I don't know, I feel like witches and wizards deliberately keep themselves ignorant of muggle technology in a 'look at what they need to mimic a fraction of our power' sort of way. Why have plumbing when you can just vanish your excrement? It would definitely make for a cool story, but wizards getting to mars without needing to use any sort of modern science or technology would be much cooler imo.

 

That is pretty easy to do and would be honestly more interesting than canon, where they adapt things at random a few decades behind or about that, it just hits the issue of being so different you need to make it all up.

Only if they commit to it and eschew all muggle technology, no exceptions whatsoever. Anything a muggle could reasonable make, or method they could make use of, (before wizards) is not acceptable.

Which I admit I am having trouble with in practice. Language I guess illusions and talking mind-to-mind with made-up scenes and tweaked memories sorta works? A child getting to that point is when they are considered a real wizard presumably. But what about objects and buildings? Obviously near all of those wouldn't be acceptable so would wizards just have their wands and are supposed to do everything through them, with a block of conservatives that think this 'wand' thingy is too muggle but the sheer disparity of efficacy keeps them a tiny niche group.

A good chunk of wizards would be seen as magical creatures/races in canon HP because they think it unacceptable to share such a similar body to muggles and the various different strands of thoughts go about it in a myriad different ways(including obviously the 'murder them all' ones). Probably a large overlap with the anti-wand block since additional abilities would narrow the gap.

Something like potions might still exist and looked upon very poorly, but the uses are too tempting so there is a black market those exist in.

You know what that does sound pretty damn cool. Also very very hard to consider everything that would be disqualified, I ended up going along the lines of 'look back six thousand years ago and anything close to what humans already had back then' but left wands in because they are so useful hypocrisy would let them become dominant. For more out there settings just remove that too and/or go even further with wizards magically altering themselves.

 

I once read a fic where Harry receives a vision of the end of the world and spends years trying to convince wizardkind they need to leave Earth. He gathers a following and begins developing the charms needed for interstellar travel. They build a space ship that they sit on top of two gigantic broomsticks and leave Earth. The sequel turned into a Star Wars crossover -_-

 

Just had an amusing idea where canon Harry wakes up in a wBWL universe filled with all the tropes and cliches and his reactions to it all.

I’m actually surprised more people haven’ done more like that. Canon Harry finding himself in tropey genre fics.

 

Voldemort is dead. But he had taught Bellatrix everything he knew, and she is in charge now. Muhaha.

 

Long Cool Woman in a Green Dress draft C(from an old monthly challenge prompt)

Knockturn Alley shouldn't have felt so comfortable this late in the evening, but he found himself at ease as he walked along the well-tread path of his beat. His eyes passed over the bloody doorways, the runes half-scribbled, half-burned into the brickwork, the skulking figures who retreated from his line of sight as soon as they recognized the red of his Auror robes, and he only felt like laughing. So many theatrics to uphold their reputation.

Who were these people compared to Death Eaters?

Perhaps in his youth, as a stupid schoolboy whose biggest threat was Severus Snape and the occasional glimmer of a Dark Lord who could not bear to touch him directly, this place had appeared to be a nest of the vilest practitioners of the foulest magicks known to man.

Somewhere that even one wrong misstep would lead to a quick and painful death.

He could have laughed at how young and painfully naive that schoolboy was. He'd seen real torture in the war. He'd seen what it meant to suffer pain, and death never came quickly for his friends and allies. Nor at all for him, as fate had declared.

Most of these shadowy witches and wizards eking out a living here were nothing more dangerous than the social outcasts from brighter, well-beloved Diagon Alley. They couldn't spell their way past a mountain troll, let alone a seasoned Auror.

What would they do if he decided to act out on one his wryer moods and level the entire Alley? Just reduce all and sundry to bare earth again?

Nothing, that's what.

But he never acted on that notion.

For one, he still thought of himself as a man of honor. There was no honor in killing the weak and defenseless, not even these knock-off Dark practitioners. He'd seen the similarities between Voldemort and himself all too often growing up to ever take that oft times easy path, though his honor hadn't kept him from taking other actions he would have flinched back from as a schoolboy.

