This story begins way after twilight, on a late October night.

Three long years have passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, and they were still trying to repair the mess brought by the darkness of Voldemort's regime. There was mist in the air, and the auror Potter was on duty.

Different shades of sparkling lights could be seen ripping the skies of central London as auror Potter effortlessly flew on his firebolt while he duelled against a white-robed cloaked figure who was trying to run away from her fate. Harry hit the back of her broom with a Flipendo spell. It snatched the back of her broom and Harry prepared to catch the thief when it looked like she was losing her balance.

However, his opponent was not going to give it up that easily, and instead of surrendering, the witch did her best to get hold of the little control she had left of her broomstick to avoid a fatal collision.

As he dropped down to follow her closely, Harry had to admit it, the witch was not a bad flier. Nonetheless, she was still flying a broken broomstick, so it was not surprising when he witnessed her colliding straight into a rosebush in a park square he was unfamiliar with. Not wanting to lose any more time, he threw an Incarcerous spell on her when he was still five feet above the ground. She blocked his blow.

Harry sighed. At least there was no one else in the park, he thought, as he threw another curse in her direction. She ducked away from the red sparkles. However, before she could send a curse of her own towards him, she saw her wand flying away from her small hands. She growled in annoyance. Expelliarmus. His trademark. Could it have been more predictable?

Harry got hold of her wand, with the experience that only someone who had been fighting dark wizards before going to kindergarten could have. Her white hood still covered her face, but that was not enough to muffle the noises of annoyance that she was making. Harry had him and the witch's own wand pointed back at her.

"It's over. Hands up. You are under arrest,"

However, as the witch raised her hands, she let something small, almost imperceptive to human eyes fall on the floor. Harry almost didn't see it, and when he noticed it was already too late.

He tried to run away, but all the muggle electrical light around the park, and also from all the buildings surrounding it, already seemed to have been drained by the little ball of energy that was growing bigger by the millisecond. Harry was beginning to consider apparating away as he heard the maniacal laughter given by the witch. But it was too late even for that. Before he could think about a place to go, the wave of light hit his body, knocking him out immediately.


"Ok Google, add washing powder to the shopping list"

"Washing powder has been added to your shopping list."

The young woman quickly whispered the instructions to her phone as she tucked her soft yellow-red-and-orange dyed curls behind her pierced ears. The large amount of makeup she was wearing highlighted her pale skin, and the septum ring she wore between her nostrils accentuated the uniqueness of her appearance.

She was carrying a tray with three coffees, even though she was a tea drinker. She really couldn't afford it, being an undergraduate student and all, but that was her first day volunteering at her university's neuroscience department, and she wanted to make a good impression. Even though she was a third-year student, she was still learning her way through London and to their campus, as her previous two academic years had been… Well, you can probably figure it out.

The sun had just risen in central London, and there were a few commuters around, but that part of the city was never too busy around that time. She was crossing Tavistock square gardens, as it provided a good shortcut to their lab. It was then that the sight of an unconscious man lying down on a bed of autumn leaves made her stop.

Somehow, it didn't look like he was having a siesta after eating a particularly heavy breakfast. She looked around, and even though there were four other pedestrians passing by, nobody seemed to pay him any notice. She internally cursed her own knowledge of the bystander effect. If it wasn't for that, she would probably have ignored him like everyone else, who seemed to be doing just fine, and would have carried on with her day.

The closer she got to him, the clearer it became he was by no means homeless. Even though they were certainly quirky, his clothing was obviously from a fine making; besides, he definitely did not smell of alcohol or anything foul. As there was no sign of movement on his behalf, she kneeled next to him to check if he was still breathing, internally praying that he wouldn't be dead.

Only when she was really close that she noticed the up and down movement coming from his chest. Happy with confirmation that the man was alive, she was getting ready to stand up and carry on with her day when she suddenly felt a hand violently grasping her wrist.

Seconds later, she felt something cold and pointy pressing against her throat. She panicked. She was considering whether she should scream for help when the man let go of his grasp of her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I thought you were somebody else," he apologised, pocketing an object that looked like a Harry Potter wand back on its holder, which remained hidden behind his auror robes. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

She frowned.

"Hey, I was just trying to help, okay? What did you think you were doing? And was that a Harry Potter wand that you were attacking me with? "

He froze. Was she a muggle or a witch? He decided to have a better look at her, from her bright colourful hair, moving to her purple dungarees to her heavy black boots. But it was only when his eyes laid on a Golden Snitch necklace that she wore that he knew that was all the confirmation he needed to be wary around her.

"I'm sorry, but I am going to have to take you to the Ministry for some questioning."

