Harry Potter stood in front of the mirror taking in his own features. Lifting his chin he traced the lightning bolt shaped scar that sat in the middle of his throat.

It had been a parting gift from the Dark Lord Voldemort before the Killing curse rebounded off the Boy-Who-Lived and obliterated his body. It really was a shame that the bastard had refused to die and had been resurrected in his fourth year. It was also a shame that it had left him a mute Harry thought bitterly.

The curse left scar tissue that pressed against his vocal cords and hampered his breathing. Unfortunately the Healers had to take the cords to get to the scar tissue, rending him mute for life.

Letting out a light sigh, Harry thought it better to not dwell on things he couldn’t change. Renewing his self assessment with his right arm, Harry fixed his gaze on the jagged scar circling his shoulder. Pain filled memories flowed as he remembered losing his arm in the final battle. Luck had been on his side and they had been able to reattach it shortly after the battle's conclusion. Death had been close all his life, but for the first time Harry had thought his time had been up when his arm had been torn off by another curse Voldemort had thrown his way.

Harry shook his head to clear it from the memories of the dark times that had passed. He continued looking at the various scars he had collected during his years at Hogwarts. Countless scars littered his body. Some of them from burns, some from curses, and a few from fist fights. Very few of the many scars could be claimed as accidental. Most had been from learning experiences in life. The ones on his knuckles brought back memories of his first year, and first encounter with Voldemort.

His first year with Voldemort taught him a lesson. He had no control. That Harry was a child fighting in a grown up world. That he could almost died in a fight he won by pure luck. In the hospital wing Harry broke down, from the feelings of fear, rage, and the pain he had felt when fighting Quirrel, and wept. After Harry came out of it, he resolved that he wouldn’t ever let himself be weak. He would strive to have to strength to protect his friends and himself from Voldemort.

He had never been a slouch in his studies before, but the next year he redoubled his efforts. Being mute had drawbacks on his casting abilities. Having to start out silently casting in the magical world made even the simplest spell ten times harder, but Harry practiced until he got the spells perfect. He never was the first to cast it successfully. In fact, he was almost always last, but once he had the spell down flawlessly, it was incomparable to most other students in a range of years.

Voldemort’s resurrection taught Harry his next lesson; that the body is fragile. Seeing another weakness in himself drove Harry to sculpt his body from what was a skinny boy into a six foot, thirteen stone, ball of hard muscle. Where he was once wiry and small he now stood lean and on the edge of stocky. And while hormones and physiology took most of the credit for his size, it was only accomplished through hard work. Every opportunity Harry had, he would help the Hogwarts Grounds Keeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Rubeus Hagrid, with odd jobs here and there. Moving animals and cages around, helping collect items in the Forbidden Forest, and other sorts of physical activities built him into a rough and physical man.

After the Department of Mysteries and the death of his godfather, Sirius, Harry was taught his third lesson; that the mind could be broken and taken. To his credit Harry took to Occulemency rather quickly. Ecstatic that he had found a branch of magic that didn’t require silent casting, Harry was able to fortify his mind well enough to buy some time by his seventeenth birthday.

Brought back to the world of the living by the soft snoring of his roommates, Harry scratched his head. A blast of fire in the final battle had taken enough off that Harry decided to keep it short. Rubbing his tired face, Harry took a final glance his nude form in the mirror, and walked back to his bed.

Smirking at the form lying on his bed as she breathed lightly in and out, Harry gave her a small shake. The brunette let out a small groan and then continued to sleep. After a couple more shakes with the same results, Harry let out a slight huff, and yanked the covers off the girl. Still nothing happened. Now thoroughly annoyed with the girl that could sleep through an act of God, Harry took one glance at the pert little bottom and delivered a sharp slap to one of her cheeks.

The tan skinned brunette let out a yelp and promptly fell out of bed.

As the girl rose she rubbed her abused rump. “Ow. What did you do that for, Harry? I’m not up for another round. Why couldn’t you let me sleep?” Still in the tired haze of being awakened abruptly, the girl didn’t notice that her shout had roused the rest of the room's occupants.

Harry calmly pointed to the clock and jabbed a thumb at the door.

Realization dawned on the girl and she let out a squeak and hurriedly tried to pull on her clothes.

“Hey, Su Li, nice tits!” A voice called out as she was buttoning her pants.

Flushing the Ravenclaw clutched her shirt to her chest and sprinted out the boy’s dormitory, with the sound of laughter and catcalls chasing after her.

The laughter died down and as Harry was climbing into his bed he heard Ernie MacMillan ask, “Hey Potter, was that a hand print on Su Li’s ass?”

Giving a smile and a nod in the affirmative, Harry settled back into the sheets. As he drifted off to sleep he couldn’t help hear a conversation.

“He’s had it pretty rough, but who wouldn’t want to be Harry Potter, twin to the Boy-Who-Lived?”

