HP: Boundless Wizardry - Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Harry Potter - Boundless Wizardry

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters in the story are consenting adults over 18 years of age.

Chapter 1: A Dark Awakening

Harry had noticed the unnatural chill when he followed Sirius down towards the lake, but at the time, he hadn’t grasped what it truly meant.

The cold had crept into his bones, subtle at first, like walking into a draft. Only now, standing by the water’s edge, did the dreadful reality settle in.

He had survived plenty of stressful situations in his seventeen years—far more than most people his age—but that didn’t make him ready for this. Fear knotted in his chest. He wanted to believe he could stay calm, like Dumbledore or even Lupin, but the truth was different.

The moment Sirius collapsed with a strangled cry, writhing helplessly on the ground, Harry’s composure shattered.

His eyes darted to the opposite bank. A black tide was gliding towards them, countless dark shapes drifting through the fog. And then he understood. Dementors. Dozens upon dozens.

No, hundreds. A swarm of death itself was closing in, their hollow hoods and skeletal hands emerging from the mist.

The cold intensified instantly, stabbing through his body like icy knives. His breath became mist, his vision wavered, and the world grew dim.

Behind him, Hermione whimpered. The sound stabbed deeper into him than the cold ever could.

She shouldn’t have been here. She had followed him all the way, and it was his fault. If he had kept his head, if he had gone straight back to the castle, they might have made it in time.

Dumbledore could have saved Sirius. Dumbledore could have saved them all. Instead, his reckless choice had dragged Hermione into this nightmare.

Guilt swelled inside him, heavy and merciless. At least Ron wasn’t here, he thought bitterly.

At least one of his friends was safe. But self-blame wouldn’t help now. If this was how he was going to die, then he would at least face it standing.

Harry clenched his wand tighter, his knuckles pale. “Hermione! Think of something happy!” he shouted, forcing his trembling voice to be strong. A high-pitched scream echoed faintly in his head, familiar and unbearable.

He tried to focus on good memories—the thrill of leaving the Dursleys behind, the dream of living with Sirius once they got through this. Anything, anything to push back the endless replay of his parents’ death.

The sound of his mother’s scream clawed at his mind, tearing at him from the inside. He forced the words out.

“Expecto Patronum!” His voice cracked, but he roared it again. “Hermione, help me! EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

Hermione’s voice answered him, weak and wavering. She repeated the spell, but it sounded as if she had already given up. Silver mist trickled from their wands, thin and fragile, unable to take shape.

It wasn’t enough. It had never been enough. Even with Professor Lupin’s training, the best Harry had ever managed was a patch of faint light against a Boggart.

And that had been a fake Dementor. Now they were facing the real thing. And not one, but a swarm.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” he cried again, desperation tearing his throat raw. More wisps leaked from his wand, but they were swept away like smoke in the wind. The circle of Dementors tightened, pressing closer, unfazed by the pathetic scraps of light.

Hermione had stopped casting entirely. Harry could hear her behind him, sobbing quietly, too weak to continue.

He refused to stop. He couldn’t. He would protect Sirius. He would protect Hermione. Even if it killed him, he wouldn’t just stand there.

The Dementors halted only a few feet away. One of them drifted forward, its rotten hand extended. With a lazy swipe, it scattered the fragile mist that had been all Harry could summon. His wand shook in his grip, useless.

They loomed silently, feeding on his despair. The nearest Dementor tilted its head as if studying him. Slowly, it raised both hands and pulled back its hood. A hollow, eyeless face emerged—wrinkled, rotten, and hungering.

Harry froze. His heart pounded painfully, each beat echoing in his ears. He knew what came next. The Dementor wanted to kiss him. It was going to rip out his soul.

The last wisps of silver faded into nothing. His vision was drowned in mist, in the screams that weren’t real but felt real enough to break him apart. He tried to see Sirius, to see Hermione, but the fog swallowed them.

Then something seized him—arms like iron clamping around his neck, yanking his head back. His breath caught in his throat. His face was forced upward, the Dementor’s gaping maw descending.

This was it. They were going to take him first. The echo of his mother’s scream filled his ears, sharper and louder than ever. It was the last sound he would ever hear.

The world narrowed into darkness. The final thing reflected in his fading vision wasn’t the Dementor’s hollow face, but his own.

His own expression twisted in pain and terror—before everything was swallowed by black.

———

Everything was black. Not dark like night, not dim like a room with the lights out—just endless, suffocating blackness. A void that stretched forever, swallowing up every sense. No ground beneath him, no body to move, no sound to cling to.

Was this what being a soul felt like?

Harry wasn’t sure. He had no answers, only questions.

Had he died?

Yeah. That part was certain. Harry Potter had died.

Still, even in death nothing was simple. Of course it couldn’t be. His whole life had been a mess, so why should dying be any different?

What confused him the most was the fact that he wasn’t dealing with one set of memories, but two. Two entire lives crammed inside his head, both of them ending the same way—at death’s door.

