Harry Potter woke up in a room that wasn't his.
In a fraction of a second he had raised a Tardire shield around him. It was one of the Auror spells he favoured nowadays, since it remained active for a longer time than Protego, and it didn't risk injuring nearly civilians as the Reflecto series. He preferred a more active fighting style usually, but Shacklebolt had impressed upon him the need to be prepared for unforeseen circumstances (as if his life, until that point, hadn't been just one long chain of such events).
As the shield slowly dissipated he chastised himself for being so jumpy. After all, the days of sleeping in the woods with Death Eaters on his tail were behind him. Breathe, Harry, breathe. Think of something nice. Butterbeer? Hermione? Rainbows? Well, this isn't quite working. It's a shame most Wizards despise Muggle Sciences, one could make a fortune by providing Wizard-tailored therapy sessions for people hit by the war. Which is everyone.
Harry looked around. It was quite well-illuminated for such a small room, probably a one-person bedroom. White walls, sparse generic furniture, some clothes, personal belongings, an empty owl cage, some scribbled parchments, a pensive...wait, was that his handwriting?
He picked up a stack of papers and began sifting through them. However, he couldn't recall writing notes on "Reversing Inanimate Transfiguration – Metal Objects". He frowned, realizing the details of the notes were more in-depth than anything he'd seen at Hogwarts, since they discussed long-term curses and spell-stacking. Even more puzzling was a picture of him, Dean Thomas and guy he didn't recognize, cheering at a Quidditch match.
Still not making heads and tails of the situation, Harry cast another spell. "Localis", he shouted. Yes, still 28th of May, 2000, London...Acorn Street? That's across the city, in the outskirts! But he lived on Oak Shadow, a ten minutes walk from Diagon Alley. What happened?
A knock on the door interrupted his musings. "Harry? You there?" Come on, we were supposed to leave ten minutes ago, we'll never make it in time now and you know how Mrs. Merlowe doesn't like it!", Dean's voice came through. Harry became suspicious, so he tried to recall something about Dean that only the two of them knew. Unfortunately, they were never that close at Hogwarts, even though they had been roommates. "Hey Dean, where was my bed? At Hogwarts I mean. How was it situated?" Dean sounded a little irate. "How am I supposed to know that, you twat? I don't have time for your games, so I'll just leave and you can bugger off for all I care. Bye!" There was the sound of a shutting door somewhere in the distance.
Harry went from confused to positively alarmed. He spent some time casting detection spells and wards, but there was no sign of curses, malicious items or any hostile presence. Still prudent, he picked up an edition of the Daily Prophet, dated two weeks ago:
"Hogwarts curriculum found inadequate by Council: students are unable to integrate within the Muggle world without risking detection, Oblivion Squad working overtime"
"Mal Foy laptops: 24h battery life in Muggle areas guaranteed"
"Scandal at St. Mungo's: Store of Alleviato potions is found depleted, main suspect a well-known addict"
"Protest in front of the Ministry of Magic: pay gap between mixed-blood and old-blood still an issue. Exclusive interview with Riddle."
"Three people injured by a two-century old talisman. Early reports reveal that spell embedded in the necklace had degraded earlier than expected, mismatching wand magical core probably at fault"
"Myth debunked: contrary to popular opinion, persons coming from mixed or Muggle family are no better at spell-casting, study finds."
"Weasley Wizard's Wheezes reduction coupons – buy a Delicious Demise, get one free!"
Harry sat down on the bed. What had happened? It felt like his life had been scrambled and the pieces rearranged into something he did not recognize anymore. Did he suffer an accident in a raid gone wrong? Was he in a coma? Had he been cursed? Is this how life after death looks like?
Harry felt a bit as if he was part of a TV series, where the protagonist has amnesia and has to rediscover his identity. However, he remembered very well who he was and what he'd went through. Only yesterday he had been having a Floo chat with a very excited Hermione, who had been making progress on her book on the Theory of Magic.
"How can you not understand this, Harry? Magic cannot progress if we don't develop a standardized, uniform way for spell development. I mean, one simply cannot try out random Latin words combinations until there's a meaningful result! And what about spells taught at Durmstrang?" I'm sure that they don't use Latin as their starting point, but they must have similarly potent spells! Am I right, Harry?"
"Yes, Hermione", Harry agreed.
Hermione cocked her head to the side. "I'm sorry, Harry, am I boring you again? I've told you to tell me."
Harry was quick to reassure her. "It's fine. I'm glad that it's working out for you. I, however, am busting my ass on Auror training. I enjoy it and all, but I hate being told, repeatedly, that I am not good enough. That my spell casting is haphazard and sub-par..."
Hermione interrupted,"But you won the Battle of Hogwarts!"
"Yes, Hermione, but what little I've managed to teach myself in Dumbledore's Army and whatnot is nothing compared to what these Austrian Aurors know. And I have to make up for years of not receiving a proper Defense of the Dark Arts training." Harry sighed.
Something in Harry's expression prompted her to smile. "You know Harry, know how you and Ron used to call me a stickler for good work ethic? Look at you. You work yourself to the bone and try to shrug it off like it's nothing."
Harry laughed. "You know Hermione, we should go and visit Ron one of these days. Spend the day together, just the three of us, like the good ol' times."
Hermione nodded. "Yes, sounds like a plan. Unfortunately I have to go now, until next time, Harry!"
"Bye Hermione!"
Harry couldn't recall anything of particular interest that took place after that conversation, just his usual before-bed routine. His thoughts went back to his current situation. What would Hermione do now? Does Hermione know him still in this weird, through-the-looking glass world?
From what he could glean from the article, even without Voldemort and the Death Eaters, there were other problems plagueing the Wizarding World: social inequality, stagnation, lack of adaptability, and so on. It was just that, in a world ravaged by war and scarred even since before his birth, such issues could not have come to light and probably would not have done so during his lifetime.
Harry reflected upon his situation. It might be that, in this world, he was simply "Harry Potter". Never "The Boy Who Lived", upon whom life had always thrust unrealistic expectations. No matter the circumstances in which he got here, it might be possible to find a bit of inner peace, even for a while. Perhaps, one day, he could also find a way to get back to his friends.
Harry picked up his wand and headed to the door. The holly beneath his finger felt comforting and familiar. He was, for once, just a young man with a world of endless possibilities in front of him.