Harry Potter: MageX

Heads Up!

This story has been completely rewritten—new scenes, improved storytelling, and possibly 100% more sarcasm. Because of that, the old version is being removed, and this fresh, upgraded edition is taking its place.

If you've read the previous version, welcome back! Things might look familiar, but expect plenty of changes. If you're new here, you're getting the best version right from the start.

Thanks for sticking around, and I hope you enjoy the new and improved ride!

---

The hospital wing was as quiet as a haunted house, which made the sound of Madam Pomfrey's footsteps echo like someone playing a particularly creepy game of hopscotch. Harry blinked his eyes open, not sure if he was still dreaming or if he'd been knocked out by a really intense game of wizard chess. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls, and his limbs were more sluggish than a giant on a lazy Sunday afternoon. But there was this soft, comfortable hum in his chest—a weird mix of "I'm still alive" and "thank Merlin I'm not in the Chamber of Secrets anymore." So, yeah, that was good.

And then he saw her.

Ginny Weasley was sitting in the chair next to his bed, her red hair glowing like she'd just walked out of a fireproof hair commercial. When her big brown eyes locked onto his, she gasped so loudly that it might've been heard all the way in Hogsmeade.

"Harry!" she squeaked, practically jumping out of the chair like she'd just seen an exploding goblet of firewhisky. "You're awake! Oh, thank Merlin!"

Harry's lips felt like they were made of sandpaper. He opened his mouth and tried to talk, but his voice came out all croaky and wrong—like he was auditioning for a role in a frog choir. "Ginny… what—what happened?" His throat felt like it had been used as a broomstick landing pad.

Ginny's face looked like she'd been holding her breath for a year. "You passed out. Right after—right after you destroyed the diary." She winced at the memory, like she could still hear the bad memories haunting her thoughts. "Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey brought you here. You've been out for hours."

Suddenly, everything came rushing back to Harry. The Chamber of Secrets. The giant snake. The pain of venom coursing through him like it was auditioning to be in a new horror movie. Fawkes singing over him, and that ridiculous diary—Tom Riddle's creepy little love letter to evil. Harry could still feel the heat of the basilisk fang stabbing into it, and the way the words had splintered apart. That felt… satisfying.

"The diary," Harry croaked, his voice cracking like an old broomstick. "It's gone? Destroyed?"

Ginny nodded so quickly that her hair whipped her in the face. "It's gone. You destroyed it, Harry. You saved me."

Now, Harry didn't know whether to feel relieved or worried, but one thing was for sure: Ginny didn't seem okay. She was twisting her jumper in her hands like it was trying to escape, and her gaze kept darting around the room, avoiding his eyes. He could feel something was off.

"Ginny," he said, trying his best to sound calm but also kind of worried, because Ginny was a terrible liar when it came to things like… well, everything. "What's wrong?"

She hesitated like she was about to try and pull off the world's most epic escape. "I'm so sorry, Harry. For everything."

And that right there was the moment Harry realized she wasn't just tired from all the drama. No, something was up. Something big.

"Sorry? For what?" he asked, furrowing his brow, but he wasn't exactly sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"For the diary. For not realizing what it was sooner," she said, her voice shaking like a house of cards in a windstorm. "I— I let it control me, Harry. I hurt people. I put everyone in danger. You could've—could've—"

"Ginny, stop," Harry interrupted, not gently, but firmly, because this was Ginny, and there was no way she was going down the guilt rabbit hole if he had any say in it. He reached out, covering her hands with his, because for some reason, holding her hand felt like the right thing to do. "It wasn't your fault."

"But it was!" she protested, almost sounding like she was about to start crying all over again, which would've made everything even more awkward than it already was. "I trusted it. I didn't tell anyone when things started getting weird. I just— I was so stupid."

"Ginny," Harry said, his voice softer now, but with enough seriousness that she couldn't ignore him. "Riddle tricked you. He used you. You didn't know. None of us knew until it was almost too late. But you fought back. You didn't just give up. And that's what matters."