The first life was… boring, if he was being honest. Normal. The kind of life that would’ve made sense for someone with his name in the real world. No wands, no spells, no magical castles.

Just plain old London. He grew up in the city, went through school, then university, and ended up becoming a software engineer at a decent company. Nothing flashy, nothing terrible either. A solid twenty-first–century existence.

If he regretted anything from that life, it was the lack of romance. Dates here and there, but nothing that stuck. No girlfriend, no great love story. Just him, his job, and his hobbies—mainly games and books. Nerd stuff.

The one interesting thing in that life? His death. Kind of cliché, really. He got hit by a truck. The old truck-kun special. He hadn’t even seen it coming. One moment walking, the next moment—splat. Then this place. The endless black void.

At first, he thought maybe he’d been isekai’d into something without eyes or senses. But the fact that he couldn’t even feel a body made that unlikely. More reasonable, though depressing, was that this was simply the afterlife. A really boring afterlife.

But then there was the second set of memories.

They felt familiar in a way that unsettled him. He knew them. Of course he did. They were memories from the Harry Potter books, the ones he’d read growing up, his favorite series. The life of the boy who lived, who fought Voldemort, who went through adventures at Hogwarts.

Except these memories weren’t exactly the same as the books. They lined up almost perfectly, yes, but with some key differences. The biggest one? The characters weren’t eleven when they started at Hogwarts. They were fifteen.

Honestly, Harry thought that made a lot more sense. Giving eleven-year-olds weapons deadlier and more destructive than guns? Yeah, probably not the wisest move.

The other difference was more important. More fatal. In this version of events, Harry Potter didn’t make it past his third year. He died. His soul had been sucked out by Dementors at the edge of the lake.

That memory lingered like a cold hand clutching his heart. Compared to a sudden truck accident, being drained into nothingness by soul-eating monsters was a far worse way to go.

So here he was, stuck with the memories of two deaths. One quick, one horrifying. Neither giving him any answers about what came next.

A single, very important question surfaced: Was he Dementor poop now? Was that why everything was so black?

No, wait. That wasn’t the important question.

The real question was why he had two sets of memories in the first place. And even more pressing—was he supposed to just float here in this void for eternity?

Now those were the things he actually needed answers to.

[ Loading… ]

‘Okay, that’s new!’

[ Congratulations you have died! ]

‘Thanks, I even died twice strange Mechanical Voice from the Void.’

[ You have been choosen to recieve a Gamer System and fix a broken Timeline! ]

‘Well, that explains the Truck based death. I am being Isekaid! Is that why I suddenly got memories of an Harry Potter that died so early?’

[ Exactly, amongst the infinite Souls of the Multiverse you have been personally selected by the Great Truck to save this World from it’s certain end! ]

‘So you killed me to reincarnate me?’

[ No that was a tragic accident! ]

‘You just said-‘

[ Anyways the System has been fully installed! Congratulations for recieving the Infinite Skill System! ]

‘Infinite Skill System? What’s that?’

[ The name of your System. ]

‘Really? I couldn’t have guessed that Captain Obvious…’

[ No, need to be so snarky. Everything will be explained soon enough. How about we start with your Status: ]

{ Name: Harry J. Potter }

{ Race: Human (Magical) }

{ Strength: 7 }

{ Dexterity: 12 }

{ Vitality: 8 }

{ Intelligence: 9 }

{ Wisdom: 7 }

{ Charisma: 11 }

[ The average adult human has a Stat value of 10. A peak human reaches around 50. For example, a regular person can bench press 50 to 70 kilograms, while the world record for a raw bench press sits at 355 kilograms.

Strength measures physical power—how much someone can lift, how hard they can punch, and how much weight they can carry.

Dexterity covers agility, flexibility, speed, and reaction time.

Vitality represents health, regeneration, and natural resistance. In short, it shows how much damage the body can take and how quickly it heals.

Intelligence is tied to memory and learning speed. It also determines how much Mana someone has and how strong their spells are.

Wisdom, true to its name, reflects understanding and logical thinking. It affects Mana recovery speed and fine control.

Charisma represents attractiveness and charm. Leaders rely on it, and so does anyone hoping for success in romance. It shapes almost every social interaction.

These are only the basics. In reality, each Stat affects and interacts with the Skills you possess—or eventually acquires. ]

‘Wait, are you telling me I am dumber than the Average Adult?’

[ This is the Status of your new Body. The Stat base Value is taken from a untrained 21 Year Old, the age considered full maturity in most cultures. As Harry Potter you are still growing and have suffered under years of malnutrition and abuse, which has affected your Stat Growth. ]

‘I see. Okay, what’s next? You still haven’t told me why my Sytem is named the Infinite Skill System!’

[ Damn, you are impatient. Well here it is: ]

[ Unique Skill acquired! ]

[ Download (Passive) ]

[ This ability lets the player download a character from fiction or even real history, gaining one of their Perks or skills. The speed of the download depends on the character’s overall power and potential. Only one character can be downloaded at a time. ]

‘Well, damn. And I can get as many Skills as I like? What’s the difference between Skills and Perks? Just for clarity.’

