Magic is a finicky thing, a mysterious energy that surrounds us. Invisible to some, but visible to others.
Throughout history: magic has been the most understudied and the most criticized topic of discussion. Oftentimes it's overlooked as an answer to mysterious questions. Many would dismiss the notion of such naive assumptions… But… What if it is the answer?
Magic The elusive element, supernatural knowledge, the unknown force...
It has claimed many titles throughout the years, each more mystical and mysterious as the last. But magic by nature is quite volatile at times. Calm and orderly one moment, then wild and unpredictable the next.
At times it seems to have a mind of its own. It has a strange sense of humor. At times it could be seen as a cruel trick or joke gone too far.
Displacement of wayward souls.
Wisping unfortunate souls away from their lands or worlds. To familiar or unfamiliar lands or worlds. This was a common thing to happen in the older days of magic. People taken from their world are often found by the ancient magicals of their homeland or homeworld.
But with the decline of the mystic arts in the ever-evolving world. The ability to return the lost is impossible. Science the pursuit of reason. Eclipsed the mystery power of magic. Overtime practitioners of the mystic arts began to be faced with hostility from the enlightened masses, with science taking hold of the world. The way of magic began to disappear from the world.
Only two arts were accepted by the changes of time, religious magic and chosen traditional magic. Neither of which could help with the displacement of wayward souls. So sadly, many wisped souls are lost to magic's game.
I'm one such soul… Ripped from my home and time… face extraordinary odds... With only my wits and luck... To raise a hurt child… With a certain bolt scar And I have no regrets.
Wrong place, right time?
Rain pours down from the late greyline sky of lower London.
People milling around. Minding their own thoughts and actions.
Some stand under roofs of buildings or stores to find refuge and relief in the downpour. Some actually partake in the purchase of store items.
Motor vehicles riding up and down the streets. Stopping at the notion of red lights then return to their motions of the road.
A seemingly normal day in London. Normal people living their simple lifestyle. If one only glimpse at the sight wouldn't notice anything out of ordinary.
But if one looks closer you could see an outlier in the crowd. One is different from the rest.
Under a newsstand. Sitting on a bench lies our soaking wet oddity.
Disheveled black hair bespectacled Caucasian man of twenty-one years and height of five foot seven. Goes by the name of Dyllan.
One again could gloss over the man because of the hair. chalking it out as an effect of the rainstorm. But that's not the only thing setting him apart. It's his clothing...and the state he's in.
Blue hooded long sleeve zip-up jacket splotches of mud are visible along the arms of the article of weather protection.
The jacket that once sat over him is now placed next to him on the ground.
Orange long sleeve shirt with 'rebel' spelt on the front and a silver chain necklace with an eagle pendent around his neck. Once hidden under the jacket now in full display. The shirt is partly stained with mud around the neck region mostly.
Black satchel stained with grass and mud once hung over his shoulder now rests on the ground next to him. Jacket under it.
Black and white gloves lie with the jacket and satchel. Golf gloves by the looks. The man doesn't play golf, he just likes the design of them.
Long black cargo pants stained with mud and on his feet are black and blue shoes with white socks. Which are thankful dry.
The man seems to have had a bad string of misfortune at the moment. Head hung back over the bench. Eyes closed, taking breaths to calm his nerves. Arms at his sides.
Water dripped off him. People who looked at his direction could only grimace at his state.
People giving him a wide berth. Those that have bad days often are in a bad mood.
But the lad isn't angry. He's tired and confused. And maybe it's safe to say he's a little frustrated about his situation.
For being uncomfortable drenched? Yes.
Being in an unfamiliar location? Also, yes.
But that pales in comparison to his newest addition to his list of concerns.
On full display are the racks of news articles showing the latest information and happenings of yesterday's news. Each proudly shows the year to his growing dread.
1985
'He knew that the date was wrong. It had to be the year was 2022 not 1985 it was impossible for it to be.'
But his worries grew with each passing minute.
Recall the unfamiliar locations? He did discover where he was, but the answer left him with only more questions...far more questions.
Little Whinging, Surrey, England
And sadly, this is no dream.
Dyllan's perspective
Fuck…
.
.
.
What the hell happened?
One second, I was walking down the street, turning down the alley, the next, tripping on a root of a tree.
I groaned.
It took me a while to find a town. Didn't really take long since I thought I was lost in a forest, but it was actually a park.
I thought I was still in Vermont. But the sight of the Union Jack flags told me another story.
And the people gave me sympathetic glances. Probably because I'm covered almost head to toe in mud.
Oh yeah, the rain… the downpour helping me clean off come of it. My face is clean and thankfully my glasses aren't broken.
Now I find myself here at a newsstand of all places. This is the only place with a roof over my head and a bench that's free of people.
When I was walking around, I learned some things. Then when I found the newsstand, I found out more things.
One: I'm definitely not in the United States anymore.
Two: Little Whinging… that name sounds familiar isn't that from Harry Potter.
Three: I'm feeling strange...I don't know how to describe it but the air feels weird like there's pushing and pulling.
And lastly Four: I'm somehow in 1985…
How the hell did this happen?!
I found out that this isn't a dream because my arm wouldn't be hurting from the fall back at that tree.
So, I'm in England with no passport or any other documentation, I can't go to the authorities because of the previous sentence, and I likely don't exist in the States so I have nothing there or waiting for me…
Fuck...
I know for a fact I have my phone and wallet with me. But I only have fifty dollars to my name, and I don't think Wi-Fi was prevalent back then…
Double fuck…
.
.
.
I groaned again.
I looked up at the sky, still raining.
What the fuck am I gonna do.
'I could see if this is the wizarding world'
I blinked at the thought.
That's...that's the only thing I could do? I'm I really that fucked…
How would I even find out if the wizarding world is real?
.
.
.
Wait…
I'm in Little Whinging right?
And if I recall, Harry and his brat of a cousin are in primary school.
If I find out if Harry is real here, then that means the whole magic thing...is real?
.
.
.
I sighed.
What do I have left to lose?
I looked back up at the sky again.
Just gotta wait for it to stop raining.