For another, the Ministry had its uses for a place where all of the stray elements of society gathered. Let them play at their reputation. It just made things that much easier when he did act on his duties, and tonight, he was here to do just that.

At the end of the Alley stood one of the few reputable joints to spring up after the war, Lester Lamour's Sullen Siren. It wasn't the only nightclub in Knockturn. Just the only one to employ pure-blood witches down on their luck. And one was about to discover that hers had run out.
The hired wands out front watched him approach with stony expressions. One held up a hand to block him from stepping through the veil between them.

He raised his head to the spotty lamp light overhead, letting his old scar catch the yellow rays. "Remind your boss that a debt is due," he said. "And I'm not going to wait out here to collect on it for much longer."

No matter how dim these overgrown gargoyles were, they recognized his features. There was hardly a more famous man alive in all of England except for the Minister himself. "Be a minute, Auror Harry."

"Make it quick."

One of them disappeared into the building. He felt a ping off of his senses soon thereafter, and the old thrill of the hunt beckoned him onward.

"Time's up," Harry declared.

"Now wait--" the door-guard began. He quieted with the tip of Harry's wand pointed between his eyes.

"I've waited two," he said dryly. "Lester's running with the girl. I suggest you let me pass, and block anyone else from leaving this way."

Receiving a silent nod, Harry nodded in return and hurried ahead.

With how few patrons and girls were inside, he could guess that Lamour had exited the building with Greengrass long before Harry was stopped before the entrance. Hell, they might have fled as soon as the case reached Harry's desk at the Ministry, it was no secret the department had leaks. Dawlish usually handled them every few months, and things went back to normal until they weren't.

He stopped his hurried jog and took a long, assessing look around him. Like most places in the magical world, the Sullen Siren was enchanted to be larger on the inside than it appeared to be outside. The major difference between the nightclub and most of the rest was in how Lamour had applied his efforts, spells on top of runes, charms tacked on after the fact like putty in the gap between floor and wall.

The whole thing was one wrong Finite away from collapsing in on itself, one drunken brawl shy of breaking down a load bearing pillar.

I think I'll remind him what the cost of aiding and abetting is. He silenced the wireless' speakers throughout the main lounge and called out, "Anyone still on these premises after five minutes is going down with the nightclub. Get out and spread the word that Lester Lamour is a wanted criminal." He did not need to remind them what the Aurors did to the witches and wizards apprehended, but it never hurt to dangle the carrot after raising the rod. "The Ministry will reward anyone with information leading to his arrest one hundred galleons."

"Is that offer good for the man himself?" a seedy guffaw followed as the nightclub owner appeared from a trap door in the floor. He was utterly disheveled, and the pungent stench of potions emanated like a physical aura.

"Lamour," Harry greeted evenly. His binding spells wrapped the man up like an overstuffed turkey, hanging there in mid-air. Lester sobered up quickly enough by the time Harry walked up to him. "Let's talk. Why did you ignore my friendly reminder?"

"Never heard it," Lamour said at once. "I wouldn't have even come up if you hadn't silenced the music. Its, ah, well insulated in my private den."

Harry peered down the hole. Three different women were in equally or worse states of undress and inebriation. None of them were the woman he was looking for. He looked back to the club owner.

"Let's say I believe you," he said. "Where is Daphne Greengrass?"

"Should be working the bar," Lamour said. He tried and failed to crane his neck around, huffed at the futility, and added, "Auror Potter, I would happily answer any other questions at our leisure if you would only let me down."

===

Main takeaways here-- Harry's war lasted well into his early 20s. More Death Eaters were marked, including some of his former classmates-- and Daphne is one of them. Scrimgeor is still the Minister for Magic here, and playing at politics to arrest anyone who he deems a 'threat to our long-fought for peace', but its really a way to just freely intimidate and coerce the pure bloods who stand to interfere with how he runs things. Harry is pretty well burned out by the world he has survived into and helped unwillingly create with Voldemort's downfall, swept up in the aftermath as Scrimgeour pushed through laws and the initial political sweep using Dawlish etc.

