It began with a thunderstorm.
Not the kind that gently taps on rooftops and soothes you to sleep but the kind that tears through the sky like a war drum. The rain battered Elderfield in sheets, and the wind howled like it had lost something important.
Harris Wells sat on the windowsill of his tiny room, silver eyes watching the world blur behind raindrops. He was eight years old now, small for his age, but sharp. Too sharp. He noticed things no one else did: how the cat stared at empty corners, how the old clock would tick faster whenever he was upset, how the air felt thicker during lightning.
Tonight felt… different.
As the thunder roared, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. For a split second, everything went white and when the light faded, Harris wasn't in his room anymore.
He was standing in a cold, dark alley. The walls were made of cracked stone, lit by flickering torches. He looked down and saw himself older, dressed in flowing black robes. In his hand was a wand. Around him, people were shouting in fear. A masked figure pointed something at him and shouted a word Harris couldn't fully hear. Something green blazed from their wand, rushing toward him....
"AVADA"
"KEDAVRA!"
Harris gasped, snapping awake on the floor beside his window. His heart pounded so loudly he could barely hear the thunder outside. His hands were shaking. His face was soaked not just with sweat, but tears.
That wasn't a dream.
He knew it wasn't a dream.
Fragments of memories flooded in like a tidal wave. Names. Places. Spells. Books. A world of magic. Hogwarts. A boy with glasses. A snake-faced man. A stone that granted immortality. A diary that whispered. A tournament with dragons. A phoenix's tear. A room that gave you what you needed.
And himself - Harsh Natekar
No, not harsh but Harris Wells. That was his name now.
But before… he was someone else.
He had lived another life. A world with no magic, only stories. And in that world, Harry Potter was fiction.
But he remembered reading it. Watching it. Knowing how it all ended.
He clutched his chest, breathing fast.
"I've been reborn…" he whispered. "This is real. All of it."
The truth settled over him like a heavy cloak.
He was in the Harry Potter world. And somehow, for some reason, he had been given a second chance in a world where magic was real, and danger lurked in every shadow.
A shiver ran down his spine.
He remembered things most people in this world didn't. Not just magic but fates. Deaths. Secrets. And with that knowledge… came power.
And responsibility.
But also risk. What if others found out? What if the world tried to "correct" him?
Still lying on the floor, Harris closed his eyes and whispered the first spell he remembered.
"Lumos."
Nothing happened.
He frowned, sat up, and grabbed a stick from under his bed something he always played with, though he never knew why. It was oddly smooth and light, like it had been waiting for him.
He gripped it again.
"Lumos," he whispered, focusing.
This time, the tip of the stick glowed faintly like a dying ember sparking to life.
His breath caught in his throat.
He smiled.
It had begun.