The first thing Dylan noticed was the smell. Old wood, dust, and laundry soap.
He opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling above him was cracked in places, painted white, but aged. He blinked a few times. The light was coming from a window to his right. The glass was fogged and rattling softly from wind.
His body felt...small.
He sat up in the bed. The sheets were thin and tucked tightly around him. He moved his hands over his body. His hands were smooth. Smaller than they should be.
'What the hell...?'
The bed creaked as he moved his legs to the side and sat on the edge. The floor was old hardwood. He wiggled his toes and felt the cold floor with his barefeet. Looking down, he saw his legs, thinner, shorter.
'This isn't right. I was home. I was reading...'
Then, the door opened, a woman stepped in, holding a steaming mug and a small notebook. She looked to be in her 40's, hair tied back in a loose bun, wearing a long brown cardigan and flat shoes.
"Oh good, you're up." she said, walking over "How are you feeling? No dizziness? Do you remember anything?"
Dylan stared at her "...I don't know where I am."
She smiled "I found you outside the gate last night, Halloween night, of all things. You were unconscious, soaked, and freezing. Thought we had a ghost on our hands for a second." She sat on the bed's edge and set the notebook down "No ID, no note, no idea who you are? Do you remember your name?"
"...Dylan." he said automatically.
"Good. That's something. Well, i'm Annabeth, call me miss Anne. This place is Ashgrove, an orphanage. You're safe here. We'll figure out the rest later, for now try to rest."
She stood "You gave us quite the scare. Not every day a boy shows up like that. Especially not on Halloween. Fitting, I guess." She started for the door "Anyway, if you're hungry, come downstairs. Kitchen's on the right past the stairs."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Dylan stood up slowly. His legs were unsteady, not because he was weak, but because they were shorter than they should be. He looked around the room. There was a small wooden desk in the corner, a dresser, and a mirror standing on top of it.
He walked toward it and looked at a younger self "Wh...What the...?"
It was him. Him from when he was still a kid, around 10 years old. He didn't have his mustache or beard. His face was smooth. His glasses were gone. His jaw was smaller, rounder. He touched his cheek, slowly, then his short brown hair.
'Why am I 10 years old? What year is it? That woman said I was in an orphanage and she found me unconscious… but how did I get here? All I remember was reading the first Harry Potter book after I re-watched the movie yesterday.'
He stared into the mirror for a long time. The silence in the room grew thicker.
Then, suddenly, the mirror changed.
There was someone behind him.
Dylan turned around fast, an older man stood just a few feet before him. Pale, sharp features, thin lips. His white hair was slicked back, and he wore dark, formal robes. He didn't move, just looked at Dylan
"...Who are you?"
The man didn't answer right away. His expression didn't change.
Then, finally, he spoke "Interesting. You can see me." His voice was calm.
"...Are you a ghost?"
"I don't know. If I am, it's not the usual kind." The man stepped forward but Dylan didn't hear any footsteps. There was no sound at all.
"I was alive yesterday. Now I'm here. Wherever this is. And i found you unconscious in the mud. Charming scene."
Dylan's mouth was dry. He didn't move "...Why me?"
"If I knew that, I wouldn't be talking to a child."
There was something in his voice now, not annoyance, not fear. Curiosity.
Dylan stared at him.
'Wait! It can't be..."
He knew that face. That hair. That voice, It's Grindelwald!
Dylan said nothing.
The man raised an eyebrow slightly.
"...Do you know who I am?"
Dylan hesitated "...No."
Grindelwald watched him for a moment longer, then gave the faintest nod "Good."
He turned slightly "I don't know why I'm bound to you. I don't know how. But until I do, I'll be staying close."
Dylan stepped back
"Until I understand what this is, don't speak of me to anyone. Not unless you want to be locked in a ward for cursed children."
Dylan slowly sat back down on the bed, still staring at Grindelwald "...Right."
He looked down at his smaller hands again.
'Great. I'm ten years old. I don't know what year this is, I've got no ID, no phone, and now a dead dark wizard is haunting me.'
There was a short silence.
Then Gellert spoke again "You're surprisingly calm, for a child talking to a dead man."
Dylan shrugged a little "What do you want me to say? That i've seen worse?"
Gellert made a sound, a little snort. Almost amused.
Dylan looked at the floor and let out a slow sigh.
'This better not turn into some chosen one bullshit.'
Dylan stayed quiet. Grindelwald was gone. He stood up and walked toward the window. The glass was foggy and cold to the touch. He wiped a circle with his palm and leaned closer.
Outside was a street. Not dirt roads or fields, actual pavement. Brick buildings. Faded shop signs. A few parked cars.
'Huh. Not some old countryside orphanage that's for sure.'
He narrowed his eyes at the cars.
They weren't modern. One of them looked like a damn Austin Allegro, with its ugly front grille and boxy frame. There was a light blue Ford Cortina further down the street. None of them looked newer than the 80's.
'Weird...'
He scanned the skyline, and then froze. In the distance, unmistakable.
Big Ben.
"...I'm in England?"
His stomach dropped a little and he took a step back from the glass.
'I don't live in England. That woman from earlier, Miss Anne, she spoke to me in English, i didn't pay attention to it because i can speak english almost perfectly, but, why am i in england? What the fuck happened yesterday? Did i drink too much Tequila or something? But I didn't drink.'
He turned back toward the room.
'Okay. Okay... so I'm in England. In the past. Maybe not far in the past, maybe it's just a poor area, they're behind on tech or housing or whatever. Not everyone has money for modern stuff.'
But those cars...
He looked back out again.
No cell towers. No modern signs or logos. No one was holding a phone. Just a paperboy biking down the road in a old looking bike.
'This...this looks like the eighties.'
'Wait, wait. Hold on. That's not possible. Grindelwald is dead. Voldemort killed him before the Battle of Hogwarts, right? That's what I remember from those fanfic and internet. So it should be the late 90's right?'
He rubbed his temples.
'So either this is after the war, or somehow during it. Or…no. That doesn't make sense.'
He paused.
'...i need a callendar.'
Then he opened the door but paused.
'What an idiot. Why don't i just ask Grindelwald since he died yesterday.' he wanted to facepalm himself.
"Hey, Grindelwald. You said you died yesterday, right?"
Grindelwald answered from behind him "I did."
Dylan didn't jump this time "...What year did you die?"
"1987."
Dylan stood there, still as stone, his eye twitching "You're kidding."
"No."
"...It's 1987."
"You heard me."
Dylan sat back on the bed slowly.
'Great. So I'm ten years old. In an orphanage. In London. And it's the eighties.'
He ran a hand through his hair.
'I swear, if I end up being a wizard, I'm throwing myself off a broom.'
[Hello everyone, what did you think of this first chapter? I hope you liked it, i just had the idea of this fic while watching the third fantastic beast movie.
What house do you think Dylan will be sorted into? Who do you want in the harem? (not Luna)]