Daphne caught wind that she was on the chopping block next and ran when she heard Harry was nearby. The story would depict his hunt for her, gradually building up his regrets and displeasure with being a tool for this government, until by the end he finds her-- murdered. And when they try to pin the blame on him, he takes his stand and brings it all crashing down.

I like this voice for Harry about as well as any attempt I have made at this noir inspired tone. Anyway.

 

At the end of Prisoner of Azkaban, things go off the rails.

Harry, Sirius, Hermione, and Snape have been kissed by dementors, Pettigrew has escaped, and Lupin has been executed after mauling the soulless husks of Harry and co.

Ron survives, and has to live in a world without his best friends.

With Harry dead, Voldemort is no longer fixated on Harry or the prophecy. Pettigrew helps him get a new body, with the 'blood of the enemy' taken from an unfortunate Amelia Bones.

Dumbledore has his work cut out for him.

 

See, I see this from time to time. But how on earth is Peter going to capture Amelia? I know in theory Harry is well protected, but he's also a teen. Amelia is a presumably highly competent witch in a secure government position. She's not going to just wander off, and could protect herself if spirited away.

 

Post-Hogwarts, Harry takes the time to study the more intricate details behind magic. Along the way he delves into magic of the soul, and eventually astral projecting. It turns out ever since his brush with death in the forest, he has become more closely attuned to the dead, and he finds himself drawn toward the DMLE not as an auror, so much as an private investigator. He mostly helps solve murders in the muggle world that are committed by dark wizards.

His unique talent is slipping his soul into the corpse to relive their last moments and help identify the killer. Well, eventually he comes across someone who set a trap for him, and worse still, they were using polyjuice to look like himself, if a few years younger and less haggard around the eyes. The murderer took steps to extend the length of the death and when Harry finally breaks free of the corpse, he is rattled and unnerved. Someone out there wearing his face puts him under a lot of scrutiny, not to mention his friends are endangered. How does he narrow down who this is and solve the murders before they keep stacking up?

Just something I'd been idly playing with back in 2019.

 

I had a few Harry/Daphne short-fics I wanted to write. I guess I can post the summaries here.