Ginny sniffed, looking down at her lap like it held all the answers in the world. Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks, but Harry wasn't having any of it.

"I don't know if I can ever make it right," she whispered.

Harry shook his head, squeezing her hand. "You already have, Ginny. You're here. You're safe. That's what matters. And if anyone tries to blame you for what happened, they'll have to answer to me."

Ginny blinked, her eyes still shiny with unshed tears, but now there was a small, hesitant smile forming at the corner of her mouth. "You'd probably hex them into next week, wouldn't you?"

"Probably," Harry said, managing a grin, even though he was feeling about as energetic as a pile of dragon dung. "But only if they really deserved it."

Ginny let out a shaky laugh, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, her face flushing. "Thanks, Harry," she whispered, her voice quiet but grateful.

"That's what friends are for," Harry replied with a smile, leaning back against his pillows. His exhaustion was coming back in waves, but he was kind of okay with that. He could rest. He'd done the impossible. And Ginny—well, Ginny was safe. That was enough for now.

Ginny hesitated for a moment, her eyes lingering on him, and then she nodded. "Yeah," she said, her voice steady now, "friends."

—

The moment Harry snapped out of his thoughts, he realized something was seriously off. It wasn't like the usual "Oh no, another surprise at Hogwarts" kind of off. No, this felt more like the universe had just hit "pause" and was taking a coffee break. The air around him was thick and heavy, like walking through a fog that wasn't fog but something way more ominous—like the kind of fog that makes you think twice about trusting your morning cup of tea.

Harry blinked, trying to clear the weird sensation that had suddenly glued itself to his brain. But when his eyes finally opened, something felt... wrong. He glanced down at his hand, which was hovering in mid-air like it was caught in an invisible freeze-frame. What the—? He tried to reach for his glasses, but it was like his brain had forgotten how to finish that action.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Ginny's voice broke through his daze, and if there had been an award for "Most Concerned Yet Confused Voice," she would've taken first place. He turned to look at her, her face scrunched up in a way that screamed, What now, Potter?

"I… I think something's different," Harry mumbled, voice a little too thick, like he'd woken up from a weird dream but the dream had followed him into real life. He gestured towards his face, trying to explain. "My glasses… I think I don't need them anymore."

Ginny blinked, her eyes wide, clearly debating whether she was hallucinating or if Harry had somehow turned into a walking magic trick. "Are you serious?" she asked. "I didn't even notice. I mean, your eyes… they look… normal?"

"Yeah, I guess?" Harry said, squinting to test the whole "I can see everything without glasses" thing. Everything around him—every little detail, like the grains in the wood of his bedpost or the way the light flickered from the candles—was sharp and crystal-clear, almost unnervingly so. It was like someone had turned on the high-definition setting for his entire world.

Before Ginny could say anything else, the steady sound of Madam Pomfrey's footsteps echoed down the hall, each one sounding more serious than the last, like she was walking toward a medical mystery that needed to be solved before lunchtime. When she entered, her eyes instantly locked onto Harry, her gaze sharp, calculating, like a hawk that had just spotted its prey (except, you know, in a very professional and not-at-all-threatening way).

"Mr. Potter," she said, as if she'd encountered every strange ailment Hogwarts could throw at her, but this? This was new. "Did I hear you correctly? You no longer require your glasses?"

Harry nodded, still not fully trusting his own senses. "Yeah, Madam Pomfrey. I'm not sure how, but everything's clearer now. It's like someone flicked a switch or something."

Madam Pomfrey's eyebrow arched as she observed him, as if Harry had just announced he could juggle flaming swords while riding a hippogriff. "Interesting." With a flick of her wand, a clipboard appeared out of nowhere (seriously, how did she always have that clipboard?), and she began taking notes in a way that made Harry feel like he was a science experiment—and not the fun kind either.

"Sit up, please, Mr. Potter," she instructed, voice firm but still carrying that no-nonsense edge she'd mastered over the years. Harry complied, sitting up straighter than he probably had all day, still trying to figure out what in the wizarding world was going on.

