The first few weeks at the Leaky Cauldron passed in a blur of parchment, ink, and raw magical experimentation.
Harry had started with a simple goal: catch up and get ahead.
He poured over the second-year to fifth-year Hogwarts curriculum, absorbing everything he could. Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts—he studied them all with a ruthless efficiency, only pausing to test his understanding before moving on.
But that was just the start of Summer break.
Once he had a solid grasp of the traditional subjects, Harry turned his focus to something far more unsettling—his "Kill Power."
At first, he wasn't sure how to even begin testing it. The power had awakened in the heat of battle, burning through Voldemort's shade with a terrifying finality. But now, with no enemy to fight, he had to figure out how it worked.
It didn't take long for him to accidentally discover that he could kill non-living things, too.
One day, he was idly testing spells in his rented room, and out of curiosity, he focused on an old, cracked teacup sitting on the nightstand. A strange sensation built up in his chest—like pressure, like instinct, like a response to an enemy he couldn't see.
Then, with nothing but a thought—
The teacup just… ceased to be.
Not broken. Not exploded. Gone.
Not a single fragment remained.
Harry sat back, staring at the empty space where the teacup had been, his heart hammering.
Yeah. That was terrifying.
Over the next few days, he experimented more. He found out that:
He could kill anything—not just people, but objects, plants, and even gaseous substances. He proved this when he accidentally "killed" a puff of steam rising from his tea.
His power seemed to react to intent—whenever he sensed danger or hostility, the ability flared up instinctively.
He could sense killing intent from others, as if it was an extension of his own instincts.
That last part was particularly disturbing.
Because it meant that whenever someone wished him harm—even in passing—his power would try to respond.
He had to focus to stop it.
And if he ever lost control?
He didn't want to think about that.
In between his terrifying self-discoveries, Harry found another way to keep himself occupied—competitions.
Dueling Tournaments: He entered small-time dueling circuits in Diagon Alley, testing his reflexes and magic against older, more experienced wizards. He wasn't the strongest, but his instincts and sheer unpredictability threw people off.
Potion Brewing Contests: Despite Snape's efforts to make him hate the subject, Harry found himself weirdly good at Potions. His precise, analytical way of studying let him memorize recipes with ease, and he even started modifying a few for better effects.
General Magical Knowledge: His magical studies were chaotic at best. He'd pick up a book on Ancient Runes, get the gist of it, then drop it for something like Curse-Breaking theory or Enchanting basics. He wasn't mastering anything yet, but his knowledge was growing rapidly.
Then, one day, Harry stumbled onto another mystery.
He was wandering through Knockturn Alley, exploring the less savory parts of the magical world, when he passed by a glass case containing a coiled viper.
Its emerald scales gleamed under the dim light, and as Harry paused to observe it, the snake suddenly turned to him.
Why do you stare, two-legs?
Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.
It wasn't English. It wasn't Latin or any language he knew. And yet—he understood it.
He stared at the snake. The snake stared back.
"Uh… sorry?" he tried, the words leaving his mouth in a strange, hissing cadence.
The viper's tongue flickered. You hear? You speak?
Oh. Oh.
He could talk to snakes.
This was Parseltongue.
The revelation was… cool.
And also deeply annoying.
Because as he quickly learned, Parseltongue was frowned upon in Britain.
Apparently, Voldemort had single-handedly ruined the reputation of being able to talk to snakes. Now, anytime someone heard about it, they'd immediately assume "evil Dark Wizard" instead of "neat party trick."
Harry groaned internally. Why did this guy have to ruin everything?
Blood Magic? Corrupt.Necromancy? Corrupt.Dark Rituals? Definitely corrupt.Parseltongue? "You must be evil!"
For Merlin's sake!
Did Voldemort just wake up every morning and go, "Hmm, what's the coolest magic I can use in the most evil way possible?"
Harry shook his head.
Screw that.
He had a rare ability, and he wasn't going to waste it just because some snake-faced megalomaniac used it for murder.
In fact… he might as well make it even better.
Maybe there were ways to enhance his Parseltongue. Maybe he could use it for more than just talking to snakes.
It was time to find out.
By the time July rolled around, Harry had:
Mastered Hogwarts' curriculum up to fifth year.
Discovered and partially controlled his Kill Power.
Competed in multiple magical competitions.
Started experimenting with Parseltongue.
And the best part?
This was only his second year at Hogwarts.
Because if he was going to reshape the wizarding world, he needed everything at his disposal.
And magic—all of it, Dark or Light—was his to command.
And something told him to make sure to keep Sakanade ready to draw in an instant, second year might be something wild goin' on.