Mazahs Potter: The God-Who-Lived: A Harry Potter/DC Crossover Fanfiction

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to JK Rowling. I do not own Shazam, Justice League, DC or any of their associated characters: all rights belong to the original, respective creators. I do not own any other crossover references used in the story: all rights belong to the original creators. I do own any OC spells explained at the end of a chapter.

Plot: Harry Potter survived the Killing Curse and vanquished Voldemort, but people think it was his brother, William. But there is one who knows the truth: a cast-out soul of magic who sees him worthy to become a true God of Magic: and what do Gods do best? Rule!

Author's Note: So, as weird as this is going to sound, this Elseworlds-style story – if only because the universe in question is SERIOUSLY AU and altered to what we know and love – was actually inspired by a character I discovered in DC Lego Supervillains (laugh if you must)

After that, I did a bit of research on this character, only to find a somewhat-minor role and no real chance to break out and rule as true darksiders are meant to do. And so, by the power vested in that cursed power known as fanfiction, I took it upon myself to create a story based around said idea – oh, and the title of this story SHOULD tell you which one I mean.

So, let the good times, and the DARK times, roll.

Recommended Reads: Bonded, Apex and Dark Lord Potter by JustBored21, Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge by Lexarius, Phantom and The Son of Storms by PerseusPeverell092, Young Justice: Shazam by Hellfire17, Kill me if you can by PercyPendragon3, Harry Potter: Lord of Darkness by AngelSlayer135, Harry Potter-Quinn-Isley and the Origin Story by slocuautla, Zest for Life by Quatermass, Harry Potter, Dark Legacy by The Fallen One 2012, An Ace In The Hole by aadixon and Green Eyed Red Hood by Writing Shop 12

Key Pairing: Evil Harry/Zatanna

Other Pairings: Lily/James; Others TBD

Normal Speech


'Mental Speech'


Chapter 1: A Champion Rises


Nine-year-old Harry James Potter had always felt like he was running.

Ever since he had been left on the doorstep of his only living family – or dumped, as his oh-so-loving relatives would bitch and moan – as an infant, Harry felt like he had always spent most of his childhood, if not all of it, running.

Running from danger.

Running from threats.

Running from fear.

Running from desperation.

And, more often than not, running from his own flesh and blood, who, instead of taking him in, loving him and helping him grow into a happy, healthy little boy, instead saw fit to call him the black sheep of the flock, use him, belittle him and, generally, treat him as the bane on what they had managed to delude themselves into believing was a perfectly-normal existence.


Anything and everything that threatened that normality, was only ever blamed on one person: Harry himself.

Anything went wrong?

It was usually Harry's fault.

Anything happened to change their plans?

Harry's fault.

His Uncle got out of breath?

Harry's fault.

His Aunt found a grey hair?

Harry's fault.

His cousin couldn't eat enough sweets?

Harry's fault.

If there was any love owed in that house, especially towards Harry, then chances were that some demonic entity had come down from the darkest of realms, swallowed up that love and then spewed it all over the nice, normal, loving and perfect Dursley Family, infecting them with it, so they could only use it on each other.

Meanwhile, Harry was yelled at, beaten, starved, locked away in darkness, blamed for every little thing, and any big thing, which went wrong and, instead of being loved, he was hated to the point that, in time, any love he might have felt, be it for his relatives or anyone or anything else, was rapidly vanquished, replaced by a strong desire.

One that was perfectly-human, but, in Harry, it became something more.

And that was the desire to survive…

And so, when anything bad came baying for his blood, he ended up doing the only thing he could.

He ran.


"Slow down, Freak!"

"Yeah! We won't hurt you!"

"I thought we were going to break his arms this time?"

"Shut up, Piers! He doesn't need to know that!"

He didn't need to, but, now, he did, and so, as Harry kept running, he silently willed his energy and his resiliency to shift into overdrive, pushing him on and on; he didn't care where he was going, or what might happen.

Just so long as he could get away from these incontinent hyenas and their beached whale calf of a leader.


Maybe it was this desire.

Maybe it was his compulsion to survive.

Maybe it was because of the anger, fury and even loathing hate that burned in him this time around.

