Chapter 1
McGonagall soon realized that Harry Potter wasn't like other children. She had always been able to elicit some sort of a reaction whenever she demonstrated her animagus ability, but not with Harry. Unfazed, he stared at her gray, black-striped tabby cat form with ambivalence. It was peculiar to say the least. Perhaps the boy's disposition had something to do with the incident last year, McGonagall surmised.
Transforming back, she went on to explain about British wizarding society and how there was an entire international community hidden from the muggle world. Harry's parents had been a part of that community. British wizards and witches who turned eleven were invited to attend one of seven schools of magic in the country. Her responsibility was to introduce each of the schools and allow the boy to choose his preferred institution.
"I believe Hogwarts will offer you the best education," McGonagall promoted shamelessly after briefly discussing the other schools. Indeed, Hogwarts alumni often went on to become important figures in society. No small number of graduates achieved fame as Ministers of Magic, aurors, professional quidditch players, potion masters, and the like. Much of Hogwarts' success could be attributed to Albus Dumbledore, a widely renowned wizard in Europe.
"Do I have to attend a school?" Harry asked, to McGonagall's surprise. In all her years as a recruiter, never had an orphan considered rejecting the opportunity to learn magic. Even more surprising was that the boy didn't inquire about his parents despite her having mentioned their history at Hogwarts.
"Yes, it is required by wizarding law. Should you refuse to enroll, we will have no choice but to bind your magic. An untrained wizard is dangerous not only to others but also to himself," she explained.
The boy became silent, occasionally glancing at a particular corner of the room. His behavior struck McGonagall as strange. She could swear it felt like someone or something was watching them, but when she had secretly cast a revelio charm, nothing was revealed. Eventually, she chalked it to an overly fickle imagination because of her sleep deprived state. The summer months before the start of the school year were always the busiest.
"I will go to Hogwarts," the boy finally decided.
McGonagall smiled. She had been looking forward to the Potter boy attending his parents' alma mater. Based on how James and Lily Potter turned out, she had high hopes for their son.
She handed him the necessary materials for onboarding, including an official Hogwarts acceptance letter. Next week a Ministry of Magic representative would visit the boy to take him to Diagon Alley for his wand and school supplies.
"Do you have any more questions for me, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked.
The boy hesitated, his attention drifting to the corner again. "I don't know how to say this professor, but…I see things."
McGonagall raised a brow. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."
The boy had opened his mouth to respond but suddenly thought better of it. "It's nothing, professor."
Puzzled but ultimately uninterested, McGonagall bid him farewell. Though the Potter boy was interesting, she saw no reason to think he was any more than a precocious child. Preoccupied by thoughts of remaining errands, the witch failed to notice an ominous shadow in the corner stretching outwards as she departed.
August 10, 1987
John absentmindedly checked his pocket watch for the third time that morning. It had been a week since Professor McGonagall visited the orphanage to discuss his enrollment at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. To his chagrin, her appearance confirmed what he had already suspected but didn't want to believe - he had somehow assumed the identity of JK Rowling's titular character, Harry bloody Potter. Despite having only seen the movies, John could tell this world wasn't an exact replica of the one in the story. A distinct lack of a scar on his forehead was the first big clue. His perfect eyesight was another. And then there was the conspicuous absence of Harry's relatives, the Dursleys. Thankfully, these differences made it less likely he would have to duke it out with a snake-faced Ralph Fiennes in the future.
Over a year had elapsed since John arrived. With each passing day, he became more pessimistic about his chances of returning home. How did one go about reverse engineering astral-dimensional travel? It wasn't for a lack of trying but conducting esoteric research without the internet meant long hours in a dusty public library with a sharp-nosed librarian breathing down his neck. John had almost thrown in the towel until a certain Scottish lady walked into his room, and then the solution hit him like Nolan's train. The answer to his predicament was magic.
"Hello? Earth to Harry? Bloody hell. Did you hear anything I just said?" a girl's voice penetrated his thoughts. It belonged to Emily, a fellow orphan and the closest thing he had to a friend in this world. She had arrived after his incident, so she was less affected by the stigma that surrounded him. Unfortunately, she had a penchant for being too talkative. Shrugging, John took a seat by the base of a large apple tree.
