Chapter Text
Harry stared in awe down at the school yard nearly two floors below. He had been running from Dudley’s gang - per usual - before jumping behind a trashcan had landed him on the roof . Considering the size of the building, there was no reasonable way for this to happen, so it was likely his ‘freakishness’ acting up again.
His relatives were hyper-obsessed with being normal, which meant Harry tried to ignore the strange things that happened to him. But this was too big to ignore.
The Dursley’s strongly prohibited ‘unnatural’ things in their house, even going so far to deny Dudley toys and games that referenced any such occurrences, which meant Harry was no expert on these subjects. Nonetheless, discovering the things that happened to him was important enough to sneak into the library and pay extra attention in classes. After this final unnatural event he was now certain of the cause.
There was only one type of power that could be causing this.
Harry Potter was clearly a god.
*****
The elation from his initial discovery was tainted by fear as he brought a letter to the Dursleys about his ‘poor behavior climbing school buildings’. The discovery itself was all but forgotten in face of his furious relatives and his punishment.
But a few weeks later, after it had calmed down again, Harry was able to consider the implications.
The only instance of miracles he learned from history class involved religion and worship, like how the Ancient Greeks worshiped their deities. Since he was no one’s follower (in large part due to the Dursley’s prohibiting him from Church), the logical conclusion was that he had a spark of divinity himself.
He did not know if he was intentionally powerless and without his memories, but considering he was with the Dursley’s it was quite possible this was some type of punishment from his fellow gods. Or maybe he was an old god that lost nearly all of his power and was reborn. In that case it would also be possible that ‘Harry’ died with his parents and he was just possessing the mortal’s body. In practice there would be no way to tell.
The final possibility was that Harry was a new god. Not that he knew the circumstances there.
Either way, he only had a miniscule spark of divine power, no domain to call his own, and no worshipers. It was a perilous situation for a god. He had a lot of work to do.
*****
Harry spent the next few days considering his plan of action. Followers were essential, as the more people worshiping him, the more divinity he could wield. With so little power, he would need to have a hands on approach convincing his first worshipers. That probably meant tricking idiots into believing in him, like Dudley’s friends.
It was also going to be important to choose his domain. Being a monotheistic god would be very powerful in the long run, but until he massed millions of followers Harry doubted he would be able to do much with a domain that encompassed everything . His power would be so spread out.
Eventually, he decided he needed a pseudonym to direct his follower’s worship. Who would pray to a ‘Harry’ .
To honor his mortal roots (or the mortal body he was possessing), he had the brilliant idea to use the letters in his name to come up with fancy enough gibberish for his divine name. Creating an anagram out of his given name was very original, Harry thought, and that cleverness was a clear indication of his divinity.
Harry ripped the paper from some old homework into pieces and wrote individual letters on each, spending what felt like hours rearranging them over and over. When he was finally content, he reverently wrote out the name he would use as his divine focus. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his soul, and knew he had made progress. Harry Potter had become the nascent god Arpteo.
*****
Sitting quietly in the corner of the school yard, Harry eyed his future followers. Gaining his first believers would be one of his most difficult steps. He only had a few months before summer break and wanted to gain a foothold before then. No adult would take a nine year old seriously, so his fellow classmates were his best bet.
Harry was undecided on a domain. In the meantime, he was trying extra hard to act in the noble manner befitting a deity living among mortals. It was mostly the thought that counted, since it hardly made a difference with his treatment at the Dursleys. Still, knowing that they were just mortals made their actions sting just a little less.
‘They must just not know any better,’ he thought to himself. ‘At least I am a god. Had the Dursleys treated some normal mortal nephew like they treat me… well, I’m sure he’d be traumatized for life.’
The first strategy he planned was introducing Arpteo as a ‘guardian angel’ of some sort, to make believing in him more acceptable to the large presence of Christianity in Britain. Alternatively, he considered using Arpteo as a local folklore or game kids would interact with, like an Ouija board. Either way, Harry would use some method to convince his classmates that Arpteo had power, and with enough of their belief in him, that power would become a reality.
