[Time-Skip]
Three years later, and I was eight years old. It's funny how time can feel both painfully slow and blindingly fast at the same time. Each day had been a grind—a mix of training, experimenting, and trying to understand the limits of my abilities. And yet, here I was, looking back at everything I'd done and realizing how far I'd come.
But progress came with a price.
The first thing I learned over the past two years was that even with Occlumency and the Sharingan, my mind wasn't invincible. I might've built a fortress in my head, but every fortress has cracks—and mine was starting to show.
The problem wasn't the magic or the physical training. Those were hard, sure, but manageable. It was the Sharingan. As incredible as it was, keeping it active drained me in ways I hadn't expected. At first, I thought the exhaustion was purely physical, like the way running leaves your muscles sore. But over time, I realized it was more… mental.
Every time I activated the Sharingan, I felt a subtle pressure building in the back of my mind. It wasn't painful, exactly, but it was constant, like trying to hold a heavy book above your head for hours. The longer I kept it on, the more it weighed on me. By the end of an intense training session, my thoughts felt sluggish, my focus frayed. Even Occlumency couldn't completely shield me from the strain.
Still, I pushed through. What choice did I have? The Sharingan wasn't just a tool; it was a part of me. Ignoring it would be like ignoring a limb. So, I adapted.
One of my biggest breakthroughs came when I finally figured out how to lift two objects at the same time. It wasn't easy. For months, every attempt ended in failure. The objects would wobble, collide, or just drop like dead weight. But I didn't give up. I kept experimenting, tweaking my approach.
The key turned out to be the Sharingan.
By using it to track the exact position and movement of each object, I could anticipate their shifts and adjust my magic in real time. It was like juggling, but instead of relying on muscle memory, I relied on pure observation. With the Sharingan's help, I could see the tiniest details—the way the air shifted around a floating book, the minuscule tremors in its movement. It was exhausting, sure, but it worked.
Sort of.
The problem was, I had to keep the Sharingan on the entire time. The moment I deactivated it, everything fell apart. The objects would drop, and I'd be left panting, my head pounding from the effort. It was a frustrating limitation, but at least it was progress. Two years ago, I couldn't even hold an eraser steady. Now, I could keep two chairs floating for a solid thirty seconds—as long as I didn't blink.
Despite the progress, there were days when I felt like I wasn't doing enough. I'd look at the other kids in the orphanage, running around, laughing, living their lives without a care in the world, and I'd wonder if I was missing out. But then I'd remember why I was doing all this. Why I had to keep pushing.
Hogwarts.
The thought of it consumed me. The castle, the classes, the magic—it was all I could think about. Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined myself walking through the Great Hall, wand in hand, surrounded by other young witches and wizards. The longing was almost unbearable.
But it wasn't just about the magic. It was about the future. Hogwarts was my ticket to something bigger, something better. A chance to leave this orphanage behind and make a name for myself. To prove that even a Muggle-born kid with no family could achieve greatness.
One night, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I made a decision. If I was going to Hogwarts, I needed a plan. No more drifting through each day, hoping for the best. I needed to be ready. Completely and utterly prepared.
The first step was figuring out the year. It wasn't something I'd thought about before. Time in the orphanage was a blur, with days blending into weeks and months. But now, it felt urgent. If I was going to be ready for Hogwarts, I needed to know how long I had.
The next morning, I slipped into Mrs. Thompson's office under the guise of helping her tidy up. As she sorted through papers, I casually glanced at the calendar on her desk. The year was 1988.
1988
That meant Harry Potter was eight years old, just like me. Three years left until Hogwarts. Three years to master my magic, refine my skills, and prepare for whatever challenges lay ahead. It wasn't a lot of time, but it was enough. It had to be.
With the timeline set, I started making lists. Goals, priorities, things I needed to accomplish before my letter arrived. The first item on the list was obvious: magic. As much as I'd improved, I was still a long way from where I wanted to be. Lifting two objects was a start, but it wasn't enough. I needed to push the limits of what I could do, to experiment with new techniques and spells.
The second item was physical training. Over the past two years, I'd built a strong foundation, but I wasn't about to stop now. If anything, I needed to double down. A strong body meant a strong mind, and I'd need both to survive in the wizarding world.
The third item was knowledge. The orphanage's library might've been small, but it was packed with useful information. Encyclopedias, history books, even outdated science manuals—I devoured them all. Every scrap of knowledge, no matter how trivial, could be useful. Who knew when I might need to calculate the velocity of a falling object or identify the properties of a rare herb?
And finally, the fourth item: strategy. Hogwarts wasn't just a school; it was a battlefield. Between rival houses, secret plots, and the ever-present danger of Voldemort's return, I'd need more than just magic to survive. I needed to be smart, to think ahead, to always stay one step ahead of everyone else.
Over the next few months, I threw myself into the plan. Every day was a careful balance of training, studying, and experimenting. I woke up before dawn to squeeze in an extra hour of practice before breakfast. I stayed up late reading by the dim light of a candle, my infinite memory ensuring I never forgot a single word.
The strain was enormous. There were nights when I collapsed into bed, my body aching and my mind spinning with exhaustion. But I refused to stop. I couldn't stop. Not when Hogwarts was so close.
By the time my eighth birthday rolled around, I felt… different. Stronger. Sharper. More focused. The Sharingan, once a tool I barely understood, was now an integral part of my training. I used it to refine my movements, to analyze the flow of magic, to push myself further than I ever thought possible.
But the toll it took on me was undeniable. There were days when the strain left me dizzy, my vision swimming as I tried to keep the Sharingan active for just a few minutes longer. Occlumency helped, but only to a point. It was like pouring water into a leaking bucket—no matter how fast I worked, some of it always slipped through.
Still, I pressed on. Because for every setback, there was progress. Small, steady steps forward. Objects that once felt immovable now floated with ease. Spells that had seemed impossible now sparked to life with a flick of my fingers. And through it all, the thought of Hogwarts kept me going.
Three years. That was all the time I had left. Three years to prepare for the biggest adventure of my life. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's this:
I'm ready for it.