The Potter Manor was silent, the early morning light filtering through its vast windows as Toji sat in the library, the soft hum of magic lingering in the air. The room was massive, shelves filled with ancient tomes from every era, the family's magical history tucked away in these pages. Over the past four years, this place had become his sanctuary. Here, Toji had transformed—physically, mentally, and magically.
His once-small, malnourished body had grown taller, leaner, but powerfully built. His muscles were dense, his movements precise and controlled, like a predator waiting to strike. His posture radiated confidence, but not in the arrogant, childish way wizards often carried themselves. No, his confidence was grounded in experience—he moved with the grace and ease of a trained killer. His eyes, the green orbs that had once seemed timid, now carried a dangerous sharpness.
The library had given him far more than knowledge. It had given him power.
For the past four years, Toji had dedicated himself to mastering everything this world had to offer. He'd read through every book he could find in the Potter Manor—works on magic, combat, history, and even noble etiquette. Magic, after all, was just a tool, a weapon, and he had learned how to wield it better than anyone.
From the Potter, Black, and Slytherin libraries, he'd uncovered spells both common and arcane, learning from all schools of magic. The arrogance of wizards was that they divided spells based on house affiliation—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin. Toji didn't care about such divisions. He wanted to master them all.
And he had.
He'd started with basic spells, those that most students would spend years learning at Hogwarts. But Toji wasn't bound by their limitations. He trained relentlessly, pushing himself to cast without a wand, without speaking aloud. His magic responded to his will alone, allowing him to cast silently and with deadly precision.
Non-verbal casting had been his first major breakthrough, something even advanced wizards struggled with. But Toji was no mere wizard. He'd approached magic the way he had approached training in his previous life—with ruthless efficiency. He trained his body alongside his magic, using rituals he'd found buried in old Potter tomes to enhance his physicality and magical prowess. Each ritual had been a grueling test of endurance, but with every one completed, he felt his body grow stronger, more resilient. His magic became sharper, more refined, coursing through his veins like a living force.
Then came combat. Toji's training had never stopped with just magic. He'd learned every form of armed and unarmed combat he could get his hands on, magical or otherwise. He'd studied dueling spells from wizards long dead, practiced with magical creatures, and even used his house-elves as sparring partners when necessary. His time spent learning non-magical combat forms—martial arts, swordsmanship, dagger fighting—combined with his natural talent for fighting gave him a deadly edge.
He wasn't just a wizard. He was a weapon.
And his mind had grown just as sharp. The portraits of his ancestors had taught him about noble conduct, strategy, and etiquette. He had become a master of how to navigate the political world of wizards, to command respect without saying a word. His mental discipline was unmatched, sharpened by constant study and rituals to expand his mind.
Latin had become second nature to him. If he was ever forced to speak his spells aloud, they would be perfect. His voice, precise and controlled, would never butcher the magic. Every spell would strike with lethal accuracy.
Toji had spent these four years investing in both the muggle and magical world as well. Through the vast wealth of the Potter and Black fortunes, he had carefully placed money into rising companies, securing influence and resources. He had made sure that, by the time he entered the wizarding world publicly, he would have power beyond just his magic.
He had crafted an empire in secret.
Now, the time had come. The familiar rustle of an owl's wings broke the silence, and a single letter, yellowed with age, dropped onto the desk in front of him. The Hogwarts letter.
Toji picked it up, his eyes narrowing as he broke the seal. Inside was the standard message, welcoming Harry Potter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His lips curled into a small, satisfied smile.
Finally.
The world had forgotten about Harry Potter—the Boy Who Lived, the orphan, the victim. But when he returned to the wizarding world, they would learn the truth. They had no idea who he truly was now. They had no idea what he had become.
He placed the letter down and stood, his movements smooth and deliberate. His body had changed so much over the years. He was now over 4.8 Feet (ca. 145cm) tall, his muscles lean but packed with strength, his reflexes lightning fast. The rituals he had performed had made him nearly invulnerable to most magical attacks, and his magical core was vast—far beyond what any child of his age should have been capable of.
He had used these four years to master every subject taught at Hogwarts and more. Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts and more. He had perfected them all, studying from the best books, the rarest scrolls.
And no one knew.
The world expected a scared, inexperienced boy to enter Hogwarts. Instead, they would get Toji Fushiguro, a sorcerer killer reborn into the body of a wizard. He had kept his secrets well. No one had seen his progress. Not even Dumbledore.
Toji walked to the mirror hanging on the wall of his bedroom, looking at himself. His emerald green eyes stared back, cold and calculating. His black hair, once unruly, now framed his face in a sharp, almost regal way. He was a far cry from the weak boy who had once lived under the Dursleys' stairs.
He turned away, pulling a cloak around his shoulders. The time for hiding was over. The magical world was about to face something it had never seen before.
The boy they called Harry Potter was gone.
And in his place stood Toji Fushiguro, reborn, stronger than ever, ready to carve his own path in this new world.
He stepped out of the room, heading down to the front hall where his house-elves were waiting. They, too, had sensed the change in him. They treated him like a king—loyal, devoted, and ready to serve without question.
"Prepare my things," Toji ordered. "We leave for Diagon Alley shortly."
The elves bowed deeply, disappearing with a pop to prepare for his journey. Toji smirked, the satisfaction of years of preparation filling him. He had waited for this moment. Four years of planning, training, and mastering every skill available to him.
He would enter Hogwarts not as a boy, but as a force.
The letter had arrived, and the wizarding world was about to meet the true Harry Potter. And they wouldn't know what hit them.