"What?"

"You have just stumbled into a crime scene. There is nothing to fear if you have nothing to hide. Now, if you could follow me…" he offered his arm for her, but instead of taking it, she frowned and gave him a concerned look.

"Look, I see you are doing ok, but I have to go now. Take care." And she turned around, shaking her head as she wondered what sort of drugs that man was likely on.

"I don't think you get it, Miss. This is not a polite invitation for tea that you can simply decline. I am taking you to the Ministry!" He got a firm grip on her arm, restraining her. That sudden movement made her almost drop the coffee tray that she was still carrying. Before she could say or do anything, he discreetly pointed his wand against her waist.

"Get your hands off me!"

"Stop making a scene! The muggles are starting to look at us."

"HELP! HELP!" she screamed, and while some people seemed to stop to look at them, nobody seemed to have the nerve to actually go there and do something about it.

"Silencio," he whispered, pressing his wand against her hips.

However, instead of having the desired effect of making her shut her mouth, that made her scream even louder. He then tried a stunning spell, but again, nothing happened. Harry was so taken aback by it that he let her go immediately.

Relieved, the girl did not think twice and walked away from him as fast as her coffee tray would allow her. Harry followed her.

"Did your magic stop working too?" he asked, confusion colouring his voice.

"Stop following me!" she snapped as she increased her pace.

"Look," he said, getting his wand out again and waving it around. "See? No sparks! Nothing!"

"I am calling the police!" she said, looking around before she grabbed her phone from her black leather jacket.

"Look, you know who I am, right?"

"A psycho weirdo…?"

"Listen, I am not stupid. Back then… you said my name. And your necklace… you might be wearing muggle attire, but I know you are a witch," he said matter-of-factly, placing his hands on his hip.

They had just arrived at the building where her team's lab was located. She stopped walking and slowly looked at him in a very peculiar way.

"I don't know from which loony bin you escaped, but stay away from me!"

"Listen, please! I'm not sure what happened, but it must be something to do with what was stolen from the Unspeakables last night. I shouldn't be telling you this, but it is important. You must follow me to the Ministry!"

"You clearly banged your head way too hard on that park. Go to the doctors! Now, if you'd excuse me," she blurted, removing an identity card from her pocket and scanning it on the security entrance gate. Harry was barely able to get a glimpse of the name on her employee badge: Alice D. Ranger.


"You are late, sunshine."

A black-bearded man with squared glasses informed her without taking his eyes from his computer. That man was Otto, one of the two post-doctoral students which she was there to assist. Alice sighed and placed one of the coffees she was still carrying at his table.

"You would be late if you were harassed by a lunatic this morning."

"Are you okay?" he asked, finally taking his eyes off the computer to have a better look at her.

"Yeah, yeah… let's just get on with it, ok? I don't really want to talk about it. Where is Hannah?"

"She's after some tape. Do you think you can sort out the psychometrics and consent forms on your own? Your first participant should be here in ten minutes."

Just as he said that, the interphone rang, making them both tense.

"I guess that our eight o'clock is earlier. I will go to sign him in. Do you think you got this, Ranger?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you go. I'll be fine." She waved a hand, dismissing him.

"Right. Try not to screw this up, Ranger," he said before he quickly answered the call, and left to greet their participant at the reception desk.

Alice sighed.

"You got this, you got this, you can do this," she repeated to herself like a mantra as she tried to find all the paperwork that was needed.

Considering that was her actual first day officially working there, she barely knew where things were kept. Besides, even though she was trying to shrug it off, the meeting with that strange mad man had messed up with her frame of mind.

Harry Potter's wand… Unspeakables… Ministry… didn't that guy know how to separate fiction to reality? What was that all about? He is clearly having hallucinations, if not being a bit delusional. Perhaps, he was a schizophrenic who forgot to take his medicine or something like that. Alice tried to rationalise it.

Still… there was something she couldn't figure out, something familiar, and yet, extremely alien about him… something that made that brief encounter they've shared haunt her for the rest of the day.


Harry was petrified.

Not only could he no longer use his wand, but he was also unable to apparate. He couldn't even call the Knight Bus! But the worse thing was, when he went to search for his communication mirror on the extended pocket of his auror robes, he realised it had been torn. None of the possessions he usually kept there - including his invisibility cloak - were anywhere to be found.

Trying not to panic, he sat down at one of the park benches coated by red, yellow and orange leaves of Tavistock Square Gardens and had a look at what he actually had.

