Harry Potter and the Serbian Potato

It was a misty spring morning in London when Harry woke up groggily to the sound of owls screeching and fluttering past him as he lay on a bed of straw atop the roof of the Leaky Cauldron. He fumbled about for his glasses and lifted his head slightly to look over the small ledge behind him towards Diagon Alley which seemed to be empty except for a troupe of goblins hobbling to work. It was extremely cold and Harry realized he was shivering which almost made him disregard how horribly hungover he was. It had been quite wild the night before when Harry had gone partying with the Weasleys and some friends to celebrate Fred's birthday. They had had a wizard time and Harry vaguely remembered staggering inside Voldy's Den, the biggest wizard bar in London at around 2 in the morning but he could only remember keeping his lips to a glass of Honeygin and everything else was blank.

So how did he end up on the roof of the Leaky Cauldron then? To make it worse, he wasn't wearing a shirt or shoes so he was desperately trying to get himself on to his feet to go somewhere warm. Finally, he got up and spotted his wand laying askew on the straw. Picking it up hastily, he descended down the stairs and into the pub which was occupied by a group of eccentric looking wizards smoking something out of pipes that smelled suspiciously like kush. Harry went into the kitchen to look for Tom the barkeeper, but there was nobody there except for the huge cauldrons and pots on the stove that were cooking on their own and giving off an amazing aroma, making Harry realize how extremely famished he was. He grabbed a bowl and went towards the closest cauldron which smelled like an amazing beef stew and ladled his bowl full with it. He looked around for some bread and spotted some loaves inside a cabinet just next to an oak barrel which Harry gazed at with delight.

Armed with a pitcher, Harry marched over to the barrel and opened the tap, impatient to take a swig of Tom's famous ale. Harry had learned from experience that the best way to avoid a hangover was to keep drinking the next morning and this is what he planned to do. Grabbing a loaf of bread, he was about to sit down when a large round potato fell out of the cabinet. Annoyed, he bent to pick it up but just as he curled his fingers around it, everything went black. Harry suddenly felt an excruciating pain in his head and he instinctively started to scream as the pain got unbearably worse. It was beyond any pain he had ever felt before and he promptly passed out.

The passers-by looked curiously albeit fleetingly at the wild looking boy sleeping on the side of the street with an odd looking stick jutting out of his jeans pocket. Everyone seemed to be hurrying somewhere and not stopping to talk or loiter around as they would usually do in this part of the city during normal times. But these were not ordinary times in Sarajevo, as everyone knew only too well and the darkening skies made everyone scurry to safety in a hurry. The sleeping boy suddenly sat up with a jolt and looked around with a look of total confusion in his eyes. At least, that was what Gavrilo could see, seated on the steps of a pleasure house, smoking his pipe, pulling his shawl tighter around his neck as he observed the boy across the street trying to get to his feet.

Harry looked around in bewilderment, this did not seem at all like Diagon Alley or even Knockturn Alley for that matter. He had no clue where he was and he was freezing even more than before. He felt a burning pain in the palm of his right hand as if he had just touched something extremely hot but could not remember what. A sudden pang of hunger flared up in Harry's stomach and he heaved himself on to his feet in spite of feeling extremely dizzy and weak. He saw a man sitting on the stairway of a gaudy looking house, wearing a knee length coat and desert boots, thickly bearded with a prominent scar on his left cheek all the way down to his neck. He was staring directly at Harry and for a crazy moment, he thought that the man might know him.

Gavrilo had seen enough to know who the boy must be, he motioned for him to come over and when there was no response he took out a chunk of cheese and waved it at the bespectacled and shirtless boy. The boy tentatively came over to him and studied his face before reaching out and taking the cheese. Gavrilo then removed his coat and gave it to the boy who hesitated but then took it and slid his arms through it, all the while looking at him curiously. Finally, the boy asked,

"Can you tell me where am I? What is this place?".

Gavrilo did not understand this foreign tongue but he guessed it must be what they spoke in Britannia. He wondered what this English boy was doing in the streets of Sarajevo but he had a curious feeling that it wasn't a coincidence and he was certain that it was a wand sticking out of the boy's pocket. The scar on his forehead could however only mean one thing, he must be the chosen one. He answered the boy in his native Bosnian tongue and watched as the boy stared uncomprehendingly at him. He then slid his wand out and pointing it at the floor, muttered something which produced a burst of flames that coalesced to form a small fire. The boy's eyes widened as he watched this and his eyes flickered instinctively to his own wand but before he could move a muscle Gavrilo had grabbed his hand and swiveled around and they were no longer there.

Harry had no time to think or react before he landed on his butt, his hand still trying to pull out his wand. He was too late however, as the rugged looking man had already beaten him to it and stood over him with both wands at his side. Wandless and clueless, Harry was beginning to feel both scared and worried. Where the hell was he and who was this foreign wizard? A door opened just then and a woman walked inside. She spoke briefly with the man and after nodding her understanding, asked Harry in deeply accented English,

"Who arr you? What you arr doing hierr? Wherr you from?"

"My name is Harry, I'm from London and that is where I was a few minutes ago, I have no clue how I ended up here, where am I?"

"You arr in Sarrajevo and zis is not good time to come hierr. Zis man is my husband, Gavrilo."

Her answer left him perplexed. He suddenly remembered an unusually round potato and thought of the burn on his hand and it suddenly occurred to him that he may have unknowingly used a Portkey. Feeling somewhat relieved he asked the man for his wand so that he could apparate back to London and get himself a glass of Scotch to cure his parched throat. But the man simply shook his head, pointed at Harry's scar and said something to the woman. She said,

"You can not go now, Gavrilo says you arr marked, he has been looking for a wizard with scarr, you arr hierr now, she said you will come, she is neverr wrrong !"

"I have no idea what you mean, I'm sorry but you must be mistaken, why were you looking for someone like me anyway?"

"Tomorrow comes ze prrince of Austria to Saraajevo, we must kill him! You have to help us, zey have destroyed our people, everrybody is starrving, no food to eat, we arr helpless!"

"The prince? What prince? What are you talking about? Is this a joke?"

Gavrilo pulled something out of his pocket and thrust it at Harry, it was a crumpled up newspaper with an indecipherable script and a moving picture of a stately man who looked quite like a prince from many years ago. Harry scanned the page and his heart almost skipped a beat as he glanced at the top. He blinked and stared incredulously at the date printed on the top.

27.06.1914

Harry gulped and looked at Gavrilo. Harry did not know what to make of it all. He had apparently touched a Portkey that had not only taken him to Bosnia but also to 75 years back in time!