*****
Harry approached his first target, a girl in the year below named Emily. Or probably named Emily. Not having friends made remembering names difficult. He’d heard some of the girls making fun of her older, ill-fitting clothes and seeing her picked on in the same way Dudley bullied him struck a chord. He wasn’t quite ready to start acting, but seeing her sniffle near his usual secluded corner of the yard prompted him to help.
Befriending her directly wasn’t even an option, as Dudley would certainly make her life awful, so he would be discreet.
“Hey, are you going to eat that?” Harry asked, nodding at her apple. He hoped not drawing attention to her discomfort was the right move, he really didn’t know how to comfort crying girls.
“Go away, it’s mine,” she responded petulantly.
“Would you trade for it?” he said, hoping she’d take the bait. Giving anything away for free made people suspicious. And skeptical future followers would make encouraging their beliefs that much harder.
“What for?”
“It’s a secret message. Found it buried in the park. You interested?” Harry said, hoping to play up the mysterious buried treasure act.
“Maybe…” she responded, rightfully skeptical of the strange boy. “What’s it for?”
“It’s the name of a guardian angel!” I whispered excitedly. “If you pray to him enough he helps protect you!”
She didn’t look convinced, so I continued, “It only took a few days before I found these cool new shoelaces. Mine were falling apart before!”
That seemed to impact her, since it seemed she was being teased for a lack of cool girls to show off, whatever girls considered cool. Shoot, I’d need to figure that out fast.
“...Ok fine” she replied, and I dug out a small scrap of paper with Arpeto delicately written in clear letters. She quickly exchanged her apple for it. “Hey! How do you even pronounce this word?”
“I dunno. Don’t think it matters. I think you just need to pray enough to get his attention, then he’ll look out for you. Good luck!”
“Thanks” she murmured, as I was walking away.
It sure would have been nice to make a friend, but Harry steeled his heart. Being a god came before trivial mortal pleasures.
*****
It was less work than he expected to look out for the types of hair clips and wrist bands the girls liked to wear. Harry planned out a heist of the lost-and-found, before worrying he’d lose any of her goodwill if she was caught wearing someone else’s stuff.
That weekend, when Aunt Petunia sent him out to grab more milk at the store, Harry brought some of the stray quid he had collected from the couch cushions and laundry the past few months. It was quiet enough that the shopkeep indulged his separate purchases and he made sure to not lose a penny of his aunt’s change.
Harry left with a few small hair ties, a pack of colorful erasers, a fancy pen, and some stickers.
*****
He was meditating one evening, per usual, when he felt something shift around him. It was subtle enough that it may have been his imagination, especially since he could detect nothing out of the ordinary. The only change could be Emily, the girl he had passed his godly name to a few weeks ago, who had been more cheerful recently. Harry selfishly hoped she was putting faith in Arpeto and that the gifts he’d slipped into her bag, lunchbox, and books were reaffirming her belief in him.
Regardless of the reason, he was happy for her. Hopefully she would attribute enough positive coincidences to Arpeto this summer and become a follower of his.
Harry shook off his thoughts and got back to meditating. He had plenty of work to do.
*****
The summer Harry turned 10, he spent basically any time he wasn’t doing chores practicing his meager divine abilities. Without a domain, he had no easy way to make certain things happen; having never experienced freakishness that could be useful also made it difficult.
He was getting quicker to find his power, but nothing Harry did transformed it into miracles. Thinking of his past strangeness, he tried to turn an old wig blue, or grow out his hair, or teleport onto roofs. Nothing he tried had any results.
After a long while reflecting, he vaguely remembered a cup he cracked repairing and maybe his glasses coming to his hand one time? He tried both types of miracles too. Neither of those were repeatable either.
Those instances must really have been out of the norm, he decided. So Harry refocused his efforts into planning how to grow his followers.
*****
Just before school started, Harry sat worriedly going over his plan. Arpeto was naturally shaping up to have a domain in relation to his role of a guardian angel, which would generally be a great thing. He had used similar tricks on a few other kids at the park, discreetly slipping a few pence or candies into pockets for the positive reinforcement.
However much a pain Aunt Marge may be, Harry could not deny he had learned a few tips from her rants on dog training.
Now he was hoping that his most daring recruitment plan would work.