The room suddenly hummed with a strange magic, and Harry couldn't help but feel like he was at the center of some mystical science experiment. As Madam Pomfrey's wand traced patterns in the air, Harry felt a pressure in his chest, like something was being pulled and probed in his very core. But there was no pain. Just… a weird sensation. Like he was being examined by the universe itself.

After what felt like an eternity of magical humming and glowing light, Madam Pomfrey stepped back, her expression equal parts intrigued and "I'm thinking of something important, but I'll still look mysterious while doing it." She cleared her throat. "Well, Mr. Potter, I can find no physical explanation for this sudden change in your vision. It appears to be… magical in nature. Fascinating, really. A transformation, perhaps… or a sudden awakening of dormant power."

Harry blinked. Power? That's when the thousand questions about the Chamber of Secrets, his random bouts of weirdness, and all the other mysteries of his life flooded his brain. Had something from the Chamber triggered this? Was this some long-lost Potter family curse? Or was he just cursed with more weirdness, because why not?

Before Harry could spiral too far into his mental panic attack, Madam Pomfrey, ever the practical one, raised a finger. "For now, Mr. Potter, I suggest you rest. Time will tell if this change persists, but I'd advise caution. If you start sprouting wings or something equally inconvenient, you come straight to me. Immediately."

Harry just stared at her for a moment. Sprouting wings? What was he, a bird?

As Madam Pomfrey left the room, her gaze still sharp but somehow more amused than anything else, she gave him one final piece of advice: "Don't get too used to this new vision of yours. Hogwarts is full of surprises, after all. And you, Mr. Potter, seem to be the biggest one of all."

When the door clicked shut, Harry let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He turned to Ginny, whose eyes were wide, a thousand unspoken questions floating in the air between them.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

"I think so," Harry said, trying to sound more certain than he felt. "But, honestly? I don't think I'll ever get used to this place. Hogwarts really knows how to keep things interesting, doesn't it?"

Ginny smiled, her eyes softening, but there was still a hint of worry there. "Yeah, well, if anyone can handle it, it's you, Harry."

And Harry, for the first time in a while, believed her. Maybe he could handle it. But one thing was certain—life at Hogwarts would never be boring.

—

Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. After Madam Pomfrey's little announcement about his eyesight suddenly working perfectly, the air in the room seemed to thicken, like someone had cast a spell to turn the place into a pressure cooker. And if there was one thing Harry hated, it was feeling like he was in some sort of magical waiting room with no idea what was going on. Ginny was sitting next to him, watching him like he was about to sprout a second head, which, honestly, at this point, wouldn't surprise him.

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked, his voice a little tighter than he'd intended. He didn't want to go on this weird, confusing ride without his best mate. They'd faced everything together—from Voldemort to giant snakes to, well, really awkward family dinners—and Harry wasn't about to start doing this whatever this is without him.

Madam Pomfrey, who was currently fussing with a bottle of something green and slimy (because that's just what you need when you're already in the middle of a mystery, right?), paused and looked up like she'd just heard the most peculiar question in the world.

"Mr. Weasley," she said, as if he were the subject of some famous case study, "is in the Headmaster's Office with Professor Dumbledore and his parents."

Well, that was suspicious. The way she said it made Harry's gut do a weird twist, like he was the only one who didn't have the full picture. He wanted to ask more, but instead, he just let out an irritated grunt. Of course Ron was in some important meeting with Dumbledore while he was left to deal with... whatever was going on with him. Classic.

"Great," Harry muttered, slouching down a little deeper into his bed. "Another meeting where I'm the last to know anything. Perfect."

Ginny squeezed his hand, a small but solid gesture that told him, I've got your back without saying it out loud. It was like she was a built-in shield against his ever-growing frustration. He felt a little of the tension in his chest ease up. A little.

"Don't worry, Harry," Ginny said, her voice a soft but firm anchor in the sea of his racing thoughts. "You'll figure it out. You always do."

She was right. Of course, she was right. But this was different. There was something about his eyesight changing overnight, and the weirdness in the air, and the fact that Ron was stuck in a meeting while the world seemed to be slowly tilting sideways.

