HP:The Phoenix Reborn

Chapter 1: Ashes and Embers

Pain. Fire. The end and the beginning.

Harry Potter had made his final stand. The battlefield had been reduced to ruin, spells still sizzling in the air as bodies lay motionless around him. Voldemort stood across from him, his gaunt face twisted into something monstrous, something inhuman. The Dark Lord's red eyes burned with malevolence, but Harry had no fear. He had made his choice.

The Elder Wand, the Death Stick, the cursed thing that had been both a weapon and a trap, rested in his grip. And as their final curses collided—green meeting gold, hatred clashing against will—Harry understood something fundamental.

Fate was cruel, but magic? Magic was chaos.

The explosion of raw energy shattered reality around him, and just as Voldemort screamed, just as the world burned away into nothing—

Harry fell.

Not in the physical sense, but something deeper. Magic ripped him from existence, tore through the very fabric of time, and then remade him in fire and pain. His body burned, his magic roared, and his mind splintered before snapping back together.

When he awoke, it was to the sound of birds outside a window, the scent of parchment and ink in the air, and the weight of history pressing down on his chest.

He was alive.

But he was not where he was supposed to be.

Harry sat up, his vision sharpening instantly. His senses, already attuned to battle, assessed his surroundings in an instant. A four-poster bed. The Gryffindor banner. A familiar layout, but different.

Not my dormitory.

His fingers curled around the sheets. They were too pristine, too untouched by the chaos he had known. He moved to the mirror near the wardrobe and froze.

He looked… young. But not like his teenage self. His body was stronger, taller, broader—closer to his twenty-year-old self from the war, but refined in a way he hadn't been. His magic still felt the same—dense, overwhelming, pulsing with something ancient—but it was contained, controlled.

The realization settled over him like ice.

He hadn't just been thrown back in time.

He had been remade.

A loud knock sounded at the door, snapping him from his thoughts.

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

The voice was unmistakable.

No.

Harry turned as the door was flung open, and there stood Sirius Black. Young, vibrant, and full of reckless energy. Behind him was James Potter, looking like an echo of Harry himself, and Remus Lupin, whose intelligent amber eyes were already assessing the situation.

Harry swallowed thickly. Seeing them like this, alive, was more of a shock than anything else.

James crossed his arms. "Well? You don't look like an intruder, but I sure as hell don't remember getting a new roommate."

Harry forced his face into neutrality, instincts kicking in. He had to blend in.

"My name is Hadrian Peverell," he said smoothly.

The effect was immediate. James frowned, Sirius raised an eyebrow, and Remus narrowed his gaze. The name Peverell held weight, and Harry had chosen it for that very reason.

Sirius tilted his head. "Never heard of you."

Harry smirked. You wouldn't have.

"Transfer student," he said simply. "Special circumstances."

James scoffed. "What, did McGonagall pluck you out of the ether and drop you here?"

Harry shrugged. "Something like that."

Remus, ever the analytical one, studied him. "Where exactly did you transfer from?"

"Private tutoring," Harry answered, weaving truth with fiction. "My family preferred a different… curriculum."

Sirius nudged James. "Sounds like one of those old families with all their fancy magic. You know, the ones that like to hoard spells for themselves."

James raised an eyebrow. "You a pureblood, then?"

Harry chuckled. "Something like that."

He could see the curiosity in their eyes, but he also knew that pushing too much would make them suspicious. He needed time to figure out why he was here and what had changed.

Sirius grinned. "Well, anyone who can make James look confused is alright in my book."

James rolled his eyes. "Oi."

Harry smirked, but inside, he was already planning.

He had to find Dumbledore.

He had to understand why this had happened.

And most importantly—he had to decide how to play this game.

Because if history was any indicator, time travel was never without consequence.

And Harry had no intention of being anyone's pawn.

———

The Great Hall was as grand as he remembered, though it lacked the heavy weight of war and loss that had filled it in his time. The Marauders had taken him under their wing without question, and he found himself slipping into their dynamic with disturbing ease.

James was charismatic, reckless but brilliant. Sirius was a force of nature, magnetic and untamed. Remus was the balance, the strategist, always watching. And Peter… Harry barely acknowledged him.

Dumbledore's eyes found him before he even sat down.

The old man's twinkling gaze was sharp—too sharp.

Harry knew that look. It was the look of a man who knew.

As he sat, James leaned in. "So, Peverell, you any good at Quidditch?"

Harry smirked. "I can hold my own."

Sirius perked up. "Chaser or Seeker?"

"Seeker."

James groaned. "Great, another bloody show-off."

Before Harry could respond, the Great Hall doors opened, and the air shifted. A presence entered, one that made Harry's skin crawl.

He turned, and there—walking with perfect, calculated ease—was Tom Riddle.

Not quite Voldemort yet. But close.

The boy who would become the Dark Lord was barely older than a seventh year, but he carried himself like a king. His eyes, dark and fathomless, flickered across the room, scanning.

Harry clenched his jaw.

He's here. Alive. Not a memory. Not a shade.

And for the first time since arriving, Harry realized something chilling.

This wasn't just about stopping the war before it began.

This was a second chance to kill Tom Riddle before he ever became Voldemort.

A second chance to end the war before it started.

But Harry knew better than to act without thinking.

This wasn't a battle.

This was a game of strategy.

And in this game, the one who struck first didn't always win.

Dumbledore's gaze met his again.

And Harry smirked.

Let the game begin.

Author's Note:

Harry is now navigating the Marauder era with his knowledge of the future intact. He's powerful, experienced, and far more dangerous than anyone realizes. But Tom Riddle is still lurking in the background, and Dumbledore already suspects something.

Should Harry try to change the future or let it unfold? Should he kill Riddle early or manipulate him into a different path?

Let me know if you want more!