Chapter 1: How do you pronounce this?

Harry Potter had cried himself to sleep the night before.

Not from pain, not from another of Dudley's cruel tricks, nor from Uncle Vernon's usual roaring.

But from something he never thought he'd have.

The truth.

For six years, he had believed what they told him—that he was unwanted, a burden, a freak. That his parents had left him.

But Mordenkainen had shattered that lie.

"Your mother summoned me to protect you. And she gave her life to do so."

She hadn't abandoned him.

She had fought for him.

And magic—the thing they hated him for—was real.

The knowledge should have scared him. It should have been overwhelming. But as Harry drifted into sleep, exhausted from the storm of emotions, he felt something else entirely.

A spark of hope.

---

"HARRY POTTER! WAKE UP!"

Harry bolted upright, nearly smacking his head against the low ceiling of his tiny space beneath the stairs.

His heart pounded. The voice in his head—Mordenkainen—was not subtle.

He groaned, rubbing his face. "Could you… shout more quietly next time?" he muttered, still half-asleep.

"There is no such thing as silent shouting—though, given time, I may devise a spell for it," Mordenkainen responded, deadpan.

Harry blinked blearily. The events of the night before came rushing back.

The voice. 

The truth. 

The magic.

Magic.

The thought slammed into him fully for the first time.

His breath caught.

This wasn't some strange dream that would fade away when he woke up. The voice was still here. Which meant—

"It's real," he whispered.

"Of course it is real. I would not waste my existence entertaining a delusional child."

Harry ignored the insult, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to process it all.

Magic.

Magic.

Magic.

The word thrummed in his chest like a second heartbeat.

For so long, he had felt helpless, unable to change anything about his life. But if magic was real—if he was magic—

Then maybe… maybe things could be different.

"What can I do?" he asked, his voice small but it contained a hunger. A hunger to be something more.

"With time, effort, and study? Anything."

Harry swallowed.

"Even… flying?"

"Eventually."

"Fireballs?"

"Yes."

"Making Dudley's hair fall out?"

"Trivial."

Harry grinned for the first time that morning.

---

"Every wizard must have a spellbook—a place to record their magic, their discoveries, their knowledge," Mordenkainen explained.

Harry had never "owned" a book before, much less one of his own.

But he wouldn't let that stop him.

He scavenged—pulling an old, torn notebook from Dudley's discarded school supplies. With a blunt crayon, he carefully wrote on the cover:

HARRY'S WIZARD SPELLBOOK

The letters were uneven, but that didn't matter.

This was his first step.

"Now, we begin with a simple spell. One that all wizards should know—Prestidigitation," Mordenkainen instructed.

Harry squinted. "Pesti… digit… what?"

"A minor spell, used for small tricks—cleaning objects, changing colors, warming or cooling things."

Harry hesitated. That sounded useful, but also a little… boring.

"A wise wizard does not chase spectacle, but mastery." Mordenkainen stated flatly.

Harry rolled his eyes but didn't argue.

He followed the instructions of the Grand Wizard, reaching for the strange warmth inside him, trying to shape it like Mordenkainen described.

His fingers tingled. A faint spark of blue light flickered at his fingertips—

Then vanished.

Harry scowled. "I did it wrong."

"No," Mordenkainen corrected. "You simply did not succeed. There is a difference."

Harry frowned. "What's the difference?"

"Failure is giving up. Learning is trying again."

The words hit something deep inside him.

So, he tried again.

And again.

And again.

For nearly an hour, he kept going, stubbornly refusing to stop.

At last—finally—he managed to hold the light steady for a full three seconds.

It wasn't perfect.

But it was real.

And for the first time, he felt it—a flicker of approval from Mordenkainen.

Not praise. Not comfort.

Just acknowledgment.

And that, more than anything, made him want to keep going.

---

Hours later, as Harry sat in the dim light of his cupboard, he traced the words in his spellbook. Mordenkainen having helped him with the Spell name and what it does.

His magic was real.

His knowledge was growing.

He still had a long way to go.

But for the first time, he wasn't alone.

Mordenkainen's presence wasn't comforting, exactly.

But it was steady.

And as Harry closed his spellbook, he found himself wanting more.

...

"By the way what should I call you?" A new puzzle lay in front of little Harry. What shall he call his master of the Arcane?

"You may call me Master Mordenkainen..."

"Mordin- Mordek. Too difficult. I will call you Master Mord!"

"Ugh! Why do I even bother.." Mordenkainen accepted his fated, for what else could he do.

---

Spell Name: Pesti-Predist- Prestdigitashun (crossed out several times before finally spelling it correctly) Prestidigitation

Type: Cantrip (Little Magic)

What It Does: Makes small magical effects! (Like sparks, changing colors, and warming/cooling things.)

Words & Motion: (Master Mord says words aren't always needed, but thinking about what you want helps.)

Important Notes: Can't make big things happen, but very good for tricks and sneaky stuff.