A wristwatch gifted by Ginny on his last birthday, an infinity ink feather gifted by Hermione attached to his personal notepad, a pouch full of gold and silver coins he had taken from Gringotts earlier that week, his Gringotts' vault keys alongside Grimmauld place's keys, a small dose of Felix Felicis that Slughorn had gifted him again on his last birthday.

He was also carrying his auror badge, his ministry identity card, a loyalty card from the Ministry's cafeteria, receipts from many muggle and wizarding shops, as well as a letter from Ginny with a pair of tickets for her next quidditch game.

However, the most treasured possession of the lot was a letter written from his mother to Sirius, folded alongside a picture of himself as a toddler, flying on a broom with his parents. He smiled at the moving pictures of his family and carefully placed them back in his pocket with his other precious possessions.

One thing was certain: he needed to figure out what was happening with his magic.

After walking aimlessly for a few minutes at the autumnal sunny central London, he realised he knew exactly where he was, and luckily, it wasn't too far from Diagon Alley's entrance. He ran as fast as he could, trying not to bump at the muggles who were mostly dressed up for Halloween, through the busy streets of Covent Garden, trying to reach the magical place where Hagrid had taken him on his eleventh birthday.

Only to find it wasn't there anymore.

The small, dark, dingy place that used to hide the entrance to Diagon Alley was not there. He walked up and down the narrow road that was clothed in orange leaves, but the pub stubbornly refused to appear. And it wasn't like he was a muggle or a squib that was suddenly feeling the urge to get away from that area - the pub was simply not there.

His heart was racing, and he knew he needed to figure out what was going on. He needed to get to the Ministry of Magic. Luckily, he had done that walk a couple of times, and he knew he wasn't too far from both the telephone box and the toilets, which were used by a good part of their employees.

So he ran again. He sprinted all the way down to Charing Cross, barely stopping to apologise as he bumped into a group of muggle ladies dressed up as witches for a hen party. The women were calmly taking pictures of the beautifully decorated spooky windows from posh stores, all unaware of his enormous despair. It took him an entire fifteen minutes, but he finally reached his destination, thirsty and sweaty.

Only to find there was no phone-box anywhere to be seen.

Harry ran his hands through his hair and sat down on the curb of the pavement. He was doing his best to hold his own shit together. So he took a deep breath before he forced his legs to take him to the place where the public toilets should be. However, as he stepped into Horse Guard Avenue, he already knew there was no toilet, public or not, muggle or magical, nowhere near that place.

He was seriously screwed.

Trying to do his best to remain calm, he slowly dragged himself to a bench by the Thames, which was overlooking the muggle Millennium Wheel. As he claimed his seat, he noticed there was one muggle newspaper on the bench. He was merely moving the newspaper away from the seat, however, when his eyes stumbled across the date. He was again on the verge of having a panic attack. 29th October of 2021. 2021. Not 2001.

Somehow, he had moved twenty years forward in the future. A future where apparently not only his magic failed to work, but Diagon Alley and the Ministry of Magic didn't seem to exist, or if they did, they most likely had made a different set of doorways now.

He looked around, trying to see if he would spot any clue that could confirm or deny that he was indeed twenty years ahead of his time. Everything looked pretty similar to what he was used to, but again, there were some little things that were just not right.

For starters, the muggle Parliament and the Big Ben seemed to be under renovation. He didn't remember seeing all that scaffolding when he was chasing the thief last night. He silently cursed everybody from the Department of Mysteries, as he was almost certain that the object she had stolen and activated last night was what threw him into such a daunting situation in the first place.

Then there was also this thing that he failed to notice before. A new muggle trend, one that seemed to have become quite a hit: covering someone's mouth and nose with some sort of cloth. Others were even going to the extreme of wearing what looked like a medical mask. Even though not everybody seemed to be joining this new tendency, it was clearly the fashionable item to have at the moment.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale... he needed to keep his mind straight. He had got away from much worse situations in the past. Becoming a squib in a dystopic future where nothing seemed to be where it should, was nothing in comparison to the things he had endured so far. He needed to keep things in perspective. Right. If the Ministry and Diagon Alley were out of bounds for him, then he needed to try to get to the other magical places in London that he knew.


When he managed to find the building where St. Mungo's used to be, he learned it had been destroyed, thanks to something called HS2 railways. He tried to catch a magpie to use it to send a message to one of his friends, but the bird didn't seem to have got the memo that said it should help their fellow wizards to communicate.

It was much later in the day when he crawled all his way to Grimmauld Place, only to find out that the Grimmauld Square now was called Claremont Square. But the worst thing was, not only did his house no longer have any of its wards in place, when he tried to use his keys to open the door, an old muggle lady screamed from inside the house. And unfortunately, it wasn't Sirius' deceased mother. Not wanting to see what would happen if she decided to call the cops, he ran away to Pentonville Road, making his way down to King's Cross.