Dudley was a spoiled bully with a gang of terrible friends, but his aunt and uncle adored him enough that he could be a very valuable follower of Arpeto. The problem was creating a situation that his parents would not catch on and fervently stop. Anything ‘freakish’ that his cousin received would be destroyed, and if he did anything that wasn’t normal they would investigate immediately.
Harry had painstakingly carved ‘Arpeto’ into a small flat stone with a discarded multi-tool he nabbed from Dudley’s second bedroom. It was risky stealing from there, even for something small enough as a swiss army knife. The stone would probably look ridiculous to any adult, but Dudley was no adult. Nor was he particularly sharp either.
He sat in the empty little park on Magnolia Crescent waiting for Dudley and his friends to come along. Unable to decide if Dudley would take the bait easier with or without his gang following along, Harry decided to leave it up to chance.
They arrived soon after, Dudley in the lead chatting with Piers Polkiss, the rat faced twerp who usually held Harry’s arms behind his back while Dudley beat him. He didn’t know the names of the other three goons… one may have been Dennis? It didn’t rightly matter.
When they were close enough to notice Harry, he looked up, startled, as if only just realizing they were there. Rather than acting non-confrontational and polite (the most successful method of avoiding a beating, in his experience), he jumped up and started sprinting back towards Number 4. The gang was surprised before quickly giving chase.
The fastest way back was through the alley to Wisteria Walk, the street one over from Privet Drive. That alley was the reason he planned the confrontation on Magnolia Crescent. Judging by the footsteps behind him, the boys seemed to take Harry bait.
‘Well, bait would imply some type of trap,’ Harry thought. He pretended to accidentally drop the carved stone and dramatically came to a halt. ‘Here I am letting them land a free beating so they think this rock is worth something. The things I do for divinity. I must be going crazy…’
Rather than continue running, like he would normally do, Harry ran back towards the conspicuous stone. The stone that was now at Dudley’s feet. He dove for it, but it was unsurprisingly wrenched free by the group of larger boys.
“What do you have here, Freak?” Dudley said. He squinted at the rock as two of the boys kept Harry from lunging at it.
“Give it back Dudley!” Harry cried.
“It’s just a rock, why would you care so much about it?”
“I need it! It can give me food and treats since you’re fat and eat everything.”
His cousin threw his fist into Harry’s stomach for that comment. That would hopefully pique his interest, though.
“How! Freak?”
“I’ll never tell you!” A few punches later and a single kick to the shin, he feigned giving up.
“Fine! Stop! S’not like it matters, you’ll give up before it works,” Harry said. Dudley did a good job imitating Uncle Vernon as his face visibly purpled. “It’s the name… of a guardian angel. A real one! You believe in him and he’s supposed to help you. Or give presents. I dunno.”
“You think I believe that, freak?”
“Then give it back! Or I’ll tell Aunt Petunia! Didn’t know if he helps freaks but some of the older kids promised it worked.”
“I think I’ll keep it. And you better not tell anyone I have this!” Dudley said with one last shove.
Somehow, that might have actually worked.
*****
The next day, Harry beat Dudley home from school and left a lolly on his bed. It may have been more convincing to get it under his pillow, like the Tooth Fairy, but he was not eager to be caught outside his cupboard at night.
His ruse seemed to work, though, and Harry felt a minor boost of power over the next week. Sneaking shiny new trinkets into Dudley’s stuff, and occasionally the rest of his gang, must have been enough to convince him something was up.
He probably had Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to thank, considering they severely restricted what fantasy toys and games Dudley had to play with. A guardian angel must have been exciting enough to keep the fat lard’s interest without being too freakish to scare him off.
It would probably take a couple of years constantly reaffirming Dudley’s faith, but once he was old enough to get rid of his mountains of old toys there would be plenty Harry could do. At best, he could experiment with the amount of divine power sacrifices provided. A sacrifice from Dudley of his material possessions, of course. If that didn’t pan out they would at least be valuable tools of positive reaffirmation for younger kids only just becoming followers.
Either way, he now had a tentative believer in the Dursley household, which he counted as a major success.
*****
Harry’s last year in primary school went by fairly quickly. He paid much less attention in classes, focusing more on his recruitment efforts. Since he was already being careful not to surpass Dudley’s work his marks didn’t change at all. Dealing with teacher problems was the last thing he wanted.
