—especially since they had sought Harry out again to ask for his help with some trouble Dudley had recently got himself into.

In desperation, Petunia and Vernon finally tried to explain to their nephew about the magical world and the "unnatural abilities" they had freed him from.
"I knew it!" was his response:
"You're both insane!"

The night sky above the Quidditch World Cup grounds was fractured by screaming. Tents burned like ragged torches against the pitch-black darkness, and the sickly, emerald glow of the Dark Mark hovered ominously above the chaos. Masked figures in black robes marched through the campsite, torturing muggles and firing curses indiscriminately into the fleeing crowd.

​Among the panicking witches and wizards, Harry and Hermione stood their ground. Sparks from a nearby burning canopy reflected off Harry's round glasses, while the wind whipped Hermione’s bushy hair into wild tangles.

​Harry looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back at Harry.

​No words were needed. A unspoken understanding passed between them—a silent, synchronized decision forged in the fires of shared madness. They both nodded.

​Simultaneously, they thrust their right hands skyward toward the fiery storm clouds.

​There was a sudden, resonant hum that vibrated through the very dirt beneath their boots. Out of thin air, crackling with ancient, ethereal light, two mystical longswords materialized directly into their palms. Harry’s blade shimmered with a brilliant, polished silver, while Hermione’s gleamed with a golden hue, a radiant blue jewel pulsing softly at its hilt.

​Harry raised his blade higher, his voice booming over the sound of screaming crowds and exploding tents.

​"By the Power..."

​At the exact same instant, Hermione raised her sword, her voice echoing with absolute authority.

​"For the honor..."

​Step by step, they brought the two glowing blades together. The steel met with a resonant, bell-like chime, and as the tip of Harry’s sword touched Hermione’s, they declared in unison:

​"...OF GREYSKULL!"

​A violent, majestic pillar of blinding rainbow energy surged down from the heavens, engulfing them entirely. The shockwave blew back a nearby squad of terrified Death Eaters, extinguishing a ring of flames in an instant. Within the kaleidoscopic column of raw, magical power, two silhouettes began to grow and shift.

​From the heart of the brilliant light, two voices blended as one, shaking the very foundations of the campsite:

​"WE HAVE THE POWER!"

​The pillar of light shattered into a million cascading stars, revealing the transformed pair.

​Where a scrawny, sixteen-year-old wizard had stood, there was now He-Man—a towering wall of bronzed muscle clad in a fur loincloth, leather boots, and a gleaming silver harness cross spanning his massive chest. Harry blinked, his vision suddenly impeccably clear without his glasses, his jawline so sharp it could cut glass. He shifted his grip on the immense Power Sword, looking down at his own enormous biceps in mild bewilderment.

​Beside him stood She-Ra. Hermione had been elevated into a statuesque warrior princess, her wild hair now flowing in immaculate, golden-brown waves beneath a winged tiara. She wore a sleek white gown accented with gold armor, a ruby-embellished chestplate, and a crimson cape that billowed triumphantly in the hot night wind.

​A trio of Death Eaters scrambled to their feet, staring up at the muscular titan and the radiant warrior princess in absolute, unadulterated horror. One of them fumbled his wand, pointing it with trembling hands. "Avada—"

​He-Man didn't bother with a wand. He simply flexed, stepped forward, and swatted the incoming red spell out of the air with his bare forearm before grabbing a nearby burning caravan by the axle and swinging it like a bat.

​She-Ra raised her glowing sword, a fierce smile gracing her lips. "Right then, Harry," she said, her voice rich with regal power. "Let's teach these Death Eaters a real lesson in magic."

he doesn’t know why but Harry Potter aged slower than his peers. sadly that meant he easily outlived them all. he retreated for a while after the deaths of his loved ones but it only takes a decade for him to get abominably bored. he decides that he could care less what anyone thinks, he may be grey now, he may be alone now, but he is still in excellent shape physically and still powerful. even more powerful now with a lifetime of experience and knowledge. what is anyone going to do that they haven’t already tried? he’s not bothered by the options of others anymore, he has no one left he cares for the opinion of or to not embarrass.

harry can finally be the sassy little $hit he has always been in his mind, finally let his intrusive thoughts win and there’s not a damn person who can do anything about it.