And there he was, thinking his day couldn't possibly get weirder...

King's Cross station was different. And by different, he didn't only mean the new refurbishment that the station had clearly gone through. For starters, both Platforms 9 and 10 were not where they used to be. Instead, the pillar that housed the hidden portal used by Hogwarts' students now was in the middle of Platforms 4 and 5. He tried to see if it was still there, just in case, only to hit his head at the solid pillar from the station.

However, nothing could have prepared him for what he witnessed when he made his way to the actual Platforms 9 and 10. There was a shop. A muggle shop. A muggle shop called "The Harry Potter shop at Platform 9 ¾". In front of it, there was a replica of the Hogwarts Express trolley crossing the 9 ¾'s portal, and shopkeepers were taking pictures of muggle children and adults, who were queuing for hours to have their picture taken on that sodding trolley.

Harry stopped in front of the shop. His mouth and eyes were wide open. A blond lady that worked there approached him.

"Hi, you need to wear a mask if you want to come in."

"A mask?"

"Yes. Unless you are exempted, you need to wear a mask."

"Er… right," he said, barely looking at her face, as he was still trying to process everything that he was seeing.

"Sir, do you have a mask?" she asked him in a professional way.

"A mask?"

"Yes. Have you got one?"

"Er… no, I don't think so," he said, slightly confused as to why one would have to wear a mask to go inside a shop in the first place.

The lady then handed him a box full of surgical masks, and he automatically complied, picking one.

He was utterly shocked by everything he saw when he was finally inside.

Replicas and more replicas of everything he owned. Everything! Even the Marauder's Map or his invisibility cloak. Replicas of his, Ron's, Hermione's, Sirius', and even Snape's wand! Replicas of the fucking Elder Wand!

He saw a young kid dressed up like him. He knew the kid was trying to impersonate him because the boy had a lightning bolt drawn on his forehead. Harry was famous in the wizarding community, but that level of fanaticism was not something that he had experienced before.

Replicas of Marvolo Gaunt's old ring, replicas of time-turners, love potions and Felix Felicis; they even had a replica of the jumper Molly had made for him for his first Christmas at Hogwarts! How did they even know that Molly used to knit him jumpers for Christmas!? The whole thing was extremely disturbing.

While he freaked out at every detail of the replicas, he saw muggles happily filling their shopping baskets with Ravenclaw quidditch jumpers and Hedwiges' plush toys. It was kinda creepy.

But the most frightening thing inside the shop was by far a set of seven books they had on display. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone; Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets; Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban… it was bonkers. All the books seemed to be credited to the same author: a lady called JK Rowling that he never had met.

Deciding to get one of the books and having a flicker through its pages proved to be utterly horrifying. The book even had some of his own thoughts printed on it for everyone to see. Harry never knew for sure how long he stayed inside that shop, but it was definitely more than an hour.

When he finally left, Harry felt his stomach rumbling. It was already late in the afternoon, and he hadn't even had breakfast yet. He didn't have any muggle currency, and without his invisibility cloak, stealing food could be a tricky business. Luckily, as he wandered around the streets of the King's Cross area, he saw a sign in an antique muggle shop announcing that they would buy gold.

Now, Harry knew that exchanging galleons for any muggle currency without the goblins' mediation was an illegal matter, but he honestly couldn't care less at that point. Actually, if the goblins decided to go after him, he would likely be thrilled to see anyone from the magical world, even if they were there to attack him. Unfortunately, he wasn't that lucky.

Harry separated one of his galleons and gave it to the old shopkeeper, who had a deep frown on his semblance as he looked from the galleon to Harry, and from Harry to the galleon again, as if he was trying to figure something out. The man weighed his golden coin, revealing it had exactly one hundred grams.

Harry felt his stomach begging for being fed, and he began to wonder if the shopkeeper was able to hear it, too. The shopkeeper, however, was too busy running tests on Harry's golden coin to pay him any notice. After some careful consideration, the man frowned at Harry again.

"Hey kid, I can give you one thousand seven hundred pounds for this."

Harry was looking at the man deep in his eyes. Somehow, Harry could tell from the man's face that the price he was being offered was much lower than what it should have been.

"Bullshit. This is worth more than three grand, and you know it." Harry bluffed with a fake conviction in his voice.

The man squinted his eyes and gave a better look at him.

"I can give you two thousand and five hundred now. That is all I have."

"Fine," Harry greeted his teeth in false anger, not believing how much money that simple negotiation bluff had just earned him.