By Christmas break, he had successfully made Arpeto into somewhat of an urban legend at St Grogory's Primary School. There were no more than three or four people that actually believed in him, if only just, but a good percentage of Grade 5 and 6 held some skeptical belief. Surprisingly, that basically everyone knew the name added a small increase to his divinity as well. It seemed like brand recognition was a universal problem.
He slowly toned down his active interference as summer approached. Answering the occasional prayer, as halfhearted as they were, took no effort, especially when the ‘boon’ was just passing on feelings of comfort and safety. The more intensive schemes that left the school kids thinking Arpeto had led them to a lost coin or given them a new toy had to go, though. He wouldn’t be able to continue when he was in secondary school next year and a sudden end over the summer was less suspicious than a slow decline.
Unfortunately, that did mean his name became less mainstream, as the mortals got easily bored. It was enough to allow him to continue practicing with his divinity, though, and that was enough.
It was more important to save up for trinkets and gifts to be given at his new school than retain some of his more stubborn skeptical believers.
*****
Many of Harry’s plans came crashing down near the end of July.
It wasn’t the strange flood of letters, increasing in number each day. Nor was it their impromptu vacation across the country. The shocking thing that shook up his fairly normal life among the mortals was the massive man breaking down the door just after midnight. On his birthday, no less!
Or the day his mortal body was born, at least. He still was uncertain of his situation.
It seemed that this giant, Hagrid, was a representative for a magical school. Had Harry not been a god, he may have been skeptical, but knowing there were many things beyond the mortals let him take it in stride. Seeing Aunt Petunia's horrified reaction and Dudley’s pigtail just cemented that magic was a thing.
The next morning they took a boat back to the mainland, walked to the underground station, and took the tube towards the shopping center. The whole time, Harry hardly said a word. He struggled to keep track of all his thoughts, much less spare the energy to make polite conversation with the person who basically kidnapped him from the Dursleys. Not that he was going to complain.
It was especially difficult to chat as Hagrid responded to nearly all of his questions with the non-answers of: “Hmm I don’t rightly know” or “Reckon Dumbledore would know that, great man Dumbledore” or “We shouldn’t talk about such awful things” or “I’m sure you’ll learn about that at Hogwarts”.
If he were paranoid, Harry might assume someone was intentionally keeping him uninformed. Hagrid seemed like a family friend though, and a right nice bloke, for a mortal.
That was the crux of the issue which kept Harry preoccupied. These people claimed to be witches and wizards, with powers close enough to his own divinity that he was mistaken for one. They were obviously wrong , since he very clearly felt the impact of worship and the connection to his believers, but if he wasn’t a wizard, maybe they were all godlings too?
He doubted it. They would surely have realized how dependent power is on worshipers and acted upon it already. Maybe they were children or descendants of gods then? It was all too much, there were so many possibilities.
Or perhaps there were those that recognized their divine potential, ancestry, or accidental inclusion in this community. This Dumbledore fellow seemed to have a pseudo-believer in Hagrid, maybe he was experienced enough to gain a hint of power through that?
It would be hardly anything without prayers and real worship, especially since he was clearly referred to as a man , albeit an apparently powerful one. With luck, Harry wouldn’t have to deal with competition in this new untapped market.
*****
The Leaky Cauldron was a dreary old pub that Harry thought made a poor entrance to the magical world. On the other hand, he discovered he was some type of celebrity among these people. It was also apparent that the magicals were just as gullible as Dudley and his gang.
They believed a baby defeated a fearsome magical user at the height of his power? Ridiculous.
Still, his celebrity status and the magicals willingness to believe obvious lies would mean good things for Arpeto.
*****
There was a bank. Run by goblins. What the fuck .
Also, someone else had a key to his vault that was absolutely filled with gold. Gold they kept in a massive pile for some reason. Gold that could have got him away from the Dursleys. Pricks.
Harry did not start yelling about poor vault security if just anyone might have his key, but it was close. The goblin was totally dismissive of his complaints, it was apparently up to Harry to keep his key secure.
He left the bank with pockets filled to the brim, hoping his celebrity status would prevent him from being robbed before he found a luggage store. There was no way he would buy an overpriced Gringotts money pouch now. Stupid goblins.
