Chapter Text
Harry walked home from the university library, the late autumn air crisp against his cheeks. His backpack, heavy with textbooks, dug into his shoulders, and in his right hand he clutched Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. He’d been reading it during his breaks - again - even though, in his opinion, it was one of the weakest books in the series.
Because - come on - JKR had messed up so much. And how dare she kill off Severus Snape, his all-time favorite character. Not to mention Fred, Tonks, and Remus. The injustice still made his jaw tighten.
He’d first read The Philosopher’s Stone at around ten years old, sitting cross-legged on the thin carpet of his orphanage room, the smell of dust and old paper clinging to the pages. He’d felt an immediate connection to Harry - not just because they shared the same first name, but because he too had grown up without parents. Well… in his case, it had been an orphanage instead of the Dursleys’ cupboard. Didn’t that technically make him more like Voldemort? The thought had made him grin even back then.
By the time he’d finished the first book, he was completely immersed in the wizarding world. It became his escape from reality. Years later, with access to a computer, he dove into fan forums and Discord servers - Potterhead chats where heated debates over wand lore could last for hours. He read every interview JKR had ever given, devoured every extra book, and could probably recite all spells, magical creatures, and obscure Ministry regulations in his sleep.
And then he discovered AO3. At first, just reading. Later… writing. Whole new worlds opened up where Severus Snape could finally get a happy ending - of course with Harry Potter.
Now, walking past dimly lit shopfronts, Harry’s stomach gave an impatient growl. Maybe he’d stop by the little ramen shop a few streets away - the one with the steaming windows and broth so fragrant you could smell it halfway down the block.
He stepped off the curb, crossing while the pedestrian light glowed green.
And then - bam.
Something slammed into his side, a violent, crushing force stealing the breath from his lungs. The world spun into a smear of headlights, cold asphalt, and the shriek of brakes. The metallic tang of blood hit his tongue.
But somewhere under the chaos, he heard something else.
A low whoosh, like a page turning.
His vision blurred - not from pain, but from light. A warm, golden glow seeped into the edges of the darkness, carrying the faint scent of parchment and candle wax. He thought - just for a moment - that he could hear quills scratching, the rustle of robes, and the muffled chatter of a library far, far older than his own.
His last coherent thought was still of his unfinished AO3 story.
And then the golden light folded around him, and the world he knew simply… let go.
---
Damn, that was a blow.
Harry drifted back into awareness, groaning. He had been sure that was it for him - lights out, game over. Damned driver, barreling through a red light like the laws of physics didn’t apply. His head throbbed dully, but… wait. This didn’t smell like a hospital. No antiseptic sting, no faint beeping, no floor polish. Instead… was that… cat? And something else - wood smoke?
What the hell?
He rolled his shoulders, wincing, and forced his eyes open. A cream-colored ceiling met his gaze - fabric, not plaster. His eyes tracked the seams, and it hit him: a tent?
Okay. Definitely not the ER.
He sat up slowly, every muscle creaking in protest, and glanced around. The space was dimly lit, the air warm, with mismatched rugs on the floor and… was that a wand lying next to him on the bed? The car must’ve hit him harder than he thought.
“Harry? Are you awake yet?” a female voice called.
“Yep,” he croaked, his throat dry as parchment.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and shuffled forward. The tent opened into a larger space than it should have - bigger on the inside, his mind supplied automatically, because of course it was.
And there she was.
“Hermione?”
She turned toward him, a worried crease between her brows, eyes shadowed with fatigue. “Harry, are you okay? You look… a little confused.”
A little confused? A LITTLE confused? He nearly snorted. Was he giggling? Oh God, he was giggling. He’d been hit by a car and somehow woken up in the actual world of Harry Potter. As Harry Potter.
His laughter bubbled up again, probably not helping her expression.
“Maybe you should sit down,” she said cautiously, “and we’ll postpone our plan again.”
“Our plan?” He blinked, brain racing. Tent. Just him and Hermione. His wand - his real wand - right there. Oh. Ohhh. This had to be just before Godric’s Hollow.
“No, no, it’s fine,” he said quickly, waving her off. “Just… momentary confusion.”
He looked down at himself. Old baggy jeans, a hand-knit Weasley jumper… and around his neck - oh, hell no - the locket. That evil little soul jar they insisted on passing around like some cursed hot potato, turning everyone into cranky gremlins.
Nope. Not happening.
He yanked it off.
“I can take it for today,” Hermione offered, reaching for it. “You’ve been wearing it far too long.”
“We’re not wearing this cursed mood necklace anymore,” he said firmly. “It’s going in the mokeskin pouch. If you miss being cranky, I can just insult your tea-making skills instead.”
Before she could argue, he tugged the strap of the pouch out from under his jumper, stuffed the locket in, and let the flap fall closed. Sweet relief tingled in his chest, like unclenching a muscle he hadn’t realized was tight.
Hermione’s eyebrows drew together. “But Harry, only you can open the mokeskin pouch.”
“I know. And I’m here all the time,” he replied, deadpan.
He picked up his mug of tea and took a sip. Lukewarm. Meh. But - wait. He had a wand now. Real magic.
Grinning, he flicked it and muttered a Warming Charm. The tea hissed, bubbles racing to the surface until steam curled up into his face. Maybe a bit too warm. But still - magic. Real magic.
Shouldn’t he be sad that he was probably dead? Maybe. But this? This was so much better than his old life. He was Harry Potter, smack in the middle of the Horcrux hunt… and he knew exactly what was about to happen.
His smile faltered for a heartbeat. He knew exactly what JKR had planned. And no. Nope. Not with him here.
He had the spoilers. He’d dissected them on forums for years. And now… now he could change it. He could save people. He could save Severus Snape.
His heart gave a ridiculous little kick. He was going to meet his all-time favorite character.
He looked up from his still-boiling tea to find Hermione staring at him like he’d grown a second head.
“Harry,” she said slowly, “you’re really scaring me. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“It’s never been better,” he grinned.