Harry was not a total ignorant when it came to muggle currency, so he knew that it was quite a lot of money. Though he would be sure to properly research how much 100g of pure gold was actually worth before he even conceived exchanging any more of his galleons.

With his new money on hand, he went to a small fast-food joint to get something to eat, only to find out that they would refuse to take his money.

"I'm sorry, mate, we are a cashless establishment. We can only take contactless payment."

"You only take what?"

"Contactless payment."

"What is a contactless payment?"

The man who worked at the burger shop began to lose his patience and showed him to the direction of a local pub, where, according to him, they would accept his cash as payment.

As he ate his late lunch, Harry couldn't help but think about all the crazy things that he had faced since he woke up in that square.

He was alone, in a time and place where his magic didn't seem to work. He had some galleons in his pocket, and even though they seemed to be quite valuable, his money was bound to run out eventually if he wasn't careful. Harry needed to find his way back to the place he belonged. After seeing that shop at Kings Cross, he was beginning to wonder if he had travelled only through time or if what had happened was something even bigger.

He sighed, wishing that he had Ron and Hermione with him. Ron would have no clue of what to do, but at least he would provide some comfort… whereas Hermione, well, she would certainly know exactly what to do. Hell, she probably would be able to tell him where he was, why that was happening, and what they needed to do in order to go home. Harry sighed. He missed his friends.

He needed to find a place to sleep, but before that, he felt like he should pay another visit to the crime scene, the place where he had woken up. He knew it wasn't ideal, as many hours had passed since then. Besides, without his magic working at top shape, it would be hard to find anything anyway. But he had no other choice. He had to start somewhere.


It was already dark when Alice crossed the square for the second time that day, and she didn't think she would see the same man that assaulted her that morning still there. His tie was undone, his black hair was even messier than before, and his previously immaculate robes were looking like they had seen better days. He looked deeply lost into his thoughts, as he sat on one of the benches next to the Hiroshima Memorial. She would never know why she decided to approach him again, but that was exactly what she did. Throwing all her best judgment out of the window, she sat down at the free spot next to him.

"I can't believe you're still here."

He slowly raised his eyes to face her. It took him a few seconds, but his expression changed as his green eyes met her dark browns. He recognised her, though he still had a confused look on his face.

"Look, I'm sorry for the way I behaved around you this morning… I…" he started, but he soon closed his mouth.

Alice frowned, and for the first time, she had a better look at the details of his face, and only then she realised…

"Oh my God! You actually do look like Harry Potter." And then her eyes fell on his famous lighting bolt scar. And her eyes widened in shock, as she thought about the extent that man's fanaticism for that book had led him to.

Harry sighed.

"Would you believe it if I told you that I am Harry Potter? Not the… book character. The real deal."

"No. No. No. You are crazy…" she started to stand up, but he already had his Ministry Identity card out for her to see. His picture blinked at her, and her jaw was wide open. Then Harry had shown the picture of his toddler self with his parents and she just lost it.

She snatched the picture from his hands and started to analyse it with the thoroughness of a scientist, almost as if she was expecting to find something, anything, that would show her his prank. However, Harry began to get annoyed when she began to fold the picture in half to see if it still moved after that.

"Right, this was quite enough. Give me that back, will you?"

Alice ignored him, looking from one side to the other and folding it again, in quarters this time. Harry was fed-up by her lack of respect for one of his most treasured possessions, so he decided to claim it back by force. But as he got hold of it, she didn't let it go, and it caused the picture to be torn in half. Harry was on the verge of tears, but Alice was so focused on the moving picture that she didn't even seem to realise.

"Wow, look, the picture still moves even when it is torn. What kind of technology is this?"

"You…" he spat, his eyes full of anger.

She looked up at his wrathful voice and saw the scowling and tears on his face. "Oh… I am so sorry! I didn't mean…"

"Do you have any idea of what you have done!?" he clenched his fists and his rage was making him shake.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean…"

"But you did!"

"Listen… why don't you just use a Reparo or something? I mean, if you are Harry Potter, then this should be easy for you, right?" she looked at him apologetically.

"My magic is not working… like I said…"

"Just give it a go? Please!?" she used that girly pleading tone that Hermione and Ginny seemed to apply everytime they wanted to get away with things. He sighed.

"All right," he said, trying to control his anger as he got his wand out of his holder again, and quickly did the spell, not really expecting anything to happen. But surprisingly, it did.

The picture that had been torn seconds ago now was mended, looking good as new. Harry blinked many times, looking from his wand to the picture. Alice gasped.

"Oh my God! You are the real Harry Potter!"