*****
The shopkeeper at the secondhand trunk store was nice enough to insist he get a secure bag for his tons of massive gold coins. An old wooden box was apparently a poor defense for magical thieves. He gave Harry directions to a fancy enchantment store that he had to bully Hagrid into going to.
Arguing circles around the man was easy enough, especially after he pulled the dead parents card.
He was not so easily swayed at their next stop. Apparently the groundskeeper was determined to keep Harry from wasting his money and outright refused to let him get anything if it wasn’t on the school list.
‘How on earth did Hagrid think a few extra school supplies could possibly dent that huge pile of gold in my vault?’ Harry thought to himself. ‘Or maybe gold is just not worth as much in the wizarding world?’
*****
Harry walked out of Ollivander's, staring at his new wand in wonder. A rush of power had flowed from within when he first grasped the wooden instrument of magic, unlike anything he had ever felt before.
But in the back of his mind, Harry couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. He trained for months to perform even the smallest miracle, or magic to these people, and this little stick had the power to make a bigger reaction than anything he had ever done.
That was the issue. He may have provided the magic for the cool lightshow (as well as the disastrous effects of the poorly fit wands), but it all came down to the wand. Looking around more as they walked towards the Leaky Cauldron, Harry only saw magic when these witches and wizards used their wands. That probably meant Hogwarts was more about teaching students how to manipulate the wand to cause different effects instead of actually improving magical ability.
Harry hoped he was wrong.
It seemed ridiculous! Like he had spent a year and a half training to run a marathon but the entire wizarding world relied on bikes… or even motorcycles! Harry took a few deep breaths to calm down. The mortals probably would need such a powerful focus to perform even the most mundane things, after all.
Just because the mortals were weak did not mean Harry would limit his potential to their level. He breathed a sigh of relief as he followed the enormous man out to normal London. There was a lot he needed to do before school started.
*****
A few days later, Harry made his way back to Diagon Alley to find answers to some of his many questions. Hopefully, he would ideally con a few of the magicals into becoming believers as well. A real follower would provide much more divine power than someone that just believes in him, but better to start slow.
Taking the same tube route that Hagrid sent him home on, Harry managed to find the magical world with little trouble. Reading through his school books last night was not as helpful as he hoped, though the young god was still glad that he convinced his relatives the magicals would know and be unhappy if his school stuff was kept away from him.
Entering the Leaky Cauldron wearing a jumper with the hood pulled up, Harry blindly made his way towards the bar. Getting contact lenses was a much higher priority for times like these that he couldn’t wear his glasses.
“Um… excuse me, sir?” Harry asked the bartender. Tom, if he remembered correctly.
“Aye laddie, what can I do for you?”
“I’m meeting my friends at Diagon, could you open the way for me?” he said, hopefully coming across as desperate enough. He definitely hadn’t forgotten the combination, just didn’t know if he could reach all the bricks.
“Hmm… it's a bit busy today, before school and all…” the barman said, before raising his voice at a nearby patron. “Hey Jones, help this little kid to Diagon, will ya?”
Harry thanked him profusely, before following the other man-shaped-blur towards the back and thanking him as well.
“Sure thing kiddo. It’s the least I could do for you,” he said. That may have been a wink and Harry wondered if his reverse-Superman disguise was compromised. He shrugged and made his way to the bank.
After walking up to a teller slowly counting stacks of gold by hand, Harry hesitated to interrupt and decided to wait for an acknowledgement. It took longer than expected, but eventually the surly creature spat, “What do you want, wizard?”
“Oh… uh, well… are Galleons pure gold?” Harry managed.
“Are you questioning the authenticity of Gringotts currency?” the goblin hissed dangerously.
‘Maybe not the best introduction,’ the boy thought. “Sorry! No, no I just was wondering if I could sell these for normal people money.”
“Ha!” it barked, without any humor. “Muggles won’t buy Galleons, stupid wizard. And you can’t melt them down either! Our counterfeit enchantments prevent that well enough.”
“How do I get normal money if I only have my vault, then?” Harry asked, disappointed that the piles of pure gold seemed to be basically useless.
“Currency exchange, about five pounds per Galleon,” the goblin grunted. “A bit more if you want Galleons, a bit less if you want pounds”
That was… terrible. After hearing the coins were solid gold, he assumed a poor exchange would be at least £100.
