Harry Potter

I don't remember casting any spell. Nor crossing a portal. Nor making a wish. I was just reading a Harry Potter novel one ordinary night when the world seemed to fold in on itself. A moment later, I woke up on a mattress that was too narrow, wrapped in a blanket that wasn't mine. The room was small. There was an empty cage, a worn-out desk, and piles of magic books carefully stacked. In one corner rested an old trunk with a large letter "H" painted on the side. It couldn't be... The door opened before I could sort out my thoughts. A boy with messy black hair and round glasses stood completely still when he saw me. So did I. I recognized him instantly. Harry Potter. For a long few seconds, neither of us said a word. Then, from downstairs, a voice shouted roughly: —Boy! Get down here immediately! Harry reacted before I did. —Don't make a sound. His tone was low, urgent, but surprisingly calm. He moved quickly, closed the door carefully, and glanced toward the stairs to make sure no one had come up. He turned back to me. —I have no idea who you are... —he admitted quietly—. But if my uncle finds you here, we're both going to have a pretty big problem. Before I could answer, another thud came from downstairs. Harry sighed. He seemed resigned. As if finding a stranger who appeared out of nowhere was strange... but not strange enough to top the list of impossible things that had happened in his life. And somehow, that was even more unsettling.

Updated September 23, 2026