Or maybe, as a certain someone would say, it was just sheer dumb luck.

In the years to come, Harry didn't know what it was, per se, but, on this occasion, as he tried to push past the wall of his body's limits, to keep ahead of the gang and their stupidity, as well as the inevitable pain he now knew would follow when they caught up with him, something changed.

Something that saw Harry trapped against the pursuers.

And gave him a way out.


The cries of the gang filled his ears for only a moment longer, before Harry gasped when, all of a sudden, an eerie, all-encompassing silence filled his ears, and his mind, as well as the surrounding environment.

At the same time, he was aware of the cool, autumn air that had been blowing past him as he'd ran from the bullies had also vanished, now replaced by a sensational burst of warm air, which made Harry's whole body shiver, as though he'd just slid into a nice, hot bath after playing out in the snow for way too long – not that he knew what that felt like, exactly, since 'freaks didn't get warm baths' according to the Dursleys.

As he skidded to a halt, Harry frowned as he looked around, noticing how he was also standing in a different location to the one he'd been in just a few moments ago; now, instead of his school playground, he was standing in a dark, dimly-lit room that seemed to be made of pitch-black stone, as well as low-burning torches, which were an odd, but not-uncomfortable shade of mystical blue in colour. Along one wall, Harry saw a large number of books and strange-looking bits of paper, or paper-like material, which had been filed along the wall like it was one large bookshelf.

On the other wall, meanwhile, he saw a large, fierce-looking statue of a man with a cold, almost-menacing air about him; the man was dressed in long, dark-stone clothing and carried an unusual-looking walking stick in one hand, while the other held a sphere, which was engraved with an odd, eye-shaped symbol, which Harry then noticed was also engraved onto the man's head.

Cocking his head to one side, Harry looked right into the eyes of the statue, though they didn't look back; he didn't know why, but something about the statue only seemed to add to the warmth that now flooded his body.

As he wondered on this new, strange feeling, Harry looked along the wall, which allowed him to see that there were five other figures standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the first; one was a woman with a large, fierce, if not terrifying-looking wolf behind her, while the next had large, bird-like wings that folded around his body, as well as a scythe clasped in his hands. Next to him was another fearsome-looking male with lightning bolts that seemed to have been frozen in his hands, while the one next to him had a goat-like mask covering his face, as well as antlers, which he wore like a crown – how Harry even knew this was a male, he didn't know, but he did.

Finally, there was a tall, muscular and armoured being with a long, deadly sword in his hands, who seemed to have been forced to his knees, but that did nothing to rid him of his intimidating air, or the power he seemed to exude.

In fact, something about this last one made Harry smile, even as he looked along the row once again, part of him wondering why he was standing in such a cool, but also weird-looking room, while another part wondered who, or what, might have pulled him away from the idiots, only to bring him to this warm, comfortable place.

"Harry James Potter!"

Apparently, Fate had been listening to him, as Harry spun around suddenly, while the blue flames that lit this strange, but safe space now grew in size, illuminating the chamber in full. This allowed Harry to see that where he had been standing upon arrival was now lit up by a ring of the same blue flames, which surrounded a raised platform, at the top of which, he saw a large, black, stone chair that he might have described as a throne, were he not more focused on the room, and the one whom, apparently, had spoken to him, using his full name in the process.

They were a tall, lean-looking figure, who looked down at Harry with eyes that were so cold and dark that, even against the light of the burning flames, they looked black in colour. The stranger also had a head of slick, snow-white hair that fell to their shoulders, where it was then tied off in a braid-like design, while Harry also took note of how the speaker had one hand tucked under his left arm, holding what looked like a large, blue stone in his bent arm, while his free arm held onto a twisted, spiked and definitely-intimidating-looking staff.

The speaker was also dressed funnily – at least, Harry thought so.

He was dressed in a long, black coat of some kind, which covered his entire body, save his exposed hands and his head; underneath the coat, Harry could make out what could only be described as armour covering the flesh of the stranger, the look and form of which seemed to ripple and shimmer, like water, or living darkness, was covering his body instead of whatever the armour was made from.

As he returned his attention to the stranger's eyes, Harry saw his speaker smile before he addressed the boy with a cool, mystifying tone of voice.