Murder on the Hogwarts Express

The war is over and Harry is on his way to Hogwarts for his seventh year. However, an hour into their ride, someone is murdered. Fingers are pointed, trust is tested, an unlikely partnership is formed, and Harry is put under extreme pressure yet again. How many will be murdered before the killer is caught? Harry/Daphne.

~~~~~~~~

The Snowstorm Over Svalbard

Life as an Auror is good for Harry Potter — until he’s assigned to investigate mysterious blizzards in the Arctic. Bringing along his partner, Daphne Greengrass, he makes his way into Svalbard, where myth becomes truth and the truth is far more sinister and eldritch than anyone would have imagined. Horror fic inspired by Lovecraft. Harry/Daphne.

Spoiler: What I had for this so far (800 words):

Winter winds whipped at the windows, strong enough to bring down any normal aircraft. But this was a Ministry-of-Magic-approved plane, enchanted to withstand the fiercest of hurricanes. It kept it flying, but it still wasn’t meant to shake as it was. Harry watched the glass rattle.

“Wondering if we’ll crash?” said his partner, Daphne Greengrass. There was a touch of disquiet in her tone.

“Wondering how the explosion might look,” said Harry, to lighten the mood. “Tell me again why we’re flying north.”

Daphne looked over at him slowly, disturbed: because of him, perhaps, or because of the unsteady nature of the plane. It might’ve been frightening for others, the way the plane shook, but for Harry Potter it was all a bit monotonous. He didn’t want the plane to go down, but a bit more excitement would’ve done some good; a close-quarters battle inside the cabin, maybe, or Daphne ditching that thick jacket of hers.

“Did you not listen to a word I said at the Ministry?” she said.

“I did,” said Harry with a nod. “But then we saw those two house-elves snogging and I Obliviated myself.” He scratched his stubbled chin. “Think I overdid it.”

“Hm.” Daphne’s lips twitched. “I suppose you are the type of man who needs things explained to him twice.”

“Hey.”

“Shush, you.” She grabbed a handle as they hit a particularly bad spot of turbulence. “Norway got wind of some kind of strange magical disturbance happening in Svalbard.”

“Up in the Arctic.”

“Oh, you know your geography,” said Daphne. “Yes, in the Arctic. They sent a couple members of their own Ministry up there, and then never heard from them again. After losing two groups, they contacted the International Confederation of Wizards, who looked toward the British Ministry of Magic, known for producing particularly talented wizards.”

“And our Ministry produced just that."

“Something like that,” said Daphne absentmindedly, looking out the window. “You were picked, of course. But as they knew you’d bring me along, they grabbed me, told me the info, and then I grabbed you. And now we’re here.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, “I was kind of talking about why we were going on a plane, not why we were going.”

Daphne smacked his arm. “If you wished to Apparate from England to Svalbard, you can Apparate back.”

“No need to get abusive about it,” said Harry, switching seats to look out the same window Daphne was. It was mostly just a dark grey. “Why didn’t we just grab a Portkey? There’s no limit on those. I heard they sent a wizard to Mars just last week to make sure those muggle rovers didn’t capture pictures of anything magical.”

“The Norwegian Ministry already tried. The Portkey wouldn’t actually work.”

“Are you sure they did it properly? I mean, it is the Norwegian.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Daphne. “They’d activate, then it would just spit them back out, as if some magical force was prohibiting it. Like it seems to be doing now,” she said when the plane began shaking violently. “Harry, there’s really something wrong out here.”

“Yeah, seems so,” said Harry, pulling out his wand. “What should we do?”

“A Shield Charm, of course — extended to cover the floor.”

“I was thinking Cushioning and Unbreakable Charms,” said Harry, “you know, so we just bounce around the cabin.”

Daphne gave him a flat stare. “It’s been fun taking this casually up until now — but now we’re in actual danger.” As if to confirm her statement, the plane took a sudden dive, sending them backward. “Shield Charms, Harry!”

Hearing the fear in her voice, Harry scrambled to her side and cast a silent Shield Charm, the strongest he could manage, though a weak one likely would’ve done it anyway if this was just a mundane plane crash; if.

The winds broke through the plane’s enchantments, so they must’ve been magical, and if they were magical, what else might be in this inhospitable winter wasteland?

Daphne’s grip on his wrist tightened as an alarm began ringing, signaling they were nearing the ground. She closed her eyes, but there was really no need. The sudden stop as the plane crashed sent a hard jolt through their bodies, but otherwise it was painless; the plane around them fell apart almost instantly, either shredding to pieces or blowing up magnificently.

For one long moment, all he could see was fire — and then ice and fire. They slid further than the rest of the wreckage, their Shield Charms pushing aside any debris and keeping the metal beneath their feet safe. As it slowed at last, Harry stood straight, not taking a step off until the exact second their platform came to a stop.

Harry looked around, frowning. He sent several charms into the winds to clear them, to grant them some visibility, but none seemed to work. This kind of weather, however extreme, ought to be trivial to wizards.

“What the hell did they send us into?”

~~~~~~~~

The Terrible No Good Day

Harry liked his life. It was nice, peaceful, and the danger of his youth had dwindled down to an occasional date-gone-wrong with Daphne. So he was quite displeased when dark wizards take everybody hostage at a gala. He’s sick of saving the day, but what other choice does he have? Harry/Daphne.

• Takes place a year after graduation, at a gala with Daphne, starting when Harry’s on the toilet.

 

Just write them

 

@AutumnSouls you've got good rapport between the two of them in that snippet. I'd read more.

 

Without a Trace (Fate)

Shirou squinted, focusing all his magical energy on the unassuming sword in his hand. This time, he wasn't aiming for a perfect copy, but for something more, something deeper. He wanted to push the limits of his Tracing magecraft, to unveil the full history of the sword, not just its physical form.

The usual flood of information came, but it was different. It wasn't just the memories of its last wielder, the blacksmith who forged it, the hands that mined the metal. It was deeper, more nuanced. He felt the heat of the forge, the sweat of the blacksmith, the earth where the iron ore was found.