Letting out a snort of disdain, Harry rolled over. And as he fell asleep he sarcastically thought, 'Who indeed?'

Sunlight shone directly on Harry’s face causing him to throw an arm over his eyes to block the assault on his body’s much needed rest. Wiping a hand across his face to sweep the last remnant of sleep away, Harry swung his feet off the bed. Stretching his chest until he heard a series of pops that released a pressure in his back, Harry pushed off of the bed and started toward the loo. Scratching himself, Harry stepped into his shower stall and started the water. Letting the water fall over him, Harry rubbed his reattached arm. Phantom pangs rocked through it every once in a while, and as Harry watched the arm’s muscles lightly spasm, a memory had him break out into a grin. He didn’t have a clue why he had thought of it, but watching his wand arm brought back the memory of a second year’s innocent question.

“H-Harry Pot-tt-ter, sir?” A small second year asked as he sat timidly in front of Harry.

Finishing his bite, Harry turned a questioning gaze towards the tiny boy.

Looking towards his friends the second year gathered his courage. “How did you get such big muscles?”

Grinning to his friends before turning back to the boy sitting in front of him, Harry simply raised his hand and closed his as if holding a goblet. The boy watched mesmerized as Harry moved his hand in a jerking motion.

After a few motions, Harry went back to eating his breakfast.

“That’s it?” The second year questioned skeptically. “That’s all it takes to get all big and muscely like you?”

“Of course it isn’t. It takes years of practice to get that good. Thrice a day, right before meals and soon you’ll be on your way to being as big as Harry. Maybe even bigger. Potter here didn’t start ‘practicing’ till last year. It’s how he got so good with his wandwork also. Hell, it’s the secret practice all the greats use. How do you think Dumbledore got to be such a great wizard?” Ernie MacMillan responded to the boy.

Wide eyed the boy turned and look at the Headmaster, who, to the fortune of the sixth year boys, was presently stroking his beard while talking. Turning back quickly the small boy excitedly rushed out a thank you to Harry and ran off to his friends and promptly showed them the technique to grow big and strong.

Upon seeing the naïve boy demonstrate the motions, the elder Hufflepuffs erupted in laughter.

Their laughter only multiplied when the Head of House, Pomona Sprout, caught sight of the set of boys making the crude gesture in the air. With a scandalized look, she set out to stop the boys’ actions.

Taking the professor's distress as his cue to leave, Harry took a roll smothered in jam and walked out with a few of his friends following.

A petite red head matched his stride.

'Check that a petite red head with a nice set on her. Sweet Merlin, at least the girl would never have to worry about drowning.' Harry thought to himself as he glanced at the girl.

“You’re just terrible, Harry Potter. Whatever will we do with to straighten you out?” Susan Bones questioned Harry as she giggled.

Harry stopped and looked Susan in the eyes. Raising an eyebrow in a silent question, Harry soon found his answer. Flushed features, generous amounts of cleavage, and small bumps straining against soft fabric were a fairly good tip off of what she was imagining to ‘straighten him out’ so to speak. A jerk of the head and she took a hold of his proffered arm and they were off to the dorms, leaving the rest behind as they raced to more private quarters.

A quick change to cold water, and Harry brought himself out of his memory. 'Don’t have time to think about that right now, best be off Harry.'

Dressing in grey slacks, Harry sat down to put on his good black shoes. Normally he wouldn’t bother taking the time to do everything himself. He usually just magicked everything to be just right, but for some reason he felt like today would be a good day to take the time to do it himself. After putting on the rest of the uniform, Harry made his way down to breakfast in the Great Hall.

Harry never expected the attack to come from right in front of the doorway to the hall.

Pushed forward and bent over, Harry found himself in a headlock. The man squeezed relentlessly and Harry could feel the beginnings of unconsciousness creeping up on him. In a quick succession of motions Harry moved so his knees were under his chest and pulled on the legs of attacker, picking him up. Positioning his head to where his ear lay firmly in the man’s belly Harry ran forward and slammed them both into the wall.

The force of the blow loosened the attacker’s grip enough to where Harry could slip his head out. Letting the man drop to the ground, Harry gathered himself and punched the assailant in the stomach. Receiving a satisfying ‘Oomph’, Harry pushed the man away, and jumped back to discover who would blatantly assault him in front of the Great Hall.

Turning to face Harry, the attacker withdrew his wand while holding his stomach with the other hand.

Recognizing the face in an instant, Harry scowled and pulled out his wand.

'That cunt! It fucking figures that he would do something like that today.' Harry furiously thought.

Opposite Harry stood an almost mirror image of himself. Only about two stone lighter, longer hair, and a lightning bolt scar crossing from his brow to under his right eye.

Flicking his wand in an annoyed manner, red letters flashed in the air, “Good morning, Thomas.”