"I have been waiting…a very long time to meet you, my young friend…and now, as if by Fate, here you are and here you stand…welcome…"

"Err…thanks, Mr…um…" said Harry, playing the role of lost little boy pretty well, or so he thought.

"No need for masks here, child," said the stranger, indicating Harry with a curt nod of his head as he explained, "You may show your true face here without fear of reprisal. As for who I am, I am one whom has been waiting for a very long time to be your mentor, your companion, your friend, your ally and, if it is what you desire, even your servant, slave and tool."

Harry's eyes widened as he heard that, before he saw the stranger nod again as he gave the important information to the boy.

"As for my name, it is one I suspect you have heard several times before, young one: my name…is…Mordred!"


Harry's eyes widened again; he did know that name, if only from a long-since-lost-and-destroyed library book he'd been caught with sometime ago.


Illegitimate son of King Arthur.


Magic user.

Not that there was anything called magic in the real world.

Or so his Uncle had claimed as he'd torn up and burned the book, before making up an Oscar-winning sob story about Harry's criminally-dangerous tendencies, which led to Harry being banned from said library sine die.


Swallowing hard, Harry licked his lips slowly before he asked, "What…what do you…you want with…with someone like me, Mordred?"

"With you?" asked Mordred, before he shook his head slowly as he added, "Nothing."

A brief sigh of relief left Harry's lips, before he saw Mordred smile knowingly as he now held up the blue stone under his arm, "For you? Everything you could possibly imagine, and much more besides; you see, Harry, you don't know it, but you are more-special than you think. Inside of you, even as we speak, there slumbers a mass amount of powers capable of making this entire world yours, if you wished it. However, thanks to the weaker sorts in the word, your nigh-limitless potential is squandered, made to feel like a curse, demonised, neglected and usurped by fools and mongrels whose only use should be to kneel at your feet and lick your boots clean."

"Me?" asked Harry.

"Yes," replied Mordred, making Harry jump as, somehow, he managed to appear behind the boy as he spoke, while Harry now looked into his eyes as Mordred continued, "And do not doubt yourself, nor my truth when I say it, my young friend. For you see, your powers make you something that others fear, because they fear you will become too powerful to control. And so, instead of nurturing your gifts, they lock it away, rewrite your history and force you to spend time in the company of freaks and mongrels who shouldn't even be a speck above you, much less how highly they think of themselves now."

"What do you mean rewrite my history?" asked Harry, earning a smile from Mordred.

"I hoped you'd noticed that…here, let me show you," said Mordred, holding up the stone again; this time, Harry's eyes widened when, from within the sphere, he saw ghostly shadows manifest themselves, like blackened hands reaching out through the sea of inky-blueness. As the hands pierced the edge of the stone, they reached out towards Harry, like smoky hands in a cartoon, before they pressed themselves to his head and to his heart.

Ironically, one of them also pushed up against a lightning-bolt-shaped scar that, for the longest time, Harry had thought, and believed, was a mark he'd gotten from the car crash that had killed his parents.

And yet, as soon as the one hand touched his scar, his eyes widened while his heart turned colder than cold as he felt something else take that thought and shred it into a bazillion pieces.

Leaving only the dark light of truth.

"My…my parents…" whispered Harry fearfully, as well as darkly, as the hands receded into the sphere again.

Harry, however, now had a cold, rage-filled glow that burned in his green eyes as he growled at a smug, but also-interested and solemn-looking Mordred, while the young boy hissed through clenched teeth.

"They…they didn't die…they abandoned me…all because my brother is some sort of saviour in the magical world…I remember…Magic!"

"And all that implies," added Mordred, waving his hand once; as he did so, the blue stone vanished from his arm while Mordred looked Harry in the eyes as he explained, "I have been keeping an eye on you for quite some time, Harry Potter; waiting for the moment where you would be ready. As I watched you, however, I suspected something was off with your identity, if only because of the power you once had, but now, you seem as weak and insignificant as a newly-hatched baby chick."

"Yeah? Well now I remember, so watch your tongue!" growled Harry darkly, earning a curt nod and a cool smile from Mordred.