The Galleons were massive, almost half a centimeter thick and about four centimeters across, according to the cracked ruler from his school supplies. He had to find the formula to calculate the volume of a cylinder in the library and the price of gold from the recent newspapers. After spending far too long converting those numbers, Harry was elated to find a single coin was worth more than £250, assuming they were solid gold.
They were solid gold. They were not worth £250. Bugger. Apparently, preventing them from being melted down and sold really kept the exchange rate low.
Harry muttered a thank you and left the bank, not willing to change solid gold into normal money at such a loss. He’d have to get essentials in the wizarding world, even if he knew there probably would not be too much difference. Or swallow his pride and lose the gold.
He would keep an eye out if wizarding things were much more expensive than ‘muggle’ equivalents, but for now Harry was going to stay away from the currency exchange.
*****
Finding the small entrance to the Daily Prophet’s office took longer than Harry would have liked. Being stubborn about keeping his glasses off and not going up to anyone for directions probably contributed to that. After almost a quarter of an hour, Harry gave up and put his glasses on. He still didn’t approach anyone, for fear of another mob of ‘fans’.
Entering the office, he saw the papers from the last week or so pinned up on the walls. Skimming the articles, the two most prevalent reporters seemed to be Rita Skeeter and Andy Smudgley.
Skeeter had most of the front page stories, though many seemed like opinion pieces or gossip columns. Certainly a good option, though potentially risky.
Most of the rest were written by Smudgley, who seemed more professional. Harry got distracted reading through his article describing a break-in at Gringotts the day he visited. It was difficult to make out the vault number in the moving picture, but it looked suspiciously like the one Hagrid visited for Dumbledore…
His internal debate about the likelihood that Hagrid conned the goblins and robbed that vault was rudely interrupted, “Can I help you?” A woman said, clearly thinking a child had no business being there.
“Ah yes, I’m here to speak with the editor. Could you show me to their office?” Harry responded.
“And do you have an appointment with Mr Cuffe?” clearly exasperated.
“I believe he would be willing to make time for the boy-who-lived ,” the boy-who-hated-the-title said, not fully hiding his disgust for the name. If all went well today though, he could certainly learn to live with it.
The sudden silence in the office indicated more than one reporter may have been listening to the conversation. The strangled gasp from the secretary/reporter woman would have made Harry laugh if he wasn’t trying so hard to stay serious.
“Oh yes, of course! Grizel Hurtz, pleasure to meet you. It’s an honor, truely! Please follow me.” she said in a much nicer tone than before.
She led him past a handful of desks with eager looking reporters towards the enclosed offices at the back of the room. After knocking on a door with an ‘Editor-in-Chief’ nameplate, there was a muffled “Come in!” from inside.
The woman opened the door and introduced the two before making her exit. “Barney, it is my absolute pleasure to introduce Harry Potter. Mr Potter, meet Barnabas Cuffe.”
The editor looked elated to see him, and quickly offered Harry a seat. After a few quick pleasantries (“Please, call me Barney”), the boy quickly got to business. “So I was reading Modern Magical History to learn about this world and it said that nobody knows how my mum and dad blocked the Killing Curse. I just wanted to tell people and thought a newspaper would be a good place to go.”
Barney sputtered and Harry hid a smile, knowing he had him. “W-wait, you say your parents stopped You-Know-Who!? And why hasn’t Dumbledore said anything before!”
“When would I have told the headmaster?” Harry asked, genuinely confused. “I haven’t started school so obviously haven't met the man yet.”
The way his eyes bulged told the boy there was probably another story there. Luckily, Harry didn’t care what they wrote, so long as the one article he got was perfect.
“Anyway, I wanted to get an article written about how they stopped the Killing Curse, could you help me?”
“YOU KNOW HOW TO STOP THE KILLING CURSE!'' Barney roared animatedly. The editor grimaced when the quills scratching against parchment and quiet conversations from the main room went dead silent. Harry grinned. “Ah sorry, I got excited there.”
“Well I think so. I don’t have much from my mum, and I thought it was all nonsense until I learned magic was real this summe-”
“WHAT!!” he said, somehow even louder. “Sorry… sorry. Nevermind that.”