Harry turned to Madam Pomfrey, who was giving him that look again—the kind that said she knew something he didn't, but wasn't going to spill the beans. Honestly, it was a miracle she didn't have her own secret vault full of "stuff Harry should know, but doesn't yet."

"What's going on, Madam Pomfrey?" Harry asked, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Why does it feel like the world is holding its breath? Everything's... different."

Madam Pomfrey didn't flinch. She just stared at him with those hawk-like eyes of hers. It was almost like she could see through him, as if he were an open book, but one of those books that you kind of hoped didn't have a return policy.

"I'm not sure, Mr. Potter," she said slowly, like she was trying to puzzle out the words that wouldn't break the entire world open. "But I suspect... something beyond ordinary magic is at play."

Great. That's just what Harry needed. He didn't know whether to be terrified or intrigued by the idea of something beyond ordinary magic. But judging by the way his stomach did that weird flip, he was leaning more toward "terrified."

As for the rest of her words, they kind of hung in the air, like she had an entire book of things she wanted to tell him but was keeping it locked up in her vault of secrets. Harry could practically hear the "Don't worry about them, worry about yourself" message that was left unsaid.

Ginny squeezed his hand again, her smile small but reassuring. "We'll figure it out, Harry. Whatever it is, we'll face it together."

And that was the thing—no matter how messed up things got, Harry had Ginny. She always seemed to know the right thing to say, like she had a special Harry Potter manual she pulled from when he was being an idiot. He smiled back, though his mind was still racing with questions.

"Yeah, you're right," Harry said, trying to find that confident spark inside him. "We've faced worse. We'll get through this too."

Madam Pomfrey, looking like she had just won some silent battle with herself, finally spoke up again, as if Harry's talk of heroics had been enough to make her deliver a bit of a warning.

"I suggest you rest, Mr. Potter," she said, with that wry smile that only she could pull off. "And don't go running off to test your newfound vision on anything dangerous. The last thing I need is another Harry Potter special injury."

Harry couldn't help it; he snorted. It was true—he had a tendency to throw himself into dangerous situations without thinking. He gave her a mock salute. "Don't worry, Madam Pomfrey. I'll leave the heroics to someone else for a change."

"Good," she said, with a grin that was too knowing for her own good. "For once, I'd like to be the one to patch you up before your next adventure."

As she left the room, Ginny remained, her steady presence next to him. The mystery of his eyesight, the strange weight of the room, the unspoken secrets, and Ron's mysterious meeting all swirled in Harry's mind. But with Ginny at his side, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He wasn't alone in this. Not yet, anyway. And maybe that was the one thing he needed to hold onto for now.

—

Harry's heart was doing this weird, nervous tap dance in his chest as he turned back to Madam Pomfrey. There was this constant buzzing in his head that said, You need to see Hermione, right now. It was like the universe had decided to prank him by throwing him into another high-stakes situation. Honestly, could a guy just have one normal day at Hogwarts without feeling like his life was on the line?

"Madam Pomfrey," he said, trying not to sound too much like a needy puppy (even though he totally felt like one), "can I see Hermione?"

Madam Pomfrey gave him that look—the one adults use when they're trying to be calm, but it's basically a big flashing sign that says, I'm going to tell you something important, but don't freak out, okay? Her smile was soft but firm. You know the kind of smile that says 'I know more than I'm letting on, but I'll spare you for now.'

"Of course, Mr. Potter," she said in that soothing voice of hers that could talk a crying baby into taking a nap. "Come along."

As they approached Hermione's bed, Harry could barely breathe. She looked so pale, so still. It was like she was made of porcelain, and every part of him screamed that she wasn't supposed to be like this. She was Hermione. She was always so strong, so brilliant, so alive. This... this felt wrong. Too wrong. And for a second, it hit him that maybe he couldn't fix this.

He reached for her hand, and it was like touching ice. Cold. Too cold. He froze, feeling a tight knot of panic twist his stomach. Not this. Not her.