But Shirou wasn't satisfied. He pushed deeper, willing himself to see further back, beyond the forge, beyond the earth, even beyond the formation of the planet itself. He wanted to see the birth of the stars, the creation of the elements, the very origins of the materials that formed the sword.

It was a struggle. His mind felt stretched, his magic strained. Images flashed before him, disjointed and fragmented. The intense heat of a star, the swirling nebulae of dust and gas, the chaotic birth of a planet. It was overwhelming, almost painful.

But Shirou persisted, fueled by a relentless curiosity. He pushed through the pain, focusing his will, piecing together the fragments of the sword's history. And then, he saw it.

He saw the Big Bang, the raw energy that birthed the universe. He saw the formation of the first stars, the creation of elements like iron and carbon in their fiery hearts. He saw the evolution of those elements, their journey through space and time, until they finally came together to form the earth and the iron ore that would one day be forged into the sword.

In that moment, Shirou felt something profound. He felt the interconnectedness of all things, the vastness of the universe, and the insignificance, yet significance, of his own existence. He understood that the sword was more than just a weapon; it was a testament to the history of the universe itself, a tangible link to the very forces that created everything.

As the vision faded, Shirou fell to his knees, exhausted but exhilarated. He had glimpsed the true potential of his Tracing magecraft, and it was a power that both terrified and excited him. He knew that he had only scratched the surface of what was possible, and he was determined to explore its depths further.

But for now, he needed rest. He had seen more in those moments than he ever thought possible, and he needed time to process it all. He knew that his understanding of the world, of magic, of himself, would never be the same again. He was changed, forever marked by the depths of Tracing he had glimpsed.

And as he closed his eyes, Shirou couldn't help but smile. The journey was far from over, and he couldn't wait to see what marvels his Tracing magic would reveal next.

 

Humorous idea for A Song of Ice and Fire.

Jon is born with his fathers Valyrian features. When Ned comes back from the Tower of Joy claiming Jon as his bastard no one believes him. Except the one person who matters: Robert Baratheon, who totally believes Ned is telling the truth. Anytime someone tries to gently bring up the possibility he laughs it off and says Ned would never lie to him.

Ned is lucky. After all, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, as long as the king believes you. Then we get a couple vignettes of people tiptoeing around Ned and Jon (especially Catelyn who doesn’t believe for a second that Jon is Ned’s).

 

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/awesomeworks/works/7594447

 

Regarding the tags of that fic, I too blame Tumblr.

 

I blame Tumblr when I stub my toe in the morning

 

Valyrian features wouldn't make people jump straight to R+L=J, everybody would just assume that it was Ned and Ashara's kid...

 

Slugwarts - Snape has an accident that makes it so he can’t teach for a while the summer before Harry’s first year. Faced with the sudden need for a new potions teacher and little time to fill the position he asks Slughorn to come back until Snape is back on his feet. He agrees on the condition he gets to be the one who introduced Harry to the Wizarding World.

I was wondering how different Harry’s life would be if he were introduced to magic by Slughorn, gave him a good first impression of Slytherin, didn’t have Snape there to make his life miserable, had a teacher that stressed how talented his mother was at potions instead of a teacher constantly shitting on his dad and made the subject enjoyable, etc.

One of the ideas that popped into my head with this is that Harry never figures out or cares what’s being hidden on the third floor because he’s in Slytherin and there’s no midnight duel challenge from Malfoy. Harry had a normal first year until the very end when Voldemort steals the stone and regains his body. But the consequence is Voldemort still hasn’t figured out how Harry survived that night because he didn’t witness him melting Quirrell thanks to Lily’s protection. When they do finally meet face to face in like Harry’s 4th year he still hasn’t figured it out and Harry gives him the Quirrell treatment and becomes even more famous lol.

Any ideas on what such a fic could be like? When you think about it, so much of Harry’s life is impacted by Snape and Dumbledore. Remove one and his life is a lot different.

 

Just had this idea I thinks a bit amusing: Path to Immortality

When Ron gets attacked by those brains in the DoM his mind gets taken over by a stereotypical arrogant Young Master from one of those xianxia cultivation novel. The thought of it made me chuckle.