“Ah yeah. So I really want someone to spread what I know, hopefully all big and on the front page.”
“Oh yes we would love to! Let me just get a reporter in here to interview you,” Barney said.
“Actually, we should talk first.” Harry said, getting worried about losing the upper hand. “I really want it to be perfect so I will need to review the article before it’s published.”
“Hmm… we do not normally allow for that type of censorship…”
“In exchange you can have my exclusive first interview in the wizarding world. I don’t care about reviewing anything else you write.”
“That… yes, I think the Prophet can agree to that…” the editor said. “Let’s go over your terms.”
“I will give you the information needed for the first article, review it once it is written, and it will be a large front page article,” Harry stated. “Then after it is published, I’ll come for my first exclusive interview and you can print what you like.”
“Can you not just give an interview today?” Cuffe pleaded. “It would be so much easier on everyone here.”
Trying to be diplomatic, for outright saying he didn’t trust Barney (or adults in general) would likely not win Harry favors, he delicately said, “I’m sure that an interview with the Boy Who Lived would be pretty popular, so I just wanted to know my article wouldn’t be ignored. It's been ten years, another day can't hurt, right?”
“Hmm… I guess that’s fair” the editor said. He seemed to understand my unstated reason and was not willing to push his luck. “We could always use tomorrow’s article to drum up attention for your interview…”
“Wonderful!” Harry said. “I saw a few articles by Smudgley, he seems like a solid reporter. Or do you think Skeeter’s fans would get more readership?”
“Definitely Rita for your interview…” the man murmured. “Not sure if she would take well to giving you the right to review, let’s ask. RITA! Come in here!”
The door opened immediately and the crowd of reporters started milling around sheepishly. A witch with curly blonde hair stepped in, eyeing Harry like a particular delicious dessert.
“Mr Potter, please call me Rita, it is a pleasure to meet you,” she said daintily. Harry shook her offered hand as she sat in the seat next to him.
“Nice to meet you. Call me Harry.”
The editor muttered something about nosy reporters before pulling out his wand and waving it around. The little background noise from beyond the door immediately cut off, apparently due to some type of silence bubble around them.
“I will assume you heard everything, as usual, so would you be willing to write Mr Potter’s article on stopping the killing curse with him?” Barney asked. “You’ll be interviewing him tomorrow regardless.”
“Oh yes,” she practically purred. “I am quite sure we can manage.”
Harry shrugged and followed her to a nearby conference room to get started. She pulled out her wand and cast a few much longer spells around the room, apparently also to prevent eavesdroppers from getting her scoop.
“So, how did they stop the killing curse,” she said hungrily.
While Harry had prepared for this as best he could, he was still nervous for this important moment. There was nothing about gods or deities or higher powers in any of his school books. The few traditional holidays mentioned were more about worshiping magic or nature. Maybe it was something passed orally though, since none of the titles he skimmed past in Flourish and Blotts seemed religious at all.
That was great news in the long run (no competition), but it could cause issues getting magicals used to the idea that they were not superior to everyone.
There was also the phrasing, Harry had considered describing it as an old spell or ritual prayer, but rituals seemed to be barely mentioned and perhaps a bit taboo. Or illegal, they weren’t clear on that either.
“I’m not sure how known it is in the magical world, but Muggles often worship higher powers. Gods and goddesses and whatnot” Harry explained. Seeing the reporter’s frown he quickly continued, “Nonsense, obviously. Probably came up with it because they don’t have magic.”
The blatant racism in the magical world was very apparent. Or speciesism, if non-magicals were a different species altogether. Harry was more than willing to lie through his teeth to get these mortals to worship him though, so it was no bother. Mortals sure do come up with the strangest ways to feel better about themselves.
“Yes, yes, I do know about muggle religion, those poor things” Rita said.
“Exactly. So, unlike those religions, from what I have of my mother’s it looks like they somehow found the name of a god and were praying to it.”
Rita looked incredibly skeptical, but gestured for him to continue as she scratched down notes.
“I’m not sure if he is a god, or just some higher power, but she was clear that wor- er believing in him gave her blessing,” the god said. It might be too much to get worshipers from stubbornly proud magicals at first, but that could come later. Focusing on what they could get out of it was a trick that would hopefully work equally well for all humans.