"As you wish, sire…"

A flicker of amusement flashed across Harry's face, before Mordred looked from Harry to the statues that the boy had noticed upon arrival, "Tell me, my young protégé; if given the chance, what would you be willing to do to show them exactly who has the power?"

Following his eyes, Harry scoffed softly before he replied, "Anything…but I don't see what six statues can do for me, Mordred."

"The statues? Nothing," agreed Mordred, before he stamped his staff on the ground; when he did so, Harry saw it light up with blood-red light, which seemed to reflect itself in the eyes of each one of the statues, even the one on his knees, before Mordred continued.

"But the power of these ancient deities: forsaken souls, denied their rightful power and, in the case of one, transformed into an effigy of so-called heroism? Now that, my friend, is something that I can give to you…all you have to do is say yes, and you will bear the full might and power of all of these Gods, to do with as you see fit…"

"Really?" asked Harry, his green eyes shining brightly, while the red light from the staff and the sceptres now shone in Harry's eyes as he looked to the six statues in question.

"And," added Mordred, indicating Harry with a courteous bow and a flick of his wrist as he explained, "Unlike other so-called champions of this power, you, my little lord-to-be, will be able to wield your powers in either form: that of yourself, boy-wizard Harry James Potter, or that of the Fallen One, the Champion of True Magic: the Black God, Mazahs!"

"Mazahs?" asked Harry, though, as soon as he did so, he gasped when red lightning filled the air, flying from the staff in Mordred's hands, while the statues' eyes also launched the same lightning bolts, all of which flew up into the air, before they redirected their primordial might downwards.

Right onto the body of Harry James Potter.

However, as the lightning hit him, coursing through his veins with raw, animalistic, ancient powers, Harry did not cry out in fear or alarm.

Instead, the only thing he did was laugh.

A deep, powerful, commanding bellow of a laugh, which resonated through the chamber, almost like the Devil himself was laughing as he embraced his full might.

At the same time, Mordred smiled darkly as he nodded.

"Ah…I probably should have warned you not to say the name until you were sure, My Lord…but it seems like you are, so…never mind…now, feel the might of the Forsaken coursing through your veins: The Wrath of SET!"

The first statue's eyes lit up, launching another lightning bolt at Harry's laughing body, while Mordred spoke proudly.

"The Damnation of HELA!"

The second statue lit up…even the eyes of the wolf with her…

"The Judgment of AZRAEL!"

The third statue, even the wings, followed suit.

"The Fury of ZEUS!"

The fourth statue, lightning bolts and all, launched its might at Harry.

"The Terror of ARAWN!"

The goat-headed statue unleashed wave upon wave of Dark Power at the crowing Champion-to-be.

"And, finally, the Ruthlessness of MARS!"

The kneeling statue's blade actually shattered under the fury of its dark power being unleashed, before it, along with its five peers, flew towards Harry, enveloping him in their darkness and flooding the chamber with the power of a Fallen soul, now reborn.

As a not-so-wise woman once said, greater and more terrible than ever before…

"And now, my Lord Mazahs, you are reborn! And this world, as well as my narrow-minded weaklings of a former alliance, the Council of Wizards, will all know what true magic feels like!"


A dark voice, tinged by raw evil and edged by a note of ancient, primordial power, hissed out from the smoky remains of the transformed soul.

A dark voice…

And a pair of blood-red eyes that seemed to show themselves through the smoke, while the dark voice growled again…

"Yes, they will…where do we begin, Mordred?"

Uh-oh; talk about darkness and damnation made flesh, but now Harry has embraced evil, what will his first move be?

Also, why did he even forget about his family in the first place?

Could this mean they're still alive?

Keep Reading to Find Out

Next Chapter: Nearly two years later, a chance encounter opens the doorway to something much more for a certain new student of Hogwarts: one whom you might not believe what you read when you meet them…

Please Read and Review

AN: Portrayal

Mordred: Tom Hiddleston

AN2: Harry-Mazahs

Also, does anyone have any suggestions for who I might use for Harry's 'alternate' form as the Dark Champion?

Any suggestions welcome, just as long as they're male!

Next chapter will be dedicated to the best suggestion.