But before he could do anything drastic, something happened. A little twitch of her fingers. Just a tiny one. It was like magic—no, wait. It was magic. Harry's pulse skipped a beat. The warmth in his hand grew, spreading up his arm, as though Hermione's lifeforce was waking up in response to... whatever this was. Magic? A freak accident? A weird side effect of whatever crazy thing he'd been up to lately? All options on the table.

"Hermione?" he whispered, because what else could he say? He was still trying to process the fact that she was... moving? "It's me, Harry. Just wanted to see how you're doing."

Her fingers twitched again, and then—wait for it—she sighed. A real, honest-to-Merlin sigh. Harry actually choked on his breath, and if anyone had told him he'd be having an emotional breakdown in front of Madam Pomfrey, he'd have laughed. Except, right now, all he could do was grin like a goofball.

"Merlin's beard!" Madam Pomfrey gasped under her breath. For a second, Harry was ready for a full-on medical crisis because he thought she might faint from the shock. But then, Hermione's eyelids fluttered open, and Harry saw it—the confused, half-sleepy look that said, I'm in a hospital, and I have no idea why.

"Madam Pomfrey? Harry?" Hermione's voice was weak, but just hearing it was enough to make Harry feel like he'd won the lottery of good things. "What… what happened?"

And Harry, being Harry, practically shouted, "Hermione! You're awake! You're really awake! I thought you were gone forever!" He was a bit too loud, but hey, it was a huge deal. His best friend was alive. That deserved a dramatic reaction.

Hermione blinked a few times, processing his words slowly. "Thank you, Harry," she said softly, still sounding kind of out of it, but there was something in her eyes that made Harry's stomach do another flip. "I don't know what happened… I don't remember much."

Now Harry was the one with the not sure what just happened face. He looked at his hand, still glowing like it had just absorbed the sun, and muttered, "I… I don't get it. How did I do that?" He looked at Madam Pomfrey, whose gaze was somewhere between impressed and, well, mystified.

"Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, clearly trying to keep her cool, but he could see the spark of awe in her eyes. "It seems you have a special gift. One that allowed you to heal Miss Granger."

Harry blinked at her, his brain doing a quick double-take. "Special gift? Me? I'm Harry Potter. Not exactly 'Healer Extraordinaire.'"

Ginny, who'd been standing by quietly, finally chimed in. "Maybe it's like what Dumbledore always says: 'It's our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.' You've always been the one who helps others, even when you don't know how."

Harry stared at her for a second. How did she make something so deep sound like a casual truth bomb?

"Yeah, well," Harry said, glancing at his glowing hand like it was an alien artifact, "I didn't exactly sign up for magical healing powers. Still figuring that one out."

Madam Pomfrey, always the professional, gave a soft smile. "For now, Mr. Potter, I think you've done enough. Let's let Miss Granger regain her strength."

As she turned to leave, Harry stayed by Hermione's side, watching her carefully. She wasn't fully awake yet, but she was alive. And right now, that was more than enough.

And as Harry held her hand, he found himself thinking, What else am I capable of? Because if this was just the beginning, then Harry Potter was about to go on a very wild ride.

—

As Harry stood there, still trying to make sense of the whole Hermione miracle (which, let's be honest, felt like the magical equivalent of a plot twist from one of those weird sci-fi movies Dudley used to watch), the door to the Hospital Wing creaked open. In walked Albus Dumbledore, looking like the wise wizard equivalent of a guy who's seen too many plot twists in his day. He was followed by the Weasley crew—Ron, Mrs. Weasley, and Mr. Weasley—all looking like they'd just been hit by a truckload of emotions.

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with that twinkle of his, the one that made Harry wonder if the old guy had a secret stash of magic tricks up his sleeve, or maybe a few too many Firewhiskeys. His gaze swept across the room, settling on Harry, and Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Dumbledore wasn't just here for the show, he was here because he knew something.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, his voice as smooth as butter on a summer's day. "It seems I've arrived just in time."

Right, Harry thought. Perfect timing, as always. Honestly, the guy might as well be the poster child for dramatic entrances. He could've burst in on a flying carpet and Harry wouldn't have batted an eye.