She raised an eyebrow and he continued.
“It sounds wild, especially since I didn’t know about magic. Oh… probably best to wait for that in tomorrow’s interview,” Harry added. He saw a significant number of books and paraphernalia about the magical adventures of Boy Who Lived and was not ignorant of the stir knowing he was raised non-magical would cause. “But apparently he’s all about protection and stuff, so praying to him gets you little things like that. Mum wrote that she and dad figured out how to sacrifice something to get a bigger benefit. They wrote about standing against him and sacrificing their lives in the god’s name would be like a super-prayer, and it might protect me.”
He sniffled a bit and felt his eyes watering. Although unsure of his actual connection to his birth parents, it was harder to ignore them now than when he thought they were drunks. Harry certainly didn’t need to fake sadness that they sacrificed themselves for him (or his mortal vessel/prison).
“Knowing what happened, it seems obvious that the plan she wrote about worked. Else I wouldn’t be here,” he said.
The reporter looked much more convinced now. Not as a worshiper, devoted, or even believer, but as someone that could accept that Arpeto might actually exist.
“What’s this god’s name?” she asked, almost reverently.
“Arpeto.”
Harry flinched back in his chair as a wave of power washed over him. A quick reflection and he found his divinity massively increased. Outstripping the benefits from his small handful of non-magical followers a few times over, Rita’s skeptical belief in him was outrageously powerful. That she was an adult compared to children might account for some difference, but for the most part it seemed that magicals would become significantly better followers.
“Tell me more about this Arpeto.” The young boy looked at Rita and matched her shark-like grin.
*****
Harry was on his way back from a fairly long walk around Little Whinging, with a partially filled backpack and a worn swiss army knife. He was looking for sticks of similar size to his wand, since he had no intention of using that horrible crutch. Even thinking about how they would demand he build habits with such a limiting tool infuriated him.
At least he finally found a large enough holly tree. He cut a branch fairly close to the trunk to get a similar thickness to his wand, which meant he now had multiple lengths of holly to choose from. Harry also grabbed similarly sized pieces of wood from other trees as backups if the holly branch did not work out. Harry did not know if the teachers knew the wands and wood types of each student, so he thought it best to mimic his real wand as closely as possible. Hopefully they did not bother doing internal checks on the wand cores.
After the article about the Potter’s faith in Arpeto stopping the killing curse, Harry received a massive influx of power. There were no real followers, and no more than a handful of true believers, but the skeptical acknowledgement of a deity named Arpeto from so many magicals was a major boon.
Speaking of boons, the young god was at an impasse on how to reward these followers. While his personal divinity had grown to almost match the initial burst of magic from the wand, he still had very little impact on his followers. He might be able to impart a small blessing or create a minor reward, but even then, only so long as it fell squarely within his Domain.
Compared to non-magical children, where finding a trinket or having bullies get caught by teachers was enough to completely affirm faith in their ‘guardian angel’, it took a much bigger miracle to phase a magical. They wouldn’t bat an eye at even the most ridiculous things; worse, those few they noticed were attributed to other magicals.
Harry tried a number of minor protection boons before admitting they had absolutely no impact on his believer’s faith. His one greater attempt was to protect one of the more faithful believers when they were being teased by her friend’s brother. The god painstakingly convinced a gaggle of garden gnomes (and what a surprise when he discovered they existed) to dramatically chase the boy into a nearby mud pit, but the creatures’ abnormal behavior was attributed to his older brothers. Menaces.
Eventually, Harry decided that it would be best to wait until he had a better sense of the magical world before stepping up his recruiting attempts. He had stayed away from Diagon Alley after his full official interview, knowing whatever Rita decided to publish after the Arpeto article would make his fans that much more bothersome. Harry frankly didn’t care, he had plenty to do to prepare.
He stopped interacting with the non-magical followers and only gave intentional blessings when he was bored, knowing how insignificant they were to the magicals. Spending the rest of his summer preparing for Hogwarts took up enough time already.
At that point, Harry reached Number 4 and made his way to the backyard to dry his new stick collection out in the shed. With only a couple of weeks before school, selecting and carving his new stick wand was his biggest priority.