It was kind of sad, John thought to himself. A year ago, he was a twenty-five-year-old analyst slaving away at a Fortune 500. He hated his job, but it paid well, and he had a great social life outside of work. Now, he was stuck in some kid's body, and his only acquaintance was a freckled, foul-mouthed, English preteen.
"I swear you can be such a dunderhead sometimes," Emily continued, pouting.
Snap. She broke off a twig above his head and flung it at him.
"Stop."
Snap. She threw another.
"If Mr. Fibbet finds you messing with his precious apple tree, you're going to get us both in trouble," said John, mildly annoyed.
Snap. A particularly large twig grazed his cheek. He had forgotten what it was like to be a preteen, and for good reason.
"Okay, I mean it. What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing," Emily chirped, though he could tell she was clearly lying.
"If you're still mad about me going to Hogwarts, I'm telling you for the last time that it's out of my control."
Emily snorted. "Sure."
"Wait. Are you jealous?"
"I'm not ruddy jealous," she snapped back. "My problem is that the only tolerable person in this crapshoot orphanage is ditching me to go off to some stupid fancy Scottish preparatory school."
"Don't forget that this crapshoot feeds us," John quipped, consulting his pocket watch again. Someone from the Ministry of Magic was supposed to come pick him up an hour ago. They were late, which was odd since John thought wizards and witches could teleport.
"I can offer you my services," a raspy voice in his head interjected without warning. John's shadow elongated.
"Yeah, no. Nice try, but I'm not making any deals with you," John telepathically replied to the disembodied voice.
"Your choice."
The demon retreated from the material plane, causing his shadow to ripple almost imperceptibly. Almost.
Emily gasped. "Did you see that, Harry?"
John inhaled sharply. "See what?"
"The shadow… it… nevermind." Emily shook her head in disbelief, as though convincing herself it had been a trick of the light.
John exhaled. The last thing he wanted was for Emily to suspect he was being haunted. There were already illspoken rumors about him circulating at the orphanage. If the orphanage got wind of a possible demonic possession, they would invariably seek help from the Vatican again. Little did they know, the exorcisms would be completely useless against such an entity.
The specter had scared the living daylights out of John when it first introduced itself a year ago. It rarely communicated, but during their few conversations he extracted enough information to make an educated guess about its nature - it was a cognito entity of some kind. At best, it was a harmless ghost that latched onto his psyche, and at worst, a cognitohazard that ate away at his mind or soul. Not that there was anything he could do at the moment. Even McGonagall, while aware something was amiss, couldn't actually see or detect the entity. Because the past year had passed without much fanfare, John had decided to tolerate the specter as long as it wasn't an immediate threat.
"We've got guests," Emily announced as two figures approached from a distance.
Sure enough Father Wesley and a stout middle-aged man in outdated muggle fashion walked over. Quick to react, John hastily brushed off the dirt on his jeans and greeted the adults while Emily stood awkwardly by his side.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter. My name is Edward Maxwell. I apologize for my tardiness, but I'm here to take you shopping for school supplies. Are you ready to leave?" Mr. Maxwell asked. The man had a squeaky voice.
John nodded.
"Wonderful. Mr. Maxwell, I'll leave Mr. Potter in your care. I..." Father Wesley began to say until he heard a twig snap. Face turning red, he whipped around at the culprit, barking, "Emily! How many times have I told you not to damage the apple tree."
"Piss off, you old codger!" Emily sneered rebelliously. John rolled his eyes - preteen angst.
Father Wesley stuck his index finger in the air furiously. "I've had enough young lady. Cleaning duty for the rest of the week. Report to Sister Claudia now." Seeing as Emily made no effort to move, he personally went to escort the girl.
"I'll get you a souvenir, Emily!" John called out after his friend as she was dragged away.
"It'd better not be cheap!" she hollered back.
"I must say, Mr. Potter, you certainly like to keep interesting company," Mr. Maxwell observed after the priest and trouble-making girl had disappeared from view. He pulled out a wand and gave it a wave. "Hold on to my arm, Mr. Potter. We'll be apparating to the Leaky Cauldron. It's sort of like teleportation in muggle speak."
Curious to see how magical teleportation worked, John complied.
"I find it less discombobulating if you hold your breath," the wizard suggested and with a pop they vanished into thin air.