HP:The Phoenix Reborn

Prologue: The Phoenix Reborn

War was supposed to end with peace.

That was what they told him. That was what Dumbledore had believed, what Hermione had hoped for, what Ron had fought for.

But war did not end with peace.

It ended with ashes.

The battlefield had once been Hogwarts, but now it was nothing more than ruin. The Great Hall was shattered, its once-grand chandeliers lying in twisted heaps of gold and crystal. The Forbidden Forest burned in the distance, black smoke curling into the night sky. Bodies—friend and foe alike—littered the stone paths, their blood soaking into the earth.

And at the center of it all stood Harry Potter.

His robes were torn, his body bruised, his wand barely clutched in his trembling fingers. But he was still standing.

Across from him, Voldemort was dying.

The Dark Lord was on his knees, his skeletal fingers clutching at his chest, where the magic that had once made him immortal was now consuming him from the inside out. His crimson eyes burned with rage—not fear, because Tom Riddle had never known fear.

Until now.

"You think you've won, boy?" Voldemort hissed, blood dripping from his mouth. "You think this is victory?"

Harry didn't answer.

Because he didn't know.

The war was over, but at what cost? The Weasleys were gone. Hermione was gone. Neville was dead. Hogwarts was nothing but a tomb.

There was no one left to celebrate this so-called victory.

"You will die with me," Voldemort spat, his lips curling into something like a smile. "The world will not remember you as a hero, Potter. Only as a weapon that broke once its purpose was fulfilled."

Harry's grip on his wand tightened.

Maybe Voldemort was right.

Maybe he was nothing more than a weapon. A tool shaped by Dumbledore, by fate, by prophecy.

Maybe he had never been meant to survive this war.

And maybe—just maybe—he was fine with that.

As the final curse left his lips, colliding with Voldemort's last desperate attack, the world shattered.

A blinding flash of light.

A roar of magic—not destructive, not violent, but something else.

Something that felt like fire.

Something that felt like rebirth.

And then—

Nothing.

Harry woke up gasping.

The smell of parchment and dust filled his lungs. The warm flicker of candlelight cast shadows against a stone ceiling.

His body felt different—stronger, younger.

And as he sat up, his mind struggling to process what had just happened, he heard a voice—loud, familiar, alive.

"Oi! Who the hell are you, and why are you in our dormitory?"

Harry turned.

And standing in the doorway, looking both curious and suspicious, was Sirius Black.

Alive. Whole.

Behind him, James Potter leaned against the frame, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised. Remus Lupin stood at his side, his amber eyes sharp and calculating.

Harry's breath caught in his throat.

He knew exactly where he was.

Not in death. Not in some afterlife.

He was in 1976.

He was in the era of the Marauders.

He had been given a second chance.

And this time?

This time, he wasn't going to be a pawn in anyone's game.

The Phoenix had been reborn.

And the war had already begun.

Author's Note:

Welcome to The Phoenix Reborn! This is a powerful, battle-hardened Harry transported into the past, with all his knowledge and magic intact. He has no intention of letting history repeat itself—but will the past fight back?

Let me know what you think! More chapters coming soon.