[ There is no limit to how many Skills a player can possess.

Perks, are unique characteristics—ranging from natural talents to powerful bloodlines. They can influence Stats, affect Skills, or even grant entirely new ones. However, Perks cannot be leveled or improved. But some can evolve.

Skills are more straightforward. They are abilities that can be trained, leveled, and strengthened over time. The only exception is Unique Skills, which stand outside the normal rules. ]

‘Okay, got it. So how is this gonna go? What do I need to do? Kill Voldemort? Are there gonna be some Quests or something? What is my goal to fix this Timeline?’

[ Nothing in fact. ]

‘What? You said I got my System to fix this broken Timeline! Kinda making it sound like a big deal? Chosen Hero and all that!’

[ Sorry that you over interpret your importance. The Multiverse is infinite. Wether you save your new Timeline or not is not really relevant in the bigger Picture… ]

‘So, if it’s not relevant. Why did I get Isekaid and a System?’

[ Well some random Omnipotent Being set up an automatic System to reincarnate People and grant them the Ability to save a Universe. But he got bored and forget about it. Now it’s just running and you got lucky. ]

‘I just got lucky?’

[ Yep. ]

‘Well in this Situation, I take what I can...’

[ That’s the Spirit. Now good Luck! Enjoy your new Life with your new System! ]

‘Wait, that’s it? And aren’t you my System?’

[ Entering your new World in 3… 2… 1… ]

‘WAIT! I STILL HAVE QUESTIONS!?’

Questions that went unanswered as a golden light suddenly appeared, filling the void and swallowing the soul completely. One moment it was there, and the next it was gone in an instant. It felt like it had shot through space at a speed that couldn’t even be measured, leaving only emptiness behind.

———

A low groan slipped out of Harry’s throat as awareness returned to his body. His limbs felt heavy, like he had been lying in one place for far too long. Blinking several times, his eyelids twitched and trembled before finally parting, letting in the faintest trace of light.

It was as if he was dragging himself out of a deep, dreamless sleep, one that refused to let go even as his senses slowly stirred awake.

The first thing that struck him was the strange, uncomfortable feeling of his own body. Something about it felt off, like a shirt that didn’t quite fit. As the fog in his head began to clear, the reason slowly dawned on him. Of course it felt strange. This wasn’t his original body.

Harry’s eyes cracked open, only to be assaulted by a harsh beam of light that made him wince and squeeze them shut again. After a moment, his vision adjusted, though his head was still pounding, and a dull ache lingered in his chest.

Honestly, he had been expecting nothing but endless blackness. Instead, he was met with discomfort, dizziness, and a faint throbbing pain that reminded him he was still alive.

It took effort, but he managed to shift his weight and push himself upright. His surroundings slowly came into focus. No icy lake. That was a relief. No swarm of Dementors closing in on him. Even better. What he saw instead was a bed, and by the look of it, a very old-fashioned one at that.

His mind worked sluggishly, trying to match the pieces together, until a flood of memories from this second life—no, from this body’s life—rushed through his head. The wooden beams above, the smell of herbs, the faint white curtains around the beds… recognition struck him.

This wasn’t just any bed. He was in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.

A soft noise pulled his attention to the side. Turning his head, he noticed someone slumped over in a chair, sound asleep. A girl, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

Her bushy brown hair framed her cute fair skinned face, and despite the faint trace of exhaustion on her features, he found her presence comforting. Hermione.

Relief washed through him so strongly that his chest tightened. She had survived. They had both survived the army of soul-sucking monsters. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply look at her, grateful.

Almost as if sensing his gaze, her eyelashes fluttered, and she stirred awake.

Her eyes opened slowly, confusion flashing in them before they settled on him. Then, those warm brown orbs locked with his emerald green, and recognition flared.

“Harry, you’re awake!” she exclaimed, her voice carrying both joy and relief. But then, just as quickly, something shifted. Her expression faltered, and a shadow of sadness clouded her features.

His relief turned to worry. “Hermione, are you okay? What’s wrong? Did you get hurt?”

She shook her head, biting her lip as tears began to well up. “I’m fine, it’s just—” The words broke off, caught in her throat.

A heavy dread coiled in Harry’s stomach. Even if this wasn’t his original life, he carried this body’s memories, this body’s feelings. That bond, that fear—it was all still his. “Please, Mione. What is it?” he urged, his voice trembling despite himself.

Her control shattered. With a sob, she threw herself at him, clutching him tightly as tears spilled down her cheeks. “We thought… we thought the Dementors had kissed you! Just like… like Sirius…”

Harry stiffened, arms instinctively wrapping around her, but his mind froze on the words. Kissed? Sirius? That wasn’t right. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He should be preparing for a time-turner adventure right now, heading out on a rescue mission. None of this matched the story he remembered.

Swallowing hard, he whispered, “C-could you… say that again, Mione? I think I misunderstood.”

Her face was buried against him, but her voice reached his ears, broken and raw.

“Oh, Harry… the Dementors… they kissed Sirius.”