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry began, his voice coming out a little less confident than he'd intended, "what's going on? Is everything okay?"

Before Dumbledore could open his mouth, Mrs. Weasley shot forward like a cannonball, arms wide and looking like she was about to hug the life out of him. Her voice trembled as she spoke. "Oh, Harry dear, we heard what happened! We're so thankful you brought Ginny back to us. We were all so worried…"

Well, that was a lot. Harry could barely process it all. Ginny. Saved her. What happened? And what was up with all the emotional mush? He half-expected Mrs. Weasley to pull out a tissues factory next.

Mr. Weasley, ever the steady rock in all this madness, gave him a warm, comforting smile and slapped Harry on the shoulder like they were sharing a big joke only they knew about. "Indeed, Harry. You've done something truly extraordinary. We'll never be able to repay you for what you did for Ginny."

A little awkward, but okay. Harry was kinda proud of himself, but also, what the heck had just happened?

Mrs. Weasley finally let go of him, pulling back with a watery smile, though she looked like she might burst into tears at any second.

"We've missed you, Harry. We just didn't know how much until we almost lost you all."

Great. Now he was officially the center of attention for everyone in the room. He felt like he was being put under a microscope.

But before Harry could respond, Dumbledore, who had clearly been watching this whole scene unfold, cleared his throat. "Harry, my boy," he said, as if everything had just gotten incredibly serious (which, let's face it, it probably had), "I couldn't help but notice Miss Granger's remarkable recovery. Tell me, how did she awaken from her petrified state?"

Harry paused, trying to process that one. "Well, I'm not exactly sure, Professor," he admitted, scratching his head. "It felt like something inside me just… clicked. Like instinct. I didn't really think about it."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but his gaze turned sharper, like he'd just gotten a little too interested in what Harry had said. "Instinct, you say? Fascinating." He rubbed his chin like he was trying to figure out a particularly tricky puzzle. "It seems, my boy, that you've unlocked a power—a gift of healing, perhaps—beyond your conscious understanding."

Healing? Harry almost laughed. Healer? Him? If by healing, Dumbledore meant making things more awkward than they already were, then sure, Harry was the best healer on the planet.

But before he could voice his confusion, he felt it—the tingling feeling on his forehead. He reached up and froze. The lightning-shaped scar that had been part of him for as long as he could remember was gone. Just like that. He blinked and pressed his fingers against the smooth skin. "What—what happened to it?" he whispered.

Dumbledore's gaze deepened, the twinkle fading into something more serious. "Ah," he said, his voice taking on a note of intrigue. "It seems your scar has disappeared. And with it, a rather significant piece of your past."

Harry blinked again. "What does that even mean?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly, rubbing his chin like he was trying to figure out if this was the moment to reveal all of his carefully kept secrets. "Symbols, Harry. Scars, markings, they're representations of something deeper. And now, your scar has faded, like a shadow that's been cast aside."

Harry's head was officially spinning. "So… what does that mean for me?"

Before Dumbledore could answer, Mrs. Weasley's brow furrowed with concern. "Albus, what are you saying? Is Harry in danger?"

"Not danger, Molly," Dumbledore reassured, his voice gentle but firm. "But a journey of discovery. These changes Harry is undergoing might require a guide, someone who can help him understand what's happening."

"Who's this guide, Professor?" Ron asked, looking more confused than a boggart in a mirror.

Dumbledore gave a smile that was both knowing and reassuring. "A colleague of mine. Someone who runs a school, though it's a bit different from our own. A place where individuals with unique talents are trained. His name is Professor Charles Xavier."

The room went quiet. Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Xavier? Who is that, some sort of super teacher?"

"Exactly," Dumbledore said with a nod. "Someone who can help Harry understand these changes. But remember, Harry must choose. No one can force him into anything."

As Dumbledore's words echoed in the room, Harry felt a tug of uncertainty. He wasn't sure what the right thing to do was. But one thing was for sure—his life had just gone from weird to what the heck is even going on right now?

---

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